dazed and confused

[Gracie Marlow]

Gracie woke up early and shot out of bed to get dressed in her quidditch gear as quickly as possible. Why, you ask? Well, Gracie was hoping to get to the grounds early enough to let off some steam. Lately, the tiny fourth year had been so stressed she couldn't concentrate- hell, she could barely eat and that was really pissing her off because she loved food. And when she didn't eat, Gracie could get very cranky. Trying to now get her mind off of food, Gracie hurried down to the quidditch pitch, taking notice that it seemed like no one else was awake yet. Everything was so still and quiet... She had never experienced the castle like this before. It was kind of eerie, honestly.

Gracie skipped her way to the pitch and geared up, mounting her broom to start her own little side practice. Checking over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed her, Gracie bit her lip and aimed her wand at the box full of practice balls. It felt weird to Gracie to be out here alone- she had only ever been out here to practice with the entire team or to practice with Jules. Ugh, Jules... She thought, her mind turning to mush in a totally frustrating way. The last time they had talked, Jules had been drunk off his ass and he had acted... well, Gracie wasn't sure how he had been acting. One minute he was so incredibly angry that he was breaking bottles with his bare hands and the next he was laying his head in her lap and being so sweet it nearly broke her heart. And this was exactly way Gracie was now going to practice until she completely cleared her head. The only problem with Gracie when she's trying to clear out her thoughts?

She totally talks to herself. That was why she made sure that no one was behind her before she started her practice. As she chased the little, rusted practice snitch, Gracie began to let out a few frustrated grunts. And those grunts turned into angry cries which in turn made Gracie start to yell out her frustration to the skies- loud enough that if anyone happened to be out on the pitch, they could hear everything she was saying. "Why do you have to be so freaking confusing, Jules?" She yelled, wishing he could actually hear her. "Sometimes I just want to hit you in the back of the head with a bludger! Argh!" She sped around the pitch, not exactly looking for the snitch anymore. She knew she could easily find it once she got all of her anger out. "But then other times, I just want to... I just want to..." Kiss you, her mind stated calmly, when her heart was anything but. She hadn't felt that way about Jules until that night before break. That night when they were talking and he was drunk and she sincerely thought that he was going to kiss her for a minute, and she was nervous but she wanted it so badly and she hadn't realized how badly she had wanted it until then and now her brain was just mush all the time and ugh!

Letting out a tiny sigh, Gracie shook her head and sped after the snitch, which she had known was hanging out around the commentator's stand for quite some time. Catching it with ease, Gracie glided back down to the center of the pitch and let out one more frustrated cry before realizing someone was there. And had been there for a while. Watching her. Hearing a twig snap, Gracie turned sharply to her left, and called out. "I know you're there! Show yourself!" Exactly how much had this person overheard?

tagged! maylene

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[Maylene Bell]

May had this thing, okay? It’s called: she was a normal human being and liked to sleep. Like, she seriously enjoyed sleeping. It was one of her favorite activities to do when she wasn’t…well, not-sleeping. The point was, even though she wasn’t a big fan of going to bed early or whatever, it was almost impossible to get her out of bed in the mornings. In fact, she usually left it up to either of her dorm-mates to smack her with a pillow to get her to leave her bed. And even then, she’ll probably roll out into a clump of sheets on the floor before realizing she needs food in her system and then, only then the thought of breakfast would be enough to get her to actually stand up and get dressed. So, basically, May liked to sleep in. Mornings were not her thing, she was not a morning person, she and mornings did not get along. Nope, not at all.

So the fact that it was seven in the morning and May was actually walking across the school grounds in Quidditch gear was saying something.

And what it was saying was that May had officially cracked. She’d cracked. There was nothing to do about it. She’d become as obsessed as those Slytherin crackpots who breathed and spoke competition ever day. She was no longer any better, and it was all Pippin LeBeau’s fault. Because Pippin LeBeau was Ravenclaw’s Quidditch captain and Pippin LeBeau was clearly doing something right because Ravenclaw had plummeted the Slytherin team, and now they had to play against them and May was having sleepless nights over this shit.

Do you know how long it’s been since May had had sleepless nights?

Let me tell you: since she was six. And locked in a cupboard.

That would be over ten years, for anybody whose math is not that advanced. Ten years of awesome, long, perfect nights in which she slept like a baby. She had actually woken up at four that morning, and after tossing and turning for over an hour had decided that she was going to beat some bludgers around, hopefully take her mind off it while she went over the new techniques she was working on with her recently self-appointed co-captain, Julien. Was she surprised when she got to the pitch and someone else was already zooming around? Maybe. She probably would’ve been if she’d been actually awake for this, but as it was, today, she was Mayzombie Bell. Literally.

She stood at the edge of the pitch and stared at the tiny figure flying around yelling like a ruffled bunny above her head. She looked angry, and if May’s limbs had worked at all right now she would’ve probably flown up there to see if the chick needed to use her bat for a little while because that was a lot of rage.

It occurred to her that she was speaking, after a moment, and May managed to blink a little and catch some of her words from her place at the bottom. She wasn’t even spying, because spying indicated that she was making an attempt to not be seen, and no, May was standing right next to the stands with her broom in her hand and her bat in the other.

Was that Gracie Marlow yelling about Julien?

May was confused enough, trying to wrap her mind around what was going on in the air above her head that she didn’t realize the bat had been slipping out of her hand until it fell next to her foot over a branch, and it snapped under the weight. “Urgh, shit,” she croaked, running a hand through her hair, opening her mouth in a yawn as she bent over to pick it up. Looking up at Gracie—it was indeed her, what was she even doing awake at this hour—May lifted her other hand and waved. “That’s no way to talk to your Captain, Marlow!

[/color]” she called out, the cold morning wind hitting the side of her face and making her blink a little, waking up some more.

“Nice dive, though,[/color]” she said, walking over towards the center of the pitch where she was. Her voice was still hoarse from the fucking dawn of day—why wasn’t she in bed right now?—and she probably looked like hell. “So, what problems do I hear you having with my other beater?[/color]”

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