Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Superman ( Chapter 19 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Fortunately, not all four year olds are like Michael Trip
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 225 | Status: Completed
Fortunately, not all four year olds are like Michael Trip
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 225 | Status: Completed
Chapter Nineteen~
“Superman” Eminem
Trowa settled himself next to a group of girls he faintly knew from his classes at Darken, and stared with some despondency at the court, which was filled with Duncan Jones players and Darken’s own team. He spotted Quatre right out, shooting sure threes and nice jump shots among his team. Everyone was having a grand time with readying themselves for the game, as both teams were quite excellent in their ways, and their players were made up of previous MVP’s, Players Of The Weeks, and all that sorts of athletic recognizations...
He had to frown, through, because this was his first basketball game that actually counted in state regulations, and watching a game that was much different from those nightly sessions at Darken was very different...the media bench was filled, the areas behind the baskets holding various photographers and gawkers, and the gym was generally crowded from bench to bench, barely leaving him room to breathe.
He shifted uncomfortably, frowning as he brought his knees up on the minimal space on the bench before him, and rested his elbows on them. The clock read ten minutes until game time, and he wondered why.
He watched Quatre warm-up, his shots true and sure, his face set in a game-like fashion. The others were randomly tearing off their warm-ups, and joking amongst each other as they readied themselves against the stiffer players of the military academy on the other end of the court.
Shifting his glance over, he saw that these players weren’t shooting randomly like the Darken team–they were executing warm-up drills and such, moving through defensive moves and offensive measures, and they all had serious expressions on their faces.
They looked ready to march into battle rather than a regulated school athletic match. He lifted his eyebrows with some reflection as he shifted his look back over to the court. Seeing that he could have a cig between then and now, he asked one of the girls to save his seat for him (of which was readily agreed), and he left the bleachers to walk outside.
He wondered if Quatre saw him, and wondered what he thought of his efforts in seeing his game. It would practically be the first–the first game he’d seen Quatre play was last year, when Middie ran him into the gym. Quatre had been excellent–Trowa had known that the blond had his particular way of playing, but actually seeing the guy in action was a totally different thing.
He knew that a lot of people were looking forward to watching him play.
Once outside, he withdrew his cigs and lighter from his jacket pockets and lit one, staring thoughtfully out into the parking lot. There were a small crowd of smokers lingering about, and he paid no attention to them as he savored the taste of nicotine and tobacco.
His ride in, a guy named Booby, was talking to a group of girls nearby, and one of them kept glancing his way. Trowa really wasn’t interested–after all, he wanted his ex back, and was willing to go all lengths to get him back. Thinking about things, Trowa realized that he could have gone about things another way–he could have done things differently. And since he hadn’t, well, this was the result. He was now forced to watch from the sidelines...
He shifted uncomfortably on the sidewalk, and finished his cigarette. Well...he was pretty stubborn in his own way. If he tried hard and if he kept his patience–there’d be no doubt he’d have Quatre right back in his arms...kicking his ass.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The tip-off was mere seconds away, and Quatre was ready to play. That familiar rush of adrenaline was coursing though his veins, causing his blood to pump madly. He felt a little bummed that he wasn’t wearing his personalized jersey, wearing a borrowed one that was blank save for a random number and the academy’s name. But he wasn’t going to let a simple thing like that distract him.
He settled himself in position, across from Triton, who was facing #72 of Duncan Jones’ team. The other players were spread in various directions, and he hoped that they played their position as he watched the ref walk up between the players, ordering a clean game between both teams.
Which was quite pointless, because Duncan Jones had been the cleanest team Quatre had ever played. They were so nice, so damn fundamental in their playing skills...
The ref held the ball between the two tallest players, and they gave each other a “good luck” comment to each other as the ref glanced at his partners that were settled away from the group of players. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the ref tossed the ball up into the air, where Triton swatted it volleyball style toward Quatre. Quatre caught the ball easily as the players moved into position to their end, and he began dribbling, feeling the orange sphere bounce comfortably within his capable hand. The crowds were cheering loudly for their team, and he zoned them out, concentrating on the game. Seeing that Duo was currently open, he shifted position away from an overcrowding Jamie, and made a quick chest pass toward the braided boy, who shifted his dribble into a quick over the back back toward Quatre.
Quatre ducked underneath #72's long reach, and found himself facing Jamie, who crowded him instantly, trying to shift him towards the sidelines.
Catching a flash of rope, Quatre winced and made a quick between the legs pass toward Duo, who caught the pass easily, pivoting to keep his body before #72, who easily towered over the shooting guard. Duo was unperturbed, dribbling around #72 with a smooth dribble, and shot an easy three over him. Amidst all the jeers from the sidelines, Duo grinned as he made the shot.
Darken began moving at Quatre’s direction, the blond gesturing for them to take position down court while he took on #25, who was their point guard, and was conferring rapidly with #17, who looked vaguely familiar. Shifting the hems of his shorts over his knees, Quatre stopped at half court, and waiting for both players to come closer, hearing the squeaks of shoes against wood as the players behind him began setting up position. Since he deemed a man-to-man strategy, Ramos giving up on trying to guide them whenever Quatre was in play, Quatre was sure that every Jones player was covered by those that were behind him, save for #17.
#25 tossed the ball to #17, and moved into a screen against Quatre. Quatre pivoted around him, seeing #17 move on the opposite side, hurling the ball to an open Jamie, who shot a three. The ball bounced off the rim with a loud metallic twang, the taller players moving in to rebound. Not one to wait around for the ball to come to him, Quatre turned and hurried over, leaping straight up into the air, catching the stray ball as it slipped from Triton’s grasp. In possession of the ball once more, he began dribbling as the other players headed down court, #25 staying with him with an exasperated sigh.
Blinking, seeing that Duo and Felicia were moving into open positions, Quatre began moving down court, dribbling almost carelessly with his left hand. He signaled toward Triton to take an out position from under the net, and for Winnie to take Duo’s spot. The Romanian immediately took over Duo’s abandoned post, while the braided one zoomed out to three point. The other players moved with them, almost fluidly, and Quatre dropped his shoulder as he moved into the area of action. His shoulder caught #25 in the gut, but that provided ample distraction for him to shoot a pass toward Felicia, who passed it quickly to Duo, who made the next three with a simple skip. The crowd cheered once more, Quatre glancing up at the score to make sure those six points were there.
Taking up position once more to face #25, Quatre glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a close player, and saw that #23 was going to move a screen into his position. #25 began moving into a fast dribble, shouting at players to move into a Onguard position, and Quatre dipped around #23, reaching out to knock the bouncing ball from #25, who cursed as he realized he’d lost possession. Already knowing and already moving, Duo had the stray ball handled, making a fast break toward his net, making an easy lay-up.
Quatre stared at the Duncan Jones players with some disbelief, because those eight points had been an easy cake-walk to obtain. He noticed that the senior players, #72, #25, #23, and #17 were getting frustrated, more so than they had been last year.
Last year they had been so easy going–! He wondered about their ability to play well as they set up position once more, Quatre quickly directing a half court defense, gesturing at Felicia to move up half court so that she could cover #17. #25 passed the ball from the inbounds pass to #23, who scowled at Quatre with a warning stare as she began dribbling, heavy chest bouncing slightly in her movements. Undistracted by that display as the other players were, Quatre immediately crowded her, his arms up and moving, keeping her from passing to anyone nearby. She had to stop dribbling, holding the ball as far away from him as she possibly could, scanning the court for someone to come and help her.
Seeing that he could get the ball, Quatre stepped in close to her, his knee pressing into her thigh, and that gave him advantage to move closer, causing her to stumble. The ref immediately whistled, pointing at him as a warning. Frowning, knowing that he could have gotten away with it if #23 had been a guy, he stepped away from her as she threw the ref the ball, so that Duncan Jones could have the inbounds pass. Quatre raced up to #17, who was preparing to throw it in, and performed a few light jumps in front of him, waving his arms around. #17 looked highly irritated, and very damn familiar, but managed a quick between the legs pass in to #25, who scooped the ball up, hurling the ball across court toward #72, who moved to put up an easy dunk had Triton not stepped into his path.
Triton’s hands easily blocked the shot, the ball bouncing back into play, Jamie scooping up the ball, taking a step back, and shooting an inside three. The ball bounced off the backboard and into the volley of players, Quatre hurrying his position away from #17 and waiting for an opening in which he could dart in and snatch the ball, lest it fall back into Jones’ possession. He watched as Felicia, Triton and Winnie battled for the ball, the taller players moving swiftly and surely against the others, and watched as Felicia came from out of no where, snagging the ball from #72 with a hard twist of her body, and dribbling out from the crowd, snickering in a cocky way.
#72 looked darkly pissed as Quatre gestured for the ball, which she easily passed up as she hurried down court, heading toward her designated position. #72 heaved a heavy sigh, #25 saying something that Quatre couldn’t hear that had to have calmed him slightly. Quatre began dribbling the ball, looking up at the scoreboard, seeing that they were still ahead, and Duncan Jones still hadn’t any points. He looked back down just in time to keep Jamie from taking the ball from him, and began dribbling rapidly as he raced down toward his end of the court. As expected, Duncan Jones’ players crowded toward him, eager to stop his sudden assault on their net, when he shot a quick pass to an open Duo, who made another three.
The crowd shouted loudly, encouragingly, as Duo exchanged high fives with Winnie, all of whom made their way back to Duncan Jones’ end of the court.
Quatre looked back at Ramos, who was looking rather pleased with all that was happening, then turned to face #25 as he slowly began dribbling downcourt, looking entirely frustrated.
Off-day? Quatre wondered as he began moving over, shuffling quickly to keep up with the taller player. #25 kept the ball from his reach, dribbling with his left, but it was apparent that was his weak side, so Quatre planned on using that against him, crowding him slightly toward the sidelines. When #25 pulled his arm back to throw the ball toward a passing player, Quatre easily intercepted, slapping the ball out of mid air, making it a free ball as it bounced toward their end of the court. Running after it, he scooped it up easily within his hand, and made an easy bank shot, even as a couple of Duncan Jones players shot past him in an effort to stop him.
“What’s going on?” he had to ask Jamie as the ref took the ball, and waited for a Jones player to retrieve it.
Jamie managed a tight shrug, his eyes darting about nervously as he hurried away to take position.
Quatre was bewildered by Duncan Jones’ lack of playing–they were just too tense, or suddenly had too much on their minds to focus on the game. He glanced back over his shoulder at his players, seeing that Triton was covering #72, Duo was on #23, Felicia was goading #17, Winnie on Jamie, and Quatre himself was on #25. He turned to see #25 looking highly stressed, his eyes darting around rapidly, and he immediately called out for another set-up to be activated.
His players moved quickly, a loud thump and a squeak signaling that someone had lost their footing, and a quick shuffle of sound that had Quatre pivoting, just in time to avoid a screen that #17 put up to keep him from going after #25. He moved quickly, brushing up past #25, and forced the ball from #25's dribbling, the ball bouncing forward toward Duo. Duo quickly scooped up the ball before #25 could regain his possession, and tossed it to Quatre, who made the quick break down court for an easy two. Seeing that they were playing much too easily, Quatre turned, walking down to the half court line, shoulders jerking upward in a curious gesture towards Duo, who had noticed the lack of playing on the other team’s effort.
“Maybe they’re just off?” Triton suggested from his position, wiping away straight black hair from his forehead as #25 held a pow-wow with #17 and #72, both of whom looked easily frustrated as they walked, #72 signaling for a sub.
Quatre was just stunned–last year, they had all been so into the game, moving quickly and effortlessly, playing with a fluid grace that had him moving hard just to keep up.
But this time...it was as if their hearts weren’t into the game. He saw the quick signal for #25 to be subbed out as well, and he raised an eyebrow, catching Jamie’s eye once more. The dark haired boy merely glanced beyond Quatre’s shoulder with a nervous indication, and Quatre glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Felicia was looking rather amused at the entire thing, picking at one of her nails.
Damn girls, Quatre thought with a scowl. Always needing to pick at something...
#25 began moving quickly, drawing his attention right back, and Quatre darted toward him, eyes focused on the ball. He noticed the point’s shoes shift to indicate change of direction, and moved in the opposite, seeing that his impulsive move was right-on, because even as #25 performed the fake-out in one direction, he was already moving to pass in the other. Quatre easily caught the ball with his left hand, pulling it into a quick right hand dribble, that easily shifted back to his left as #25 raced up at him with a loud protest of sound.
It was an easy avoidance, and Quatre saw no need to make a quick pass as he calmly made a three from the outside line, the ball swishing noisily through the net. He looked over at #25 with a confused expression, seeing the boy run his hands through his short hair with agitation, looking quite miffed with things as he glanced at the score.
“You all okay?” Quatre asked, glancing over to see that Jamie was taking the ball out, throwing the inbounds toward #23. “You’re not playing good at all...”
“Yeah, thanks,” #25 muttered, seemingly uncharacteristic about things.
“I’m just asking. Last year you gave better game. This year, it’s like you’re too occupied with things,” Quatre pointed out, gesturing at Duo to take his position while he took his. He noticed that Ramos was signaling for subs, sending up a change of players, but leaving him in. Of course he wouldn’t take out his star player...
“Well...yeah, for one. It’s just...well, maybe we’ll relax enough to give you a better challenge,” #25 said with a derisive snort, hands on his slim hips.
Quatre frowned at him, then watched as the ref signaled for the change of subs. Indeed, Felicia, Duo, Triton, and Winnie were exchanged with Derrick, Paul, Mariemaia, and Otto. He gave another glance in #25's direction, then slowly moved up court to do his thing against #17, who was taking out the ball, waiting to make an inbounds pass.
He hoped Duncan Jones began to step-up–playing a good team that wasn’t even trying was both insulting and boring.
During the end of second quarter, he noticed a definite improvement, and he had to wonder why. #25 was passing better, their shots were actually making it, and a few of the second string players that Ramos had signaled in were taken out, replaced by Duo, Triton, and Winnie. Mariemaia was actually holding up her end with at least six points, and Quatre was quite impressed. For a girl, she was actually pretty good. She wasn’t intimidated by the other players, and had made two threes out of that six.
By the time the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the first half, Darken was up by four against Duncan Jones.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“They’re playing like shit, man!” Duo exclaimed, adjusting his headband, making sure that all his bangs were tucked out of his face. They were all gathered within the men’s locker room for a team conference while Darken’s cheerleaders and dance team moved their groove to something hip-hop on the court, entertaining the crowd. “It’s like they weren’t even fuckin’ trying!”
“Maybe they were just tired, or something?” Otto suggested as Ramos made sure every player that played had some water and were fine with their physical condition. Duncan Jones hadn’t run them into the ground–they were all in good condition, but it was always good to be sure that they stayed that way.
“Something, I don’t know...they could at least step up a little more,” Duo grumbled, feeling a little annoyed at the other team’s lack of response. He lifted a leg, adjusting his knee brace as Hiiro elbowed him in the spine, making him wince.
“Despite it all, I think you guys are playing like shit,” Ramos interrupted, glaring at them all. “You could step it up yourselves. Winner, you have only twelve points. Maxwell, you have twenty-two. You both usually average more than that.”
“I can’t play against somebody that ain’t going to play me back!” Duo whined while Quatre scowled, sure that he’d had more points than that.
“It’s not that fun, coach. Lay off,” Triton muttered from the back, where he was contemplating his shoelaces as he sat on a bench.
“Matter of the fact is, both teams are playing like shit, and we’re ranked third in the league! What’s going on?! Don’t let their mood affect yours! Get out there and play! Or is it the fact that all those cameras out there are getting your prissiness all in a wad?!” Ramos demanded, glaring at his players.
“Dude, I’m just worried that my hair isn’t as pretty as it should be,” Triton snickered.
“Yeah, I’m sure my pimples are standing out whenever I make a pass,” Paul chuckled.
“And I’m sure I shaved this morning, but it all grew back since it was so fuckin’ ass cold outside!” Duo complained, gesturing at his legs.
Ramos rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap, team. Just get out there and put a little more effort into things. You’re embarrassing me.”
“As if you had a lot to teach us,” Winnie whined.
“Yeah!”
“Word!”
“If any one of you continues to play in your non-customary manner, I’m benching all of you and letting second string play all through-out this tournament!” Ramos threatened, waving his clipboard around.
“Ah, not second string!” Triton stressed.
“Get out there and bust your asses, all right? Knock off this wimpy bullshit and play normally. Like you would at practice. Maxwell, I expect you to have more than forty points by the time we’re done...”
“‘Forty’?!” Duo screeched. “Geez, what the hell?! That’s more than I make...er...I guess I can try...”
“No trying. Just do.”
“Damn, man. Ride my ass,” Duo muttered, elbowing Hiiro when the Japanese snickered. The team began moving once more, heading out to the gym, watching the dance team finish up their routine.
Beside him, Felicia was mimicking the moves in customary fashion, adding a little bounce in the hips and getting as much wiggle as she could from her chest. Quatre merely elbowed her, finding it fun that he was able to damage her as much as she could damage him without those armbands.
As soon as the dance team left the court, they took over once more, shooting lazily while they waited for the clock to run through half-time’s timer, and for Duncan Jones to return.
The photographers and media balcony were going crazy, capturing their photos, a few members of the team posing for several. Quatre merely shook his head in annoyance and focused on his shots, wondering why Duncan Jones wasn’t putting their efforts into things. It just made the game seem so pointless when the other team didn’t try...like it wasn’t worth winning. It basically felt like a forfeit. Sure, they stepped up their game toward the end of the second quarter, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t give him the same rush...
He just hoped they stepped up. He didn’t come all the way to Roseville to play a crappy game against a good team.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The score at the end of the game was disappointing–Duncan Jones hadn’t slipped out of their sudden slump. It was 76-63, and he felt cheated. It felt as if he hadn’t even worked up a sweat in his effort. Well, what effort he put into the game. As both teams lined up and exchanged congratulations to each other in a moving line moving in opposite directions, he just felt crummy about the entire thing. Sullenly, he exchanged a few words with Jamie, hoping for a better encounter next time.
Then, because he was feeling quite disappointed, he slapped Felicia hard across the back, the girl stumbling and grunting as she hadn’t removed her armbands quite yet. Seeing this, Quatre attacked her, giving her as many dead legs as he possibly could before she took those armbands off and became superhuman again.
She whined in annoyance, trying to kick him away, but currently being unable to as he was stronger than she. The other members of the team were too busy congratulating each other on a job well done as they all converged into the boys’ locker room for a speedy pep-talk from Ramos. By the time Quatre had Felicia in outraged tears over various pinches and agonizing Indian Burns, they were all calm enough to listen to Ramos speak.
“That was one of the more crappiest games I’d ever seen in Darken ball history, since I began coaching,” he began, looking at them all with an exasperated expression. “Which means I need to pull a little more effort from you from practice. Which means harder practices. Despite the obvious win, over a damn good team that wasn’t giving enough game as well, I think our team sucked tonight. I’m too disappointed to continue talking. Get changed...we’ll leave in a half hour.”
Amid the murmurs of annoyance and disappointment over that dulling speech, Ramos walked off, shaking his head while his players quietly cursed him or flipped him off behind his back.
Quatre rolled his eyes, and gave Felicia a flat tire as the girls moved to head out to change in their respective locker room.
She pointed at him as she followed Mariemaia out. “I’m coming to get you, bitch.”
“Are you done picking on girls, man?!” Triton startled him out of his comeback, engaging him into a headlock and nearly pounding his head into a set of lockers. Quatre twisted out of his grip and kicked him as everyone began changing out of their uniforms and into their casual clothing.
The room was filled with good cheer as everyone changed, the sounds of the next game being played out on the court faintly registering across their minds. Despite the rather dull game, they were just happy that they’d won.
Quatre just felt cheated and listless. It totally hadn’t been the effort to come out all this way for such a crappy win. He felt they should perform a ‘do-over’.
After changing, Quatre wanted to watch the next game to judge the teams this year, and so gathered his things and hurried out from the locker rooms. It was a game of Balkin Public against Roseville, and both teams seemed promising...but not that exciting. He took a standing position against the wall from the court, tucking his hands into his pockets, and watching the tip-off. Both teams were evenly matched height-wise, and both had the same number of different genders. They just weren’t very exciting. He wondered if that was how his team had played with Duncan Jones.
As he watched, the other members of his team were heading out from the locker room, heading either to the cafeteria for something to munch on, or to set up camp where they were previously sitting with Ramos.
He watched the game with an interested eye, then grew bored, scanning the crowd for anyone that he knew. Then he paused, lifting his head from the wall because he could swear he could have seen Trowa leave the gym...but then again, it could have just been a lookalike...but then again, how many guys were out there with that odd auburn hairstyle? He hurried out from the gym, trying to see if it were Trowa, an interested and certainly uncomfortable hope causing his heart to bump a little faster.
But the cafeteria was crowded with spectators and players, and there weren’t any that were Trowa, or even looked like Trowa. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as he adjusted his bag over his shoulder. He then began moving toward the food stand line, then looked down at the kids that darted across his path, grimacing as one of them tripped over his shoe and hit the floor hard.
“Whoops! Sorry,” he said, reaching down to haul the little guy to his feet.
The dark haired boy, dressed in simple overalls that looked faded and well-worn, wrested his arm from Quatre’s grip, and snarled at him. Quatre blinked. The boy was probably at least five years old, his tiny teeth displayed as he growled, but then, before he could move, the little boy darted forward and kicked his shin with a loud grunt.
“OW!” the blond yelped, startled at the attack. He quickly recovered, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the little brat. “What was that for?!”
“Stinky smelly head!” the boy shouted, his face turning red with his effort.
“WHAT?! Why, you little–!” Quatre snarled, unsure of what to do. This enemy he couldn’t goad into a physical brawl for obvious reasons–and he couldn’t rightly cuss him out–this was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Where was his parents?!
“Say it! Say it, poo-poo head! Smelly shit face!”
“W-what?! Where’s your damn parents?!”
“Are you losing to a four year old, Winner?” came a smirking voice, and Quatre looked up, seeing the guy that he’d seen earlier, upon their arrival. He was roughly Quatre’s height, maybe an inch taller. He wasn’t that broad in the shoulders, slender, and was wearing casual, faded clothing that looked worn, washed and repeated a hundred times over. He had dark blond hair, which was cropped in casual waves, a tiny silver hoop hanging from one ear, and had pleasant enough features.
His eyes were a light brown, lifted eyebrows resembling a friendly enough face, but the occurring smirk made him seem a little snobbish, more than a little cocky. He had a pointed nose and slightly curving lips, and his overall presentation told Quatre he was probably in his early twenties. There were dark circles around his eyes, suggesting little sleep, and he looked a little worn.
The guy looked familiar enough, but for the moment, he couldn’t remember when and where he’d seen him. The young man looked down at the little boy, and asked, “What did I say about cussing?!”
“You can’t boss me around, asshole!” The kid was surprisingly articulate, and Quatre frowned at him.
The little guy looked similarly like the young man, with his eyes and the curved lips. But the defiant expression clearly suggested someone else. He looked at the guy, who was frowning with parental dismay at the young boy.
Quatre pointed at him. “He belong to you?”
“Well, duh. I’m talking to him, aren’t I?”
Quatre glared, shifting his bag to his other shoulder. “You could be a pedophile for all I know, ass–er, loser.”
“Pedahfile!” the boy repeated, then shouted it.
The other boy blanched as attention drew their direction, and Quatre seriously hoped they wouldn’t think that he was the sicko. He backed away as the young man bent, and hauled the small kid onto his shoulder. As a result, the kid began screeching and screaming up a storm, flailing wildly, legs and arms pumping in the air as he struggled to get loose. Quatre lifted an eyebrow and vowed to be ‘snipped’ as to prevent any similar occurrences, should he ever get the opportunity.
The young man quickly set the kid down and swatted him lightly across the backside.
“You better not get into any trouble!” he then warned as the devilish little boy ran off, flipping him off as soon as he was safely across the cafeteria. He then rolled tired eyes, and looked at Quatre blankly. “NEVER have children.”
Quatre blinked, shifting as he found this interesting. “He’s yours?!”
“YES. He’s mine. The result of a mistake I made with his mother in ninth grade,” the young man muttered, running an agitated hand through his dark blond hair. “He’s not the mistake. I meant the fact that it was with his mother.”
Quatre stared at him in a new light. He knew teens had babies all the time–but to actually see one?! Well, granted, this guy wasn’t a teen, but still–!
The young man saw the expression, and scowled at him. “What?!”
“So...you’re a father? That’s your son?”
The young man gave him an exasperated expression. “That blond color of yours really fits you, doesn’t it?!”
“Why, you–!”
“I just told you, yes, he’s my son!”
Quatre calmed himself for a small moment, then looked around. “Where’s his mother?”
“Look. I don’t think such information should be readily dispensed so that you could use it against me on the court,” the boy growled, frowning at him. “I just wanted to congratulate you on a good game. Not discuss family situations.”
Quatre looked back at him, blinking. “You play?”
The young man gave an exasperated sigh directed at the ceiling. Then he gave a wounded expression, hand on his chest. “You seriously hurt me, Winner. Here, I thought I made a pretty damn good impression on you, last year.”
“Er...no. like I’m supposed to remember everyone I fuck over on the court!” Quatre spat, wondering why he was even standing here, taking the abuse from this nameless, teen-father prick.
“Stanton? Hello? We kicked your asses twice last year? We made State?”
Quatre stared at him for a few moments, then scowled as he remembered the boy now. #20, from Stanton High, the one that drove him insane because it was as if the refs were so against Darken. “You...”
“Yes, I,” the boy said, giving a half-grin, touching his chest. Then he held his hand out with a smirk, but Quatre just stared at it, then at him. Amused, Jake Trip dropped his hand to his side. “Whatever. You’re still a prick, aren’t you? Well–! AH! NO! MIKE!”
Quatre felt instant liquid cold splatter all over his neck and shoulders, and he reacted with an enraged roar as he whirled, the little monster having upended his bottle of Gatorade onto him. The boy cackled evilly, liquid still cascading to the floor from his upended bottle, and he leapt off the bench and dashed away, his father running after him.
“Ooh, you little SHIT!” Quatre growled, his clothes sticking to him as various people stared at them. Unsure of how to retaliate against a four year old, he stomped off to the bathroom to wash up, as he instantly felt sticky.
Slamming his way into the bathroom, he quickly grabbed paper towels and slammed his way to the sink, dropping his bag onto the floor and turning on the water. He washed what he could, muttering and cursing the entire time. The bathroom door opened, and Jake walked in, carrying cloth towels.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, holding them out to Quatre. “He’s really evil. I swear it wasn’t my influence on him.”
“Yeah, blame it all on the mother,” Quatre mumbled, snatching the towel from him.
“If you knew her, you would,” Jake said, grinning.
Then he sighed tiredly, turning and walking out from the bathroom to chase down his monstrous child. Quatre frowned as he finished wiping himself up, and glanced at his reflection to be sure that he was clean.
He then walked out from the bathroom, grumbling as he eyed all the other kids with a suspicious stare. Jake was busy scooping up his hysterically screaming child and hauling him beyond his sight. Several parents murmured amongst each other, and Quatre turned to see if his team was ever going to emerge from the gym.
Walking back in, he saw that most were sitting on the previous section they’d sat before, talking about the game. With a sigh, not wanting to go back in to suffer the stares of those that had watched the crappy game, he turned and walked back into the cafeteria, figuring on something to eat.
He bought a small tray of nachos and a Poweraid, then picked a quiet spot to sit down at and chew mindlessly.
A stream of people walked through the cafeteria through the gym, and Quatre looked up to see Justin walking over, swinging his game bag.
“Yo,” he greeted, sitting opposite him, and giving the nachos a suspicious stare.
“Hey. You sucked today,” Quatre said, grinning.
“Totally. Man, I’ve been so off on my shots, it’s been pathetic,” Justin said, running a hand through his dark hair as he glanced around. “So, you know those guys from the military?”
“My best friend plays with them. Jamie Anderson? We used to go to school together. I don’t know the other guys...”
“Oh...I was wondering who you were talking to while we were playing,” Justin muttered, finding interest in his nails.
Quatre chewed noisily on his nachos as he added, “We knew each other for hella long. Since we were wearing diapers. It’s crazy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And seein’ him in the military’s pretty funny, because I could never see it. He changed a lot,” Quatre said, digging for a whole chip and not just a shard. Seemed like they served him the bottom of the bag...
“He’s your age?”
“Huh? Yeah. Doesn’t look it, huh? I swear, the military mutates their guys, because I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“He didn’t always look like that?”
“Nah. He was a lot dorkier. I could take him easily. He was a wimp, but he was good at ball.” Quatre shrugged, licking his fingers as he looked up, seeing Felicia veer his way. “You saw, right?”
“Yeah...”
“Dudewhat’supohletm ehavesomeyumthanks. Ohgodhideme,” she said, ducking underneath the table. A group of photographers swept into the cafeteria, glanced about, and quickly headed out the doors. Quatre and Justin blinked and stared after them in surprise, Felicia’s hand snaking out from underneath the table and snagging his nachos. When Quatre saw that they were missing, he tried kicking her.
Justin turned around, shrugging, unsure of what that was about. “So, this guy...you guys were best friends?”
“YES!” Quatre repeated, looking up from his mission. He’d let the nachos go–it was nothing but gooey processed cheese, anyway. “We both lived in Laramie. Our families now hate each other.”
“...Why? No, wait, you don’t have to answer that,” Justin said, waving a hand about as he shook his head tiredly. “You’re involved. Something you did...?”
“Dude, don’t make it sound so damn bad,” Quatre muttered, flipping him off. “It wasn’t my fault...”
“It never is, now is it?” Justin asked sourly, frowning at him as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “So, what does your friend do in the military?”
“I...oh, he’s working for infantry. Something about being a foot soldier,” Quatre shrugged again, sweeping off chip crumbs from the table. “He wants to head to college after his first three years, then study to be a sports doctor...you know?”
“‘Infantry’? So he gets to carry around the guns?”
“Yeah. He said he wasn’t completely used to it, yet. But he’s good at shooting. We used to shoot all the time at home.”
“What did he shoot?”
“Small game. We went hunting a few times, nothing real special...”
“Oh. Was he good?”
“YEAH. I–”
Felicia shot up from underneath the table, and whacked Quatre across the back of the head. As the blond jerked forward, she gave him a disgusted expression, then looked at Justin, leaning on the table.
“J, I can hook you up for five dollars!” she said, grinning.
Justin reddened slightly, considering the offer while Quatre looked at them in confusion.
“What? What? What’s going on? Hook who up?” he asked, blinking.
“So? Yay? Or nay? I can get his phone number,” she continued, ignoring Quatre.
Justin thought about this, and when Quatre finally realized what was going down, he looked at Justin with a gaping expression.
“You want Jamie?!” he practically screeched, earning stares from the two that sat with him. Felicia whacked him again.
“Well...I don’t know. If...I could talk to him, it’s just...I don’t know. How do I know he’s–”
“Of course he is,” Felicia assured him.
“I don’t want to cause problems, it’s just...”
“I’ll do it! In return, you gotta buy me a beer,” she said, lifting away from the table, and looking away from them. She sucked in a deep breath, and waved her arm about wildly.
“You want Jamie?!” Quatre repeated, looking at Justin in shock. Justin directed an annoyed stare at the blond.
Quatre then looked up, and watched as the little monster from hell raced over, and glomped Felicia’s leg. She then shrieked with a flabbergasted jerk of her body, the little boy cackling and running off. Jake looked exhausted as he wandered over to her.
“That little shit bit me!!” she roared, pointing at a wet spot on her jeans.
“You probably deserved it. I didn’t know you played...”
“I didn’t want to...”
Quatre snickered and started to say something about her behavior before the game when he was promptly backhanded.
Jake looked from one to the other, then at Justin.
“Hey,” he said in greeting, looking back at Felicia. “Where’s Hautta?”
“Fuck that bullshit.”
“Why? What happened? You two were so loved up when I last saw you...”
“All in the past.”
“I heard he made some girl pregnant...I should have let him baby-sit Michael more often,” Jake said, frowning as he located his demon-child, who was busily trying to take candy from another kid. “Mike! Be nice!”
“Real cool parenting skills,” Felicia muttered, a little pissed off at the aforementioned Hautta. She gestured at the two boys. “This is Quatre and this is Justin from Sageville. They’re queers.”
“HEY!”
Jake snickered, reaching up to fiddle with his silver hoop. “I gathered that.”
“Go to hell, shithead...”
“Dude, that wasn’t cool...”
“I’ll hook you up for five dollars!” Felicia then said, grinning at the older boy.
“Damn, you should open up a matchmaking business, Passage,” Justin muttered from behind his hands, currently a little mortified that his secret was bestowed on someone he didn’t know and faced on the court regularly.
“Think so?”
“I’ll pass,” Jake snorted, giving them both a cool expression. “I don’t think I swing that way.”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ll never know unless you try,” Felicia cooed. “Quat gives good head.”
“HEY!”
Justin reddened slightly.
“If that’s so, there’s this girl I know that would like a good look at you,” Jake said, looking at her.
Felicia’s face screwed up into something horrible, as if she’d gotten a good whiff of shit. “That’s fuckin’ gross. I ain’t no damn lesbian. I like guys. GUYS! Death to lesbians!”
“Why is it that it’s okay for gay guys to be gay, but then when a woman wants to be lesbian–” Then Jake glanced away, looking extremely horrified. “Oh, God–! MIKE! Leave that woman alone–! God, why wasn’t I born sterile?”
He raced off to save a woman from being attacked, Justin shaking his head.
“They’re called CONDOMS!” he shouted after Jake.
Quatre looked at her suspiciously. “Why is it that everywhere you go, you know everyone?”
Felicia gave him a haughty expression. “I’m a ho. I get around. Anyway, since you’re so fuckin’ dense, I’m going to talk to Jamie.”
“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that J wanted him?!” Quatre roared, kicking Justin underneath the table. The other boy yelped in pain, then reached across to smack him. As the two engaged in mortal combat, Felicia shook her head, rolling her eyes and hurrying back into the gym for the unofficial mission.
“I’m a fucking guy, man! I need things spelt out for me! Even then, I need someone to hold my hand and guide me through it,” Quatre continued, laughing as Justin leapt from his seat, grabbed him into a headlock, and proceeded to administer a fierce noogie. “OW! OW! Oi! OW! RAPE!”
“Like anyone would want you in that manner,” Justin cursed, letting go of him. “I’m heading out. You’re such a child. You need to grow up...”
“Aw, and we had such tender moments,” Quatre said with that dreadful lisp, limp wrist batting at Justin’s shorts.
“GOD–!” Justin couldn’t think of anything to say, and stomped off, heading outside to escape the chaos within. Quatre laughed, found that he could not finish his nachos due to lack of chips, and stood up to throw his things away. He turned to see that members of his team were filing into the cafeteria, all of them carrying their bags and getting ready to go.
“We’ll stop for dinner at a fast food place,” Ramos was saying as he led the way. “Our next game’s tomorrow, at four.”
“Against who?” Paul asked.
“Cal-North.”
“Are they tough?”
“Nah,” Duo said, shrugging as he wiped his bangs from his face. “They’re pretty good, but they ain’t tough.”
“Ah.”
As they were leaving the cafeteria, Quatre was still oozing in depressed vibes from that win over Duncan Jones, and was down enough to forget all about that incident with his jersey. He reviewed small parts of the game with a heavy frown, and glanced around at the various people brave enough to endure the cold to have their precious little smokes. Then he blinked, freezing in place as he saw who looked to be Trowa talking to Justin. Was it...? YES, it was!! It was Trowa talking to Justin!!
He was outraged enough to start heading over to kick some ex ass for being so damned nosy and so damned irritating when Ramos pulled him back, asking about any other threats he’d received.
Since he couldn’t leave his coach’s side, Quatre glared at the two, answering half-heartedly as they made their way to the bus. He hoped that Trowa wasn’t being stupid and asking about their ‘fling’...how fucking annoying...
“Superman” Eminem
Trowa settled himself next to a group of girls he faintly knew from his classes at Darken, and stared with some despondency at the court, which was filled with Duncan Jones players and Darken’s own team. He spotted Quatre right out, shooting sure threes and nice jump shots among his team. Everyone was having a grand time with readying themselves for the game, as both teams were quite excellent in their ways, and their players were made up of previous MVP’s, Players Of The Weeks, and all that sorts of athletic recognizations...
He had to frown, through, because this was his first basketball game that actually counted in state regulations, and watching a game that was much different from those nightly sessions at Darken was very different...the media bench was filled, the areas behind the baskets holding various photographers and gawkers, and the gym was generally crowded from bench to bench, barely leaving him room to breathe.
He shifted uncomfortably, frowning as he brought his knees up on the minimal space on the bench before him, and rested his elbows on them. The clock read ten minutes until game time, and he wondered why.
He watched Quatre warm-up, his shots true and sure, his face set in a game-like fashion. The others were randomly tearing off their warm-ups, and joking amongst each other as they readied themselves against the stiffer players of the military academy on the other end of the court.
Shifting his glance over, he saw that these players weren’t shooting randomly like the Darken team–they were executing warm-up drills and such, moving through defensive moves and offensive measures, and they all had serious expressions on their faces.
They looked ready to march into battle rather than a regulated school athletic match. He lifted his eyebrows with some reflection as he shifted his look back over to the court. Seeing that he could have a cig between then and now, he asked one of the girls to save his seat for him (of which was readily agreed), and he left the bleachers to walk outside.
He wondered if Quatre saw him, and wondered what he thought of his efforts in seeing his game. It would practically be the first–the first game he’d seen Quatre play was last year, when Middie ran him into the gym. Quatre had been excellent–Trowa had known that the blond had his particular way of playing, but actually seeing the guy in action was a totally different thing.
He knew that a lot of people were looking forward to watching him play.
Once outside, he withdrew his cigs and lighter from his jacket pockets and lit one, staring thoughtfully out into the parking lot. There were a small crowd of smokers lingering about, and he paid no attention to them as he savored the taste of nicotine and tobacco.
His ride in, a guy named Booby, was talking to a group of girls nearby, and one of them kept glancing his way. Trowa really wasn’t interested–after all, he wanted his ex back, and was willing to go all lengths to get him back. Thinking about things, Trowa realized that he could have gone about things another way–he could have done things differently. And since he hadn’t, well, this was the result. He was now forced to watch from the sidelines...
He shifted uncomfortably on the sidewalk, and finished his cigarette. Well...he was pretty stubborn in his own way. If he tried hard and if he kept his patience–there’d be no doubt he’d have Quatre right back in his arms...kicking his ass.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The tip-off was mere seconds away, and Quatre was ready to play. That familiar rush of adrenaline was coursing though his veins, causing his blood to pump madly. He felt a little bummed that he wasn’t wearing his personalized jersey, wearing a borrowed one that was blank save for a random number and the academy’s name. But he wasn’t going to let a simple thing like that distract him.
He settled himself in position, across from Triton, who was facing #72 of Duncan Jones’ team. The other players were spread in various directions, and he hoped that they played their position as he watched the ref walk up between the players, ordering a clean game between both teams.
Which was quite pointless, because Duncan Jones had been the cleanest team Quatre had ever played. They were so nice, so damn fundamental in their playing skills...
The ref held the ball between the two tallest players, and they gave each other a “good luck” comment to each other as the ref glanced at his partners that were settled away from the group of players. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the ref tossed the ball up into the air, where Triton swatted it volleyball style toward Quatre. Quatre caught the ball easily as the players moved into position to their end, and he began dribbling, feeling the orange sphere bounce comfortably within his capable hand. The crowds were cheering loudly for their team, and he zoned them out, concentrating on the game. Seeing that Duo was currently open, he shifted position away from an overcrowding Jamie, and made a quick chest pass toward the braided boy, who shifted his dribble into a quick over the back back toward Quatre.
Quatre ducked underneath #72's long reach, and found himself facing Jamie, who crowded him instantly, trying to shift him towards the sidelines.
Catching a flash of rope, Quatre winced and made a quick between the legs pass toward Duo, who caught the pass easily, pivoting to keep his body before #72, who easily towered over the shooting guard. Duo was unperturbed, dribbling around #72 with a smooth dribble, and shot an easy three over him. Amidst all the jeers from the sidelines, Duo grinned as he made the shot.
Darken began moving at Quatre’s direction, the blond gesturing for them to take position down court while he took on #25, who was their point guard, and was conferring rapidly with #17, who looked vaguely familiar. Shifting the hems of his shorts over his knees, Quatre stopped at half court, and waiting for both players to come closer, hearing the squeaks of shoes against wood as the players behind him began setting up position. Since he deemed a man-to-man strategy, Ramos giving up on trying to guide them whenever Quatre was in play, Quatre was sure that every Jones player was covered by those that were behind him, save for #17.
#25 tossed the ball to #17, and moved into a screen against Quatre. Quatre pivoted around him, seeing #17 move on the opposite side, hurling the ball to an open Jamie, who shot a three. The ball bounced off the rim with a loud metallic twang, the taller players moving in to rebound. Not one to wait around for the ball to come to him, Quatre turned and hurried over, leaping straight up into the air, catching the stray ball as it slipped from Triton’s grasp. In possession of the ball once more, he began dribbling as the other players headed down court, #25 staying with him with an exasperated sigh.
Blinking, seeing that Duo and Felicia were moving into open positions, Quatre began moving down court, dribbling almost carelessly with his left hand. He signaled toward Triton to take an out position from under the net, and for Winnie to take Duo’s spot. The Romanian immediately took over Duo’s abandoned post, while the braided one zoomed out to three point. The other players moved with them, almost fluidly, and Quatre dropped his shoulder as he moved into the area of action. His shoulder caught #25 in the gut, but that provided ample distraction for him to shoot a pass toward Felicia, who passed it quickly to Duo, who made the next three with a simple skip. The crowd cheered once more, Quatre glancing up at the score to make sure those six points were there.
Taking up position once more to face #25, Quatre glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a close player, and saw that #23 was going to move a screen into his position. #25 began moving into a fast dribble, shouting at players to move into a Onguard position, and Quatre dipped around #23, reaching out to knock the bouncing ball from #25, who cursed as he realized he’d lost possession. Already knowing and already moving, Duo had the stray ball handled, making a fast break toward his net, making an easy lay-up.
Quatre stared at the Duncan Jones players with some disbelief, because those eight points had been an easy cake-walk to obtain. He noticed that the senior players, #72, #25, #23, and #17 were getting frustrated, more so than they had been last year.
Last year they had been so easy going–! He wondered about their ability to play well as they set up position once more, Quatre quickly directing a half court defense, gesturing at Felicia to move up half court so that she could cover #17. #25 passed the ball from the inbounds pass to #23, who scowled at Quatre with a warning stare as she began dribbling, heavy chest bouncing slightly in her movements. Undistracted by that display as the other players were, Quatre immediately crowded her, his arms up and moving, keeping her from passing to anyone nearby. She had to stop dribbling, holding the ball as far away from him as she possibly could, scanning the court for someone to come and help her.
Seeing that he could get the ball, Quatre stepped in close to her, his knee pressing into her thigh, and that gave him advantage to move closer, causing her to stumble. The ref immediately whistled, pointing at him as a warning. Frowning, knowing that he could have gotten away with it if #23 had been a guy, he stepped away from her as she threw the ref the ball, so that Duncan Jones could have the inbounds pass. Quatre raced up to #17, who was preparing to throw it in, and performed a few light jumps in front of him, waving his arms around. #17 looked highly irritated, and very damn familiar, but managed a quick between the legs pass in to #25, who scooped the ball up, hurling the ball across court toward #72, who moved to put up an easy dunk had Triton not stepped into his path.
Triton’s hands easily blocked the shot, the ball bouncing back into play, Jamie scooping up the ball, taking a step back, and shooting an inside three. The ball bounced off the backboard and into the volley of players, Quatre hurrying his position away from #17 and waiting for an opening in which he could dart in and snatch the ball, lest it fall back into Jones’ possession. He watched as Felicia, Triton and Winnie battled for the ball, the taller players moving swiftly and surely against the others, and watched as Felicia came from out of no where, snagging the ball from #72 with a hard twist of her body, and dribbling out from the crowd, snickering in a cocky way.
#72 looked darkly pissed as Quatre gestured for the ball, which she easily passed up as she hurried down court, heading toward her designated position. #72 heaved a heavy sigh, #25 saying something that Quatre couldn’t hear that had to have calmed him slightly. Quatre began dribbling the ball, looking up at the scoreboard, seeing that they were still ahead, and Duncan Jones still hadn’t any points. He looked back down just in time to keep Jamie from taking the ball from him, and began dribbling rapidly as he raced down toward his end of the court. As expected, Duncan Jones’ players crowded toward him, eager to stop his sudden assault on their net, when he shot a quick pass to an open Duo, who made another three.
The crowd shouted loudly, encouragingly, as Duo exchanged high fives with Winnie, all of whom made their way back to Duncan Jones’ end of the court.
Quatre looked back at Ramos, who was looking rather pleased with all that was happening, then turned to face #25 as he slowly began dribbling downcourt, looking entirely frustrated.
Off-day? Quatre wondered as he began moving over, shuffling quickly to keep up with the taller player. #25 kept the ball from his reach, dribbling with his left, but it was apparent that was his weak side, so Quatre planned on using that against him, crowding him slightly toward the sidelines. When #25 pulled his arm back to throw the ball toward a passing player, Quatre easily intercepted, slapping the ball out of mid air, making it a free ball as it bounced toward their end of the court. Running after it, he scooped it up easily within his hand, and made an easy bank shot, even as a couple of Duncan Jones players shot past him in an effort to stop him.
“What’s going on?” he had to ask Jamie as the ref took the ball, and waited for a Jones player to retrieve it.
Jamie managed a tight shrug, his eyes darting about nervously as he hurried away to take position.
Quatre was bewildered by Duncan Jones’ lack of playing–they were just too tense, or suddenly had too much on their minds to focus on the game. He glanced back over his shoulder at his players, seeing that Triton was covering #72, Duo was on #23, Felicia was goading #17, Winnie on Jamie, and Quatre himself was on #25. He turned to see #25 looking highly stressed, his eyes darting around rapidly, and he immediately called out for another set-up to be activated.
His players moved quickly, a loud thump and a squeak signaling that someone had lost their footing, and a quick shuffle of sound that had Quatre pivoting, just in time to avoid a screen that #17 put up to keep him from going after #25. He moved quickly, brushing up past #25, and forced the ball from #25's dribbling, the ball bouncing forward toward Duo. Duo quickly scooped up the ball before #25 could regain his possession, and tossed it to Quatre, who made the quick break down court for an easy two. Seeing that they were playing much too easily, Quatre turned, walking down to the half court line, shoulders jerking upward in a curious gesture towards Duo, who had noticed the lack of playing on the other team’s effort.
“Maybe they’re just off?” Triton suggested from his position, wiping away straight black hair from his forehead as #25 held a pow-wow with #17 and #72, both of whom looked easily frustrated as they walked, #72 signaling for a sub.
Quatre was just stunned–last year, they had all been so into the game, moving quickly and effortlessly, playing with a fluid grace that had him moving hard just to keep up.
But this time...it was as if their hearts weren’t into the game. He saw the quick signal for #25 to be subbed out as well, and he raised an eyebrow, catching Jamie’s eye once more. The dark haired boy merely glanced beyond Quatre’s shoulder with a nervous indication, and Quatre glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Felicia was looking rather amused at the entire thing, picking at one of her nails.
Damn girls, Quatre thought with a scowl. Always needing to pick at something...
#25 began moving quickly, drawing his attention right back, and Quatre darted toward him, eyes focused on the ball. He noticed the point’s shoes shift to indicate change of direction, and moved in the opposite, seeing that his impulsive move was right-on, because even as #25 performed the fake-out in one direction, he was already moving to pass in the other. Quatre easily caught the ball with his left hand, pulling it into a quick right hand dribble, that easily shifted back to his left as #25 raced up at him with a loud protest of sound.
It was an easy avoidance, and Quatre saw no need to make a quick pass as he calmly made a three from the outside line, the ball swishing noisily through the net. He looked over at #25 with a confused expression, seeing the boy run his hands through his short hair with agitation, looking quite miffed with things as he glanced at the score.
“You all okay?” Quatre asked, glancing over to see that Jamie was taking the ball out, throwing the inbounds toward #23. “You’re not playing good at all...”
“Yeah, thanks,” #25 muttered, seemingly uncharacteristic about things.
“I’m just asking. Last year you gave better game. This year, it’s like you’re too occupied with things,” Quatre pointed out, gesturing at Duo to take his position while he took his. He noticed that Ramos was signaling for subs, sending up a change of players, but leaving him in. Of course he wouldn’t take out his star player...
“Well...yeah, for one. It’s just...well, maybe we’ll relax enough to give you a better challenge,” #25 said with a derisive snort, hands on his slim hips.
Quatre frowned at him, then watched as the ref signaled for the change of subs. Indeed, Felicia, Duo, Triton, and Winnie were exchanged with Derrick, Paul, Mariemaia, and Otto. He gave another glance in #25's direction, then slowly moved up court to do his thing against #17, who was taking out the ball, waiting to make an inbounds pass.
He hoped Duncan Jones began to step-up–playing a good team that wasn’t even trying was both insulting and boring.
During the end of second quarter, he noticed a definite improvement, and he had to wonder why. #25 was passing better, their shots were actually making it, and a few of the second string players that Ramos had signaled in were taken out, replaced by Duo, Triton, and Winnie. Mariemaia was actually holding up her end with at least six points, and Quatre was quite impressed. For a girl, she was actually pretty good. She wasn’t intimidated by the other players, and had made two threes out of that six.
By the time the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the first half, Darken was up by four against Duncan Jones.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“They’re playing like shit, man!” Duo exclaimed, adjusting his headband, making sure that all his bangs were tucked out of his face. They were all gathered within the men’s locker room for a team conference while Darken’s cheerleaders and dance team moved their groove to something hip-hop on the court, entertaining the crowd. “It’s like they weren’t even fuckin’ trying!”
“Maybe they were just tired, or something?” Otto suggested as Ramos made sure every player that played had some water and were fine with their physical condition. Duncan Jones hadn’t run them into the ground–they were all in good condition, but it was always good to be sure that they stayed that way.
“Something, I don’t know...they could at least step up a little more,” Duo grumbled, feeling a little annoyed at the other team’s lack of response. He lifted a leg, adjusting his knee brace as Hiiro elbowed him in the spine, making him wince.
“Despite it all, I think you guys are playing like shit,” Ramos interrupted, glaring at them all. “You could step it up yourselves. Winner, you have only twelve points. Maxwell, you have twenty-two. You both usually average more than that.”
“I can’t play against somebody that ain’t going to play me back!” Duo whined while Quatre scowled, sure that he’d had more points than that.
“It’s not that fun, coach. Lay off,” Triton muttered from the back, where he was contemplating his shoelaces as he sat on a bench.
“Matter of the fact is, both teams are playing like shit, and we’re ranked third in the league! What’s going on?! Don’t let their mood affect yours! Get out there and play! Or is it the fact that all those cameras out there are getting your prissiness all in a wad?!” Ramos demanded, glaring at his players.
“Dude, I’m just worried that my hair isn’t as pretty as it should be,” Triton snickered.
“Yeah, I’m sure my pimples are standing out whenever I make a pass,” Paul chuckled.
“And I’m sure I shaved this morning, but it all grew back since it was so fuckin’ ass cold outside!” Duo complained, gesturing at his legs.
Ramos rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap, team. Just get out there and put a little more effort into things. You’re embarrassing me.”
“As if you had a lot to teach us,” Winnie whined.
“Yeah!”
“Word!”
“If any one of you continues to play in your non-customary manner, I’m benching all of you and letting second string play all through-out this tournament!” Ramos threatened, waving his clipboard around.
“Ah, not second string!” Triton stressed.
“Get out there and bust your asses, all right? Knock off this wimpy bullshit and play normally. Like you would at practice. Maxwell, I expect you to have more than forty points by the time we’re done...”
“‘Forty’?!” Duo screeched. “Geez, what the hell?! That’s more than I make...er...I guess I can try...”
“No trying. Just do.”
“Damn, man. Ride my ass,” Duo muttered, elbowing Hiiro when the Japanese snickered. The team began moving once more, heading out to the gym, watching the dance team finish up their routine.
Beside him, Felicia was mimicking the moves in customary fashion, adding a little bounce in the hips and getting as much wiggle as she could from her chest. Quatre merely elbowed her, finding it fun that he was able to damage her as much as she could damage him without those armbands.
As soon as the dance team left the court, they took over once more, shooting lazily while they waited for the clock to run through half-time’s timer, and for Duncan Jones to return.
The photographers and media balcony were going crazy, capturing their photos, a few members of the team posing for several. Quatre merely shook his head in annoyance and focused on his shots, wondering why Duncan Jones wasn’t putting their efforts into things. It just made the game seem so pointless when the other team didn’t try...like it wasn’t worth winning. It basically felt like a forfeit. Sure, they stepped up their game toward the end of the second quarter, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t give him the same rush...
He just hoped they stepped up. He didn’t come all the way to Roseville to play a crappy game against a good team.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The score at the end of the game was disappointing–Duncan Jones hadn’t slipped out of their sudden slump. It was 76-63, and he felt cheated. It felt as if he hadn’t even worked up a sweat in his effort. Well, what effort he put into the game. As both teams lined up and exchanged congratulations to each other in a moving line moving in opposite directions, he just felt crummy about the entire thing. Sullenly, he exchanged a few words with Jamie, hoping for a better encounter next time.
Then, because he was feeling quite disappointed, he slapped Felicia hard across the back, the girl stumbling and grunting as she hadn’t removed her armbands quite yet. Seeing this, Quatre attacked her, giving her as many dead legs as he possibly could before she took those armbands off and became superhuman again.
She whined in annoyance, trying to kick him away, but currently being unable to as he was stronger than she. The other members of the team were too busy congratulating each other on a job well done as they all converged into the boys’ locker room for a speedy pep-talk from Ramos. By the time Quatre had Felicia in outraged tears over various pinches and agonizing Indian Burns, they were all calm enough to listen to Ramos speak.
“That was one of the more crappiest games I’d ever seen in Darken ball history, since I began coaching,” he began, looking at them all with an exasperated expression. “Which means I need to pull a little more effort from you from practice. Which means harder practices. Despite the obvious win, over a damn good team that wasn’t giving enough game as well, I think our team sucked tonight. I’m too disappointed to continue talking. Get changed...we’ll leave in a half hour.”
Amid the murmurs of annoyance and disappointment over that dulling speech, Ramos walked off, shaking his head while his players quietly cursed him or flipped him off behind his back.
Quatre rolled his eyes, and gave Felicia a flat tire as the girls moved to head out to change in their respective locker room.
She pointed at him as she followed Mariemaia out. “I’m coming to get you, bitch.”
“Are you done picking on girls, man?!” Triton startled him out of his comeback, engaging him into a headlock and nearly pounding his head into a set of lockers. Quatre twisted out of his grip and kicked him as everyone began changing out of their uniforms and into their casual clothing.
The room was filled with good cheer as everyone changed, the sounds of the next game being played out on the court faintly registering across their minds. Despite the rather dull game, they were just happy that they’d won.
Quatre just felt cheated and listless. It totally hadn’t been the effort to come out all this way for such a crappy win. He felt they should perform a ‘do-over’.
After changing, Quatre wanted to watch the next game to judge the teams this year, and so gathered his things and hurried out from the locker rooms. It was a game of Balkin Public against Roseville, and both teams seemed promising...but not that exciting. He took a standing position against the wall from the court, tucking his hands into his pockets, and watching the tip-off. Both teams were evenly matched height-wise, and both had the same number of different genders. They just weren’t very exciting. He wondered if that was how his team had played with Duncan Jones.
As he watched, the other members of his team were heading out from the locker room, heading either to the cafeteria for something to munch on, or to set up camp where they were previously sitting with Ramos.
He watched the game with an interested eye, then grew bored, scanning the crowd for anyone that he knew. Then he paused, lifting his head from the wall because he could swear he could have seen Trowa leave the gym...but then again, it could have just been a lookalike...but then again, how many guys were out there with that odd auburn hairstyle? He hurried out from the gym, trying to see if it were Trowa, an interested and certainly uncomfortable hope causing his heart to bump a little faster.
But the cafeteria was crowded with spectators and players, and there weren’t any that were Trowa, or even looked like Trowa. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as he adjusted his bag over his shoulder. He then began moving toward the food stand line, then looked down at the kids that darted across his path, grimacing as one of them tripped over his shoe and hit the floor hard.
“Whoops! Sorry,” he said, reaching down to haul the little guy to his feet.
The dark haired boy, dressed in simple overalls that looked faded and well-worn, wrested his arm from Quatre’s grip, and snarled at him. Quatre blinked. The boy was probably at least five years old, his tiny teeth displayed as he growled, but then, before he could move, the little boy darted forward and kicked his shin with a loud grunt.
“OW!” the blond yelped, startled at the attack. He quickly recovered, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the little brat. “What was that for?!”
“Stinky smelly head!” the boy shouted, his face turning red with his effort.
“WHAT?! Why, you little–!” Quatre snarled, unsure of what to do. This enemy he couldn’t goad into a physical brawl for obvious reasons–and he couldn’t rightly cuss him out–this was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Where was his parents?!
“Say it! Say it, poo-poo head! Smelly shit face!”
“W-what?! Where’s your damn parents?!”
“Are you losing to a four year old, Winner?” came a smirking voice, and Quatre looked up, seeing the guy that he’d seen earlier, upon their arrival. He was roughly Quatre’s height, maybe an inch taller. He wasn’t that broad in the shoulders, slender, and was wearing casual, faded clothing that looked worn, washed and repeated a hundred times over. He had dark blond hair, which was cropped in casual waves, a tiny silver hoop hanging from one ear, and had pleasant enough features.
His eyes were a light brown, lifted eyebrows resembling a friendly enough face, but the occurring smirk made him seem a little snobbish, more than a little cocky. He had a pointed nose and slightly curving lips, and his overall presentation told Quatre he was probably in his early twenties. There were dark circles around his eyes, suggesting little sleep, and he looked a little worn.
The guy looked familiar enough, but for the moment, he couldn’t remember when and where he’d seen him. The young man looked down at the little boy, and asked, “What did I say about cussing?!”
“You can’t boss me around, asshole!” The kid was surprisingly articulate, and Quatre frowned at him.
The little guy looked similarly like the young man, with his eyes and the curved lips. But the defiant expression clearly suggested someone else. He looked at the guy, who was frowning with parental dismay at the young boy.
Quatre pointed at him. “He belong to you?”
“Well, duh. I’m talking to him, aren’t I?”
Quatre glared, shifting his bag to his other shoulder. “You could be a pedophile for all I know, ass–er, loser.”
“Pedahfile!” the boy repeated, then shouted it.
The other boy blanched as attention drew their direction, and Quatre seriously hoped they wouldn’t think that he was the sicko. He backed away as the young man bent, and hauled the small kid onto his shoulder. As a result, the kid began screeching and screaming up a storm, flailing wildly, legs and arms pumping in the air as he struggled to get loose. Quatre lifted an eyebrow and vowed to be ‘snipped’ as to prevent any similar occurrences, should he ever get the opportunity.
The young man quickly set the kid down and swatted him lightly across the backside.
“You better not get into any trouble!” he then warned as the devilish little boy ran off, flipping him off as soon as he was safely across the cafeteria. He then rolled tired eyes, and looked at Quatre blankly. “NEVER have children.”
Quatre blinked, shifting as he found this interesting. “He’s yours?!”
“YES. He’s mine. The result of a mistake I made with his mother in ninth grade,” the young man muttered, running an agitated hand through his dark blond hair. “He’s not the mistake. I meant the fact that it was with his mother.”
Quatre stared at him in a new light. He knew teens had babies all the time–but to actually see one?! Well, granted, this guy wasn’t a teen, but still–!
The young man saw the expression, and scowled at him. “What?!”
“So...you’re a father? That’s your son?”
The young man gave him an exasperated expression. “That blond color of yours really fits you, doesn’t it?!”
“Why, you–!”
“I just told you, yes, he’s my son!”
Quatre calmed himself for a small moment, then looked around. “Where’s his mother?”
“Look. I don’t think such information should be readily dispensed so that you could use it against me on the court,” the boy growled, frowning at him. “I just wanted to congratulate you on a good game. Not discuss family situations.”
Quatre looked back at him, blinking. “You play?”
The young man gave an exasperated sigh directed at the ceiling. Then he gave a wounded expression, hand on his chest. “You seriously hurt me, Winner. Here, I thought I made a pretty damn good impression on you, last year.”
“Er...no. like I’m supposed to remember everyone I fuck over on the court!” Quatre spat, wondering why he was even standing here, taking the abuse from this nameless, teen-father prick.
“Stanton? Hello? We kicked your asses twice last year? We made State?”
Quatre stared at him for a few moments, then scowled as he remembered the boy now. #20, from Stanton High, the one that drove him insane because it was as if the refs were so against Darken. “You...”
“Yes, I,” the boy said, giving a half-grin, touching his chest. Then he held his hand out with a smirk, but Quatre just stared at it, then at him. Amused, Jake Trip dropped his hand to his side. “Whatever. You’re still a prick, aren’t you? Well–! AH! NO! MIKE!”
Quatre felt instant liquid cold splatter all over his neck and shoulders, and he reacted with an enraged roar as he whirled, the little monster having upended his bottle of Gatorade onto him. The boy cackled evilly, liquid still cascading to the floor from his upended bottle, and he leapt off the bench and dashed away, his father running after him.
“Ooh, you little SHIT!” Quatre growled, his clothes sticking to him as various people stared at them. Unsure of how to retaliate against a four year old, he stomped off to the bathroom to wash up, as he instantly felt sticky.
Slamming his way into the bathroom, he quickly grabbed paper towels and slammed his way to the sink, dropping his bag onto the floor and turning on the water. He washed what he could, muttering and cursing the entire time. The bathroom door opened, and Jake walked in, carrying cloth towels.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, holding them out to Quatre. “He’s really evil. I swear it wasn’t my influence on him.”
“Yeah, blame it all on the mother,” Quatre mumbled, snatching the towel from him.
“If you knew her, you would,” Jake said, grinning.
Then he sighed tiredly, turning and walking out from the bathroom to chase down his monstrous child. Quatre frowned as he finished wiping himself up, and glanced at his reflection to be sure that he was clean.
He then walked out from the bathroom, grumbling as he eyed all the other kids with a suspicious stare. Jake was busy scooping up his hysterically screaming child and hauling him beyond his sight. Several parents murmured amongst each other, and Quatre turned to see if his team was ever going to emerge from the gym.
Walking back in, he saw that most were sitting on the previous section they’d sat before, talking about the game. With a sigh, not wanting to go back in to suffer the stares of those that had watched the crappy game, he turned and walked back into the cafeteria, figuring on something to eat.
He bought a small tray of nachos and a Poweraid, then picked a quiet spot to sit down at and chew mindlessly.
A stream of people walked through the cafeteria through the gym, and Quatre looked up to see Justin walking over, swinging his game bag.
“Yo,” he greeted, sitting opposite him, and giving the nachos a suspicious stare.
“Hey. You sucked today,” Quatre said, grinning.
“Totally. Man, I’ve been so off on my shots, it’s been pathetic,” Justin said, running a hand through his dark hair as he glanced around. “So, you know those guys from the military?”
“My best friend plays with them. Jamie Anderson? We used to go to school together. I don’t know the other guys...”
“Oh...I was wondering who you were talking to while we were playing,” Justin muttered, finding interest in his nails.
Quatre chewed noisily on his nachos as he added, “We knew each other for hella long. Since we were wearing diapers. It’s crazy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And seein’ him in the military’s pretty funny, because I could never see it. He changed a lot,” Quatre said, digging for a whole chip and not just a shard. Seemed like they served him the bottom of the bag...
“He’s your age?”
“Huh? Yeah. Doesn’t look it, huh? I swear, the military mutates their guys, because I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“He didn’t always look like that?”
“Nah. He was a lot dorkier. I could take him easily. He was a wimp, but he was good at ball.” Quatre shrugged, licking his fingers as he looked up, seeing Felicia veer his way. “You saw, right?”
“Yeah...”
“Dudewhat’supohletm ehavesomeyumthanks. Ohgodhideme,” she said, ducking underneath the table. A group of photographers swept into the cafeteria, glanced about, and quickly headed out the doors. Quatre and Justin blinked and stared after them in surprise, Felicia’s hand snaking out from underneath the table and snagging his nachos. When Quatre saw that they were missing, he tried kicking her.
Justin turned around, shrugging, unsure of what that was about. “So, this guy...you guys were best friends?”
“YES!” Quatre repeated, looking up from his mission. He’d let the nachos go–it was nothing but gooey processed cheese, anyway. “We both lived in Laramie. Our families now hate each other.”
“...Why? No, wait, you don’t have to answer that,” Justin said, waving a hand about as he shook his head tiredly. “You’re involved. Something you did...?”
“Dude, don’t make it sound so damn bad,” Quatre muttered, flipping him off. “It wasn’t my fault...”
“It never is, now is it?” Justin asked sourly, frowning at him as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “So, what does your friend do in the military?”
“I...oh, he’s working for infantry. Something about being a foot soldier,” Quatre shrugged again, sweeping off chip crumbs from the table. “He wants to head to college after his first three years, then study to be a sports doctor...you know?”
“‘Infantry’? So he gets to carry around the guns?”
“Yeah. He said he wasn’t completely used to it, yet. But he’s good at shooting. We used to shoot all the time at home.”
“What did he shoot?”
“Small game. We went hunting a few times, nothing real special...”
“Oh. Was he good?”
“YEAH. I–”
Felicia shot up from underneath the table, and whacked Quatre across the back of the head. As the blond jerked forward, she gave him a disgusted expression, then looked at Justin, leaning on the table.
“J, I can hook you up for five dollars!” she said, grinning.
Justin reddened slightly, considering the offer while Quatre looked at them in confusion.
“What? What? What’s going on? Hook who up?” he asked, blinking.
“So? Yay? Or nay? I can get his phone number,” she continued, ignoring Quatre.
Justin thought about this, and when Quatre finally realized what was going down, he looked at Justin with a gaping expression.
“You want Jamie?!” he practically screeched, earning stares from the two that sat with him. Felicia whacked him again.
“Well...I don’t know. If...I could talk to him, it’s just...I don’t know. How do I know he’s–”
“Of course he is,” Felicia assured him.
“I don’t want to cause problems, it’s just...”
“I’ll do it! In return, you gotta buy me a beer,” she said, lifting away from the table, and looking away from them. She sucked in a deep breath, and waved her arm about wildly.
“You want Jamie?!” Quatre repeated, looking at Justin in shock. Justin directed an annoyed stare at the blond.
Quatre then looked up, and watched as the little monster from hell raced over, and glomped Felicia’s leg. She then shrieked with a flabbergasted jerk of her body, the little boy cackling and running off. Jake looked exhausted as he wandered over to her.
“That little shit bit me!!” she roared, pointing at a wet spot on her jeans.
“You probably deserved it. I didn’t know you played...”
“I didn’t want to...”
Quatre snickered and started to say something about her behavior before the game when he was promptly backhanded.
Jake looked from one to the other, then at Justin.
“Hey,” he said in greeting, looking back at Felicia. “Where’s Hautta?”
“Fuck that bullshit.”
“Why? What happened? You two were so loved up when I last saw you...”
“All in the past.”
“I heard he made some girl pregnant...I should have let him baby-sit Michael more often,” Jake said, frowning as he located his demon-child, who was busily trying to take candy from another kid. “Mike! Be nice!”
“Real cool parenting skills,” Felicia muttered, a little pissed off at the aforementioned Hautta. She gestured at the two boys. “This is Quatre and this is Justin from Sageville. They’re queers.”
“HEY!”
Jake snickered, reaching up to fiddle with his silver hoop. “I gathered that.”
“Go to hell, shithead...”
“Dude, that wasn’t cool...”
“I’ll hook you up for five dollars!” Felicia then said, grinning at the older boy.
“Damn, you should open up a matchmaking business, Passage,” Justin muttered from behind his hands, currently a little mortified that his secret was bestowed on someone he didn’t know and faced on the court regularly.
“Think so?”
“I’ll pass,” Jake snorted, giving them both a cool expression. “I don’t think I swing that way.”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ll never know unless you try,” Felicia cooed. “Quat gives good head.”
“HEY!”
Justin reddened slightly.
“If that’s so, there’s this girl I know that would like a good look at you,” Jake said, looking at her.
Felicia’s face screwed up into something horrible, as if she’d gotten a good whiff of shit. “That’s fuckin’ gross. I ain’t no damn lesbian. I like guys. GUYS! Death to lesbians!”
“Why is it that it’s okay for gay guys to be gay, but then when a woman wants to be lesbian–” Then Jake glanced away, looking extremely horrified. “Oh, God–! MIKE! Leave that woman alone–! God, why wasn’t I born sterile?”
He raced off to save a woman from being attacked, Justin shaking his head.
“They’re called CONDOMS!” he shouted after Jake.
Quatre looked at her suspiciously. “Why is it that everywhere you go, you know everyone?”
Felicia gave him a haughty expression. “I’m a ho. I get around. Anyway, since you’re so fuckin’ dense, I’m going to talk to Jamie.”
“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that J wanted him?!” Quatre roared, kicking Justin underneath the table. The other boy yelped in pain, then reached across to smack him. As the two engaged in mortal combat, Felicia shook her head, rolling her eyes and hurrying back into the gym for the unofficial mission.
“I’m a fucking guy, man! I need things spelt out for me! Even then, I need someone to hold my hand and guide me through it,” Quatre continued, laughing as Justin leapt from his seat, grabbed him into a headlock, and proceeded to administer a fierce noogie. “OW! OW! Oi! OW! RAPE!”
“Like anyone would want you in that manner,” Justin cursed, letting go of him. “I’m heading out. You’re such a child. You need to grow up...”
“Aw, and we had such tender moments,” Quatre said with that dreadful lisp, limp wrist batting at Justin’s shorts.
“GOD–!” Justin couldn’t think of anything to say, and stomped off, heading outside to escape the chaos within. Quatre laughed, found that he could not finish his nachos due to lack of chips, and stood up to throw his things away. He turned to see that members of his team were filing into the cafeteria, all of them carrying their bags and getting ready to go.
“We’ll stop for dinner at a fast food place,” Ramos was saying as he led the way. “Our next game’s tomorrow, at four.”
“Against who?” Paul asked.
“Cal-North.”
“Are they tough?”
“Nah,” Duo said, shrugging as he wiped his bangs from his face. “They’re pretty good, but they ain’t tough.”
“Ah.”
As they were leaving the cafeteria, Quatre was still oozing in depressed vibes from that win over Duncan Jones, and was down enough to forget all about that incident with his jersey. He reviewed small parts of the game with a heavy frown, and glanced around at the various people brave enough to endure the cold to have their precious little smokes. Then he blinked, freezing in place as he saw who looked to be Trowa talking to Justin. Was it...? YES, it was!! It was Trowa talking to Justin!!
He was outraged enough to start heading over to kick some ex ass for being so damned nosy and so damned irritating when Ramos pulled him back, asking about any other threats he’d received.
Since he couldn’t leave his coach’s side, Quatre glared at the two, answering half-heartedly as they made their way to the bus. He hoped that Trowa wasn’t being stupid and asking about their ‘fling’...how fucking annoying...