Sticks And Stones...

[ViolentMedic]

((Marshall West continued from Pain Is Temporary, Qutting Is Forever, doing a 360 to be right on the field again.))

Classes were over, but school was not. Lacrosse was approaching. This was, of course, important.

But on the other hand, Marshall had an equally strong concern. Though normally Math wasn’t hard for him to grasp, part of today’s lesson had gone over his head, and he’d been unable to keep peppering the teacher with questions because class had ended. He’d noted all the calculus questions he’d had a problem with down. Now he just had to figure out where his work was clunky. But he also had to stretch. Not stretching before lacrosse would be stupid. He’d pull something and ruin any physical career he could possibly aim for.

So Marshall, dressed in his PE gear and ready to slap on some lacrosse gear and get out on that field, had one leg resting on the bleachers, stretching it out, while awkwardly holding his notebook in the other hand.

“Perhaps if… no, that doesn’t make sense,” Marshall muttered as he switched legs. “What am I missing?”

He was missing all his team members, for starters. But not everyone had Marshall’s tendency to power walk to every location ahead of time so as to ensure punctuality. He was still early. Hence the calculus, which if he didn’t sort out how to do this would destroy all his chances of a good college. The trajectory of his life might be determined by this.

“Oh, wait--” Marshall’s eyes flickered to part of the problem, and he reached for where he’d left his pencil case. Unfortunately, it was just out of reach unless he stopped stretching his legs. Marshall frowned, still trying to reach the pencil case without moving his leg from the bleachers.

Ugh, decisions.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"You know, Marshall... we have a saying."

((Vladimir Tepes enters pregame))

The voice called from a good distance, but the footsteps could faintly be felt. With sharp, metallic taps, a pair of cleats made contact with the raised bleachers where people sat, crossing the gaps and dips where spectators' legs rested. Vladimir meticulously strode down each step with arms crossed until he'd approached the same level as his teammate, whereupon he finally stepped down into the lower 'valley' step between two raised sections.

"I will translate it for you, loosely. 'It is better to do one thing well than to do two things poorly.' Does that make any sense to you?" The Romanian boy lifted his chin and looked down over his nose at Marshall. Same as him, Vladimir had also changed into his lacrosse uniform and arrived early.

[ViolentMedic]

Ugh. Something even worse than decisions. Vladimir. Who was known to be just… just outright rude.

“That’s not an exclusively Romanian saying,” Marshall huffed. “And you… have a point.” Those words came out like pulling teeth. “But my schedule requires me to understand this calculus before I go home. Otherwise everything’s out of order! And a jack of all trades is better than being a master of one!”

Unwilling to give up in the face of someone like Vladimir judging him—ugh, Marshall would never punch someone but something about Vladimir’s face just made him want to tackle a punching bag—Marshall finally reached his pencil case without giving up the stretch, and beamed before retrieving his pencil. Only to realise he’d forgotten his epiphany immediately after Vladimir interrupted his train of thought, leaving him staring forlornly at the page.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"I never said it was a Romanian saying," Vladimir replied while examining his fingernails. "And your schedule problem is not the team's problem."

Marshall shouldn't have been Vladimir's problem, nor anybody else's. The reasoning for this conversation's very existence fell to a specific set of circumstances that brought them together, or otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. One of the most valuable lessons Vladimir learned admittedly a bit too late in his life, absorbing it only after he had moved to America, was when to recognize something wasn't his business and to leave it alone. He had to consider, then, the following: both he and Marshall played lacrosse, the lacrosse team was probably the only team at this school that wasn't a complete joke, and success meant more than anything. That made this all his business.

Vladimir adjusted the Armani sunglasses he wore to stave off the blaring afternoon sun, at least until he had to put on his helmet for practice, then took a few steps down toward the field. "Jack of all trades. Curious saying. But I believe it goes 'better than being a master of none, yes?" He turned after asking the question. Poor Marshall was doing his best; he just needed a little bit of guidance. For the sake of the team, Vladimir silently vowed to do his best, but it reminded him of another American idiom: the one about how you can lead cattle to water.

"Math should be done at home. Sports are done at the field, yes? Focus. Start training with me. You could use the extra help."

[ViolentMedic]

“You weren’t even here until ten seconds ago!” Marshall protested. “I work when I have the time! And despite common belief, the initial invention of the phrase had no negative connotations!”

But Vladimir had ruined his train of thought anyway, so Marshall snapped the book shut and placed it neatly with the rest of his things before giving his arms a better stretch.

“And which part were you looking to practice, Vladimir? Surely you have aspects of your playing that you could use practice with, too? Your speed, maybe? Oh! Did you bring sunscreen?!” Marshall bellowed, interrupting his own concerns with a fresh one. “I have some in my bag! It’s important to protect yourself! You’re clearly already aware of this from the sunglasses!”

Marshall was already turning to rummage before getting an answer. He was genuinely concerned that Vladimir might burst into flames without it.

[Cicada]

The grass on the field looked overgrown, a riotous verdancy's worth of tripping hazards for the non-cleat wearing population of the school. AKA, the normies.

|| Ashlyn Graves, Thread 5 ||

The school janitor was likely not paid enough to give a fuck, and Ashlyn could of course sympathize but it was still an ugly sight like a corpse left to fester in the middle of school grounds. The actual corpse variety, not the ones produced by AP exams.

Ash finished roughly tying her team jacket around her waist by the time she reached the bottom step of the bleachers, proudly wearing awkward collarbone and cleavage sweat. Her last period of the day was technically a free period but she usually spent it playing assistant coach to Mrs. Becker's last period volleyball elective. Never a day to not practice. She ended up catching the tail end of Marshall and Vlad's- was there anyone in school who had earned the right to truncate his name to his face though- passive-mostly-aggressive derecho of a conversation. The sunscreen dig was bold as fuck. Kind of unimaginative, but points for not being a coward about it.

"You need a third, I'm in. I'm not busy for a bit." She smiled, waved, crossed her arms, all in roughly the least stupid looking order. Strictly just a bit, she'd have to help lead the beginner classes at the dojo in precisely an hour, and traffic would never be kind to her unless it was to throw a semi her way to give her the release of oblivion.

She liked both guys currently present in a soulless, working-relationship kind of way she imagined was the default in the corporate life she'd suffer through if she was lucky to miss her invitation to the 27 club. Good drive, good athletes. Marshall seemed like the kind of kindred spirit she probably already had too many of in her lifetime because one of her was already too much. Vladimir was... to put it one way: much as Ash would have benefited from a friendlier face to get his father interested in throwing some of those import dollars the way of the future catastrophic apartment building collapse that was the financial status of the school's athletics department, Vladimir was a bit too much of an all-rounder asshole for Ash to not feel associating with him any closer than leaving space for jesus between wouldn't alienate half the senior class.

He was probably out of her league anyways, looking at it from his perspective. AKA the perspective that lowkey came out of the colonoscopy end of the human body.

"Marshall if that was calc you were putting into your bag hit me up with a text if you need, I think I'm ninety percent on today's lesson."

Been a while since she'd played lacrosse, she was kind of hoping the boys would take her up on the offer. If she remembered correctly speed pass drills did often involve lineups, at least that was how Spuds had taught it to her way back when.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Vladimir smirked, if briefly, at Marshall's retort.

Ah, he was trying to be clever. Vladimir had been offering sincere advice to his teammate, but those with inadequacies were always the quickest to get defensive. It was no surprise Marshall shot back in the way he did. But then he continued, and Vladimir's smile was replaced with a chilly look.

"I brought my own, thank you," he replied, setting his rucksack down on the foremost bleacher and withdrawing a bottle of Maestro UV. Making a point to show it to Marshall grimly, Vladimir put it back in his bag. He'd already applied it, in private, to his face and to his legs but he knew his body, and he would need to excuse himself at some point to reapply the creme. Up until this point he had been making the best of efforts to stay in the shade, something the openness of a field limited but thanks to the announcer's box, a small section of the bleachers had a shadow cast that offered comfort. When it was time to play, Vladimir would simply have to rely on his helmet.

They were joined by a third, the intruder receiving a glance and a polite nod from Vladimir before some questioning. "You would need a stick of your own, wouldn't you?" he asked. Ashlyn's presence here was slightly baffling; he couldn't think of any reason she'd have to be here. Unless... no, it would be untoward to prod at that just yet. "Marshall and I were simply about to work on some handling. So he doesn't drop the ball, figuratively or literally. Isn't that right, Marshall?"

[VoltTurtle]

"Yo, heads up!"

Lúcio ran at the group that had gathered, huffing and puffing in his lacrosse gear as a ball sailed towards them. Just moments prior he had seen Marshall there, and without thinking immediately pelted a ball at him. It was only a moment later that he realized that there were other people around, who he could hit doing that, and started running. Conveniently for all of them though, the ball sailed harmlessly by Vladimir's head, though still close enough to graze his hair.

"My bad, Vlad!"

He skid to a stop just in front of everyone, his cleats kicking a small cloud of turf up and into the air, glancing between them.

"Sorry 'bout that!"

An interesting lineup of Marshall, Vladimir, and Ashlyn.

Marshall was like a brother to Lúcio. He didn't know what Marshall thought of him, but as far as he was concerned they were tighter than a jock strap after a long game. Marshall could be a bit blunt and critical sometimes, but Lúcio understood why. It was only natural to want your brothers to be better at what they do, and sometimes the truth was what they needed to hear.

Vladimir was different. He was the local vampire of Salem, though he never seemed to admit to that when Lúcio tried to ask. Lúcio was pretty sure that was a cover story, though. Vampires couldn't go around telling people they're vampires and all that. He was still okay in Lúcio's book though, even if he was pretty rude and drank blood.

Ashlyn... Lúcio didn't know what to think of Ash, besides the obvious fact that he could get behind muscle girls (if you know what he's saying). They hadn't talked before to his knowledge, but he knew a few things about her; that she was pretty surly, that her sister was the skittish cat girl, and that her parents had died when she was pretty young. He could forgive being surly and distant, given the circumstances, and he'd like to get to know her better in spite of it. If being with Ari had taught Lúcio anything, it's that girls were often like onions.

"Heya, ladies. I saw you guys only had three wheels, so I figured I'd join in as the fourth. What're we doin'?"

[ViolentMedic]

Marshall nodded seriously and let go of the sunscreen, oblivious to the chilliness of the look. It was important to use sunscreen. Marshall burned pretty easily if he wasn’t careful.

Another person turned up, though not someone who was part of the team. Marshall didn’t know Ashlyn on a personal level very well. Knew enough to know that she did a lot of work in the community, and the physical fitness was evident. They seemed to have much in common, yet they just hadn’t gotten around to working together much. Now was the time!

“It was calculus! If I haven’t sorted it out by the time I get home, I’ll text when I start my studying! Right now practice is upcoming!” Marshall said brightly. “We both need practice, so more players will help! Another stick shouldn’t be hard to find, and while three is an awkward number for most exercises, soon others will--”

Before he’d finished, a ball went zooming through the group, narrowly avoiding causing injury.

“Lúcio, no-one’s even wearing helmets yet!” Marshall bellowed, hands flailing upwards and in equal danger of smacking someone in the face as the ball was. Seeing that no-one was hurt, he beamed at Lúcio despite his critical tone.

There weren’t a lot of people Marshall could call a friend, but he was reasonably sure Lúcio wouldn’t mind if he did. He understood the value of improving oneself—even if Marshall really thought he should focus more on his schoolwork as well as all the gym improvements—and, even better, of encouraging others to do the same, and helping him get there. He had a knack for getting along with people that Marshall was admittedly jealous of, and Marshall admired him when he wasn’t endangering classmates.

“We’re practicing before practice!” Marshall clenched his hands with an immense amount of enthusiasm. “And now we are four! A perfect number for many exercises!” He kept grinning with that too-wide smile.

[Cicada]

Polite nod was returned with only as much mind paid to the sudden freezing point transition in Vladimir's jaw as was needed to dismiss the threat off-hand. Marshall had gotten a good zinger in, credit where credit was due. "Girl's practices later so if there are any crosse leftover that aren't about to break Mrs. Becker will hook me up."

Ash glanced backwards- incoming. Momentarily mistaken for a bullet, conjuring the lingering image of the jagged way ballistic gel melted under acute gunpowder-shaped duress. Ash had the reflexes to know she had to stand perfectly still because she wasn't in any danger of eating low quality, post school-budget rubber. Lúcio was a fun dude. Easy to talk to- if only it worked the same in the other direction, prototypical self-deprecation, et cetera. He wasn't a particularly good player in contrast to the other two dudes sharing the bleachers with her though. Unfortunate she had to include that in her calculations of his social credit score- concept courtesy of Natasha, endorsed and all- but he was cool in spite of the mediocrity, which was respectable in and of itself.

Shorthand, she liked him more than either of the others. Not that it changed her mood. She was like an onion or the like- toxic vapors no matter how delicate she was peeled and cut.

"We've all got thick skulls, I'm sure we would have survived. Worst case scenarios, induced senioritis isn't the worst fate." She started to grin herself. A bit more measured, because as thick as her skull was she wanted to keep most of it on the spooky side of her skin. But a smile was infectious- or that's what they said, anyways. So were Covid and the Spanish Flu, and look where that had gotten humanity.

"Unless one of you dudes has a stick to spare-" to be honest, more likely than the school itself having one- "I'll be back in five." How it worked was you started running slow. If someone called you back it looked less awkward as opposed when you were full on Naruto running.

[MK Kilmarnock]

When the whizzing sound and rush of air passed above Vladimir's ear, he jerked his head away with a start. As honed as his reflexes were, he hadn't had anything to react to until the ball had already rushed on by. It was pure luck he wasn't struck by that, a fact almost as frustrating as somebody being foolish enough to almost hit him in the first place.

Lúcio was that somebody, as it turned out. He was somebody, Vladimir thought, who should have been regarded as a peer. An equal, possibly, but his impulsiveness and foolishness reduced his standing to a mere contemporary. "Vladimir," he quickly corrected. His name was not 'Vlad.' "What were you aiming at, exactly?" Vladimir asked, affronted. He forced himself to unclench his jaw, sweeping a few fingers through his hair to make sure it was all still in place.

Following her comment about thick skulls (Vladimir resented the remark but said nothing; if Ashlyn wanted to compare herself to some thick-headed Neanderthal, that was her prerogative to do so), Ashlyn departed in search of a lacrosse stick. Vladimir said nothing to stop or slow her, only giving a partial glance over his shoulder and looking back to Lúcio. "Whatever your target was, you missed. How about a game of catch?" Vladimir offered. "With our helmets on. We can't expect our... skulls... to do all the work. And clearly, we can all benefit from a little practice with throwing."

[VoltTurtle]

Lúcio waved Ashlyn off with a smile, before turning his attention to Vladimir.

"I'm always down for a game of catch! But to explain, weeeell," he started to answer, "I saw Marshall sitting here and thought 'he'd catch this' because he's cool like that, y'know? Except, you know, my aim leaves a lot to be desired. Pretty sure they only keep me on the team to look pretty on the bench."

He jerked his head as though he were flipping his hair (currently locked underneath his helmet), dropped his lacrosse stick, engaged the sultriest pose he could imagine, and gave the duo his best set of bedroom eyes.

He could almost feel the bishie sparkles radiating off his face.

[ViolentMedic]

“Senioritis is absolutely the worst fate that could befall us! Hurry back! Time is of the essence!” Marshall shouted after Ashlyn before he also returned his attention to the other two. He certainly didn’t have a spare stick. His was already rather battered – he got too enthusiastic while swinging it sometimes - and he didn’t have the funds to replace it.

In response to Lúcio dropping that pose, Marshall batted his hands irritably. “Lúcio, there’s no lacrosse calendar! Stop being handsome and focus on your training!” Easier said than done - Lúcio was just one of those guys who was objectively attractive. Anyone would say the same, Marshall was sure.

Marshall picked up his own stick and pointed dramatically. “Catch it is, then! I’m bad at catching, you’re bad at aiming, and Vladimir lacks stamina, so we are a trifecta of potential improvement! Then you can be both beautiful and competent, which will only enhance the former quality!”

[Slam]

((Lara ‘Spuds’ Bullock pregame start))

Spuds had been approaching the field from the school during all the conversation. She wasn’t dressed for lacrosse, because girls’ lacrosse wasn’t until later, but her equipment bag hung at her side, held there effortlessly alongside her book bag by her intensely honed frame.

Instead, she had come outside to work on the calculus homework, given by the same class Marshall was struggling with. The work had carefully been slotted into her mental calender: homework, lacrosse, back home for evening chores, then some weights before bed. It was a comparatively light day for her.

She had opted to study on the field rather than indoors because, as a farmer, she spent most of her time under the open sky. The fresh air helped clear her head and keep the stress at bay, which only occasionally crept up when a maths problem proved difficult. Fortunately, that was rare for her. There was a slight chill in the air, as befit the time of year, but nothing she wasn’t more than used to. Her flannel shirt kept her comfortable without any need for more layers.

The other reason for her choice of location was her interest in the boys’ practice. The familiar sounds of the sport, the melodic flickin of sticks moving through the air, were equally relaxing, and she was trying to familiarise herself with this year’s team. Privately, the view also gave her the softest flitter of a smile across her cheeks, but that was all it was. There wasn’t time for anything more, after all.

As she rounded the corner towards the spot the crowd was gathered, she found herself bumping into Ashlyn. She nodded down at her, taking only a lingering moment to bypass the inherent awkwardness that the hung between the two since their mutual outing.

“Hello, Ash.” she spoke, straightforward and clear while consciously offering a small smile. “Going somewhere?”

[MK Kilmarnock]

Vladimir returned Lúcio's thrown eyes with an icy stare of his own.

"What you are telling me is," he began, "you saw Marshall, who I was talking to. You somehow did not see me. So, your first instinct... is to sling a ball at him." Vladimir glanced sidelong at Marshall. "Somebody who was not even ready to catch it. Then." He looked back at Lúcio, trying his best to stare daggers right through him. "You missed and nearly struck me, which would have been... unfortunate for us both."

Marshall's pandering to Lúcio was disgusting to Vladimir. If these two wanted to continue to flirt, they could do so off the field. The focus should have been on Lúcio's gross irresponsibility just then. All vitriol aside, being struck with the ball at that distance and at that speed probably would not have caused serious injury, but it was the principle of the matter.

"Aiming. Perception. Responsibility. Lúcio has a lot of areas of improvement," Vladimir said in response to Marshall's haphazard assessment. "And what of my stamina? I do not have problems finishing games."