Post by Sita Mehadi H7 on Feb 19, 2006 9:58:25 GMT
Ten, eleven, twelve. Tennis and ice didn't mix. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. But you wouldn't get anywhere if you didn't try new things. Nineteen, twenty, vingt-et-un. Sita Mehadi was Great Britain's innovative young genius. Twenty-three, twenty-four. A fully fledged champion of utter lunacy. Twenty-five, twenty-six. The tennis ball rushed through the air in a graceful mini arc, that path slightly curved but barely. It impacted with the courtyard wall and sped back at Sita. Whoosh. One bounce, a flurry of ice rising up as Sita hastened to aid the projectile on its journey. Step into it... whoa, sliding, sliding, doing the splits not a good idea. Sita hit the ball again somehow, wildly, feeling the pressure on the racquet as a result of the formidable speed she'd built up earlier. She straightened up quickly and was back at it again; the ball, the racquet, the wall to aim at. But she'd lost that earlier control.
The ball was going haywire. A different place every time; a different speed. Sita clung onto her racquet as if for dear life and tried to bring some control back into it, but it was no use. Where had that single brick she'd been aiming for gone anyway? Sita's eyes raced over the surface in front of her. Nope, she couldn't see it. She could see that tennis ball, actually coming back at her for once at least. A bit too fast. She gave it a massive whack with her racquet to fend it off. And off it went. Her racquet spun out of her hands too and landed a little way off. The ball was following a really odd course... Sita craned her neck to see it and ended up with a small thump on her bottom as she lost her precarious balance. The ball shook some snow off the roof onto itself as it impacted with the wall this time, and there it was coming back, a furious, hardcore white snowball. Literally. A tennis ball was a hard core for a snowball. Wait, no, it had come of the wall at an odd angle and was instead headed at speed for the flowerpot almost directly beneath the Courtyard wall. Great. That'd be herbicide! "Oh bother," Sita muttered to herself as she pulled out her wand in a race against the clock. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried, and whoa, it had actually worked. Sita watched with wide eyes as the ball soared over her head. She was actually controlling this? The idea was astonishing.
No, she wasn't, Sita decided as the ball hurtled downwards; certainly not anymore. That much was clear; where the ball was headed was not. There was a resounding cracking noise and Sita closed her eyes, fearing the worst. Everything went quiet again as Sita had stopped her activity. It didn't look as if any Professor was coming to get her for her breaking school property. Her eyes unclenched. Where had it gone? She couldn't see any obvious signs of tennis ball-wrought destruction. Sita made her way cautiously across the icy ground and collected her racquet. They had snow uncharacteristically late this year, but it was all icy by now. One glimpse of the still, frozen fountain told her what had happened. Ice was shattered around an impact crater... well, hole, in the surface, black water underneath.
Sita frowned. It should come up, surely? The image that formed in her mind right at this moment was apple bobbing. But tennis balls floated, yes? And the ice covering them? Yes, yes, ice was less dense than water; something to do with the way the molecules were packed from what her dad had told her. So it should bob back up to the surface... just would it do that in the tennis ball-shaped hole? No, seemed to be the answer with every passing second. Sita gazed forlornly into the hole. Being wet wasn't good for tennis balls, but if she didn't manage to retrieve this one at all, she wouldn't be able to play silly tennis games at all either. The other one was for serious purposes, and she had to attempt to keep that one balanced as far as aerodynamics went. Bother. You wouldn't get anywhere if you didn't try new things. What could she try to get that elusive tennis ball back?
((Vingt-et-un is twenty-one in French; I put it in because Sita counted that one in French.
)
The ball was going haywire. A different place every time; a different speed. Sita clung onto her racquet as if for dear life and tried to bring some control back into it, but it was no use. Where had that single brick she'd been aiming for gone anyway? Sita's eyes raced over the surface in front of her. Nope, she couldn't see it. She could see that tennis ball, actually coming back at her for once at least. A bit too fast. She gave it a massive whack with her racquet to fend it off. And off it went. Her racquet spun out of her hands too and landed a little way off. The ball was following a really odd course... Sita craned her neck to see it and ended up with a small thump on her bottom as she lost her precarious balance. The ball shook some snow off the roof onto itself as it impacted with the wall this time, and there it was coming back, a furious, hardcore white snowball. Literally. A tennis ball was a hard core for a snowball. Wait, no, it had come of the wall at an odd angle and was instead headed at speed for the flowerpot almost directly beneath the Courtyard wall. Great. That'd be herbicide! "Oh bother," Sita muttered to herself as she pulled out her wand in a race against the clock. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried, and whoa, it had actually worked. Sita watched with wide eyes as the ball soared over her head. She was actually controlling this? The idea was astonishing.
No, she wasn't, Sita decided as the ball hurtled downwards; certainly not anymore. That much was clear; where the ball was headed was not. There was a resounding cracking noise and Sita closed her eyes, fearing the worst. Everything went quiet again as Sita had stopped her activity. It didn't look as if any Professor was coming to get her for her breaking school property. Her eyes unclenched. Where had it gone? She couldn't see any obvious signs of tennis ball-wrought destruction. Sita made her way cautiously across the icy ground and collected her racquet. They had snow uncharacteristically late this year, but it was all icy by now. One glimpse of the still, frozen fountain told her what had happened. Ice was shattered around an impact crater... well, hole, in the surface, black water underneath.
Sita frowned. It should come up, surely? The image that formed in her mind right at this moment was apple bobbing. But tennis balls floated, yes? And the ice covering them? Yes, yes, ice was less dense than water; something to do with the way the molecules were packed from what her dad had told her. So it should bob back up to the surface... just would it do that in the tennis ball-shaped hole? No, seemed to be the answer with every passing second. Sita gazed forlornly into the hole. Being wet wasn't good for tennis balls, but if she didn't manage to retrieve this one at all, she wouldn't be able to play silly tennis games at all either. The other one was for serious purposes, and she had to attempt to keep that one balanced as far as aerodynamics went. Bother. You wouldn't get anywhere if you didn't try new things. What could she try to get that elusive tennis ball back?
((Vingt-et-un is twenty-one in French; I put it in because Sita counted that one in French.
)
And Harriet, the more detail you can give me, the easier I'll find it to reply. Just write about anything that takes your fancy really... your character's thoughts, her relationships with other characters/siblings/parents, her impression of Sita, what she notices about her surroundings... that sort of thing. With practice it'll become quite easy.