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The draft was always something of a mixed bag for Charlie. Sure it was nice to get a break from training once a year, come out to wherever it was that those old batty Quidditch officials had come up with to do the draft, see the new blood, trade players, get a breath of fresh air, yada yada yada. But while their were some nice things about it, it definitely had its drawbacks too. For one thing a good number of the people who came out were just pathetic.
Forget okay, lousy, not so great. She would have bet good money that a bunch of the people were going through a mid life crisis and trying to go out for their life long dream of being a Quidditch pro. The other half were kids who thought that they actually had talent, and then found out that they were wrong. That was one of the things that really rubbed Charlie the wrong way. She didn't know which was worse; that the kids had deluded themselves that they were good for so long, or that they had embarrassed themselves in front of officials and professional teams and players. She always felt bad about that, but there was really nothing she could do about it.
Charlie walked into the main complex in a bad mood. The food here was ridiculously bad, and she'd just had to endure some newbies telling her that they were the best there was. Nothing pissed her off more then people toting themselves to be something they weren't. Casting a general glare around the general vicinity to show she wasn't to be disturbed, Charlie slumped on a bench, arms crossed, and her hair in her face, the humid stale air not helping to improve her bad mood.