marcus;
“You haven’t been knocked off your broom enough? I thought you hit your head so hard last year that you finally started to see keeper wasn’t for you.” He’s teasing to the best of his ability, though it comes out as more of a small threat (like most of his words did). A chuckle tumbles out of his lips, even though he was hoping to knock Oliver clean over. “First of all –those brooms are years old now, not that you would notice good quality. Your broom was your great-grandfather’s right? Maybe that’s why you can never make it in front of the hoops in time?”
“You should think about relying on it, might improve your game. In fact you guys are in need of a lot of things –like a swim!” In another second he is pushing Oliver again, much harder with the intention of having him fall into the lake.
“Least I can still pass a class after the amount of hits I’ve taken. Makes one of us eh, Flint?” The humour behind this has dissolved into bitterness, and his eyes narrow to challenge the taller of the two. He lets out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. “Apparently you’ve been too blinded by shiny new toys to see, but we’ve been kickin’ your arse in the tourny’s for awhile now, Marcus...”
He doesn’t even have time to retort by the time the time Marcus’ hands are against him again, though his time he doesn’t manage to regain his footing and tumbles back into the water. He’s caught off guard, but manages to swim back up to the top as he spits up lake water. “You’re a damn child, Marcus, what the bloody hell is the matter with you!” He spits back, crawling back up the grassy ledge from the freezing water, shivering. “Bloody hell...”
