Pete Watkins was never known for being the quiet sort.  This rang true on the pitch as well, where he had a long habit of maintaining a nonstop litany of chatter.  He called to his team mates, he talked to himself and to the Bludgers, he mocked and shouted at the opposing team’s fliers, and he cussed in every direction available.  It was a part of keeping himself focused, a part of burning off excess energy.  Sometimes it could get to be a distraction, but in this blind environment, he did his best to use it to his advantage.  He needed Amber to know where he was, and he needed the Chasers to talk back to him, and so he let his mouth run unhindered as he flew.  

“Amber!  Incoming! Smash it, Baby!”

“Hope you ride your mum better than you do that broom, Shane, or she’ll never speak to you again!”

“Oi! TJ! Behind you!” he cried out when nothing was behind her at all.

“Shake it off!” he yelled at Caitlin.  “Get your bloody little head in the game!”

“Come here you little –“  THWACK!

“Here’s one up your arse, Westbrook!”

“You killed it, Todd!  Keep it up!”

“Take it higher, Nat!  It’s less dense!”

“MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE DAMN IT!”