the shape of us ↠ the frasers
Summer was well and truly ending, and in true Scottish fashion, the winds and rain were picking up. Stepping out of the castle doors with Flora in tow, Lennox took in a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs and clear his head. “Good day for it,” he deadpanned sarcastically, glancing over his shoulder at his sister before turning back around. He’d pulled Flora out before breakfast, right when everyone else would still be sleeping to make sure that they had the pitch to themselves. Maybe it might’ve been seen as counter-intuitive to train with his sister, considering the fact that she was on an opposing team, but Lennox knew that if she really wanted to, she could have him knocked off his broom in ten minutes flat, practice or no practice. The rain was light, but coupled with the wind, it turned into a hazy mist that clung to his skin. Their brooms, tucked under their arms, were light as they headed down to the pitch, which was unlocked at dawn by Madame Aduras for this very purpose.
“We probably should’ve practiced more over the summer,” Lennox noted with a frown as he stepped onto the pitch, neck craning to see the stands and goal posts. “Kind of feel a bit out of shape. Anyway, just have to work harder now, right Florrie?” He’d told her his plan for that morning - of practice, of exercise - and she hadn’t been pleased; maybe she’d even thought he was joking. But he knew that with the right motivation - and the right amount of push from his side, she’d follow suit - there weren’t many places that he would go that she wouldn’t follow after. “Broom down - stretch it out,” he told her, placing his broom down and starting to stretch his legs, pulling his ankle up behind him. “And no complaining - it’s far too early for that shit.”