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Removing the snow from atop the wooden picnic table had been easy enough and Scorpius, now with his robes properly charmed to repel water and insulated to protect him from the cold, is lying atop of it.

With an almost half-empty bottle of (pilfered-from-his-friend) Ogden's Old forgotten beside him, a fire curling in his belly, and an old, charred broom at his feet.

He had been working on a modified charm for the broom. It hadn't turned out as well as he would've liked, as evident by the charred (and still smoking) remains of bristles.

He's obviously not too bothered by the experiment gone wrong. Maybe the firewhiskey helped or maybe it's just one of those days. Peacefully perfect - or perfectly peaceful - and he can't be bothered to care.

He's just going to enjoy the oncoming night, gloved fingers curled loosely around the neck of the bottle.

[OOC: Back! Open until it scrolls.]

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"It was a flying broom. I don't think I'd try to fly on it now."

Aside from flying under the influence of firewhiskey never being a very good idea, the broom is in a sort of bad state at the moment.

Scorpius raises his eyebrow at the coughing and spluttering.

"All right?"

"Um, yes. I'm fine," Posner manages after a moment.

"I'm...not much of a drinker, I'm afraid," he admits, handing the bottle back.

In fact, he's never had anything more than wine, but he doesn't really see the need to advertise that.

"Firewhiskey can be a bit strong too, I suppose."

And Scorpius has been stealing sips of it since he was about thirteen so he's grown quite accustomed to it.

"The burning in the throat. Most don't like that."

"Yes, that was... a bit of a surprise."

And it is quite strong, as far as he can tell. He can feel it warming his belly.

Scorpius scoots toward the edge of the table, allowing his legs to dangle over the edge. The toes of his boots just scrape the snow on the ground.

"Sorry, I should have warned you. Want to give it another go?"

The bottle is offered again.

After a moment's consideration, "All right." He carefully takes the bottle, having a smaller sip this time.

There's not nearly as much coughing, but he does remark, "It still burns a bit."

"Drink enough of it and it won't."

Scorpius laughs, almost as soon as he says as much.

"Sorry. That sounds, uhm - I sound like some sort of pedlar who hangs around the dark corners of Diagon Alley."

Posner laughs, understanding the metaphor even if he doesn't get the reference. "It's all right. I haven't noticed anything that marks you out as a pervert."

And he does take another drink to test the theory.

"That's reassuring to know," Scorpius says, still laughing and now drawing patterns into the snow with his foot.

"Not that I, er, am and keep my perverted interests well hidden or anything, but, uhm - Well, you know what I mean. I think."

He isn't quite sure he knows what he means...

Posner giggles at that, setting the bottle down carefully. "And that's reassuring to me. I suppose." He tucks his hands into his pockets and sits next to Scorpius.

"And those," Scorpius says, pointing out the shapes in the snow with a foot once Posner has taken his seat, "Are supposed to be the startings of Quidditch posts, just so you know. Not, uhm - Well, no, I think I'll just..."

He coughs into his gloved hand, and brushes the drawing away with the flat of his boot.

"Because they were sort of looking, if you glanced at them sideways, a bit like - "

Ahem!

"Right. Anyway."

Posner tilts his head to look at them sideways, considering the remains of the drawings thoughtfully with the air of someone considering a work of fine art.

"Ah. No, of course. Quidditch posts."

After a moment. "Er...what is Quidditch, then?"

"A sport in my world. We fly. On the brooms, of course, because we can't fly on our own."

That would just be silly, wouldn't it? Scorpius' tone seems to suggest as much, anyway.

"It involves Bludgers, a Snitch, and a Quaffle and the Chasers try to score goals with the Quaffle, the Keepers keep them out, the Seeker tries to catch the snitch, and the Beaters try to kill everyone with the Bludgers."

Edited 2011-01-03 09:28 (UTC)

"Of course," Posner says, nodding, though he's a bit disappointed wizards can't fly on their own.

Pretty much the only bit of that explanation that makes any sense to Posner is 'Keeper'.

"Oh. Sounds...um...complicated. Do you play?"

"As a Chaser, for my House team," Scorpius confirms with a nod. He makes a grab for the firewhiskey, taking another sip.

He might not sound like Quidditch enthusiast, but he does enjoy the sport.

"That's brilliant. You must be good, then," Posner says. "Remind me what a Chaser does?"

That makes Scorpius laugh, for some (inebriated) reason. He nearly spills some of the firewhiskey. He wipes at his jaw to make sure he isn't drooling or that there isn't any dribbling down his chin.

(He isn't. There isn't.)

"When we're not drinking firewhiskey, drawing shapes in the snow, and actually playing the game, you mean? We're the ones who score the goals with the Quaffle. There's three of us to a team and we're, basically, chasing after the Quaffle most of the game, trying to score or steal it from the other team, hence the name."

Posner nods through the explanation, reaching for the bottle to take another drink himself.

"So the Quaffle is a... what? A ball? And do you throw it while you're flying? What happens if it falls to the ground?"

"Right, a ball. Vaguely ball-shaped, anyway, with niches...grooves - What do you want to call them, I could show you."

With another small swig of firewhiskey, Scorpius leaves the bottle in Posner's care to retrieve a mound of snow from the ground and pack into a heavy snowball. He places it on the picnic table where he sat.

"It's bewitched to fall slowly so we've got time to fetch it before it'd reach the ground. If not, a steep, quick dive usually works. But you've got to time it perfectly.

"You can't actually reach for the ball, because you'll find your nose in the dirt, so it's all about the, uhm, the momentum and finding the right angle to pull up at and if you've done it just right, the bristle-end of your broom can hit it high enough so you can fetch it from the air.

"Anyway, this is a Quaffle."

After his explanation, he transfigures the mound of snow into a vaguely-shaped, bright red Quaffle.

"Normally, they, er, don't look like they're made of snow and could melt, though."

His magic would have been better if it hadn't been for the firewhiskey.

Posner takes another drink as Scorpius forms his snow-Quaffle. His eyes widen at the transformation, and he gives a definitely tipsy-sounding laugh, impressed despite the quality of the magic.

"Who bewitches them? Is it the players? Do people ever crash into the ground? What happens if someone gets injured?"

Usually he's better at controlling the questions that spill out of his mouth, but his judgment is slightly impaired just now.

Picking up the Quaffle, the consistency of it mushy and spongy to the touch, Scorpius sets it in his lap as he returns to his seat.

"No, they're officially bewitched or bewitched officially, prior-to any games. It's all very ...official."

He can almost mold the snow-made Quaffle to another shape, yet it always returns to its original Quaffle-shaped form after moments of messing around with it.

"Accidents happen all the time. I meant it when I said the Beaters are usually trying to kill everyone with the Bludgers. They might as well be, anyway. I've been knocked off my broom more than once. Nothing a trip to the hospital wing won't fix, generally. Death and disappearances, aside. The game usually goes on."

Posner watches the Quaffle in fascination, reaching out once to tentatively poke at it.

"Has anyone ever died in a school match?" He's quite impressed, really, that Scorpius plays a game he could possibly be killed in.

"Oh no, I don't think so. Nearly, maybe, but not quite. Honestly, I think it's only happened once or twice before in the history of the game. It'd of had to involve some serious fouls. We do have our rules," Scorpius says, handing the snow-made Quaffle to Posner for further inspection.

"It's not normally like that. I must not have finished the transfiguration properly."

He is somewhat drunk, after all.

Posner tries a bit of impromptu sculpting on the Quaffle, delighted when it moves back into its former shape.

"It's brilliant! I could never do something like that."

He pauses, frowning as he thinks about that. "I mean, obviously, I couldn't, because I'm not a wizard, but still. Brilliant."

Scorpius turns red in the cheeks.

"Er, thanks. It's, uhm... Well, it'd have been better if I wasn't pissed."

(Which he isn't boasting about, only stating the simple fact that it would have been.)

"But, Muggles can be rather fascinating too. I mean, you do have those computer things and such. You build all sorts of things without magic."