James Michael Hart had a childhood fascination with things that blew up.

Explosions. Pops. Snaps. Bangs. Anything that lit up and had the potential to blow off a finger or two.

As a kid in the muggle world this meant that he had to resort to sticking forks into sockets and throwing cherry bombs into the neighbors' mailboxes. It fueled his love for heavy artillery that made his time overseas bearable.

But as a young man in the wizarding world, it made him fall in love with the explosive, dangeous game of quodpot. It was a way for the kid from North Dakota to evolve from a freckle-faced runt to a guy that had a reputation for being able to play through facial scorchings and broken bones. A guy that'd had his teeth blown out in a game and had later that day gone to pose for his sophomore year picture. Grinning from ear to ear with a bloody, broken mouth like a back-alley goalie in a bad horror movie.

Jimmy had come out that morning in a very minimal version of the protective gear that most kids wore playing quodpot. He was wearing a pair of goggles around his neck and a good pair of cleats, but the only other things shielding his skin from the possibility of a good old fashioned scorching were a pair of black gym shorts, purple high socks, and a purple long-sleeve t-shirt emblazoned with a Swedish Shortsnout.

He had managed to find his two practice quods, which didn't really "blow up" so much as flash so brightly that it would render its victim temporarily blind. They were the quods that were used in the junior school. Kids' stuff. But that was where everybody started, and that was where he knew he needed to be on that morning. Square one.

Of course, he had enlisted his star athletes to demonstrate the finer points of the game, so he had also brought a few of the real thing. Nobody wanted to watch a JV team when they could be watching the Packers.

He was expecting a fairly wide range of participants given the response he'd garnered from his fliers. At first they'd been taken down because several faculty members had suspected a student of creating them given their crudeness. They featured a primitive flipbook-style animation of a young wizard (it was little more than a stick figure but he had designated the figure's wizard-ness by virtue of a pointy hat covered in stars) catching a ball, which then blew the poor kid to smithereens. The smithereens then landed to spell "QUODPOT FOR DUMMIES" on the top and the time and date on the bottom.

He'd set out a crate full of brand-spanking new pairs of goggles, and a second crate full of thick gloves not unlike those used by falconers. And then he'd flipped open a lawn chair, cracked open an early-morning adult beverage, and put his feet up on his cooler to wait for his cannon fodder to arrive.

Mace touched down on his broom, having done a few practice laps around the pitch. Funny little area, with the raised bleachers and hoops like giant bubble wands. You had to keep tight on the broom to fly through them, Mace nearly clobbered his head on the first attempt.

They were out of the North America Quodpot rotation this year but they'd been playing enough of it since there arrival. There had been that demonstration in the middle of August, though that was just for show, the flashiest broom plays they could perform. Coach Jimmy was looking to teach the foreigners the sport now.

"Gotta say, Coach, the flyers are much better than the last one." Mace had been reading one during his flight. "Neon orange and blue, it was like a trying to make something visible to a colorblind mental patient. The paper thingies, I mean."

Seeing Coach Jimmy in gymnasium purples made Mace look down in the clothes he was wearing, still in his ruffled, slept in school uniform covered in Flesh Eating Slug slime from Care of Magical Creatures. "Aw crud, Coach, did you need us in our jerseys?"

Broom in hand, Mairead dashed out of the castle and across the lawns towards the quidditch pitch.  There was no flying class for second years and they hadn't yet held Gryffie quidditch tryouts.  But, the introduction of American students had brought a whole new avenue for broom-based fun.  Mairead had never heard of Quodpod but it sounded like it shared some of the fast-paced, close contact fun that Quidditch offered.  This also seemed like the perfect opportunity to give her new broom a trial run before house team tryouts.

And, if Mairead could fill her year with two broom sports than this year might even turn out to be fun. 

Mairead had had a slight growth spurt since starting Hogwarts but at just over four and a half feet and barely eighty pounds, the second year was quite slight compared to the two guys on the pitch.  If this disparity in size even registered in the girl, she gave no indication of it.

"Is this the place?" Mairead asked, eagerly, her heavy Irish accent shining brightly through. 

She didn't recognize either of the fellows but, judging by their accents, they were American.  So far, none of her housemates had shown up.  "Me name's Mairead." 

When Élodie saw the fliers, she thought that might be a joke. But as she enjoyed jokes – not as much as sports, but a moment of amusement wouldn’t hurt – she decided to give it a try. It was a win-win situation anyway, or she would gain some laughs with another ‘dummies’, or she would learn about a new broom sport. How awesome was that?

And she got more excited when she noticed she wasn’t the first or the only person who arrived at the pitch holding her broom. She looked around and above, turning a little while walking, eyes scanning all over. She should have practiced there before, but in the middle of so many new things, that had been postponed. Another win to add on the list – in any case, she would at least have the chance of taking a ride there.

“Hello!” She greeted lively her three fellows so far. A little girl, a handsome man that should be the professor, so her eyes went quickly to the third. “Fedora boy!” She addressed him with a wider smile. “Sorry, I recognize you from the Care of Magical Creatures class. You were wearing this nice fedora with cute things on it. I am Élodie, Élodie Fontaine,” she said to him first, and then turned to the others. “But you may call me Lola. We shall have much more company, I believe? ”

Georgiana had wandered to the pitch at a rather leisurely pace, and found to her surprise that she was actually on time. Wonder of wonders. Georgiana was usually on time for class, but barely - she was one of the crowd that nearly got hit with the door and was getting comfortable as the school's bell rang.

So to be early was unusual for her. But, even if her outward demeanor was one that shouted 'I'm just here to watch you guys mess up', Georgiana was genuinely kind of interested in Quodpot. It definitely had a very American feel to it - they liked explosions, right? - but part of her could also freely admit that the idea of a game with an exploding ball had its appeal. It must have been a rush to play and a lot of fun to watch. Rather like Rugby, really.

She crossed her arms as she approached, eyes shooting to Mairead, who she recognized mostly via the kid's reputation. This seemed exactly like O Fearghail's speed. The other two were foreigners.

The couch being...actually quite good looking was a definite plus. Her stance softened slightly, the beginnings of a smirk finding her features. "Hallo," she said, gaze shooting to the cooler his feet were up on, and then to the drink in his hand. Her smirk appeared full blown. "Did you bring enough for the whole class?" 

Jimmy sized up the kids who had shown up so far with an approving nod. He was thrilled to have girls in attendance. Aside from the girls on the trip, quodpot had remained a relatively male-dominated sport at Salem, regardless of the fact that it didn't make a lick of difference whether you were big and strong or tiny and fragile when it came to the game. And one of the best players overall, male or female, Odie Eisley, had ditched him in order to- sit on her ass? Paint her toenails? Get her hair did? Jimmy didn't know. All he knew was that she was great at it and yet had no problem abandoning it.

And they couldn't have been a more diverse sample of girls, which he also enjoyed.

He squinted at Mace in exasperation. "No, I don't need you in your jersey, Steinbeck; what does this look like, a catwalk? Wear whatever you're comfortable in." After an awkward beat while he deliberated with himself, he added, "Appreciate the help." It was a wonder to him that Mace had never really copped an attitude back toward him, though Jimmy would readily admit he gave the boy a hard time just because he was a total space case.

"It sure is," he replied genially to the pint-sized Gryffindor. "Mairead? Pleasure to meetcha, Mairead." He extended his hand for a firm handshake, and added, "Jimmy Hart. You guys can pretty much call me whatever you want. I hear it all." He offered the same greeting to Elodie, and grinned a little at Georgiana. "Nice try, kid. I'm not gettin' you guys liquored up before I send you off with a bunch of heavy artillery."

"And... I see you two know each other," he waggled a finger between Mace and Elodie. "For everybody else's benefit, this is Mace Steinbeck. He's a senior at Salem, and he's pretty friggin' good at this game so he's gonna help us out. Okay. So, first thing's first, I promise I'm not gonna run my mouth all day about safety rules, but I've gotta say it at least once. We're gonna start off with the practice balls. These ones aren't gonna blow up, but they will blind you like a flashbang. You should really do your best to never be looking directly at these suckers 'cause you never can tell when they're gonna go off. The effects'll wear off after about thirty seconds but trust me, it sucks."

Setting down the practice ball he had grabbed to show- they were bright green as opposed to the real red quods- he picked up the real deal. "Once we're getting comfortable there, we're gonna move on to the genuine article. This here is a regulation quod, the same kind the pros use. If you guys have played quidditch it'll be a real comfortable size for you; it's essentially the same size as a quaffle."

"I think most of you probably have an idea of how this works, but just in case..." he held the quod out at arm's length, presenting it to the kids. "The object of this game is to not have this guy blow you up. And when I say 'blow you up' I don't mean you're gonna puff up and float away like a mylar balloon. I mean it'll legit fire and brimstone blow-you-the-eff-up."

He shook the goggles around his neck. "For that reason, you're gonna wear a pair of goggles at all times. You are also gonna wear a pair of gloves that'll keep you from gettin' your fingers blowed off. And I've seen it happen. It's not pretty."

Looking around at the group, he folded his arms. "So! Now that I've given you my spiel, does anybody have any questions before we start gettin' into the schematics of this sucker?"


(note: if anybody else wants to join in feel free to just post like youve been there since the beginning yaaay)

As those who’d shown up gathered around his and Mace’s coach, Tracy—who had been off looking for the likes of DC and Parker—finally returned, noticeably empty-handed and a little disappointed. “I couldn’t find either of ‘em, Coach,” he sighed, apologetic as he came to stand by the director. DC, he understood; after the accident, she seemed. . . wary about it, kinda, if that was the word. Parker, though—she was a bigger Quodpot nut than he was.

Then again, his fellow senior wasn’t known just for her rep on the field.

At the sight of the others, however, the boy brightened. “Oh, hey!” he beamed, flashing the smile from face to face. Some were familiar—like Elodie’s—while others weren’t, he was just as pleased to note. One of them—a little girl’s—got an encouraging grin. It was always awesome when kids were interested in learning. “You guys ready t’ play, then? Or is Coach still goin’ over th’ rules?”

Cheerfully, Tracy added, “Make sure you’ve got your stuff on right, guys.” He himself was decked out in full gear; the thought of dressing otherwise had never occurred to him. “Gettin’ blinded sucks.”

"No, I don't need you in your jersey, Steinbeck; what does this look like, a catwalk? Wear whatever you're comfortable in," coach replied.

"Awesome," said Mace, with his broom swung over his shoulder.

“Hello! Fedora boy!” Mace turned at the title. His eyes were met with the big eyes of a very cute French girl. Well, Beauxbatons didn't produce ugly wenches, now did they!

"Élodie? Lola." Mace played the words over his tongue. He could see how it could could work. "Well, I'd tell you my real name but coach is about to render it unnecessary I imagine. And those cute things were pygmy puffs. Miniature, out of the way, barely have to feed them. You want one? Just don't take it to class if Hagrid and Bai thinks its the perfect prey for some of the other creatures."

Sure enough, Coach Jimmy noted him and Lola talking and brought him up. He waved to the crowd in particular then continued talking to Lola. "That's me, Mace Steinbeck: quoted 'Friggin' Good' Quodpot player. I should have a business card," he smirked.

"Hopefully more will show up, Tracey's been looking to get some of our other Salem friends. Though having a small practice size isn't too bad. In quodpot each team starts with eleven players in the air but those that get caught in explosions are often out for the whole game."

"You've got a good build for being light and nimble," he said after giving her a once over. "Long as you aren't caught in the middle of the bang you should be fine. It's speed and reflexes that are the most valuable resources in this game. There's only a moment's notice of the pre-flash to the quod and you ain't got much time to get rid of it."