It was a nasty, bitter day, but most days this week had been and the rest of the month wasn't going to be much better. Erin flexed his hands to ward off the crackling cold, a little numb even in his leathers, gloves, and boots. He'd been out to fly every day that he could, even as the days got chill and short. He didn't mind much. Quidditch wasn't the kind of sport that really valued comfort.

Today he even had someone with him so he didn't have to practice alone. It was worth it every once and a while to grab a teammate to drag out on the pitch; Erin never really got tired of the catch and release of the Snitch but, no, actually, it kind of got boring. "Oi, Neifion, look sharp!" he yelled, chucking the Quaffle behind him at the bigger bloke, ducking a free bludger at the same time. Merlin, he loved having access to all the equipment. He grinned a wide slasher grin as the bludger swang back.

"Looking sharp has never been a problem for me!" Warren called out. The big red quaffle came back fast from out of Erin's hands, and it nearly took the wind out of the big Slytherin when it collided into his ribs and arms. He locked his legs tightly around his broom and forced it back, climbing higher into the air while scanning around the expanse of the pitch. He could barely make out the different balls as they swam around in the cold grey air, and a second bludger nearly cracked his skull. His eye's found Erin as the other bludger made it's first sweep at him. He circled over Harper a few times, gaining speed and height with every rotation. Finally he dove down and gave the bludger that was returning for his Captain a swift brutal kick that sent the ball skittering away from Harper. The strike also shook the bones in his leg violently, and Warren wasn't so sure he hadn't broke his shin.

"It's cold as death out today. I'm glad I'm so bloody cold or that might of hurt" he grinned hardly. He looked down at his leg and gingerly touched the leather over his shin. He winced as he realized that there was a good chance the shin might of been injured. "I think I won't be repeating that move again though. How much do those bloody things weigh anyhow?"

He tossed the quaffle back towards Erin and threw himself flat against his broom as another bludger came screaming out of the December mist and almost hit him in the midsection. 

"Looking sharp has never been a problem for me!"

Erin made a rude noise, turning his broom lazily in circles tauntingly for the bludger which whistled back at him. At the last minute Warren swooped in and kicked the thing away, the impact of his heavy boot against the iron of the ball reverberating dully. Erin swung his broom round in surprise as the bludger sailed away, then started to laugh. "Bloody idiot!" he said, snickering. "You don't kick it! That's like something I would've done." But he tucked the returned quaffle under his arm and drew closer after Warren's complaint, eyes skimming the other boy's leg. Captain's prerogative to check for injuries. It was a learned trait, not a natural one.

"You wanna wrap it?" he asked dubiously. He'd have to round up all the equipment, but they could fly down to the hospital hut. Asking Erin for an healing spell was just asking for trouble.

"It's still attached isn't it? Nothing a trip down to see old Nagde won't fix. Besides, it's not like I need my leg to practice quidditch. I understand this as fact now."

Warren maneuvered his injured leg around underneath the padding. It hurt like a few words he wasn't quick to say aloud. Although they did come quickly to mind. He figured he bruised it pretty deeply, but he decided it wasn't broken. He smirked as Erin checked his leg out. He knew the Captain knew it would take more than an injury while practicing to make Warren quit. If Warren prided himself on one thing on the pitch, it was being able to take absurd amounts of abuse and keep going back for more.

"I think I see why they use bats for those things. They aren't the lightest balls on the field."

"They're made of iron, you tosser," Erin said slowly, sarcastically, but without any real heat. A smile still twitched at his lips. He had a soft spot for bull-headed stupidity, not being allowed to engage in any this year on pain of nasty punishments. Neifion was his type of player, strong and stubborn and completely heedless of whater damage he took on the field. "Leave the bludger-wrangling to the beaters, okay? Or -" The second bludger, having whirled back on them to exact vengeance for its misused sibling, screamed past them as Erin twisted in midair, grabbing the end of Warren's broom and jerking him a crucial few centimeters out of the way. He grinned. "Get better at dodging."

Warren watched as the bludger that nearly smashed into him went spiraling back into the grey. He sighed in relief, and then spat into the wind.

"Dodging those things is harder than it looks. I think I will leave it up to the beaters to deal with them. If they can't keep the little bastards off me then I'll just have to be tougher than iron. Maybe I'll find a Ravenclaw with too much time on their hands to enchant me some quidditch gear that is impenetrable, impenetrable and very padded. I got more important things to worry about than bludgers. I've got to get that quaffle through those hoops enough times that I steal all your thunder when you eventually catch that little golden snidget."
 

Erin whistled his appreciation. If Hooch didn't catch it, that'd be a right advantage - even if only for one game. He leaned back on his broom, not to move anywhere, but to stretch, feeling the shift of his leather plates and padding. Back to the game. Enough sitting around. They were only sitting ducks for the bludgers and Erin didn't value the conversation that much.

"Empty words, Neifion," He called back behind him, off again with a flick of his broom bristles like a challenge. "You'll never steal my thunder." Who'd won the last few games on the snitch-catch alone? He grinned into the wind even as it bit, still holding the quaffle and headed for the hoops they'd agreed were Warren's.

Warren smirked at his Captain's words. If Warren had his way he'd have the quaffle most of Slytherin's next game. The Neifion boy intended on scoring enough points during that game that Slytherin would win even if their opponents caught the snitch. This was of course wishful thinking, but Warren decided it was good to have goals. That's when he realized he had another goal to be watching out for. He wrapped both hands tightly around the top of the neck of his broom, and flattened himself out along its length. Then he was off in a flash.

The haze that encompassed the pitch made it difficult for Warren to see where he was going. He was grateful for the fact that all he needed to do was get into the vicinity of his rings, fast. He squinted hard against the icy wall of wind that tried to slow him down. He pushed himself flatter on his broom, willing for it to go faster. With teeth gritted tight he barrel rolled out of the way of a bludger as it crashed towards him. It momentarily left him disoriented, and he almost crashed into the central post of his rings. He corrected himself and viciously rubbed the stinging in his eyes.

"Where are you at Harper?" Warren called out into the fog. His eyes shown brightly as his head darted back and forth. He was on the look out for where Harper might be coming from. He had moved as quickly as he could across the pitch to guard his hoops, but in the process he'd lost track of the other Slytherin and his approach.

Erin bit down on his grin. He lurked high above, not moving for the moment so as not to catch Warren's eye through the dense fog, but now he knew where the other boy was from his voice. Hell, he had the position of the hoops pinned firmly in mind even without the help.

Carefully he tucked himself down against his broomstick, wedging the Quaffle between his body and the wood, then curling an additional hand around the ball to keep it snug. His other hand tightened on the broom. Then he dove, streaking out of the sky like a meteor as the wind flattened his hair and wicked the heat out of his face. Faster and faster like he was performing a Wronkski feint, only instead of heading for the ground he was heading for the goals. Erin had been a Chaser for years before he'd made Seeker, and he knew all the tricks as well as any of the others on his team even if he was a little rusty. This, though, wasn't exactly a standard move. It might be more intimidating against a member of another Quidditch team, 'cause he knew Warren wouldn't flinch at a bit of chicken. That only made it all the more fun.

Warren listened intently for the sound of an incoming quaffle or Erin with the blasted ball. The fog was dampening all noise around him, and a bludger almost took him out because of it. He started to climb with the broom. When he reached above the central post he put the tail of his broom on it. The soles of his boots also found the lip of the massive ring. He looked around desperately, getting a sinking feeling that he might of missed Harper entirely. Just as he was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut his ears perked up. His eyes which were a color as turbulent as the weather was high up in the pitch found what he assumed was Harper. He was gaining on Warren's position as fast as Warren had seen anything move in his life.

The sinking feeling that had faded when he finally spotted Harper crept back in as he watched his Captain streak towards him like a missile. For the briefest moment Warren thought that his confidence would falter. Then he remembered that he was probably one of the biggest students in the entire school. A smirk slid onto his face despite the fact that the cold made it so that his muscles were hardly responding.

 If the two of them collided he was sure that Harper would end up just as injured or dead as he would. He steeled himself as best he could against any other lingering feelings of doubt. Then the Slytherin pushed off the ring his feet were braced against with all the strength he could muster, speeding back towards his Captain.

Faster and faster he dove, until the wind screamed past his ears and his face was entirely numb. He could just make out the rough blur of Warren below, who must have seen him because he started flying to meet him just like Erin thought he would. He started to laugh, a fierce sound of joy and challenge stolen immediately from his lips by the wind.

At the last possible moment before collision, just like he would have in a Wronski feint before hitting the ground, he wrenched his broomstick to the side. The sudden violent movement made his broom skitter out of control for a moment, something Erin had half-anticipated, and without hesitating he swooped into a roll that made his heavy Quidditch robes swing out around him like a spinning top. His stomach dropped, a feeling so wild and welcome he couldn't even spare much hope that Warren hadn't chosen to jerk away in the same direction. He surged out of the spin at just the angle to shoot forward towards the goals, the time taken to divert to the side, roll, and straighten again the thoughtless split-second of instinctive action.

If there was one thing being on the Quidditch team for five years had given him, it was this - the ability not to think, but just act, muscle-memory that made him as happy as little did. He was a little off because of the ball clutched under one arm, a variable he hadn't had to account for since his own time as a Chaser, but even that he only accepted as a new challenge. Flying - it was better than anything else he knew.