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Tally Staff ☆ Charms ProfessorRavioli
29 year old Muggleborn Human ☆ she/her

Quidditch was not something Mary had ever particularly enjoyed. No, Mary could never relate to the thrill of speeding through the open skies on a broom so thin it felt like flying, while two evil black balls and seven probably lovely but momentarily misguided players seemed to desire nothing more than to see her fall. As a sport, Quidditch was dangerous and vile and thoroughly confusing, and something Mary had been suspicious of from day one. She still remembered it pretty well, finding out about Quidditch. The air of childish awe on fellow muggleborns, the careless excitement of the kids who were already familiar with it, and in Mary's mind only one very pressing question: How would anyone, ever, dare tell her mum she had tragically died after being forced on a flying broom.

Mary didn't die, but her overall feeling towards the game remained the same. There was nothing that much fun about throwing balls around while trying not to die horribly, but there was something for sure exhilarating in watching someone else do it. One had just look at the dark room on the back of the Drunken Roo that evening. Mary wasn't the only one covered in Quidditch props, and while not everyone seemed to have gone as far as to turn their skins the color of their team, the whole place seemed pretty committed to what was about to happen. After all, even though the Thundelarra Thunders versus Woollongong Warriors was by this point pretty much an yearly classic, it was still as big an event as Australian-League Quidditch could get. And Mary, a sucker for the underdogs, (even incredibly powerful, multimillionaire teams underdogs), was a hardcore Thunder-fan.

She made as much clear the moment she stepped into the room. Just in case her clothes, hat, and magically-decorated skin weren't enough to make it clear where she stood that evening, the first thing she did was to blow on her sports-whistle, which produced the thunderous boom of her team. Other booms followed from different corners of the bar, and Mary found herself beaming in the atmosphere. And so did everyone else, or so it seemed, as Mary made her way through the crowded room and towards the only empty stool in sight. She twirled around a couple of mates waving their beers around, ducked under a group hug and, just as she got to the chair, another bum sat on it.

"No!" she exclaimed towards the stool thief with the overly dramatic tone of someone who had been mentally preparing to yell a lot, and then promptly blew on her whistle again. "One-zero and Mary's off to a bad start!" She smiled. "Can the Thunders recover from the morale-bust and make this their only lost tonight?"

  • LOL 1

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Tally Staff ☆ IWP undercover Agent/Professor of Magical TheoryPoppy
44 year old Muggleborn Human ☆ He/Him

Now, has a person of British origin Ashkar was as much a fan of going places where alcohol could be purchased and consumed at a reasonable price as the next bloke. He very much enjoyed a drink or sixteen, stumbling merrily buzzed back too whatever hole he lived in and sleeping off the resulting hangover. The problem remained that he'd not only wandered into a place that the phrase 'quiet drink' wasn't designed for but also when a Quidditch match was going on.

Ah, Quidditch, was there a more pointless sport? This sentiment had never made him very popular, as he was much more amused by pointing out the obvious logical flaws in the game than he was participating or watching it. It was, perhaps, an odd train of thought for someone who lived with a international Quidditch star and had in his life made many bets and dodgy dealings around the sport but he'd never seen a problem with profiting off idiots whose idea of a good time was to dodgy balls of a murderous rampage. 

So, in the spirit of drinking and betting he weaved his way through the colourful crowd, knowing his destination was the place where he could down a few pints of beer with a whiskey chaser. He might even go out and have a few shots of giggle water. He stood out the most in this place, everyone else was dressed up in bright colours and he was in his normal neutral garb. 

After passing one particularly rowdy group that ended up with him getting an elbow to the ribs, the man saw salvation at the bar and a stool that seemed to be waiting just for him to park his ass on it. He was just within reach of his goal when a drunk woman stumbled into his bath yelling something about the bathroom, before tilting on her own axis and falling. Catching her by the arm, he swung her around back into her feet, placing one hand on her lower back to make sure she was able to use those feet before finally reaching his goal and scooting onto it.

No sooner had his ass touched the seat when a loud exclaimation sounded from behind him rather quickly followed by one of those bloody whistles, a sound, he decided, that was much to close to his ear.

A sigh left him as he shifted around too see the small female offender, as she rambled on about losing something. Clearing his throat, he poiltly as he could muster, responded.

"That would depend on how close to my ear you are intending to blow that bloody whistle."

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Tally Staff ☆ Charms ProfessorRavioli
29 year old Muggleborn Human ☆ she/her

Wow.

Mary forgot how seriously some people took sports just a little too often for someone who had been bumping heads (her home's de facto national sport) with her brother for almost 20 years because he liked football just as much as Mary liked annoying him. It was not an unusual sight back home, that of Mattie gritting his teeth in front of the tv as Mary poked him continuously with a giant foam hand, or tied scarves all around him to make him to football-mummy. How well he reacted usually only slightly depended on how the game went, because invariably Mattie was tense and moody on the couch until a victory gave him a reason to be festive and aggressive. Mary didn't really enjoy either of these moods, and weren't it that foam hands, scarfs and skin-paint were all very fun things, she would probably have avoided football altogether. As it was, she had grown to find the whole experience pretty curious, and moody-sport-fans pretty amusing.

Of course, the fact that this guy wasn't really wearing any props or looked in any way as if he was waiting for the game to start went completely unnoticed by Mary. Even if she had taken a moment to notice it, she would assume he was probably simply very serious about his Quidditch.

So, used to handle sports-grumpiness, Mary proceeded to happily and expressively roll her eyes at him. "Oh, c'mon!" She grabbed the whistle and turned it around, before moving it as far towards the man as the strap around her neck would allow it, and shaking it a little so he would look at the tiny letters. "See here. It says safe for children, all ages, see?" Not really caring whether he saw it, Mary let the whistle drop against her chest.  "And y'know what that means? It means I can blow my bloody whistle right next to your ear and you'd still be okay. It's like, not really in the spirit of Quidditch, but at least you can relax!"

A quick sip on her beer. "So, whose side are you on today, you crank?"

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