Post by lilidotcom on Nov 1, 2011 20:50:28 GMT -8
Title: Chaser
Rating: T
Word Count: 297
Warnings: none
Summary: A reason to win.
Written for: Triwizard Tournament Quidditch Drabbles!
Chaser
He’s always loved to chase things.
His first memory was of trying to chase the wind, running across the Manor grounds until he dropped with exhaustion. He’d grin because he’d hadn’t caught it. Hadn’t won. Which meant that the game would go on tomorrow.
Catching the prize would mean they’d have to stop. Move on. Find a new game.
That was why he always refused the post of Seeker. He never wanted the game to end. And what good’s a Seeker who doesn’t want to catch the snitch. But that’s who he is. He’d race the snitch instead, chasing it down and letting it slip away, over and over until the sun turns in and it’s the stars that watch them race instead. Who knows, maybe his old friend the wind will come and play awhile too.
Instead they’d want him to catch it. To say "stop". To win.
And like hell he’s ready to do that.
Because he hasn’t had enough yet. Of anything. Of youth, of freedom, of beguiling and bedding. Or simply just racing with the only friend who’s as tireless as he is. The only friend who’ll never let him win.
The first time he wants the game to stop, he trips in mid-run. A moment later, the wind stops too, dropping the copper hair he’s just dragged out of its scrunchie as he whirls past.
The wind waits for moment. But not long. He already knows.
Cause who wastes time chasing the wind when the game’s on, time’s running out and there’s a girl with emeralds for eyes and a laugh like sunshine, yelling at him to get a bloody move on and win.
End
Rating: T
Word Count: 297
Warnings: none
Summary: A reason to win.
Written for: Triwizard Tournament Quidditch Drabbles!
Chaser
He’s always loved to chase things.
His first memory was of trying to chase the wind, running across the Manor grounds until he dropped with exhaustion. He’d grin because he’d hadn’t caught it. Hadn’t won. Which meant that the game would go on tomorrow.
Catching the prize would mean they’d have to stop. Move on. Find a new game.
That was why he always refused the post of Seeker. He never wanted the game to end. And what good’s a Seeker who doesn’t want to catch the snitch. But that’s who he is. He’d race the snitch instead, chasing it down and letting it slip away, over and over until the sun turns in and it’s the stars that watch them race instead. Who knows, maybe his old friend the wind will come and play awhile too.
Instead they’d want him to catch it. To say "stop". To win.
And like hell he’s ready to do that.
Because he hasn’t had enough yet. Of anything. Of youth, of freedom, of beguiling and bedding. Or simply just racing with the only friend who’s as tireless as he is. The only friend who’ll never let him win.
The first time he wants the game to stop, he trips in mid-run. A moment later, the wind stops too, dropping the copper hair he’s just dragged out of its scrunchie as he whirls past.
The wind waits for moment. But not long. He already knows.
Cause who wastes time chasing the wind when the game’s on, time’s running out and there’s a girl with emeralds for eyes and a laugh like sunshine, yelling at him to get a bloody move on and win.
End
