My Mind Is On Overdrive (Maverick)

[Deleted]

Free time. What was that? Tristan had thought that he had once heard of the term, but in recent weeks, he believed that no such thing existed. It had been almost two months now since the attack at Gringotts. Each passing day, however, felt like it had just happened yesterday. He had already partaken in hours upon hours of questioning, filling out paperwork, and dealing with that prat Wentworth. Literally every following day had some new bit of information come out of the blue and onto his new desk in the Magical Law Enforcement department. The workload was a significant change from his previous title as Head of Magical Games and Sports a few floors above his new one. When he had the title, Tristan thought the work was boring and endless. He never got any pleasure out of signing his name to contracts for the Quidditch World Cup or dealing with the stiffs in the Ludicrous Patents office. There had also been hours of overtime at being forced to stay two or three hours after his shift was to have ended. Now, that shift never ended. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay well into the late night at the Ministry. On the not so rare occasion, he also spent all night at the building finishing up witness reports or out following reported sightings of DeathEaters and the Dark Lord. It was a far cry from staying in his office for nine hours dealing with the game and sport activities of Austria’s wizarding world.

Unbelievable as it may be, Tristan wouldn’t have changed anything for the world. He had been unprepared in knowing exactly what the workload of a full-time Auror consisted of, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing that was worth complaining over a total of twelve hours of sleep for the week. This was what he had wanted for so long and he had finally gotten it. There was no way in hell he would jeopardize his new ranking by griping about having to do his job. He had always completed assignments in front of him in a timely manner, sometimes even before the deadline. He was the type he didn’t like having burdens weighing down his mind. The burden of twenty stacks of manila folders waiting for him on his desk was something he’d rather not deal with. It could have been attributed to the high he was still running off of. Tristan had been working towards becoming an official Auror for years now. He had excelled at his training, passed his tests with flying colors and had an extensive knowledge of defense against the dark arts. However, whenever his time came to sit in front of the board for position reconsideration, he was denied. They had never given him a good enough answer just that now was not the appropriate time. It had taken nearly getting bitten by a raging she-beast for them to finally see what he could bring to the Magical Law Enforcement division. He had said nothing at the time of his promotion though. That had not been the time to reflect on past disgruntlement. There was too much in store for his future to wallow.

The department had made sure to put him to work right away. Teamed with Wentworth, which probably was the worst part of the job, Tristan was a frequent visitor at St. Everdines. He had questioned and then re-questioned every patient there who had been injured in the attack. He had also done the same to witnesses trapped in Gringotts or in Alzubra, which had been in the hundreds, and the goblins that were still more than tiffed at their bank being destroyed. Then there was the mass amount of time spent reviewing every single statement and trying to form a timeline of events and the arrival of notable DeathEaters. It was a puzzle whose puzzles seemed impossible to put together, but they had made critical improvement. They had known what had started it, that Darren Morgan was already in the bank when the two women had begun battling and that he had used the arm of his sister to call for the other DeathEaters. What was even better was that the department had snagged almost ten of the DeathEaters involved in the battle and had them locked away in the miserable confines of Azkaban prison. They had made great progress at the expense of so much time of its officials. It had been all worth it though. Despite the lingering backlash of the Austrian public, it was worth it.

The news from Rutherford had been a shock about a week before the beginning of October. Tristan was to receive three full days off from work without any interruption. The thought had been exciting, but he had no idea what to do with the free time he was going to be granted. He wasn’t used to having any form of a social life anymore. He had spent the entire day before his first day off thinking of what he wanted to do. Unfortunately, his brain had been so used to things involving the battle that it was more difficult than he had planned. When he woke up the following day he was relieved to see that he had gotten twelve hours of sleep. Rutherford had let him and Wentworth leave the office at about nine in the evening the previous night and Tristan had fallen asleep as soon as he had arrived back at his condominium. He already felt more refreshed then he had in weeks. He fell easily back into his normal morning routine he had every day before he went to work. As he sat at his kitchen table eating the eggs and toast he had made for himself, he further contemplated how to take advantage of not having to work for seventy two hours. There was always just sitting at home. He had never been fully able to enjoy his new surroundings ever since he signed the lease in July. It would be nice to lounge around and watch television and stuff his face with food that wasn’t from the cafeteria in the Ministry. Tristan also remembered he hadn’t been to the gym in ages. Though his bulky frame hadn’t suffered too badly, he missed the feeling he had after a good workout, as well as being able to admire the women who took pride in maintaining a fit physique. He sat at his table for awhile after finishing his breakfast further thinking about what he wanted to do. Finally, it came to him.

He took to the impressive gym his building had to offer for a solid two hours. While he was running a few miles on the treadmill Tristan grinned as he recalled an activity he hadn’t done in awhile. It was undoubtedly a good workout, despite just flying on a broom. It was decided that after he finished, he’d go back up to his condo, grab his trunk out of his closet and head down to the Barberus Bragge Quidditch Pitch to see if he could join in on a pick-up game of his favorite sport. Although he was incredibly happy with his new job, he did miss the reason why he had gotten involved with his former department in the first place. Besides, he hadn’t flown in months. Flying was his ultimate source of stress relief and without a doubt, the best thing to start off his free time. So Tristan had done just that. After quickly rinsing off in the shower and changing clothes he found his trunk full of his Quidditch items and his old Firebolt. He picked the trunk up in his arms and left his condo en route to the Quidditch pitch. As he stepped off of the elevator, he was thankful that the building had one. He had made up for lost time with his workout and didn’t realize how tired his arms were. He couldn’t imagine holding this blasted trunk and walking down five flights of never ending stairs. He was even more thankful that the walk to the pitch was only ten minutes. Once he had made it Tristan grinned at the entrance. There were no players flying through the air but hopefully there were some inside already.

Walking in, the grin diminished. There was no one there. Tristan did his best to push away his disappointment. Nothing should ruin his days off. He’d be damned before letting something so minor be the cause of it. Besides, it was still a September afternoon. There were only a few straggling tourists left on the island and residents were probably at work. He had just picked a bad time was all. He approached a team bench and dropped the trunk. Taking a seat on the bench, he propped his elbows on his legs and took a look around. The last time he had been in here was for Quidditch tryouts for the national Austrian Quidditch team. He chuckled to himself at the memory. The week had almost been a disaster. He remembered having the itch to be up in the sky with everyone and showing them all up. He had nineteen years of experience. He was a force to be reckoned with. Shaking his head Tristan began to unlock the clasps of his trunk, opening the lid once they had been loosened. His equipment was covered in dust. Briefly, he felt a pang of sadness. It had been so long since he had used these things. Doing his best not to dwell he began to sort through the trunk, making sure everything was where it needed to be.

[Maverick Dresner]

The air was getting cooler. Maverick could feel it whip past his ears stinging just slightly as he weaved through imaginary obstacles on his way out towards the pitch. It had been ages since he found the time to head out on to the pitch...His pick up games kept getting pushed off someone or another of his old mates also seemed to drop out. Apparently they all had ‘jobs’ and ‘commitments’ that were more important than a friendly match at the old stadium. When was that everyone his age had grown up and left him behind? That was the strangest part about being back in Austria, he had left, but no one else seemed to. The country kept going and time whipped by without him.

Maverick’s growth was stunted by his travel. It was years before he got a job…well after the whole pro quidditch experiment. How he missed those days. The perfect chance, the kind you wait your whole life to get, it was in his hands. And for one year he lived that dream, until it turned into a nightmare and the whole thing got ripped from his grasp. Maverick hadn’t completely ruled out the idea of a return to the sport. If nothing else he had spent plenty of time on his broom handling skills, it was just the actual playing of the game he lacked practice in. His eyes may have been dulled by one too many bursts of flame, he felt better physically, but strength wasn’t what mattered for a seeker, you needed handling, a good eye and quick hands…and it was time to find out if he still had it.

Maverick continued to bob and weave his was towards the pitch diving steadily downward as he approached getting so close to the wall of the stadium he could have reached out and touched it before pulling up hard. He would have fallen off the broom had he not twined his legs round it quickly as he did he zipped up over the wall and zipped around the pitch, nearly finishing off a lap before he realized he wasn’t alone. Maverick spiraled down towards the figure opening up his trunk. The face looked familiar but he couldn’t place it. Luckily, spiraling down gave Mav plenty of time to call up his old memories…from this very pitch in fact.

“Tristan?! Bloody hell mate, what are you doing out here?” Maverick called, dropping off his broom to greet his former classmate. They had played against each other rather than with each other, but Tristan was formidable on the pitch. In fact Mav was surprised to find him here and not off on the pro circuit somewhere. In any case this should make Mav's attempt at a tune up far more interesting.

((so short and basic...lemme know if you need more))

[Deleted]

From the moment he opened the lid of his Quidditch trunk, a rush of memories came swarming back to Tristan. Every item in the container had some fond recollection with it. The faded red quaffle had been given to him by his father when he was only six and in the path of becoming a Chaser. However, once his talents showed that they laid in Keeping, the man had enchanted the ball to go hurdling towards the goals of a Quidditch pitch whenever they were released in the air or thrown towards the opposite end during his solo practice sessions. The beater’s bat with a large chunk taken out of the side of it was from a pick-up game he had played with his old mate Paulos. He had been a bit too aggressive with his friend one day when they had been fooling around. Paulos had been the Chaser, he the Beater. The kid had always been a speedster on a broomstick and Tristan had been having a particularly hard time keeping up with him. He had tried every trick in the book but his bludgers always kept narrowly missing him. Unfortunately for Paulos, Tristan was extremely competitive when it came to the sport he loved. Flying high up into the air at one point he came barreling down towards his friend. This time he was able to catch up much to the dismay of his friend. He reared his arm back, ready to send the bludger below him straight towards the guy. However, unaware of his own speed, when he just overhead Paulos, he swung with such momentum that the he broke his friend’s broomstick enough to leave it hanging by only a couple of splinters and an indented beater bat for him. His old friend had refused to speak to him for a month afterwards. On the bright side, the bat made for a fantastic weapon of defense, giving bludgers a nice curve if approaching an opponent from an angle.

All other sorts of random odds and ends were scattered throughout the trunk. Old pictures from his youth, an autograph from former Greece Keeper Theron Liatos, random candy wrappers and a few random posts from “secret admirers”, who were usually just younger year girls from school, were in the mix. Tristan smiled to himself as he pulled out his old playbook. Thumbing through the pages, he watched as little x’s and o’s moved across the sheets in every which direction. He studied a few of them every few minutes, trying to go back to the game in which they had been created for. The one he had just landed on had three x’s flying towards three o’s. When the two would nearly collide, the x’s dipped out. One towards the left, another towards the right and the middle down and under the middle o. It was the play that had one Tristan and his former housemates the school Quidditch cup at the end of his 4th year. It had helped them out several times the following years as well, but never quite brought back the roar from the crowd it did that year. Smirking to himself, he placed the book back on the bottom of the trunk. He’d probably get it out again some point when he went back home later to have his time remembering the more carefree times of his life. His hands went digging through more of the mess until his fingers grazed fabric. Taking hold of it Tristan lifted up and allowed a genuine smile to come from his lips. It was his old Gryffindor jersey. Though the material was dusty, the scarlet and gold still stood out and he was filled with an overwhelming abundance of pride.

Turning the jersey backwards he laughed as he saw the bold, capitalized letters of his last name staring back at him. Tristan had always loved having people know that he was the one who had 3 school records for his talents as a Keeper. He had one for most saves in a game, one for most hits sustained in a game from a bludger while competing through an entire game and one for being on the team for all seven years of his education. The jersey was so treasured that the school asked if they could put his jersey on display in the Trophy case of the Gryffindor section of the Quidditch wall, but he denied. Although a great honor, he knew that his Quidditch career was over and that keeping the jersey in his possession would be a better reminder for him of his achievements and rare failures in the sport. Besides, Tristan was pretty sure they had made a duplicate to display alongside the original jerseys of a few of his team members. To him, the honor was just as good. The thing was about two sizes too small for him now. He had never been a small guy, always keeping up with the team workout routines and his own personal gym sessions at Ilfracombe was required for his position. He doubted he could even successfully get it over his head with the extra muscle he had put on since leaving school.

Tristan had been absorbed enough in his time capsule to not notice the silence disrupted in the pitch. Nor the figure flying towards him with effortless skill. “Tristan?! Bloody hell mate, what are you doing out here?” The voice was deeper but still recognizable. Looking up from his jersey, he chuckled as Maverick Dresner came walking towards him. Like him, Dresner had played for his own house team. The man had such hand-eye coordination that even he had envied his talents. The former Ravenclaw had once been a Chaser before fixating on the team’s Seeker position. Tristan had found Maverick to be better suited for the latter rather than the former. Although the two were similar in competitive nature, he had always respected Dresner as both a player and an individual. Pushing down on his knees he stood up as the man approached and extended a hand. “Dresner! Good to see you mate.” He firmly shook the man’s hand as the two locked. “Trying to see how many of my adoring fans were waiting for me,” Tristan joked, folding his arms to his chest. “Apparently they didn’t get the memo.” He nodded once in Maverick’s direction. “What about you? Trying your hand to see how Beating works out for you?”

[Maverick Dresner]

“Trying to see how many of my adoring fans were waiting for me...Apparently they didn’t get the memo.”

"I don't know, this looks like all of them," Maverick teased turning around to take in each of the empty stands that surrounded them. It was a very different atmosphere from the last time the two men stood together on the pitch. They were still just kids then, blue and red blurs in the sky, playing to packed stands, the noise had been deafening, electrifying. Ravenclaw's natural rivalry tended toward Hufflepuff, the plain versus the brilliant. It paled in comparison to the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry, but in Maverick always he made sure both squads respected the navy and bronze. It was a team effort of course, but at the end of the day quidditch skewed heavily in favor of the Seeker.

“What about you? Trying your hand to see how Beating works out for you?”

"Could be fun. Target the other teams seeker, hand off the bat, score a few goals as chaser, and catch the snitch to finish the game," Maverick smirked lifting the old bat out of Tristan's trunk, spinning it in his hand and taking a slow swing with it. He was sure his coordination wasn't quite right for a beater, and Mav wasn't much for props, he trusted his own body more than any outside object...besides his broom of course. He focused a lot of his free time on the practice of wandless magic, though even as an expert he would still need a wand for any truly formidable spells. But it was nice to be able to go about the day not having to reach for his wand every second.

"It's been a long time," Maverick mused, looking over the beater's bat as though he were staring into a pensieve. He'd spent 5 seasons out on this pitch, working, building all with one goal and one dream a dream that was both achieved and left wanting. A flickering flame of a career, stamped out before he could blaze his way through the record books of the pro circuit. There was of course still time. Maverick was in probably the best shape of his life and after a few years simultaneously chasing and dodging dragons, no other wizard seemed a fair match in his mind. But it was his mind he worried most about, he wasn't sure he had the proper mentality for sport and competition after so many years of flying to stay alive. But there was only one way to find out.

"So, think you're up for a little scrimmage? Don't want to dissappoint your fans," Maverick smirked once agan surveying the empty stands. Just because he respected Tristan didn't mean he didn't also enjoy ribbing his former opponent. In fact it was probably because of his respect for Tristan that Mav felt comfortable tossing a few light jabs at his old friend.

((Sorry this took forever, having trouble getting a rhythm.))

[Deleted]

Tristan laughed at Maverick’s comment. “I see you’ve still got being a jack of all trades down. Unfortunately, I could not be nearly as impressed until you go find where my fangirls went off to. I know they’re around here somewhere.” He dramatically sighed, giving the once over to the pitch again. “Perhaps I have given them all heart attacks because of my good looks.” His words weren’t to be taken seriously, though he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of having a few spectators around. Back at school, any male member of the Quidditch team who actually knew what they were doing usually had a loyal female following. As a young man, he would often compete with his fellow team mates in seeing who had the better fan base. On his team at least, he always came out victorious. German girls really dug foreign guys. Tristan had the advantage of being the only one on his team for all the years he had played for Gryffindor. There was the Turkish beater who occasionally filled it for one of the other two beaters when one was knocked out with an injury, but most girls tended to drift away from him due in large part that he only spoke Turkish and had hair covering nearly every inch of his body. That and he doubted they were too pleased with the huge uni-brow spanning the entire length of his face. The kid was a good reminder of how cleanliness and grooming worked very well for one’s reputation. Tristan would routinely check the space between his brows to make sure any stray hairs didn’t try to connect together. One day, when he thought he had actually seen something along those lines, he had asked one of the girls of his year to tweeze him. After that, he never asked again.

He watched as Maverick examined the Beater bat. His old friend wasn’t out of shape by any means. They were similar height with more than enough athleticism still left in their bones. However, Tristan knew he had a few more pounds on his frame. He seemed more apt to handling bludgers than Maverick did. Beaters often required a stouter frame because of the normal weight of a bludger. When it was travelling at fast speeds, more arm muscle was required to maneuver the ball in the direction the beater wanted it to go. To be fair though, he knew of a few Beaters here and there who weren’t that much bigger than the man. They may have been more injury prone, but they were able to keep up with the tasks the position required of them. Maverick could probably handle it since his focus during games had always been impressive, but he was willing to bet he could still get dominate if push came to shove. Tristan’s competitive nature wouldn’t be against the idea of finding out later. “It’s been a long time.” The nostalgic look his old friend was giving the piece of wood in his hand resembled the one he himself had only a few minutes earlier when digging through his trunk. It seemed as if this had been the first time he had been on a pitch in years as well. “Too long,” he said, nodding in agreement. Here they were, two men who once shared similar paths and once had dreams of becoming the most well-known names in Quidditch in the magical world. He didn’t know Maverick’s reasoning for not pursing the sport since his skills were polished and crisp enough to be remembered, but all Tristan knew was that he hadn’t heard Dresner’s name in the Quidditch world ever since they graduated Galaxia.

His own path had been a far deterrence from the one his life showed promise for at an early age. Tristan couldn’t remember ever being told the story of a world famous player who wound up a lackey for the Magical Law Enforcement department. It had been a dream of his since school though when he had researched further into the Auror field. Just because someone saw something happening for them in the future didn’t mean the present was going to make it happen for them. He could testify for that. He didn’t regret his decision at all. Protecting people and promoting the good side of wizardry did more than playing with the emotions of a dedicated Quidditch fan. In times like this unfortunately, it did seem like the only way people could be cheered up is by having a game to attend with friends and family and witnessing a great match. These times were part of circumstances that were beyond anyone’s control. Tristan tried to make himself understand that. He and his fellow co-workers could try and try again to convince the Austrian citizens that the Ministry had truly stepped up its game in the fight against evil, but the public would believe what they wanted to. He couldn’t entirely blame them. Twice now the government had been unable to predict attacks by Darren Morgan. Twice now hundreds of people had been injured or killed. Twice now the good side’s flaws had been detrimentally exposed. Not even the capture of Isis Moswen could do anything to calm their nerves. He had no idea what would convince the people that the Ministry was on the right path. All he knew was that every night after work he came home with a massive headache, in large part from frustration at seemingly no effective progress being made.

The next words that came from Maverick’s mouth were the ones that Tristan was looking for. A boyish grin appeared on his face and he lifted his arms from his chest and rubbed his hands together. Getting back into the air doing what he knew he was good at was the reason he had come down here after all. He needed a distraction from work. The thought of it already trying to sneak its way into his brain angered him. It was what he had wanted for so long, but he knew he deserved the chance to get away from the stress, even if was only for a few hours. “Yeah? I’d reckon it be a good way to wake them all up. See their idol and his wannabe in action again.” He released his hands to pat Maverick’s shoulder. He had only been in Dresner’s presence for five minutes or so but it was already a refreshing change to be around someone who wasn’t so depressing all the damn time. On top of that, it was good to see a friendly face since he had been lacking in that department for too long now. The Ministry had a sickening ability to deprive its employees of a social life. “So what were you thinking?” he asked, bending down to look at the items in his trunk. “Obviously can’t do a full-fledged game since we’re lacking the numbers, but we could do a little one on one.” He reached in and grabbed the Quaffle. “Chaser vs. Keeper? Chaser vs. Chaser? Beater vs. Chaser? I’m down for anything else though mate. It’s been too long since I’ve been up there.” Tristan paused to look up at the sky, another wave of memories flooding back to him. “Losers get first choice.”

[Maverick Dresner]

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Trist, there’s nothing wrong with being a wannabe,” Maverick said, his lips twisting up into a smirk the same way he twisted Tristan’s words. “Especially when the one you want to be, is me.” Maverick straightened his posture and made a motion as though he were adjusting a tie. He liked to think he had served as a role model in his later years with the team. Perhaps not the best role model in terms of off the field attitude, but he hoped his competitive spirit infected the young Ravenclaws he left behind to stay competitive and refuse to sink into the shadows of academia and embrace the fact that they could be smarter than the other houses, and still whoop their butts on the pitch.

Thinking? Well now there was a dangerous implication. Maverick hadn’t thought out his proposal in the slightest. It had somehow managed to slip his mind that the game in fact could not be played by two solo players, even if the fate of the game ultimately came down to seeker vs. seeker. Of course that key match-up had been left of Tristan’s list. “S’pose a seekers contest isn’t exactly fair match,” Maverick mused, allowing himself to speak his mind and see if he might be able to rile Tristan up with the comment. Seeking was a fairly easy one on one, but it lacked the instant gratification of the other contests as the snitch could decide to make itself scare rather quickly if they didn’t get a good jump on it, leaving them broom’s in hand waiting for the little gold golf ball’s return.

“How bout a bit of Chaser/Keeper to warm up?” Maverick suggested choosing not to ignore the loser comment rather than flip it as he had done earlier. It seemed the best option. Chaser/Chaser was a bit dull with no one to pass to and Beaters were out of the question with Maverick harboring no desire to take any blows to the head…which was the only way for a one on one match-up involving bludgers to end. Keeper/Chaser brought balance between aerial showmanship and competitive nature, and while Mav was unsure of his abilities at guarding the posts, he undoubtedly had a few tricks in his chaser’s bag of tricks to make his competition look foolish.

((I'm going to skip the apology this time and go right to let me know if you need more))

[Deleted]

Being referred to as a wannabe caused Tristan’s brow to rise upwards. Seemed some things never changed. There was nothing wrong with a bit of friendly rivalry. Maverick was different in the sense that he didn’t want to smash his head in the ground with his comment. If the insult had come from someone other than him, say Wentworth, he would have beaten the prat bloody. With Maverick, he just wanted to prove his friend wrong with a good ass-kicking in the game that had dominated both of their school years. “Mate, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re gonna call me out as a wannabe, at least compare me to someone with talent.” Placing his hand on Maverick’s shoulder, he patted it with false comfort. Grinning, he took it off and bent down to scrimmage through his trunk, producing each Quidditch item and placing it on the ground next to them. It was nice being around someone who wasn’t such a pain in the ass all the time. With the work that Gringotts had given him, it had been a long time since Tristan had been around someone who wasn’t a co-worker or bewilderingly good at making his life hell. He wished he could surround himself with people like Maverick more often, but his job had a strange way of taking that from him. If his social life had been weak when he was the department head for Magical Games and Sports, it was nonexistent now that he was an Auror. He really needed to change that considering how far of a stretch it was when he was a teenager in school.

Another chuckle left Tristan’s lips as Maverick mused about which pick-up game they would play, though he did have to agree with the seeker part. He hadn’t had enough experience with the position to have a fair match against the man. He considered himself to be a worthy opponent in the other ones, especially Keeping. Being a Keeper, he had been required to have knowledge with Chasing and Beating since those were the two other positions that he would be directly involved with. With Seeking, he didn’t think he had enough patience for it. The few times he had tried to play the position in pick-up games, he always wound up playing a different one. He had no desire of making that be known to Maverick though. His ego wouldn’t allow it. “How bout a bit of Chaser/Keeper to warm up?” Now that was right up his alley. Pulling the last item from his trunk, a bludger bat, he closed the lid and stood back up. “Sounds like a battle to the death to me.” Tristan could already feel his competitive nature coming out full force. It was ready to be put to work. He was slightly nervous that he was rusty. It had been a long time since he had gotten on a broomstick, but Quidditch came natural for him. After a few minutes in the air he had no doubt he’d be in game shape. He looked up at the hoops on the left with a satisfied look on his face. The urge to take flight was slowly becoming overwhelming. The side of him that wanted to become a renowned Keeper was begging to come out and take over. Once he got up in the air, it’d be unstoppable.

“A battle, but appropriate,” Tristan continued, looking at the items on the ground. He already realized that this would be one of the best days he had in months, aside from his promotion. Quidditch just had that effect on him and he was thankful for it. Grabbing his Firebolt, he looked at the broomstick with admiration. It had been with him through nearly all of his victories in the sport. The thing was old, but he was sure of its ability. He had noticed over the years that a broom’s age didn’t necessarily slow it down. It all depended on the upkeep. The last time he had pulled his out of the trunk was several months ago but it was still in surprisingly good condition. He hoped it wouldn’t fail him today. The last thing he needed was to look like a fool in front of someone he respected. “How long has it been for you?” he asked, referring to the last time he had played. While he was curious to see if Maverick would have an edge on him, he was interested in knowing if the man had the same drive he once had. If so, it was going to make for a very interesting game indeed.

[Maverick Dresner]

Maverick clapped his hand to his heart pushing his should backwards, feigning a shot to the chest. Overdramatic? Perhaps, but Maverick had always been a fan of theatrics. Joking aside though, he did now find himself question his ability just slightly. He knew he could fly, no question, but what of his skills as a player? He had bounced positions and in his only professional year wasn't even the best in the minor league he played for. Could it be that there was someone actually more talented then him? No, he was being ridiculous now. All hose who had out performed him were reliant on luck and experience, Maverick was sure he held the high ground on in-born talent.

“Sounds like a battle to the death to me.”

"How 'bout best of five? I'd hate to have to explain the body to your pals at the ministry," Maverick retorted the corner of his mouth pulling up in arrogant smirk. Call it retribution for implying he was talentless. Mav liked keeping the competitive fire alive through some good natured trash talking all the way through that final whistle. It added a nice little game of wits to what was already a battle of physical skills, a workout for the body and mind. Not to mention no one seemed to be able to pump Maverick up like himself, as he caught himself beaming as though he had already won the match, and they hadn't even taken flight.

“How long has it been for you?”

"Hm," Maverick had to consider the question. Standing here on the pitch with his school mate Maverick had barely thought a day had gone by since he was leading practices for Ravenclaw. In reality though, it had been quite some time. He hadn't really played since he'd been back. He had spent a few lazy afternoons chasing the snitch through the forest, but since he had actually taken part in a game. "Couple months," Maverick guessed. "Just pick up games, but the lack of rules always seemed to make up for any talent deficiencies," he explained. A couple was likely over generous; closer to 4 maybe 6 months since it was anything organized, but time was such a fickle thing anyway. Besides if it had been awhile for Tristan as well perhaps he could get inside his friends head, a seed of doubt that could blossom into a victory for Maverick.

"How 'bout you? Been awhile?" Again Maverick looked to slowly chip away at Tristan confidence. He doubted it would work, if there conversation so far had proved anything it was that Tristan still had enough ego to rival his own, but a harmless little mind game certainly couldn't hurt.


((Super late and a bit short. Apologies all around, but I'm hoping it's at least workable))

[Deleted]

“How ‘bout the best of five? I’d hate to have to explain the body to your pals at the Ministry.” At the mention of his job, a grin crept onto Tristan’s face. “So you’ve seen my exploits?” He wasn’t trying to boast. His face had been plastered on every single edition of the Timestopper and other various newspapers throughout the country for a month after Gringotts. Although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention that it had brought, especially from the females, he did feel as if his life was under a microscope now. A pressure rested on his shoulders now that hadn’t been there before. Every move he made was being scrutinized. It was to be expected. For starters, he had jumped from one department to another that was completely different. He had gone from being the department head of Magical Games and Sports to an ordinary Auror who specialized in capturing known criminals. Tristan understood he was still under his probation period but he wished it could have been in different times. Darren Morgan had placed the Ministry behind a glass window that all the citizens could gawk at and analyze. One wrong move and his career in the Ministry could be over. It was especially unfair considering he had only worked on the field a handful of times and that was only after the other two Auror response squads had been summoned. He had basically been part of the clean-up crew. He had plenty of confidence in his abilities. Tristan thrived off of pressure. It was how he had been so successful in Quidditch. However, flying around on a broomstick didn’t involve the lives of innocent people being at stake. Or a permanent residency in Azkaban.

Picking up his broomstick, Tristan tossed it in the air before catching it. “Nah,” he continued, “you’d be surprised mate. Not everyone would need an explanation. One in particular who’d want to identify the body as soon as he heard I was dead.” He was referring to Wentworth. That prick would throw a celebration if he ever kicked the bucket. More appropriately, Wentworth would burn his body and then feed the ashes to one of those beasts him and his goons experimented on. Though it was safe to say that the feeling was mutual. Tristan himself would have loved nothing more than to watch as the prat spontaneously combusted into flames. Their hatred for each other was deep-rooted. “I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad though. I could always come back and haunt you, forever destroying any chance you ever had at playing the game.” Chuckling, he clapped Maverick on the shoulder. It had only been a few minutes since they had started talking but he already felt more like his normal self. Being stuck in close quarters with Wentworth all day for the past few weeks had really taken a toll on him. It gave him hope that not every bloke out there was a son of a bitch. That there were still friends he could go out for a pint with to watch a Quidditch game, his normal activity before becoming heavily invested in the Ministry life. Tristan still had all day to kill. Perhaps he’d throw out the idea to Maverick if their meeting continued to go well. If not, he’d probably just go to the bar anyway. He’d need a couple of stiff drinks after working so damn much lately.

Once Maverick began to respond to his question, Tristan put the end of his broomstick on the ground and leaned against it. He was curious if his old friend had any advantage over him. If he did, there might be a chance for him to weasel it out of him to know exactly how to defend himself whenever they got up in the air. “Couple months.” He nodded, looking towards the sky. “Just pick up games, but the lack of rules always seemed to make up for any talent deficiencies.” He laughed. “They’ll do that,” he agreed. “Unless you join a league though, it’s rare nowadays to find any games that really challenge you.” It was frustrating. Tristan hated feeling rusty. Call him a bit of a show-off, but whenever he had the chance to play, he liked busting out old moves to reassure himself that he still had it. It was a pride thing. Maverick could surely understand. With two guys like them who ruled their respective house teams and had the sport as a huge focus of their life, it would sting to not be able to catch on as quickly as they once had. “How ‘bout you? Been awhile?” To say the least. He was all about psyching an opponent out, but he figured the man would know he had lied if giving any recent date. “Beginning of the year,” Tristan finally responded. “Before the department change and all.” The longer he looked at the sky, the more he was becoming fixated on the itch to get up there. The feeling of flying was indescribable. That, mixed with doing it while doing something he loved, brought him back to his youth. It was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to grow up.

“Well today should be interesting I’d wager. Tell you what. I’ll give you a few minutes to stretch your legs and remember what it’s like to be worry free. ‘Cuz once we’re up in the air mate, you might be wishing you were back on great.” A confident smirk fell on his lips. “Old habits die hard.” With that, Tristan took a few steps away from his trunk and Maverick to position himself for launch. Once settled, he lowered his body a couple of inches to the ground. Then he pushed off, propelling his body and the broom up into the sky.


(Sorry for the wait as well. Hope this works.)