#talkalot

the talkalots;

LUCIA TALKALOT NEE DEARBORN. lucinda’s mother, lucia, was of mexican heritage. she attended hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry as a halfblood student and was sorted under gryffindor. brave and bold, and known to cuss a lot of “mierda” and other spanish profanities during trainings, she made a reputation for herself for being one of gryffindor’s pride in the pitch during her time. thus it wasn’t a surprise how lucinda inherited innate quick reflexes and agile flying skills. also in her childhood all the family ideals of her traditional mother were passed down to lucinda. she might not have a single sibling, but with the number of her cousins and immediate family members, her family can be considered large and as well as close-knit. growing up in a melting pot family, lucinda’s mother reprimands her every time she is losing her fluency in her mother tongue, mexican spanish. and says to forget one’s mother tongue was to place the final sever in the umbilical cord. luce also grew up hogging her mother’s homemade empanadas and spicy hot pots filled with beans and chili peppers.

"Right Team, if you don't quit your whinging I will make you run laps. Yes, run. I don't care if we don't need the practise, I don't want this team going to shit once I leave."

"Bit big-headed mate."

"Shut it. Right we're going to run plays. Starting with calypso. If I hear one more whine about it, I will stick you to the goalposts over night, okay? Right. Now, How's the best team in this blasted school?" 

"We are?" 

"Damn right we are." 

James stood opposite the other six members of his team. His broom was slung over his shoulder comfortably, she well worn uniform hot in the warm air. He offered the team a grin and nodded proudly as they all repeated in a yelled unison that, 'Damn right they are'.

There weren't any more matches. None scheduled anyway. Sometimes Dumbledore used to throw surprise Quidditch games to 'keep everyone on their toes.' James wasn't going to skip out on practise for anything, let alone the end of the term.

James loved Quidditch. 

He had since he could toddle. The feel of being up in the air on a broom alone was something he adored. Quidditch helped with everything. Feeling down? Take a fly round the pitch. Feeing good? Take a fly round the pitch. Got something on your mind? Have a fly. Need to clear the ol' head? You guessed it. Evans turned you down again? You know the drill. Fallen off your broom? Get back up there and fly it off. 

To James, there was nothing his broom couldn't fix. 

He was also good at it. Even if he said so himself. He'd been a born chaser. It was second nature now. He made it onto the team in second year, an achievement in itself. And was made captain in fifth, Much to the seventh year keepers annoyance. James could score enough goals in a one game so that even if the other team go the snitch, they could win. It was one thing he loved. 

"Alright guys," He clapped his gloved hands and looked over his team. "Let's get-"

"What's that?" One of them spoke up, looking towards the entrance to the stadium. Everyone else followed her gaze and James bit out a humourless laugh.