1994 Quidditch World Cup Stadium
Afternoon

"And it's Media Day here at the Under-21 training camp. I'm Maximus Bolide and to all my faithful listeners on the Wizarding Wireless Network, I'm bringing you the inside scoop on all the exciting new players. I have three such lads that i hope will be joining me shortly so stay right by your radios, folks. We'll be back right after a message from our sponsors."

Bolide was given a signal to let him know that he was momentarily off the air, and the sports personality pushed the microphone away from his mouth and cast his eyes downward to his pile of parchment which contained an organized list of questions that he planned to asked his anticipated guests. Also included were numerous scrawled notations on each of the young quidditch players that he had mentioned just seconds before.

Maximus was anxious to meet them all in person and pick their brains. He always enjoyed meeting the new players and sizing up their potential for the future.

While the advertisements continued, Max scribbled something on a blank page and held it up for his production assistant. Any arrivals yet?

The wirey man was in mid shake of his head when he heard some scuffling in the vicinity of their makeshift set. It wasn't anything like their normal set up in Hogsmeade, but when you went live on location, you had to make do without all the amenities. Luckily, they had more than enough space to work with, but they still wanted to keep an intimate feel of a studio. This meant that there was a round table set up with the mics -- Max's and three others to accommodate their invited guests.

Normally when this type of live broadcast was done from a Quidditch match, there were throngs of screaming fans surrounding the site. Though there were still quite a few devoted fans of the younger group of talented quidditch players, the camp atmosphere did keep them in check. Max was thankful of this because at least he'd be able to hear his interviewees and not be deafened by high pitched squeals.

Bolide stood, prepared to greet the first youthful victim who arrived.

OOC: Feel free to have your boys arrive in no particular order and style!

Outfit.

Things were going well.

Despite his father's best advice, Quidditch was turning into a real career possibility. He'd been constantly told "For every good player, there are ten thousand others," and that breaking into the sport professionally was practically impossible. But that pipedream was in sight, and Edmund needed to impress each and every scout he came across. He had talent, he had real talent - and perhaps it was worth taking a risk. Sure, his grades were above average, and there were plenty of wizarding accountants that would be happy to take on the former Ravenclaw, but there was no real appeal. A comfortable wage and a lifetime of paperwork, what did it even result in? A wealthy retirement? Being bored for the next forty, fifty years? With Quidditch, there was always excitement, and there was always valour. One must never forget, the Klints were notorious in their thirst for valour.

Another bounce of confidence in Edmund's step was far more romantic in nature. After months of heartache and longing, Emily had agreed to give things another shot. There was nothing like a little female company to 'reinvigorate' a broken ego, and Edmund felt like king of Diagon Alley with the girl at his side. Complications still existed in the ghastly form of George Carter (and to a far less ghastly extent, Waker Nolan) - they'd still not really discussed how such complications were to be overcome. And Edmund couldn't care less. He'd rather stick his head in the sand and forget all about her cousin and his best friend and the problems they carried. Edmund wanted to keep silent then risk losing Lou all over again.

Venturing to the former World Cup Stadium, Edmund was to be unveiled to the entire wizarding world in all his good-looking, heroic shininess. He wanted to be star beater of the Wasps, but a more enticing (and more challenging) invitation came from the Cannons. Maybe exercising his genetically inherited ability to charm and humour would come in handy. The wireless would have thousands tuned in - he'd never admit it, but nerves were beginning to creep in.

"Just smile, and don't forget to be a little chivalric, Edmund," his mother had advised, patting his shoulders and being all concerned in that way only mothers can be. "I don't want to hear you showing off and getting carried away." Edmund grinned, reliving that recent memory in his head. Mrs Klint, the anchor of the family, was always keen to try and bring her spawn back down to earth, only for their encouraging father to catapult them into the heavens once more.

"Maximus Bolide, right?" Edmund asked with a raised eyebrow. Entering the room, he immediately extended his arm for the reporter to shake. He didn't even need to ask - he could recognise this fella from a mile off. "Edmund Klint, here for the media day interview, thing."

George wasn’t sure where he was going half the time. So much had gone on in the last few weeks... How was he supposed to cope with being a graduate? Well, he did that all right, he supposed. No more Hogwarts? Could you say party? George had enjoyed the first couple weeks off by doing little to nothing. And if he fit in a trip to Spain with someone special, then at least he got some exercise in.

Now, though, he could feel the burn of not training all that time. Or not training enough. And it was time to sell himself unlike anything he had had to do before. This wasn’t school. It was Quidditch. And if he wanted to survive in it, he was going to have to put everything he had into it.

His body was sore in ways he hadn’t expected, even after playing Quidditch for years. The constant repetition of drill after drill, duck here, jump there: it was all very taxing after a while. And when he was given the opportunity for a short break to fuel up and go on the radio, well...

Who was he to say no?

After downing what felt like a small lake of water, George used the end of his shirt to wipe his mouth off. He had various bruises over his arms from where he’d deflected the quaffle. It was a feeling of accomplishment, as well as a means of ‘poor you’ when he went home. Sympathy and what he got in return for it wasn’t something he could just shoulder aside.

If someone wanted to pamper him for a short while for working so hard, he’d take it.

Stopping long enough to put some extra deodorant on, George headed over to one of the few tents set up on the pitch. There were numerous older Quidditch trainees who were trying to find their big break. It wasn’t a competition like Hogwarts. This was the best against the best for the number one spot.

Taking a moment for a deep breath, he finally stepped in. “Mr. Bolide!” Grinning, he went to meet the guy when he saw Edmund. Stopping, however briefly, his eyes narrowed. “Klint.” His voice was a neutral as he could get it. Shaking the reporter’s hand, he took the seat farthest from Edmund. He wasn’t too happy with Lou’s weak constitution to take the former Ravenclaw back.

It seemed as though Max's interview was bound to get interesting right from the get-go. The arrival of not just Klint but also Carter too was poetic timing, it seemed. Since he had his sources, and since he had broken the story about the Cannons himself, Bolide knew that the struggling team was in search of new talent to spark their march out of last place. Though neither of these two had completely proven themselves able to be "THE CHOSEN ONE" to take on that role, he knew as well as any scout did that they had potential. Max could see that both lads wanted this life something fierce and if given the opportunity, they would more than rise to the expectations.

But in due time. Max tempered his excitement about the impending interview and greeted both boys in turn. "Mister Klint...nice to meet you," he said with a smile and a hearty hand shake. He indicated to one of the seats. "Please make yourself comfortable."

Then Bolide turned to the former Gryffindor captain with another smile. He extended his hand. "And Mister Carter." Similarly, he indicated to another of the vacant seats. "Thank you both for joining me. Fans everywhere are eager to hear from you."

After shaking the second boy's hand, Bolide quickly returned to his own seat and prepared to intro the next segment. The production assistant gave him a signal that said they were back on and then went on to prepare the two visitors, ensuring they were mic'ed up and ready to go.

"Welcome back. I'm Maximus Bolide and you're listening to the Quidditch Hour. I'm now joined by Edmund Klint and George Carter, both recent graduates of Hogwarts and looking to expand their horizons here at the Under-21 camp." Bolide paused and glanced at Klint and Carter to ensure they were good to go before he launched into his first question. "So boys, I'd first like to give you each a chance to let the listeners know a little about yourself....and then possibly tell us what your goals are for the camp. Are you looking for World Cup action? Or are you both hoping to get recruited for some of the British and Irish League teams?"

"Pleasure to meet you, mate," Edmund replied, making sure his hand shake was both firm and inviting. People of great importance often judged somebody within the first five seconds of an introduction; Edmund was intent on making a good first impression. He plopped down into a seat opposite Bolide, leaning back and taking a deep breath. He'd never done anything like radio before. Sure, Quinn had hounded most Quidditch players at Hogwarts for a brief interview, but this - this was real. Eighteen years of age and already at a crossroads in life. If he did well, his career could take the most magnificent turn, but if he failed to impress? Well, all hopes of becoming a pro at Quidditch would go straight down the pan.

Edmund's well-hidden nerves started to quietly sizzle with rage as George Carter stepped in the room. Ugh, of course. Things were never going to be simple. He was sure the embarrassingly mature Gryffindor graduate would make a fool of himself, and Edmund was quite happy to sit there and watch - and not rise to any sort of bait. The last thing he wanted was to end up in some verbal exchange with his girlfriend's cousin. That wouldn't be good for anyone, not Edmund, not George, not Maximus Bolide - and especially Lou.

Ill thoughts of his co-hopeful drowned rapidly as the production assistant counted them in. It was all happening so fast. Edmund looked at Bolide momentarily before glancing around the room, trying to remember all the advice his parents had given but finding none. Just be yourself. One final sigh, and Edmund expelled our negative anxieties; this would be a walk in the park. He could charm the knickers off most girls he met (pre-girlfriend, of course), so why would this be any different?

"Well, my name's Edmund Klint," he began, his voice unwaveringly confident and oh-so-very well-spoken. "I'm a Ravenclaw grad, so peace out to all the silver eagles out there. Been playing Beater for years now, and like everybody else, hoping to get spotted for one of the big teams. It's also a great opportunity at camp to see all the talent that's out there: after all, these kids could be our future team-mates or competition, so it's always good to keep tabs."

Everything was going well. So far.

George could focus on the Quidditch reporter as opposed to Klint. He started to feel butterflies in his stomach at the mention of ‘fans everywhere’ that were eager to hear him. Still, he put on a cocky grin and nodded in agreement. “Thanks for the invitation.”

He could act like the former Ravenclaw attempted playboy wasn’t there. If he treated him like another piece of furniture in the room, it would no doubt help. Lounging back as nonchalantly as he could, while still tense and wary of the microphone near him, George raised an eyebrow and watched Maximus.

George tried not to let Edmund’s name irritate him. A tense smirk slipped on, however, and he waited, nodding towards the reporter to signal he was ready. Licking his lips, George started to speak. “We--”

“Well, my name’s Edmund Klint.”

Forcing himself not to roll his eyes, George relaxed back into the chair, staring momentarily at the microphone and then back towards the reporter. Silver eagles. Once Edmund was done, George launched into his own introduction. “And I’m George. Go Gryffindor! I’m the Keeper that’s going on your walls.” He could be cocky if Edmund was going to play the prissy school boy.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t twisting my wand for the World Cup. I was hoping the Harpies were looking for their first male teammate, but I’m quite chuffed to just be here.” Which was true enough. He’d been enjoying the drills the Keepers were running, and seeing the different techniques others were using.

Maximus found himself nodding with interest as each young lad spoke about himself, but he was also interested in watching the tension between the two. It was as if they were rivals aready. That would be great if they ended up on different teams. It would certainly provide enough drama among the rookies for the upcoming year.

"It's good to hear you blokes have such high ideals. And the World Cup is definitely on a lot of folks minds since it will be next year," he cut in. "But the more immediate future holds the next season of the British and Irish League. There are plenty of scouts here watching your skills. And some teams are more in need of certain positions than others. And in all seriousness here, boys, as much as they are scouting you, you boys must have your eyes on certain teams that you'd like to play for." He paused and waggled his brows. "Perhaps the teams you grew up rooting for? Or maybe the ones of players you follow? Come now, the fans would like to know the teams that strike your fancy and why and also which players you've been a fan of over the years...maybe even modeled your style of play after..."

Callum had been invited to do an interview with quidditch reporter Maximus Bolide- and he had readily agreed to attend. He wasn't technically allowed to say that he had signed a contract to join the Falmouth Falcons as a second string beater- things hadn't been finalized, and they wanted to wait and see what happened with one of their star players- Dominik Wiedman- before making any big announcements. Even so, everyone at Hogwarts had known that Callum was planning to go pro- and forego the last couple of years at Hogwarts to do so.

Callum slipped into the room for the interview a few minutes late- Bolide's assistant setting him up with a microphone. He came in just in time to hear Maximus' question about the teams they'd grown up rooting for. "Always been a fan of Wiedman, myself," Callum said- jumping right into the conversation. "Vicious beater, he is." Not that Callum was particularly vicious himself- it was widely known at Hogwarts that he refused to aim his bludgers at any of the females on the quidditch pitch, allowing his fellow beater on the Slytherin team to handle that. "Talented bloke, hoping to have a career as successful and long lived as his."

"If I had my choice of teams it would be the Falcons," he added. "To play alongside him- or, if he ends up retiring after this season- to replace him. What a headline that would be, wouldn't it? 'Callum Knight Replaces Dominik Wiedman as Star Beater for the Falmouth Falcons'." Callum chuckled a little. It was almost insulting- the idea that a sixteen year old kid could be as good as Dominik Wiedman, but it didn't hurt to have dreams.

Edmund couldn't help but inwardly gloat as he cut-off George; that'd teach him who was second best. A minor victory in a sea of endless warfare. Lifting one ankle on the adjacent knee, he looked every inch the English gentleman; well-dressed, well-spoken, well-bred. He wanted to impress Bolide (and the countless people listening) that Quidditch wasn't just a thug's game. Excusing the useless lump seated next to him, some pro hopefuls had something between their ears and weren't primarily concerned with what was between their legs. Those thoughts were reserved for just half of the waking day.

Callum Knight plodded into the room. Late, as expected. He was something of the delinquent at Hogwarts, and although Edmund hadn't heard good reports, the two had rarely had an opportunity to get to know one another. Well, if Edmund could call it an 'opportunity', more likely he'd taken a few executive decisions to avoid Slytherin boneheads at all costs.

Listening to Maximus Bolide was interesting, and terrifying. He knew what he was talking about, and unlike the three newbies sat before him, was a seasoned expert in this field. Edmund knew that there had been countless young chaps sat in their place - those who had shown promise but had failed to get signed and sunk into the depths of amateur Quidditch. He'd got this far, he just had to make it all the way.

"I've been a Tornadoes fan since I was six and my dad took me to my first game, so being signed with them would be an absolute winner," Edmund added, smiling at the memory of his juvenile frame on big daddy Rufus's shoulders. "But there are plenty of other teams that could definitely help me develop as a player, I mean, different teams have got different things to offer. Chasers, Seekers and Beaters are all very different after all." Edmund intentionally omitted 'Keepers' - after all, they were pretty standard wherever you looked, and in George's case, highly irrelevant.

Whereas Edmund seemed worried about things between the ears, George would’ve thought he had more to worry about between other things. There were multiple reasons he would feel sorry for his cousin, if he didn’t consider her such a prat for going back to the fool.

More importantly than Lou and her circus act of a relationship was the interview. Smirking a little at the mention of the World Cup, George nodded in agreement. He liked the idea of scouts watching him. Glancing at Callum as he came in, he merely raised an eyebrow at him. The Falcons were decent, though he couldn’t say he cared for Weidman, aside from his eagerness with the game.

George swallowed his joke about the Falcons going down in flames if Knight took over for Weidman, deciding that boasting and screwing around wasn’t in play right then. He couldn’t, however, stop himself after Klint’s clumsy statements. “And the game couldn't be played without the Keepers. Should know the game before you try to get into it, Klint.” Watching the interviewer for a moment, he continued on without missing a beat.

“My uncle, Jamie Carter, played for Puddlemere United as a chaser, but it was after they were stomped by the Portree’s that I started to gain interest in being a Keeper. Watching Meghan McCormack in action was invigorating.” Smirking, he shrugged. “I am a Puddlemere fan through and through, though. The Magpies aren’t bad either, especially with their colorful young Seeker.”

Max was thrilled with the youngest of his interviewees arrived. And some might say that he had the most intriguing story of the three lads, given that he had dropped out of school after finishing just his OWLS. The young Mr. Knight must certainly be sure of his successes, Bolide mused inwardly as he nodded to the boy as he took his seat and was properly hooked up.

Bolide was slightly surprised when Knight launched right into the conversation, hardly sitting back to get a feel for where it was going. Clearly he heard enough of what had been said as he arrived to make a contribution already.

What didn't surprise Maximus was the former Slytherin's liking of Dominik Wiedman. Bolide had watched the camp practices along with all of the scouts. And perhaps Max had been even more a fiend when doing so as he filed away each participant's strengths and weaknesses along with their overall demeanor. Max often made predictions on where certain individuals would end up and thus the talk and his own inkling that Knight would be a quick fit for the Falcons was not unfounded.

Though Knight's comments about his place on the team were a bit ambitious for one so young, they amused the reporter. "Indeed, those are certainly aimiable aspirations to have, Mister Knight. And I do wish you the very best in achieving them, with or without Wiedman's guidance."

Indeed, that was exactly what the Quidditch world needed was more bad guys, Bolide mused again.

He was about to say something else but the two older boys paused their one upmanship for a moment to acknowledge Knight's presence and then they finally answered his previous questions.

Clearing his throat, Bolide leaned towards his mic again and said, "Speaking of teams in need of players, I'm sure you have all heard of the recent sale of the Chudley Canons to the Hanovers. Big names in the business of Quidditch. And rumor has it that they plan to sign a few young lads such as yourself to hopefully be groomed into franchise players....to get the struggling team out of last place in the standings." He paused dramatically. "Are any of you fellas interested in playing for a team that is known as the perennial losers?"

Edmund chortled, falsely. It'd seem like he was merely bathing in the joke to anybody without a fraction of Hogwartian social knowledge - but to those who did understand the intense rivalry, it would sound incredibly mocking. "Carter, such a clown!" He gave his most hated enemy a grin, uncaring and completely dis-genuine. The term 'clown' was used, less funny, comedian, optimistic - more idiot, fool and slow-witted. Edmund trusted that George would understand the dig, but it didn't appear overtly nasty. He couldn't fall into an all-out slagging match live on-air.

"I don't really think it's about the win-loss ratio when being signed," Edmund began, slowly. He was thinking of all the right words to say, and his wording was precise to say the least. "When we're this young and green it's about finding a team that can help you develop as opposed to glory. I mean, the Cannons don't really have the greatest reputation, but a team seeking to change it's fortune would only make you work harder as a player, y'know? Rather than fall into a squad which were at the top of their game, and don't get me wrong, that's still an awesome opportunity, it'd be more taxing as a player to be signed to a team that's totally changing from the foundations up."

He'd never really contemplated joining the Chudley Cannons. Sure, they had a sect of devout fanatical followers, but they'd never really been one of the big names. What if he was snapped up by them? Edmund wouldn't refuse, and although caution persisted, it'd be a great opportunity. Hell, any signing would be an opportunity. Rufus, his father, had consistently said that for every great player, there were at least a dozen out there who were far better. Edmund could never be the greatest Beater who ever lived, but he could sure try and pretend he was.