Post by Teresa Margarite Poole on Mar 29, 2024 13:32:01 GMT -7
make a martyr outta me.
march 2029
THE GAME STANDS WERE MUCH LARGER IN Ballycastle than Hogwarts. This was Terry's first impression after arriving at the wizarding district, the game space expansive like fields of emerald. Broken only by the towering display of wooden stands, draped in each teams colours. "So, which team is which?" Terry had asked innocently while carefully cataloguing the contents of her mediwizard pack, which had earned her a bit of scorn from the staff preparing for the 'Big Game'. There seemed to be an overwhelming favouring for the home team, a few staff members secretly hiding their Ballycastle patches and scarfs under their robes like they were harbouring contraband. Terry had made the mistake of wearing a t-shirt that just happened to be yellow and blue, and had taken a lashing from a security manager about 'equality' and 'staff neutrality', but had appeared to hum the Ballycastle chant while the teams had done their introductory lap of the stands for a cheering crowd. She'd filed that injustice away with a stern mouth, remaining staunchly professional despite her wicked desire to retaliate.
Terry had been warned that it would be a vicious game, well matched for the league and each team desperate for their win. A mere sixteen minutes after kick off her partner had already been rushed off for a broom related injury. She hadn't thought it would be quite so exciting, her eyes peeled from her position below, her staff-issued broom gripped tight in her palm. Mediwizards were required to take at least four shifts a year at sporting events, it was only fair. Though each team had their own specialised healers, the mediwizards were trained in field healing in a much broader sense. They were called for the bigger injuries, the gory ones.
The game seemed almost over when Terry was finally called into action. She'd been almost bored by the two hour mark, thinking that the snitch should surely be caught soon so that she might do more than stabilise a sprained ankle. Contemplating returning to St. Mungo's to check for an allocation job to get her blood pumping before the end of the day when the crowd went into uproar. It was not like the other injuries, which had been jeered and celebrated with a sporting blood lust. There was a collective gasp, the air going terrible still as Terry peeled her eyes to the game above her, grabbing for her broom before her name was even called into action.
It was a player, a big player by the sounds of things. Something about a foul bludger and a splintered broom after an in-air collision with a stand and the end of another players broomstick. Terry apparated onto the field with a handful of benched players who had dismounted in support of the fallen player. "Out of my way!" Terry declared, pushing her way through the crowd to drop to her knees with wand already braced for diagnostics.
"Can you tell me your name?" Terry asked soberly, casting a careful protection charm around the player before they could answer. She was already preparing to levitate them from the field for safer treatment. "Stay calm, I just need to move you somewhere safe... and quieter." She cast a judgemental eye to the swarm of players all biting at their fallen comrade.
