It was impossible to keep an eye on both the quaffle and Slytherin's murderous Beater at the same time. Unfortunately.

Just as soon as one ball left her hands, she saw another coming from the corner of her eye. Raine backed up her broomstick, head drawing back instinctively, though not in time to dodge what had been (she would only admit this later) an expertly batted Bludger.

SLAM!

... and, audible only to her, a very sharp crack.

The bludger went ricocheting erratically in another direction and Raine clasped a hand to her face, all the time screaming:

"WHITMAN, WHAT THE HELL", or rather, "SHITMEN, GHAT GHE GHELL" through the blood pouring down her lips, which stained her quidditch pullover an even darker red.[1]

Raine lowered her hand from the injuries and the blood gushed even further. She bared her teeth - beautifully vermillion, surprisingly intact - at Theo Whitman, just as a camera flash went off in the audience.

1.	Total tally: broken nose, some terrible facial bruising, and a creaky jaw.

Erin noticed that they had scored and smiled.  Her classmate was more reliable than she gave credit for her. 

"SHITMEN HAT GHE GHELL!" Erin heard.  Idly, her mind wondered if the other keeper realized she mixed up her Welsh and French.  Still, Erin had more pressing concerns to worry about.  Like the quaffle which was back in play.  She saw that Almasy threw it to one of her chasers, but could not distinguish it from this end of the field. Her thoughts turned to the goal they had just scored.

Tawse and Morrel seemed to have decided it was open season on Gryffindor's hoops.  Which was to say, everything was normal.  That did not mean she had absolutely nothing to do back here.

"Quaffles live!  Keep it up beaters! Nice job Tawse, Morrell! Casey, get in there!" Erin yelled.  After all, if she couldn't give out friendly, unwanted, and useless advice she would probably have to fail divination or something.  And Erin really did need to pass that class.

Gracie’s mouth dropped in horrified amazement, the suddenness of it all– and the involvement of a good friend– enough to catch her by surprise, seasoned veteran though she was. Blood gushed from Raine’s nose, dripping between her fingers. Her nose looked terrible.

And Gracie – seasoned veteran of the field, and hand-to-hand combatant though she was – had yet to see enough broken noses to be fully inured to their gore. Which was why she was completely unprepared for the bludger that headed her way until it was too, too late.

The bludger smashed into her side like a troll’s fist, smaller but no less powerful. In fact, because it was smaller, the similar amount of power behind was even more concentrated, and so just before Gracie sailed through the air and into the stands, there was a sharp, instant flare of pain, needle-thin before spreading outwards in waves.

And then there was even more pain, that for a moment she could only groan with it, head lolling uselessly to the side. She had to– ungh, she had to get up, but. A minute. Just–

Someone stuck out a hand. Thank god. “Gnh,” she grunted gratefully, and gasped as she sat up, hands flying to her side as she crumpled over. A rolling wave of nausea roiled through her, and it was all she could do not to throw up.

Bludgers were landing on their marks all around as Gamp, Pitwick and Fulton seized their moment and shot across the pitch with the quaffle, trying their best to ignore the fact that Raine was bleeding from the face, and taking full advantage of the added distraction that Slant was also incapacitated.

The three of them shot towards Dark at the hoops and a last second pass and smack of the hand sent the quaffle steaming at the furthest hoop while Pitwick accidentally on purpose turned too late and ran straight at Dark.


(So sorry I completely forgot about this)

Slytherin | Chaser

The pitch was a blur of chaos and only more so than it usually was. Raine was spewing blood from her nose and Gracie was on the ground or in the stands, somewhere off her broom, Xav wasn't able to see exactly where she had ended up. Morrell had managed to score before the bloodshed started but he wasn't about to let up on her because of it. However he had more pressing matters to attend to.

The Gryffindor chasers were in full force taking advantage of the distraction caused by the injured captains and were heading straight for the Slytherin goal post. Xavier had to whip around and lean down hard on his broom just to try and catch up to them though at this rate he doubted he'd be able to get there in time to intercept. He mentally chided himself. If he hadn't been so focused on making sure the younger chaser did her job he would have been further out in the pitch to make the interception easier. He should have been playing defense instead of offense but just didn't trust his fellow chasers to play it proper.

He came into view just in time to see one of the chasers purposely pull his turn so that he was on a head on collision course with little dark, "ERIN!" Xavier shouted out over the crowd hoping to warn her in time. He didn't know if she'd take the hit in order to save the goal or give up on the goal in order to save herself some injury. He silently hoped she'd somehow be able to manage both.

Mairead flattened herself against her broom, reaching her arms far out in front of her like, mimicking the posture of a pint-sized jockey on a racing thoroughbred.  All across the pitch, the game was shifting descending from chaotic to insanely chaotic at building clip.  Games like this had a uncanny ability to take on a life of their own and, given the two houses in question, neither side was likely to hold their punches. 

She was swiftly closing in on the end of the quidditch pitch.  Either the snitch wasn't there and both she and Harper had been confused by something, or they were both quickly closing in on the snitch's personal space and the golden ball would have few options for escape.  It would have to dart off back towards the Gryffindor goals, skirting by one of the Seeker's path. 

She was within striking range of the Slytherin hoops and, unfortunately, felt the oncoming cluster pack of chasers and beaters at her back, attempting to score and defend the goals.  Harper had been ahead of her in their dash for the end of the field; with luck, he'd get boxed in by the bustle of those around the hoops.  "Aim for Harper, if ye get a chance," she called to the Gryffindor beaters as she slowed and angled back up, clearing the fray and watching the boundary, hoping the chaos would flush the snitch back out, like a spaniel flushing a quail.

Slytherin Keeper

Erin cursed, upon hearing Tawse's shout.  There was no way to make a clean save.  In addition to the body check, the quaffle was coming in fast.  Worse, the experienced chasers put enough velocity on it to the point where it was actually outside the hoop curving back in.  There was no way to dodge the man who out weighed her by two stone and block the shot.  If Erin was smart, she would probably have prioritized her body (which made her money) over saving the goal.  However, her blood was running high, and her adrenaline was pumping too.  That, and keepers trained extensively at putting their bodies on the line. 

"GURGH" Erin grunted as the chaser rammed into her.  Though she had trained for it, there was a distinct difference between training and actually getting hit.  Erin typically favored finesse to begin with, and the powerful  body check left her stunned, their combined momentum pushing them towards Erin's original objective.
 
The quaffle bobbed of her her head, hit the top of the hoop, hit the back of Erin, and fell below the ring.
 
She then looked down, originally to trail the bright red object, but noticed her green uniform had a nice large red stain on it. 

"Oh dear.  I guess this is why momma warned me about guys hitting on me" Erin said aloud, and proceeded to roll her eyes backwards and went unconscious.  As it was, all of this had happened relatively fast, and Erin had somehow maintained her center of balance while hanging over the broom, dripping blood to the grass below.

The whistle went off and Raine, clutching a handkerchief to her bloodied face, let her shoulders slump a little as the tension drained. What in Merlin's name was happening? Whitman's triumph with the bludger had practically set a series of violent events in motion. Somewhere across the pitch, it appeared that Dark had gone unconscious.

One could only assume that it was through the fourth year's bloody ineptitude, regardless of how Pitwick flew.

Fulton, however, had taken advantage of the initial surprise, and spiralled down to catch the rebounded Quaffle. He hovered uncertainly now they were out of play for a while.

There was no point in staying at her post while Erin was being tended to. Raine drifted over to the stands, and motioned the audience to make a clearing around the Slytherin Captain, whose absolutely brilliant mischance had knocked her clean off the broom. Several other players joined them as she dismounted gracefully.[1]

"Alwaysh trying to upsthage me, Shlant..." the redhead sounded distressfully nasal and, realising this, drew her wand to give her nose a good tap. It glowed briefly and then straightened out with a sickening crunch. She tried to pretend that it didn't hurt. "Better. So are you going to sit there all day?" this was addressed to the top of her friend's head. "Your Keeper just knocked herself unconscious you know."

Gracie didn't look particularly well either. Raine lost her cocksure manner and dropped into a crouch. "I see," her brow wrinkled slightly- recalling how Slant's wand had difficulties with healing charms. "Lenio Dolor Doleo Subvenio," she chanted quietly, the air between the two girls shimmering like a mirage. Heal thy enemy and thyself be healed.

1.	Anyone, or NPCs.

As the quaffle soared through the hoop, Esther’s features lit up, readying to cheer despite herself. But then the Gryffindor captain was, well, bludgeoned, which seemed to set off an immediate uptick in violence, resulting in Erin and their captain suddenly out of play, one unconscious and the other looking like she was about to be violently ill.

Looking at Raine’s bloody, skewed nose, Esther thought she might be violently ill herself; it was still badly swollen, and blood still clung to the skin beneath, staining the older girl’s mouth and clothes. The Chaser could only watch as Raine murmured something to Gracie, the words muffled by distance and the people surrounding them.

Watching them, Esther wished one of her friends were nearby and tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she joined Raine in the stands, and backed away at the captain’s behest. Which reminded her—“Erin,” she started. But Theo was already on it, bringing the girl with him to the stands (and nearly shouldering Fulton off his broom as he did).

Gracie tried to speak, or even shake her head, but decided against it when even the slightest thought of either threatened a swift and brutal reappearance of breakfast. She still laughed at Raine’s nasal greeting, but it was a weak thing at best, little more than croak. Not even the Gryffindor’s report could garner an eye roll.

The charm lessened her pain, as it was wont to do when successfully cast, which… helped her dizziness some. Okay, she thought; not concussed then. But she probably fractured something. “Thanks,” she sighed anyway, features slackening in relief. Slowly, gingerly she straightened, until she was leaning on her other hand, propped up by the one that wasn’t clutching at her side; though there was only a twinge, much more manageable than before, nothing was actually healed. She didn’t want to make anything worse by her own carelessness. “I think I cracked a rib, though,” she winced, rueful. “I don’t suppose you’d…?”

Theo appeared then, brooms in hand, Erin floating limply behind him. He held his wand in his other. Without warning, “Episkokaley,” he murmured carelessly, and smiled as Gracie yelped.

“Ass,” she hissed, glaring. But she couldn’t deny she was feeling better; as the crack mended, the pain rapidly faded into a dull ache.

Shifting his attention onto Raine, the prefect set the fourth year down on the bench, beside Gracie without looking. “Would you like to do the honors?” he inquired, gesturing at Erin’s supine form. “Or shall I?” He did not appear particularly concerned about playing the catalyst in a rather violent chain of events, much less contrite.

Which would just figure, noted Gracie sourly.

It had happened quicker than Josh could react. Three players were injured, one unconscious. He frowned at the Chaser's strategy, it looked a bit close to a deliberate collision for his liking. He'd bring it up after the game. He'd have a quiet word with Raine later ( after she had recovered, of course)- if the Chasers were breaking the rules, it was the Captain's job to deal with it, not his.

Landing when time out was called, he headed over to where the injured players had gathered, in case his help was needed. While he tended to be better at combat thta healing wounds, he was still decent at basic first aid spells. " need any help?" he called out quietly- though still audibly- since he had seen at least two head injuries, he doubted they would appreciate shouting!

(((OOC: Whose up for a thread in the in the hospital wing after the game?)))

Though not aware of it, Erin had been dragged over to the stands and placed lying down flat on her back.  She was not quite ready to come back to consciousness yet, but there was something that was waking her.  Pain.  In her stomach, pain that she would have been happy to have just nodded off.  However, Erin knew that she should probably try to stay awake, especially after...well, she couldn't quite remember what she was just doing.  Though that was typical for the airhead, she instinctively knew that she should have been able to recall...whatever it was she just did.

Still, she voiced her thoughts.  "Ow.  I feel like a minotaur just ran over me," Erin said, not really thinking about much of anything.  She noticed the weather, and thought that it would have been a lovely day to go flying.  That sort of jogged her memory, and she recalled what happened.  Slowly looking down, she saw the blood stain on her outfit.  Deciding to take it easy, Erin decided not to feint this time.

"Um, could someone cast a healing charm?  Or grab a healer?  I don't think I should be bleeding..." Erin said, somewhat out of mind,.  She had that weird detached state, not quite of shock, but that state where one realizes they just broke a bone and are preparing for the aftermath, and hoping that they can ignore it for as long as they are able. 

The thinggirl began to stir. A pity. Stepping forward, Theo raised his wand. “Be still,” he advised Erin with a kindly smile. And then amended, “turn your head,” drawing closer to locate the wound on it.

He found it before long. Scarcely sparing Joshua a glance, Theo parted blonde hair away from the bump, using his wand to do so, and drape it over a padded shoulder. “We’re fine, Harcroft,” he replied, and then gently tapped the bump with the lightest of shock spells; the fourth year was well known enough for her sub par mental facilities that one could easily dismiss her current state as an actual sign of normality, but given her most recent injuries the prefect figured it was best to be safe.

That addressed, Theo stepped back to attend to her other, (marginally) more pressing issue: the bleeding. His gaze went slightly glazed– distracted, even, as it tracked the flecks on her front –but it lasted only a second, too brief for anyone but Raine or Alex to recognize his distraction for what it was. “Vulnera sanentur,” he murmured under his breath, the tip of his wand tracing the wound.

The blood flow slowed, until it trickled to nothing. Repeating the spell softly, Theo tapped it, and watched the residue clear before giving it a tap again, lips hardly moving as blue eyes stared, intent.

Satisfied with his handiwork, the Slytherin drew away. He turned to Raine again then, a single brow lifted in silent offer.

"Huh- What?" Erin said as the shock spell tickled her senses. 

What happened afterwards Erin was suitably impressed by.  She had no idea Whitman was that good at healing charms.  She would have to look to him in the future for that.  Her normality (relatively restored) she looked around.

"I'm impressed," Erin said, remembering she meant to compliment Theo.  She slowly but surely remembered she was in a quidditch match (and rather brutal one at that), when she noticed everyone's brooms. 

Apparently she was not the only one injured here, since the gryffindor captain also had an injury remaining.  She had the distinct feeling that she would feel this tomorrow. 

Raine hovered restlessly at the centre of the Gryffindor hoops, battered quaffle resting in the crook of her arm as she prepared to toss it back into the game. She wrinkled her freckled nose - in spite of Theo's excellent aid, it still itched painfully - and pulled back with all the obvious inclination of a far reaching throw. A commotion seemed to be building up in the stands but seeing as how the last time that happened Slant had managed to score a goal, Raine was more than happy to ignore it. But just then--

-- the whistle. And an instant, petrifying roar from the crowd. Its tone of relief dominated the overall attitude.

She quickly looked up to catch sight of their tiny Seeker in ensuing triumph. The quaffle fell to the pitch and Raine tried not to let disbelief betray her countenance.  Saved by the snitch!