RP: Britian vs Ireland
Date: November 26th, 2005
Characters: Garvin Hurnswallow, Harriet Lillinmarder (NPC's)
Location: Quidditch World Cup - France
Summary: The British team squares off with the much feared defending Irish
Status: INcomplete
The dawn had given rise to rain. Not just a sprinkling as the tournament organizers had hoped for, but an absolute downpour. Thunder rolled around the stadium, reverberating through the bowl, and a few players were glancing nervously every time lightening struck, even as they put on their goggles and cast impervious spells in a vain attempt to shelter from the rain as they waited for the match to start. A few of the light-hearted fans and players had hoped the IAQ would agree to allow shielding charms over the pitch this tournament - but like every tournament, there would be no shielding from the elements. Tradition was an easy excuse, but so was pointing out that Quidditch was the sport of bloody warlocks, not for pansies - and if people wanted to watch, they could deal with it. And if schoolchildren could play their games in thunderstorms, so could seasoned players.
That didn't stop the grumbles from occurring though as people huddled in their warm cloaks, and the players praying they wouldn't get struck by lightning - or catch a cold that would hinder their performance in the next game. Because everyone was optimistic, believing they would advance. It was the only way to play.
Garvin Hurnswallow had been announcing Quidditch games since an injury had sidelined him from play himself. A former beater for the English national team, he hadn't been able to leave the sport behind.
He'd assured the IAQ organizers he would be able to remain impartial while announcing the match, but he shot the Irish seeker a dirty look as he flew in front of the commentator's booth.
As the door to the booth opened, he shot a glance over, nodding at his partner Harriet Lillinmarder from Egypt, who'd come over for the World Cup. Normally he announced on his own during the pro league matches, but WC organizers liked to have contrasting viewpoints during games - and adding an international flavour to the commentary. Initially they had suggested Ahmed Assan from Iraq take his place, but Garvin had steadfastedly refused. They might have a point, but these were the matches of his announcing career. It was an honour to be chosen to announce for the WC tournament, and a career builder - even if at a few years past his prime he'd still rather be playing in it.
"Hey Harry," he greeted her, as he made sure he hadn't cast the charm to start their microphones. She'd gone to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep after the long match between the Yanks and the Canadians that had wrapped up the last round - he'd just napped on the couch at the back of the booth. They were both well aware the team from Canada was hoping for a long match between Ireland and Britain to give them some rest before they faced off against Peru in their semi-final match-up.
And, despite the following the British team was gathering as they improbably kept advancing through round after round, nobody really believed they'd last more than an hour or two against the strong Irish team. The two time defending Irish team.
"Wimps," he complained, motioning towards two of the players from Ireland who were experimenting with different charms to keep their cloaks from getting soaked through.
He was easily ignoring the fact they were sitting in a covered booth, complete with warming charms.
Characters: Garvin Hurnswallow, Harriet Lillinmarder (NPC's)
Location: Quidditch World Cup - France
Summary: The British team squares off with the much feared defending Irish
Status: INcomplete
The dawn had given rise to rain. Not just a sprinkling as the tournament organizers had hoped for, but an absolute downpour. Thunder rolled around the stadium, reverberating through the bowl, and a few players were glancing nervously every time lightening struck, even as they put on their goggles and cast impervious spells in a vain attempt to shelter from the rain as they waited for the match to start. A few of the light-hearted fans and players had hoped the IAQ would agree to allow shielding charms over the pitch this tournament - but like every tournament, there would be no shielding from the elements. Tradition was an easy excuse, but so was pointing out that Quidditch was the sport of bloody warlocks, not for pansies - and if people wanted to watch, they could deal with it. And if schoolchildren could play their games in thunderstorms, so could seasoned players.
That didn't stop the grumbles from occurring though as people huddled in their warm cloaks, and the players praying they wouldn't get struck by lightning - or catch a cold that would hinder their performance in the next game. Because everyone was optimistic, believing they would advance. It was the only way to play.
Garvin Hurnswallow had been announcing Quidditch games since an injury had sidelined him from play himself. A former beater for the English national team, he hadn't been able to leave the sport behind.
He'd assured the IAQ organizers he would be able to remain impartial while announcing the match, but he shot the Irish seeker a dirty look as he flew in front of the commentator's booth.
As the door to the booth opened, he shot a glance over, nodding at his partner Harriet Lillinmarder from Egypt, who'd come over for the World Cup. Normally he announced on his own during the pro league matches, but WC organizers liked to have contrasting viewpoints during games - and adding an international flavour to the commentary. Initially they had suggested Ahmed Assan from Iraq take his place, but Garvin had steadfastedly refused. They might have a point, but these were the matches of his announcing career. It was an honour to be chosen to announce for the WC tournament, and a career builder - even if at a few years past his prime he'd still rather be playing in it.
"Hey Harry," he greeted her, as he made sure he hadn't cast the charm to start their microphones. She'd gone to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep after the long match between the Yanks and the Canadians that had wrapped up the last round - he'd just napped on the couch at the back of the booth. They were both well aware the team from Canada was hoping for a long match between Ireland and Britain to give them some rest before they faced off against Peru in their semi-final match-up.
And, despite the following the British team was gathering as they improbably kept advancing through round after round, nobody really believed they'd last more than an hour or two against the strong Irish team. The two time defending Irish team.
"Wimps," he complained, motioning towards two of the players from Ireland who were experimenting with different charms to keep their cloaks from getting soaked through.
He was easily ignoring the fact they were sitting in a covered booth, complete with warming charms.