Post by Prof Grace Marks on Jan 1, 2010 14:50:08 GMT
It was said that it was essential to thrive in the Quidditch arena you had to both be talented and a lot of the time for your supporters. Grace had thought this was true. Without the supporters there would be no worldwide appreciated sport for her to play and without that she’d be out of a job. So whenever the twenty-something was approached by a supporter, asking for autographs and stories, Grace was always happy to oblige. Mostly, that is. Sometimes it was simply the wrong time: she might be in the middle of something or perhaps there might be too many for her to focus on and she would get flustered. It didn’t happen often that she did get irritated and stormed off (not only because her coach said it was bad publicity but also because it was rude and she didn’t get irritated easily) but this particular Saturday afternoon everything was different.
Walking in the streets of London was always an adventure. There were always loads of people, always traffic to contend with, and everyone always so determined to get to where they were going that all else didn’t matter anymore. Well, that was how Grace experienced it. That Saturday it was no different for her: she had an important meeting that she was late for … alright, so it was a date but it made here even more nervous thinking about that than it did when she went to an actual job interview. Grace checked her watch. She was nearly a quarter of an hour late and it would take her at least another half hour to manoeuvre through all this hustle and bustle. (It should have occurred to her that she was a witch and could apparate there but it didn’t)
An oddly dressed, plump woman waddled past with her equally plump son in toe who pointed at the blonde woman and spoke loudly to his mother about it ‘being her’. The woman stopped Grace by stepping in front of her and questioning her.
“Please, ma’am,” Grace pleaded, “I’m running horribly late just now.”
But the woman seemed not to notice, or if she did she ignored Grace. If there was one thing Grace abhorred more that being interrupted it was rudeness. The woman started talking about the upcoming Quidditch season and how important it was to her little Jimmy (Grace could only assume it was the snot-faced, drooling mass attached to her arm) that the Cannons do well this term because … Grace didn’t let the woman finish.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go.” And the Keeper turned on her heal and strode off into a crowd of people waiting at a traffic light. Behind her she could hear the woman cursing the rudeness of some people and wondering what the youth of today was coming to. Grace felt bad for it but she didn’t have time for a heart to heart, she was late as it was.
At the busy intersection, Grace managed to elbow her way to the front of the queue of people trying to cross. She bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet, waiting for the traffic light to change colour. She looked away from the traffic for a moment, looking down the road for a moment when suddenly she was shoved hard in the back. Grace tumbled forward into the busy street and froze in terror as a speeding car roared towards her. She didn’t know what to do. Her brain wouldn’t tell her feet to move. She couldn’t think at all. Her bright blue eyes went wide with fright and her heart practically stopped as the large motor vehicle came closer and closer. And just as suddenly as the shove that got her here, in the middle of the street, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her backwards out of harm’s way.
Walking in the streets of London was always an adventure. There were always loads of people, always traffic to contend with, and everyone always so determined to get to where they were going that all else didn’t matter anymore. Well, that was how Grace experienced it. That Saturday it was no different for her: she had an important meeting that she was late for … alright, so it was a date but it made here even more nervous thinking about that than it did when she went to an actual job interview. Grace checked her watch. She was nearly a quarter of an hour late and it would take her at least another half hour to manoeuvre through all this hustle and bustle. (It should have occurred to her that she was a witch and could apparate there but it didn’t)
An oddly dressed, plump woman waddled past with her equally plump son in toe who pointed at the blonde woman and spoke loudly to his mother about it ‘being her’. The woman stopped Grace by stepping in front of her and questioning her.
“Please, ma’am,” Grace pleaded, “I’m running horribly late just now.”
But the woman seemed not to notice, or if she did she ignored Grace. If there was one thing Grace abhorred more that being interrupted it was rudeness. The woman started talking about the upcoming Quidditch season and how important it was to her little Jimmy (Grace could only assume it was the snot-faced, drooling mass attached to her arm) that the Cannons do well this term because … Grace didn’t let the woman finish.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go.” And the Keeper turned on her heal and strode off into a crowd of people waiting at a traffic light. Behind her she could hear the woman cursing the rudeness of some people and wondering what the youth of today was coming to. Grace felt bad for it but she didn’t have time for a heart to heart, she was late as it was.
At the busy intersection, Grace managed to elbow her way to the front of the queue of people trying to cross. She bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet, waiting for the traffic light to change colour. She looked away from the traffic for a moment, looking down the road for a moment when suddenly she was shoved hard in the back. Grace tumbled forward into the busy street and froze in terror as a speeding car roared towards her. She didn’t know what to do. Her brain wouldn’t tell her feet to move. She couldn’t think at all. Her bright blue eyes went wide with fright and her heart practically stopped as the large motor vehicle came closer and closer. And just as suddenly as the shove that got her here, in the middle of the street, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her backwards out of harm’s way.
