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Clark Dill
Boulevard Of Broken Dreams
Thu Nov 17, 2016 10:18
166.137.240.51

"Do you want to guarantee Aladren wins?" The voice was low. The tone was shady. It was, in all respects, exactly the voice of a trench-coat wearing tv villain, and when Clark turned toward it, that was precisely what he saw, complete with a handlebar mustache.

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, despite knowing perfectly well that this person was not one any decent person should engage in conversation. Every instinct told him to get out of there.

"I mean I can guarantee you a win in your game against Pecari. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"How?" Clark asked in spite of the clamoring alarms going off in his head.

The man snickered and rubbed his hands together in a truly villainous way, just to hammer it over the heads of any young children watching that this was the bad guy who should never ever be trusted. "I can ensure the snitch appears right next to you."

Well, it was certainly cheating, Clark reflected, but this was almost normal behavior from a snitch, so he felt the chance of discovery was low and despite the clearly underhanded vibes going on, at least the victory wouldn't come at the cost of harming Jamie somehow or anything like that.

"What do I need to do in exchange?" Clark asked.

"Throw a transfiguration exam," the man said. "Take a failing mark."

Clark frowned, instinctively against any plan that involved failing a test.

"Just one," the man wheedled (the word was absolutely 'wheedled' - Clark had never before seen or heard such a classic definition of the word 'wheedle') , "your overall grade will barely dip."

Clark honestly wasn't sure why he was even considering this ludicrous idea. He gad a great team, he-

"Your team will definitely lose if you refuse," the man said, turning nasty suddenly, "walk away, and Jamie catches the snitch again. You lose and so does your precious team. You'll be out of the Cup before Thanksgiving. Some leader you are."

Clark stood still, unsure how to handle this new situation. It was one thing to refuse to guarantee a win, but a guaranteed loss was another thing entirely. He had grown to like winning, and having it off the table unless he cheated seemed unfair to all involved.

"I," he began, initially uncertain how he would end the sentence, but he knew in his heart there was only one right answer here. "I guess we'll lose then," he said sadly.

The scene shifted to the Quidditch Pitch and, for just a moment, he wondered how he'd even found a shady character in a shady alleyway when he was supposed to be at a school that didn't have alleyways but then his brain shut down that line on reasoning and he accepted that it had happened as he remembered it.

The game was starting and he took off on his flamingo, flying up on the skinny pink bird to standard cruising altitude. The bird had been his trusty companion for years and they had developed a rhythm for these games, but today Frank was not settling into it. Frank was, in fact, flying entirely wrong and ignoring his instructions. Frank was doing his own thing and Clark wasn't able to get him to follow the pattern. They were just flying wherever Frank's whim took them. Even when he thought he saw a glimmer, Frank refused to turn toward it to investigate, intentionally flying away from it. And when a bat cracked against metal, Frank just kept on flying sedately, like there wasn't an angry bludger coming right at them.

"Frank!" Clark yelled, kicking and shoving, "Dive!"

He didn't and the bludhe struck hard against Clark's side, unseating him from his flamingo and he started to fall. "Eiii!"

But the fall stopped short and he started reversing direction. He was falling up, flailing his arms and yelling for someone to do something, but he continued to rise up through the cloud cover until he broke through and saw the mothership hovering above the school.

"Hello, Clark," the shady man's voice said in his ear. "It's time to come home, son."

Clark shrieked and twisted and fell out of his bed, sweating and scared, heart pounding hard in his chest. But he was safe, and it was just a dream.

He checked the time and it was far too early to get up. He laid back down and hoped the adrenaline subsided soon and he could get a few more hours rest before breakfast.

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    • Boulevard Of Broken Dreams — Clark Dill, Thu Nov 17 10:18
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