It was mid morning and Colton and Samuel had found some space on the edge of Hogsmeade to play some baseball. Well, kind of play anyway. With two people it was kind of hard, so it was more like practice. That was alright, though. Colton had borrowed a self-returning baseball from one of his classmates so that they could pitch and hit without having to chase after balls all day.

Baseball wasn't Colton's sport of choice. He was good at it, and played on the teams at his school, but football was his preferred sport.

Even so, this wasn't for anything official. He and his best friend were just having fun. At the moment Colton was pitching, battered glove in one hand and the baseball in the other. "It's a shame we didn't have balls like this before we came to Salem," Colton commented, tossing it in the air. "I used to hate having to chase balls into the outfield when we were practicing. Couldn't get anything done with just two people."

Colton spat on the ground (more for look than for a need to spit) and gripped the baseball. Colt wasn't very good at pitching, but he had been reading about it and practicing a few different throws. Mostly he wanted to master a curve ball, because those always looked really cool on television. He looked down at his hand, tucking his index finger into the ball. It was still an awkward grip, but he'd get used to it.

"I'm gonna miss playing against the other teams this year," he added. "I won't get to play sports my senior year. That's kind of a downside to this whole tournament thing." Colton paused, and threw the ball toward Samuel. It was a pitiful pitch, but better than he'd been doing when practicing on his own.

Sam took his bat- it was sticky with pine tar, and the smell reminded Sam of home- and knocked the dust from his shoes. He had his cleats, sure enough, but a simple hit-and-pitch out on the outskirts of the little Scottish wizarding village seemed... not quite the right place to break them in. After a lifetime spent on good, solid Pennsylvania heartland topsoil and the tough, loamy Salem turf, allowing their first experience on foreign soil to be so disorganized seemed downright inappropriate.

Colt wasn't necessarily the best pitcher Sam had ever seen, but he had a really super work ethic and Sam could tell that whenever he set his mind to it he made visible improvement. And besides, Sam couldn't throw a sinker to save his life, and wasn't about to even  try hurling a curveball the way Colt was now. Nah, he'd stick to turning plays in the infield, which was what he was good at, digging out tough 5-4-3 double plays and leaning over sidings to catch foul balls.

"It's gonna be wonderful weird when you graduate," Sam replied, picking a bit of electrical tape loose from the neck of his bat. "D'you regret comin' here your last year? I mean... it hain't started yet, I'm sure you could still go home if you'd rather."

He received several odd looks from passers-by, and gave a little wave in return, squaring up to the discarded hoodie they had designated as home plate. Giving his bat several twirls to loosen himself up, he finally turned his shoulder to Colt and choked up on his Louisville Slugger.

He clipped the ball, which took a funny angle straight into the air. Sam winced, laughing, and caught the ball before it would have conked him on the head. "I've been cooped up in that contraption over there too long," he commented, tossing it lazily back to his friend.

Mace was on the 'morning constitutional' or walk as he called it, but the English english had some funny phrases. The little village wasn't too bad. Though Mace was looking for something to do. Without any priorities staring him the face we wasn't sure what to do during their month here before the school year and Tournament 'officially' officially started. Wasn't there going to be some pre-Tournament whatever screening? Policies and all that? Or was he asleep when that was announced?

Hearing the familiar -crack!- of wood on ball Mace caught sight of Sam and Colton pitching and swinging. "I've been cooped up in that contraption over there too long."

"Not the roomiest thing, true. But not suffocating, otherwise Taryn would lodge more complaints," Mace said, walking closer. He did a little stretching, swinging his batting arm back and forth with elbow at a 90 degree angle. "But here's a kickin' idea. Haven't played much ball this summer."

Noticing the odd looks from passing folk, Mace added, "They have those bizarro versions of sport over here, right? Like this 'Quidditch'... what's the baseball equivalent, Cricket? We should show them how to run in a diamond and not back and forth." Which showed just how much Mace knew about the local pastimes.

Durmstrang was keeping a schedule up during August comprising of meetings, tutoring sessions and tournament training sessions - whatever they could do to keep the edge for when things began ever so soon enough.  Right now a regiment of some of the eligible candidates were swimming in the lake, a nod to one of the key challenges in the last Tournament back in '94. 

Ylva Maras was one of Durmstrang's instructors in Tangibles - that is, she taught on many subjects, but her specialty was runes and any type of written, carved or drawn magic.  And so of particular interest to her were some of the local plantlife that could be turned into dyes.  There was nothing like the fresh and wild variants and so this morning she was on the hunt for those dye-making plants to be found local in Scotland. 

The old which with the eerie silver eye patch was gliding along on her broom this morning.  Her legs were both tucked to one side of the shaft in an old-fashioned witch's broom-riding posture, and on her lap with one hand holding the page open was a giant book.  Her other hand was on the broom, directing her course.  As she came up over the hill she thought she heard an Apparition.

But what she saw were three boys.  From this distance, she couldn't tell if they were from Durmstrang or not, and so she approached.  If they were from Durmstrang, of course, she'd ask after them.  And if they weren't - well there was no harm in being friendly.  After all, they might be in her class come start of term, or so said the Headteachers; that they'd all be in classes together sometimes.  To...share the knowledge, it seemed.

"Good morning!" she called, in the local language.  Most if not all the visiting students were supposed to be acquainted with English this journey and if not - they'd all do well to practice.  They were not from Durmstrang.

"How are you boys?" 

"I dunno what I'm going to do when I graduate," Colt said to Sam. "I guess I should start thinking about jobs and all that..." He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. But that was not something to think about right now. Right now was time to play baseball, and enjoy the last year of his youth before he'd have to grow up and be an adult.

He watched as Sam clipped the ball, catching it when his friend tossed it back. "I hope we don't have to live on that damn thing all year," Sam said. "I read about the tournaments in the past and they stayed on their ship and stuff the whole year. Can you imagine? I might go crazy. Would rather set up a tent outside while the weather holds than stay holed up in that dirigible for a year."

Sam pitched the ball again, still practicing the grip of the curevball. "Howdy Mace," he greeted after he let the ball go. "You want to play?" Not that they were really doing much playing. More like killing time and getting in some half assed practice in the mean time. He would miss sports this year. Especially football. That was his bread and butter after all.

Colton was distracted when an approaching witch greeted. His attention was entirely diverted from the game as he stared at her- probably rudely. The patch on her eye was... unsettling, and she didn't look a pleasant person. She said hello and asked how they were, a strange accent tainting her words. Colt was suddenly reminded of elementary school and the way they always harped on Stranger Danger. He awkwardly shuffled his feet as he considered whether or not he should respond to her question. It would be rude to just ignore her. Sam was many things- but rude was not one of them.

"We're just fine, ma'am," he finally answered, looking from her and finally back to the two boys from his own school. "Just practicing some baseball."

Sam smiled a little and took a wide practice swing. "Well, worse comes to worse, I can always just... say forget it, and go home, y'know? If I'm not good enough at anything to get a job with any of this stuff. Which is a... a distinct possibility."

When Colt brought up the possibility of having to live on the dirigible all year, Sam let out a long breath and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, wow, I hadn't really thought about that." Sam's house- well, his old house- had been huge and breezy. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot in it, but he had grown up with the ability to go off by himself whenever he wanted. It was weird, then, starting at Salem, where he shared a room with other kids and found himself constantly surrounded by what he considered to be superfluous furniture. "Honestly, supposin's that's the case, I might just try an'... camp."

"Steinbeck," Sam greeted with a nod, offering him the bat he'd been using. "It's sticky for sure, but it's a reliable ol' piece of work."

"Yeah, I've heard that word bein' tossed around a lot. What the heck is quidditch? Is it like... it sounds like a weird card game."

At the approach of the older woman, Sam initially clammed up. Her eyepatch was unlike anything he'd ever seen, and when she spoke, he had to think hard to place the accent. Where was Youtube when he needed it?? Her appearance was really throwing him. Her hair looked wild to the boy, and were he at home he would have commented on it by laughing and saying "Right stroobly, ain't?" But he wasn't at home, he was a dignitary in a foreign land and his reactions counted for something.

"Oh, wonderful fine, ma'am. My name's Samuel. And this here's Colton and Mace. We go to Salem."

"Howdy Mace. You want to play?"

"If you got a game going. Or some drills maybe, if that's what you're doing," Mace said in a non-committal tone. He accepted the bat from Sam. "It's sticky for sure, but it's a reliable ol' piece of work."

Mace got into a batting stance, practiced a few swings, the bat cutting through the air with an almost silent whoosh! before holding it level to feel the apparent stickiness Sam mentioned.

"Yeah, I've heard that word bein' tossed around a lot. What the heck is quidditch? Is it like... it sounds like a weird card game."

"It's like, supposed to be like Quod, their broom sport. But they make it overly complicated. There's like, four balls, or is it 150? And only one of them scores, or two do. I've heard they use bats, so it might be like baseball on brooms. Though how you're expected to hit a home run on a broom is beyond me, there's not enough hands."

Then came the crone, well that's what she looked like. Mace was silent, letting Colton and Sam do the introductions. He finally spoke his own thoughts. "You foreign then?" Mace asked. "Well, I guess we're all foreign when were not in our home country, but you're not like, local? Are you from that Scandinavian school?" Which was all he remembered from the readings about the tournament and the other schools they read on the trip to Great Britain.

"Must be a killer story behind the patch," Mace added, tapping his own eye socket that mirrored hers. "Our headmaster got a peg-leg from fighting a Kraken."

Two of the boys greeted her politely and the fluency and tone of their English indicated they were probably American.  A remark about baseball confirmed it.  Still sitting atop her hovering broom, she looked them over, trying to get a gauge of what sort of boys they were.

The third boy to respond, who did not identify himself, but instead asked some intrusive questions.

Ylva closed her giant book and tucked it beneath her arm. 

"That's none of your business," she responded about the young boy's shocking question on her covered eye.  No Durmstrang student had ever dared ask, and why would they? The appearance of their professors was not their concern. 

"You must all be from Salem Witches Institute then.  I come from Durmstrang.  You may call me Professor Maras.  Do you all hope to compete as champions for your school?"

Alex flew over Hogsmede, enjoying not being at home, and the bright sunshine which seemed to bless everywhere she went this summer. She was making her way to the area at the back of Hogsmede- a field which she occasionally visited when in Hogsmede. Her bag slung over one shoulder had her lunch and a book in it, but she was planning on flying more than reading today. Peyton's enthusiasm was infectious.

Reaching the field, she noticed that there were already four people there. She quickly registered them as three foreign students and an unknown adult- probably a teacher, as the students were talking to them. Flying a little lower, the breeze carried their voices over to her, and she heard American accents from the boys, and- well, she wasn't sure exactly what the woman's accent was, but it sounded Eastern European, making her a professor from Durmstrang and the boys from Salem.

Well, she was allowed to talk to them, right?

But that would be rude and invasive, and possibly an unwelcome intrusion. So no real reason not to then, and anyway, she was, once again, bored. And it looked like the boys were playing some kind of sport, so she could always say that she just wanted to know about that- something about expanding cultural boundaries.

Her decision made, she continued flying towards the loose group, wondering what to say. "Hey, I'm Alex, and I am unbelievably bored, what are you doing?" seemed a little too honest, and, "What are you doing?" was too abrupt on its own. Swooping down,  she overheard the Durmstrang professor, "Professor Maras.  Do you all hope to compete as champions for your school?"

Drwaing to a stop, her eyes flicked over the foreigners, taking note of  the bats- they looked like beater's bats, but they probably weren't as so far as she knew Americans didn't play Quidditch. They played something called Quodpot, and their muggle game was Baseball, which, she understood, was like cricket. Looking at the Durnstrang professor, she was surprised to see such an old fashioned pose for riding a broom. Doubtless there was a reason for the eyepatch, but she didn't think it would be the kind of reason she would share with a group of foreign students she didn't know. Actually, it was rude to ask about eyepatches full stop, and although generally Alex would disregard this, she thought that in this case, caution would be her friend.

"Hello," she said, "You're from the visisting schools, aren't you? I'm from Hogwarts- my name's Alex."

"I don't know I could just go home after all this," Colt said. "I mean, it's nice at home. I like living there and my family. But it's just like... This is all so much better and more exciting than I ever imagined. I don't think I could just go back to being normal."

Colt snorted when Sam said he'd try to camp if they had to live in the dirigible. "Yeah, sounds like a plan to me. I've lived off the land before. Between the two of us we could build a pretty usable lean to. Though I bet we could magic up a tent with the help of the headmaster pretty easy too."

"Baseball on a broom would be pretty cool," Colt commented, watching as Mace got his batting stance down. The game was paused, though, when Sam started introducing them to the strange woman.

Colton winced when he mentioned the eyepatch. He couldn't help but feel like that wasn't an appropriate comment. You didn't just talk to random people about their injuries. But then again, people always were asking their headmaster why he had a peg-leg. "I heard that the alligator ate his leg," Colt said to Mace. "And that's why he caught it and stuffed it. Sorta like Captain Hook."

The woman seemed to feel the same as she simply stated it was none of Mace's business why she had an eyepatch. "I think we all hope to, Professor Maras. But I'd be just as happy cheering on one of my school mates. Just that they think I'm cut out to be a champion is pretty cool. I'd never have left the country if it wasn't for the tournament."

"Hullo, Alex," Colt greeted enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you. We're from salem. I think Professor Maras-" he motioned to the woman with the eyepatch- "is from Durmstrang. My names Colt," he added.

"That's none of your business," came the reply and Mace shrugged. Worth a shot. He wondered if it did anything special, like see through walls or unleash laser beams, before dropping the subject.

"I'll put my name in, see what it's worth," Mace said non-commitedly. He frowned at Colt's comment. Was it kraken or monstrous alligator? Truth be told, Headmaster LeBeau had at least seven variations on the story.

"Mace," he introduced himself to Alex. Colt, Mace. He wondered what she would think, that everyone from America was named after a weapon. They needed something spiffy for Sam. 'Lamb' or 'Bright' didn't have that ring of menace to it.

He continued talking to Alex. "Hogwarts then? Maybe you could tell us something about this 'Quidditch.' Is it like baseball on brooms? Or if you wouldn't say, are you thinking of putting your name in this 'Cup of Flame' bit?" he asked conversationally.

Alex was slightly surprised at their names, but, alternative meanings aside, they were quite nice names. Although she was unsure what had possessed their parents to give them such strange names. Who called their child a baby horse? Or, come to think of that, a gun? And mace... well, that was a little odd. And violent. At any other time, she would have commented, but she was in front of a teacher, and they were visiting students, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

"Pleased to meet you," she said, taking refuge in formalities and wondering how to answer Mace's question. "I don't think that quidditch is very similar to baseball," she began, frowning a little, "but I could be wrong- I've never played baseball, and I have only a vague idea of how to play it. From what I understand, it's somewhat like cricket- which is nothing like quidditch." She could feel a slight itch in her nose- the prelude to a sneeze, she suspected.

Explanation finished, she moved on to more certain territory, "And I am indeed going to put my name in the 'Cup of Flame.' I suppose that you will also be competing?" she finished, although if the answer was no she would be very surprised. After all, the only students who were supposed to be visiting England were those competing in the tournament. There was, contrary to what she had heard said, such a thing as a stupid question. The itch from earlier was getting stronger, and she had just enough time to snatch a tissue from her pocket before she sneezed. She managed to keep her grip on her broom, but not to hold back another, louder, sneeze, which was quickly followed by a third.

She couldn't stop the sneezing, embarrassing as it was, and all she could do was try and keep her balance on her broom- which was thankfully immobile. Broom in one hand, a tissue clamped firmly to her nose with the other, she focused on not falling off the broom, and, eventually, the sneezing stopped, and she looked up, the slight tinge to her cheeks the only indication of the embarassment she was feeling. "Sorry," she said,  "I don't normally sneeze like my life depends on it." And isn't that a relief, because if I did, my life would be a sequence of awkward and apologetic moments, she thought.

Sam winced when Mace asked the woman from Durmstrang- whose name he had already forgotten how to pronounce- about her eyepatch. Sure, he'd noticed it. They all had. Who could miss it? But if his parents had seen him pull a stunt like Mace just had they would have whipped him silly.

Adult women weren't nearly as intimidating to Sam as girls were. Especially pretty girls. He gave Alex a friendly smile and a nod but on the inside he was slightly panicked. "Hi," he offered weakly, trying to turn his attention back to the boys as quickly as he could. "I'm Sam. ...Lambright."

"Baseball on a broom'd be all  backwards. I doubt anybody'd get a home run ever but a grounder'd be near-impossible to catch if it took a funny hop." He imagined trying to throw a 98-mile-an-hour fastball on a broom. He was a hundred percent sure he'd slam his face into the ground trying to do so. "I hope we get to try some Quidditch while we're here, though. It sounds like a lotta fun, especially if you're not worryin' about stuff explodin' in your face the whole time."

Oddly, Alex's sneezing fit served only to endear her to him, and he smiled with a warmth he previously hadn't been able to display. "Hayfever?" he asked kindly. "It's the season for it."

He looked idly at the baseball in his hand and then back up to Alex and Professor Maras. "Would, um... did either of you ladies want to... try tossin' the ball around a while?" A beat. "Or not. Never mind. It was stupid."

He shot a look at Colt that showed just how dumb he felt opening his mouth.

In no time at all the gregarious youths were 'chatting it up' eagerly, all of them clearly excited to be meeting one another.  Whether it was that the lads were interested in the cultural differences between the United Kingdom and the USA or whether it had more to do with a pretty girl with a foreign accent - it didn't seem too important.  At least the rest of them seemed to have a little more respect than the first (now identified as Mace) and seemed polite enough.  No, not what Ylva was used to with the finely crafted, honed decorum of the sons and daughters of Durmstrang, but that's what this was about wasn't it? Exposure to different ways of doing things.  It was no lie how magical communities could become isolated from each other, what with the ancient tradition of concealment of muggles.  Tended to have the effect of concealment from everyone.

And it was perhaps that thought that tempted Ylva Maras to consider the offer to play. 

"No," she said.  "No, I'd like to," she said resolutely and set her feet on firm ground.  She set down her book and broom in the grass and began to undo the many buttons that trussed up her sleeves.

"I 'chased' as a girl," she referenced her school days on a Quidditch broom, however brief and infrequent.  "Are we going to play a proper match then?"

Colton knew a little about cricket. He thought the bat was shaped differently. That Quidditch wasn't really like baseball wasn't very surprising. He smiled, imagining as Sam described the awkwardness that would be trying to catch a grounder while on a broom.

When the girl sneezed, he immdiately piped with a "Bless you!"... And continued to repeat it after every sneeze she had. "Don't worry about it," he said when she apologized. "Not like you could help it, anyway."

Colton beamed at Sam when he offered to the professor and to Alex to try out tossing the ball. Maybe they could bat, too. It was a big step for his shy friend to invite strangers- especially a young, pretty girl.

"We don't have quite enough people for a proper match, Professor Maras," he said. "But we can try to teach you the basics. Just need someone to pitch, someone to play outfield, and maybe someone to catch? But we could go without the last, if the batter doesn't mind chasing down balls they don't hit. Could even set the pitcher to double for outfield... But it'd be harder that way... We'd have to make some bases. But it shouldn't be too hard to show you ladies how it's done."

Colt looked to Mace and Sam, then looked around for something to use to mark bases. "Or we could just pitch and hit," he offered. "Might be easier."