,, cruel to be kind

[Roxanne Reid]

Considering it was still the end of February, the weather was actually pretty decent, which meant Roxy felt she could finally leave the castle without sensing that she would freeze her butt off if she wasn't using a heating charm or wearing six layers of clothing. She woke up bright and early, dressed warmly and comfortably, thew her strawberry blonde hair into a high pony tail so it wouldn't get in her face, grabbed her broom and left the dormitory. Her gait was as purposeful as always, her personality screaming with every step - I am confident in my own skin, and I own you. Or, that was the impression that she tried to give anyway. For the most part, she succeeded. While the hallways didn't exactly part like the red sea had done for Moses, he younger years knew to steer clear from her unless they wanted to be knocked out of the way, or bullied into carrying her things. Well, the latter was bound to happen anyway; Roxanne refused to carry around her own books, certainly not in a childish backpack. She had an image to upkeep, and no one was impressed or intimidated by someone who had bad posture. Besides, the way she saw it, she was helping those kids grow muscles so that, when they were older, they could, in turn, pick on those younger than them, because that's how life worked. Survival of the fittest, the strong prey on the weak, et cetera, et cetera. So, really, Roxanne was doing them a favour by guiding them in the right direction, showing them how the world works. To those of them who would rise above the bullying and end up being bullies themselves, mazel tov. And for those who would remain weak all there lives, well, at least she was giving them practice for a future life full of the more superior humans stomping all over them.They would thank her later.

Or not. Whatever.

The crisp air succeeded in taking away any last bit of sleepiness and Roxanne immediately felt wide awake and almost refreshed as she made her way out onto the pitch. She knew there wouldn't be anyone out there this morning - she'd monitored the patterns of practices the different Quidditch teams had, and no one used the pitch at this time. Plus, even those captains that were absolutely obsessed with the game would be sleeping at this hour. Although it might be a bit extreme to go to such lengths to avoid other players, Roxanne preferred to fly on her own. There was something relaxing about it, about the wind tossing your hair around, the whistling of the wind in your ears getting louder and louder the faster you flew, the vibration of the broom in your grip as you zoomed around the pitch, the thrill of diving at high speeds and pulling out at the last second, when you were so sure you were about to crash and your heart is still pounding afterwards because of the exhilaration that can only ever come from a near-death experience. Or, perhaps death was too strong of a word for it. But there definitely would have been some serious injuries received if such a stunt had gone wrong.

Drawing in several deep breaths of fresh air, Roxanne put her broom down and started preparing for flight, stretching out her limbs. She'd learned after her first year of flying and playing Quidditch that she needed to stretch first before doing any sort of exercise, even if it was something that didn't require as much physical effort as muggle sports did. At least, not from an outsiders point of view. Ten minutes later, she was limber and ready to fly. After placing her water bottle on the sidelines, Roxanne straddled the broomstick and kicked off, closing her eyes briefly and enjoying the way the wind slapped her cheeks, turning them pinker by the second. It had been quite some time since she'd had the opportunity to fly alone, mostly because it was rare that the pitch was empty so early in the morning and, well, Roxanne valued her beauty sleep too much to give it up that often. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone watching her, because she knew she was a damn good flier and an even better Quidditch player. She just didn't want to hear the questions as to why she wasn't on the Slytherin team, even though there had been try outs just last week. But she'd purposefully botched it up in the last few minutes, missing every single goal. If anyone who knew her technique had been watching, they would have none she'd done it on purpose. And, since Clementine had been there (as some sort of moral support or something, because apparently friends did that sort of shit), she had known that Roxy had purposefully sabotaged herself, again - because this wasn't the first time Roxanne had applied for the Quidditch team, and been rejected because she hadn't exactly done her best. She didn't know why she kept doing it. Actually, she did. She was just too stubborn to change her ways.

It was only after her second lap around the pitch that she noticed she wasn't alone anymore. There was a figure, one that appeared small from this height, standing in the middle of the pitch, looking directly at her. Slightly annoyed that she now had company, Roxanne did a nose dive towards the ground, pulling up at the last instant until her feet daintily touched the ground and she hopped off her broom, surveying the male intruder through a narrowed gaze. "Can I help you?"

tag;; julien cross

[/color]

[Julien Cross]

Julien Cross hated mornings. Mornings sucked. They sucked major gonads and he avoided them at all costs. So why was he out on the pitch at the ass crack of dawn? See, what had happened was, Julien wasn't too good at the whole sleeping thing, which usually resulted in him being up super late and sleeping through the morning/early afternoon when he didn't wake up. It was a good way to avoid that whole morning business, but sometimes it didn't work out according to plan. That night, Julien had woken up from a particularly unpleasant dream, drenched in a cold sweat and white-knuckling the edge of his mattress. That seemed to be happening a lot lately and usually meant he wasn't going to be falling back to sleep anytime soon. Wiping off the sweat on his brown with the back of his hand, he rolled over to look at his clock, which told him it was 3:03am. He let out a groan and a heavy sigh and laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling for the moment before coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon. So, he got up.

The Gryffindor team had the pitch reserved that night. Sure, it was only until curfew, but Julien believed that the reservation counted until at least 8am the following morning. He got himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of very worn out gray sweat pants and tugged a maroon hoodie on over his black sleep shirt. He dug under his bed for a bit until he pulled out his beater club (okay so it wasn't really his so much as the school's, but since he didn't have enough money to buy his own, he'd nicked the best one Hogwarts had in the equipment room) and then proceeded to sneak his way through the castle. This was a pretty regular habit of his, although he wasn't too great at sneaking around after curfew because about half the time he got caught and given another detention, but he didn't really care anyways. He was used to a never ending sentence of Tuesday and Thursday nights being busy with detention. This time, he miraculously made it to the pitch without being seen, jimmied the old lock to the Gryffindor boy's locker room, pulled out his hand-me-down broom and headed for the equipment shed.

"Hello ladies," he said as he opened up the trunk that contiained the two practice bludgers. Immediately they jerked about, causing the trunk to bounce around as they strained against their chains. Julien smirked to himself. "Aw, did you miss me?"

[/b] He closed the lid and somehow managed to carry all the things he needed out onto the pitch. With a flick of the latch, he let the bludgers go and spent the next couple of hours beating them around.

The trouble came when he became thoroughly exhausted and decided now he oculd probably manage to fall asleep. The first bludger was easy enough to track down and force back into its shackles, but the second bludger was another story. He called that one Bertha and she was a total bitch. Not only did Bertha hit hard, but she was also a lot faster than the other bludgers Hogwarts had. And she had the habit of trying to ram guys in their family jewels. Julien was a beater, not a chaser, and Bertha was refusing to cooperate. He'd spent two god damn hours trying to catch the stupid thing when it knocked him off his broom and send him careening into one of the Hufflepuff stands. Luckily, himself nor his broom of club got broken, but he was definitely going to have a nice brise on his side. Cussing under his breath, Julien gingerly stood up as Bertha took off into the waning night.

Still growling under his breath, Julien eased himself back onto the ground. He was thinking about how May was definitely going to chew him out for 1. sneaking out onto the pitch after hours and 2. losing a bludger and actually needing help to catch it. Ugh. Not a good start to the day. That when he noticed that someone else had come onto the pitch, apparently while he was being thrown into the Hufflepuff bleachers. Julien scowled, not liking to have his alone time invaded. And he could tell by their outline and flight patterns that they weren't on the Gryffindor team. Julien walked out into the middle of the pitch, arms crossed as he scowled up at the person, trying to make out who it was, when they flew down to meet him.

"Can I help you?"

Julien's eyebrow shot up.

Friendly.

"Gryffindor has the pitch reserved tonight -- today," he said. Which was... mostly a lie, but whatever. She wasn't a quid player from another house, he didn't recognize her, so she wouldn't know any better. Then there was a familiar whistling sound and Julien leaned slightly to see Bertha careening towards them. "Oh for fuck's sake,"[/color] he growled, quickly gripping his club in a much more baseball-like fashion than most beaters. "Might wanna duck, Red."[/color]
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Roxanne Reid]

Roxanne was very unhappy with this interruption, to say the least. She had been hoping to have the pitch all to herself this morning, to clear her head a little and try to figure out her next step in life - and no, she didn't mean silly things like her future and what was next after graduation because she had at least another year before she had to worry about such meaningless things. No, what she'd meant to think about was the realisation that her life had, for lack of a better word, become rather boring. Hogwarts had become boring. The thing was about a boarding school is that you had to see the same exact people every single day. And, while it was an enormous place and there were still plenty of people Roxanne had never met, the selection of people she actually wanted to associate herself with were very limited, and her life was starting to get a rather routine feel to it. She wanted something new. Something different. It almost made her entertain the idea of entering into a relationship with someone. It'd have to be someone sweet and unassuming, though. Someone who would easily fall for a nice-girl act, who'd want to romance her and do everything he could to please her. She supposed Hufflepuff house was the easiest place to find someone like that. She'd briefly considered, while up on her broom, the boyfriend of that daft blonde girl who'd tried to call her out on flirting with him. She couldn't remember his name, but he'd been blonde and had seemed rather, well, slow. Completely adorable, of course, as most Hufflepuffs were, but hardly someone who could keep up with her, but not someone who'd be bad to keep around for a month or two for entertainment purposes. Still, Roxanne wasn't the type to steal boyfriends, mostly because she prided herself in never needing someone's sloppy seconds. Not to mention, it took a lot to rile someone like Roxanne up. Nevertheless...a bored Roxanne was a dangerous one.

Upon closer examination, the redhead noted that the male looked incredibly sweaty and was breathing extremely hard for someone whom she'd assumed had only just gotten on the pitch. In fact, his appearance gave the impression that he'd been on the pitch for hours. It took her yet another second to realise that she recognised him. He was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, with Clementine. Roxy had made it her job to know pretty much all the Quidditch players, even though she wasn't on the team herself. Besides, she'd spent many a match cheering for Gryffindor whenever they were playing - as long as they weren't playing against Slytherin, of course, because, while she didn't have much in the sense of house pride, she did have some self-preservation instincts. It was bad enough that she was the only one with a green-and-silver striped scarf among a sea of scarlet and gold on the stands, she didn't need to be there when those who were playing were adorned with similar colours. For the life of her, though, she couldn't remember his first name. Cross, she recognised because the commentator had screeched it into the megaphone enough times, but she rarely ever used first names and Roxy had never been interested enough to ask. His first words made her eyebrows rise and her arms fold across her chest. "Oh really?" she asked, clearly unimpressed by his words. "I highly doubt..."

[/color] she trailed off when a whistling reached her ears and her eyes automatically widened at the sight of the bludger hurtling towards them.

"Bloody hell!"[/color] she exclaimed out of pure surprise, automatically ducking and wincing when she heard it whizz over her head. She straightened up immediately, saucer-wide eyes following the movement of the rogue ball. "Jesus, I thought beaters were supposed to know how to control those things,"[/color] she stated in a tone that was almost a sneer. She was well-aware of how exhausted he was, and how difficult it was to catch a bludger and put it back in with the rest of the balls, but far be it for Roxanne to be nice to a complete stranger. Rolling her eyes, Roxanne made a show of rolling up her sleeves. "Just keep your bat at the ready just in case,"[/color] she informed him, flexing her fingers and crouching a little as the bludger changed course and headed for them again. It wasn't the first time she'd caught a bludger that was in flight. Although she'd constantly applied for the position of Chaser, there were several times when Roxanne had played beater during the mock-games she and Clementine had to further prepare her for try-outs and such, insuring that she can dodge bludgers because Roxy would not have her good (best) friend be deterred by some muscle-bound, thick-headed beater who had it in her for her during a game. Naturally, Roxanne had overestimated her capabilities and she found herself getting knocked backwards, landing, rather ungracefully, on her derriere with a small "oof" sound. Not giving herself a chance to catch her breath, Roxanne proceeded to wrestle the ball into it's rightful place, hastily locking it tight and then falling back. Ignoring the twinging in her stomach from the impact of the ball, Roxanne stood as gracefully as possible and tossed her pony tail behind her, trying to make it appear as if that had been completely effortless. "I'd take better care of my balls if I were you,"[/color] she commented innocently, brushing invisible lint off her outfit while trying to subtly rub her stomach. That was definitely going to bruise and ache later.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]

[Julien Cross]

"Oh really? I highly doubt --"

Julien was all prepared to stand his ground -- as shown by his wide stance, crossed arms and solid, although tired, scowl -- because he was the beater for the Gryffindor quidditch team and how would some chick know the schedule better than him? Luckily, the rogue bludger momentarily saed him from inevitable embarrassment. But there was still plenty of time for that. He was actually surprised that she managed to duck in time and that Bertha didn't knock her brains out. As she dodged, Julien reeled back, pivoted his hips and swung all the force he could muster into sending the bludger to the end of the pitch. He let out a low whistle, impressed with himself, as always, even though he was dead tired and it was a miracle his bloodshot eyes could keep an eye on the homicidal ball of leather.

"Bloody hell! Jesus, I thought beaters were supposed to know how to control those things. Just keep your bat at the ready just in case."

Julien's smug look was quickly replaced with a glower. "I just knocked the bloody thing half the length of the pitch, didn't I?" he said, words laced with indignation. Who the hell did she think SHE was telling him how he was supposed to play his own sport?? He let out a snort at the next thing she said. "Just in case? You feel like catching Bertha?" he repeated in disbelief. For a moment, the fact that she had said "bat" instead of "club" stuck out to him, since only baseball players ever referred to them as such, and that was a muggle game, one he'd grew up playing with his dad, in fact, so that seemed strange. But he was too preoccupied with the current situation to give it much other thought. Letting out another laugh before shaking his head, eyes darting back and forth between the girl and the brown ball in the distance that was making a u-turn for them again. "Whatever you say," in a tone that made it clear it didn't think she could wrangle that thing on her own. She also looked a bit ridiculous in that stance. "I'm not carrying you to the hospital wing,"

[/b] he warned her as he gripped his club again, drawing it back at the bludger raced toward them. Luckily, Bertha decided she didn't want to go for Julien again this time. Unluckily for the girl, it careened straight into her stomach and literally bowled her over. "Bloody Christ," Julien said with a jolt of surprise as he ran over to where she'd been knocked over. This wasn't the first time he'd caused a girl to get slammed by a bludger -- just the other month Gracie had gotten knocked from her broom because of him and ended up in the infirmary -- but apparently that wasn't the case for this girl.

By the time he'd ran up to where she was struggling with the bludger on the ground, she'd already gotten it into the trunk and a moment later, fastening the chains.

"I'd take better care of my balls if I were you."

At that point he couldn't help the amused grin that curled his lips. Partially because it had been freaking hilarious to see that girl knocked on her ass (which now had grass stuck to it), and partially because he maybe was slightly a little bit impressed. For a chick who didn't play quidditch, anyways. Julien raised an eyebrow at her again. "I was,"[/b] he told her petulantly before shrugged a shoulder. "Not my fault if you can't handle them." The smallest of smirks tugged the corner of his lips. He slung his club across the back of his shoulders, holding onto either end with one hand. Julien narrowed his eyes slightly and tilted his chin up, giving her a scrutinizing once-over. "What's your name?"[/b] he asked. Julien kept to his own circle (especially after the incident in Hogsmeade which destroyed the last bit of trust he possessed for strangers), so if someone wasn't in Gryffindor and played quidditch, he didn't take the time to meet them.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Roxanne Reid]

All right, even Roxanne had to admit that his hit had been impressive, the way he'd managed to get the bludger to soar all the way over to the other side of the pitch and have it hold there before it hurtled back to them. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't eyeball the way his arms flexed with the movement. But so what? He was a beater, he was supposed to be this good, and he was supposed to have nice arms and - right. Well, either way, she refused to feed his ego (because all male Quidditch players had egos the size of their head, if not larger, which sometimes made her wonder how they walked around with that thing all day without toppling over). Far be it for Roxanne Reid to actually pay someone a compliment without getting anything out if it. So at his words, she simply rolled her eyes and then proceeded to ignore him, and this tactic continued as he proceeded to question her capabilities. Clearly, he thought she was some fragile little girl who couldn't handle something as meaningless as a bludger. Please. She might have porcelain white skin, but she was far from breakable, and she was determined to prove that to him. And, although Roxanne never bothered to go out of her way to impress people because she couldn't care less what they thought (or so she told herself, although she was constantly proving the opposite), she hated anyone belittling her. And that's exactly what this...jock was doing.

Granted, it was for good reason. Because even though she'd managed to take care of the bludger, it wasn't without injury, and she would regret it later. Probably, she should have stood by and let him do the dirty work. That was what ladies were meant to do. Or something. She wasn't too sure, to be honest. Her mother hadn't done much raising, considering she was too busy avoiding being beat up by her father, or actually being abused. It was a wonder she turned out to be the semi-decent person she was. All things considered, she could have come out much worse. At least her morals weren't completely loose (she had standards for whom she opened her legs to and when, thank you very much), and she'd seen bullies a lot worse than her. So, really, if she'd actually had proper parents, she probably would have come out as a perfect angel. Or that's what she likes to think, anyhow. Either way, she's perfectly content with the way she is right now, and wouldn't have it any other way. Although, of course, she wouldn't have said no to having a little (or a lot) more money in the bank to buy nice things. It pained her to have to leave behind a pair of gorgeous shoes because she couldn't afford to pay for them (since she'd already splurged on five other pairs, that is).

"Not my fault if you can't handle them."

Roxanne's eyebrows shot upwards, aiming dangerously for her hair line, before she scoffed at him. "Please. I think I just proved that I am much more capable of handing your balls than you can," she stated, although her words were bellied by her actions as she set to brushing her hand against her bottom because she was sure there was grass clinging to her sweatpants. She unconsciously straightened up a little when she felt his gaze sweep over her, allowing herself to do the same, although she was probably more obvious about it - on purpose, of course. Most of the things Roxanne did were on purpose. She didn't believe in lies or schemes or subtlety. She'd probably be the most honest person you ever meet. And yet, in spite of the fact that people supposedly valued honesty, people still got into a huff when she did stay honest. Really, if you didn't want people to point out the wart that was the size of the moon on your chin, get it removed. And if you didn't have the body type for a short skirt, don't expect her to compliment you on it because, quite frankly, it was an awful sight and she was doing the girl - and everyone else with working vision - a favour by telling her so. It was just that simple in her world. "Roxanne," she responded simply, not at all surprised that he didn't know who she was. Most Quidditch players tended to walk around with their heads up their arses. "And you're Cross. Beater of the Gryffindor Quidditch team." She didn't see the point of hiding the fact that she knew him.

Honesty.

Already starting to lose interest because it was apparent he'd been about to leave anyway, Roxanne bent to pick up her broom. "If you don't mind, I came to fly alone. Your excuse about Gryffindor having the pitch today is irrelevant. I know for a fact that you had it for yesterday, and reservations don't extend to wee hours in the morning. Midnight has passed. Besides. You look like a feather could knock you down."

[/color]

Honesty.

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[Julien Cross]

"Please. I think I just proved that I am much more capable of handing your balls than you can."

Julien rolled his eyes. "Uh huh,"

[/b] he muttered under his breath dismissively, though he glanced over at her from the corner of his eye. Most girls, even ones on quidditch, were wary of bludgers and, even though she'd gotten knocked completely onto her ass, most people faired far less after going head-to-head with Big Bertha. Maybe she wrestled or something. There was no way she was a propper quidditch player, who knew who all those were on campus. And if she wasn't in uniform, then she couldnt not be all that great. Maybe she had pet goats at home and was used to getting rammed in the stomach. That seemed plausible. Though maybe she was a bit too prissy for that. That hair seemed like it took a lot of time and energy, so she really had no business here. He really just wanted to go back inside, hopefully get a nap in and maybe see Pomfrey about getting a salve for the increasingly sore bruise growing on his side that he pressed his fingers against gently.

"Roxanne. And you're Cross. Beater of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

He only gave her a not in response when she introduced herself. The name "Roxanne" seemed vaguely familiar, like maybe someone he knew had mentioned it in passing, but other than that it didn't ring a bell. i.e. Not a quidditch player who might have some right over the quidditch pitch. But, no, she was just some random girl who decided to come bother him and flounce around in those damn sweat pants and tackle his bludger. What did catch his attention, however, was that she knew his name, that he was on the Gryffindor quidditch team and the position he played (which okay wasn't a huge guess since who else would be out on the pitch just to play with some nasty old bludgers? But still). Julien dropped his club from his shoulders and tapped the end of it against his leg as he squinted his slightly bleary eyes at her. "So are you a stalker or just a fan?" he asked with a mock tone of suspicion. Seriously though, what the heck was that all about?

"If you don't mind, I came to fly alone. Your excuse about Gryffindor having the pitch today is irrelevant. I know for a fact that you had it for yesterday, and reservations don't extend to wee hours in the morning. Midnight has passed. Besides. You look like a feather could knock you down."

Julien audibly pluttered at that. This girl had some serious balls talking to him like that. The fact that he was already sleep deprived and grumpy just put him in a fouler mood. "Um, what?" No way was he getting sassed by some random chick on his home turf. "Sorry, Princess, but you can't always get what you want," he told her, conveniently deciding to over look the fact that apparently she'd gotten the upper hand on him by knowing the actual quidditch schedule which, by the way, who does that if you aren't on the team? He hadn't been planning on staying out on the pitch any longer -- as was made pretty obvious by the fact that he was tryingto wrangle in the bludgers -- but now he felt like he had to defend his honor. And he sure as hell didn't take orders from moody little girls -- minus May. AND she called him weak. Arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, Julien's face turned a nice shade of red to rival that of his worn out hoodie. "Yah, I don't really feel like going anywhere. But, by all means, if I look so easy to mow over, I will gladly play you for the pitch." He didn't even want to be out there anymore, but, as was foretold by his mother on a regular basis, Julien Cross would eventually stubborn himself to death. "Fair warning, pummeling a girl at quidditch isn't below me," he added with a forced smile. Which, honestly, it wasn't. If girls couldn't take the roughness of the sport, then they shouldn't play, they didn't get to have special protection or privledges. Not from Julien Cross, at least. He was an advocate for equal rights.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Roxanne Reid]

His dismissive "uh huh" had Roxanne's blood boiling. How dare he just brush her off like that as if what she had just done wasn't impressive as hell? She doubted any other girl could have done it. Well, okay, Clementine could have probably done it. And there was that one girl in the year above her in Slytherin who looked like she could twist someone's head off like a bottle top if she wanted to, but she was definitely an exception. Most other girls (who weren't on the Quidditch team) were fairly dainty and weak. She disliked the feeling that he was lumping her in with that category, even after he'd seen her fearlessly tackle a rogue bludger. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but certainly not a dismissive uh-huh. Fuming inwardly, Roxanne forced herself to school her features into a blank expression, wordlessly taking out her wand and summoning her water bottle to her. Unscrewing the cap (the way the aforementioned Slytherin could twist off people's head, which made her shudder inwardly and remember never to cross paths with that female, ever), Roxanne took a few, long gulps from the bottle and then place it by her feet again, grateful that she hadn't been drinking when he'd asked his almost-suspicious question, because she probably would have sprayed them both with water and that would have been quite mortifying.

"Don't flatter yourself," she sneered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and rolling her eyes. "You're not hardly interesting enough to be stalk worthy. My...really good friend is on the team. She talks to me about the team. A lot. And I'm a Quidditch fan. If I was a stalker, I'd known your full name, your age, your favourite colour and your shoe size. I don't know any of those things. Although my guesses would be Jackass, 12, black and," she glanced down at his feet and smirked. "honestly, not very impressive." It was an unfair jab, and she wasn't even sure if he was aware of the old wives tale, but he was beginning to get on her nerves and her bitchy side was starting to come out full-force. It was his own fault, anyway. He couldn't leave it alone. No, he had to accuse her of stalking him. Of all the ridiculous things she'd heard, this one really took the cake. And ate it, too. Okay, so maybe he had every right to be suspicious. She would have been suspicious, too, probably if someone she'd never met before said something similar to her before. But whatever, surely he was aware that people who watched the Quidditch games would remember his name. He'd been playing all year, after all. So, it was still his own damn fault that she'd gotten riled up and that was that.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste at the Princess nickname, Roxanne crossed her arms and proceeded to give him her best bitch glare. "It's not like you were planning to stay longer. You look completely spent. You were already packing up to leave,"

[/color] she huffed, glad that she actually had the proof to call him out on his bull. Sadly, she could see the stubborn glint in his eyes; she recognised it, because she knew she had a similar one in her own. She knew that even if he had been bleeding all over the pitch, or about to collapse from sheer exhaustion, he still would have wanted to play her for the pitch simply because she'd challenged him about it. She probably shouldn't have said anything at all and let him continue on his merry way since he would have left her alone anyway, but Roxanne didn't really have much in the way of self control when it came to her opinionated side. She pulled out her hair tie and re-did her pony tail, making sure it was held tightly so that her hair didn't get in the way. "Please. If either of us is going to get pummeled, it'll be you, Cross,"[/color] she snorted, bending to pick up the quaffle with her free arm while her other hand gripped her broomstick tightly. "First one to score five times wins,"[/color] she decided bossily, tossing the Quaffle at him. "You can have it. I don't need the advantage,"[/color] she mocked. And then, not in the mood to wait on him to splutter some more, Roxanne mounted her broom and kicked off. Once she was reasonably high in the air, she turned her broom so that she could look down at him, calling out, "you coming?"[/color] her tone almost flirty. Almost.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]

[Julien Cross]

"If I was a stalker, I'd known your full name, your age, your favourite colour and your shoe size. I don't know any of those things. Although my guesses would be Jackass, 12, black and... honestly, not very impressive."

This brought on a whole new round of indignant spluttering. "What??"

[/b] Julien wasn't very good at reigning in his emotions, let alone hiding them. The whole mention of shoes completely bewhildered him as he looked down and stared at his shoes for a moment with a scowl. What the hell was that supposed ot mean?? Was she making fun of his shoes? He could feel heat crawl up his neck to his cheeks as he stared at the hole in the side of the left sneaker. Clearly she was making fun of the run down state of his clothing because his mom couldn't afford to buy him new things very often. Even the dark red hoodie he was wearing right now had a small tear in the pocket. He looked back up at her, jaw clenched tight and fuming a bit. Who the heck did she think she was? "Close, Julien,"[/b] he corrected with a growl. "Sixteen, red,"[/b] he answered, ignoring the whole shoe situation because he was certain she was making fun of his lack of money. Given, everything else she said was making fun of him too, but that in particular was a more touchy subject for the already volatile Julien Cross.

"It's not like you were planning to stay longer. You look completely spent. You were already packing up to leave."

This was, of course, true, but now there was no way in hell he was going to admit to it, not when he had already put up this much of a fight over it. Julien shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, you're scared, completely understandable,"[/b] he replied, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lips for this first time during this whole confrontation. He just wanted to win this discussion for the sake of winning because he WAS tired and he WAS pretty much dead on his feet right now but she had insulted not only his shoes, but his abilities as a quidditch beater and that was entirely unforgiveable. Honestly, he had expected her to give in and back down, but...

"Please. If either of us is going to get pummeled, it'll be you, Cross. First one to score five times wins. You can have it. I don't need the advantage."

Aw, fuck.

She tossed the quaffle in his direction, colliding with his stomach as he scrambled to catch it with his arms since his hands were already full with his club and broom. He stared at her, hesitating for a moment. Quaffle? Julien never even touched a quaffle, really. He only ever dealt with clubs and bludgers (partially because May didn't trust him and always thought he'd do something to damage the quaffle, so best to let him just play with the equipment that could take a beating). Right mess he'd gotten himself into. And so early in the morning, at that. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming,"[/b] he all but growled, tossing his club to the ground before mounting his broom. At least he was really good at flying hands free, maybe that would come to his advantage he thought as he eyed the quaffle and then the goal posts at the other end of the pitch. He took his place and then waited for Roxanne to get into position. Julien didn't bother waiting for her to give him a go ahead before he took off down the pitch, praying to God he wouldn't make a complete fool out of himself...

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[Roxanne Reid]

Really, Roxanne hadn't even noticed the state his clothes were in. As much as she might lead people to believe the opposite, she wasn't shallow. If she were to pick someone apart and make them feel awful about themselves, she would rather focus on their personality and hit them where it really hurts. The fact that his shoes had a hole in them, and that his hoodie had a tear, went unnoticed by her because she honestly didn't care. So when his feathers became ruffled over her comment, Roxanne assumed it was because he did know the old wives tale and was insulted by her insinuation about his package. She genuinely wouldn't mind him trying to prove her otherwise and, while under normal circumstances, she would have made the proposition herself, she wasn't quite in the mood and she could tell he probably wouldn't be, either, since he was more aggravated with her than interested in her, and Roxanne...well, as a general rule, she didn't go for guys whom she wasn't absolutely positive would say yes. Although you'd never get her to admit it out loud, she was terribly afraid of rejection, wouldn't even really know what to do or how to react if someone was to reject her, so she tried to avoid any situation where she would be rejected, either by simply not putting herself in it, or purposefully sabotaging herself, like she had done with her Quidditch tryouts, so that she can control when she receives her rejection, so that she's ready when she gets it. It's the unexpected ones that completely throw her off, in the worst way imaginable.

When he insinuated that she was scared, Roxanne's eyebrows rose swiftly, and then her eyes narrowed. While she might not be a Gryffindor, Roxanne didn't enjoy being called a coward. Besides, she thought Gryffindors had less courage and more of a tendency to get in trouble because of their lack of foresight and general recklessness. She was suddenly even more determined to kick his arse, and she figured she had the upper hand here since she had obviously had more sleep than him, wasn't as exhausted as him and thus would perform better. From the look on his face when he scrambled to catch the Quaffle, Roxanne also had the advantage of having played Keeper before when she had practiced with her friend, and she really couldn't stop the smirk that overtook her face now. It was rare that Roxanne wanted to win so badly, but mostly she wanted to do it to see the look on his face when she did win, because it would definitely be absolutely priceless. She almost wished she had a camera with her for the occasion but, alas, it was up in her dorm buried somewhere in her trunk. She almost never took it out, mostly because she was a pretty terrible photographer. She didn't have a steady enough hand, and most of her pictures ended up looking hazy and blurry because of it. She'd rather have her focused memory instead. That would be more than enough for her.

The smirk on Roxanne's face was undeniable as she watched him take to the air, her grip tightening briefly on the broom. Her confidence wavered for a split second, realising that he was clearly the superior flier. But then her determination returned full-throttle as she turned and zoomed towards the goal posts, giving them her back so that she could meet his attack. His reflexes were a tad slow, perhaps because he was so tired, and his throwing techniques were sub par at best, so Roxanne didn't have any difficulty in knocking the ball away from the hoops, dashing after it and catching it before it could hit the ground before rising again, making her way towards his side of the pitch, the Quaffle clutched tightly under her arm. Once she was close enough, she pulled her arm back and threw as hard as she could, wincing because her aim was completely off but holding her breath anyway in hopes that it would somehow get in, steadying herself in case there was opportunity to get the rebound.

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