((Ivan Kuznetsov continued from Life is a Game))
The air suddenly felt cold. It didn't really make sense what with the sky being practically cloudless and the sun direct, but there were other things to worry about. When his mind got as clouded from anger and irritation as it was right now, there were very few places Ivan could go and get away from everything. One was home, of course. As aware as he was that not everybody had that option, Ivan usually did and used it whenever possible. As things were right now, however, home wasn't an option at all. He still had at least one class left in the day and even if he didn't, the state he was in was severe enough to warrant something much bigger than a nap in his room.
No, Ivan's destination, which he stormed to in as direct a path as obstacles would allow, offered much relief to his psyche than a nap could. Hell, probably even more than hanging out with his little brother, which could solve just about anything. That's how irritated the short blonde felt right now, and he couldn't even question himself why without aiming some of his own pent-up rage at himself. As something of a pre-release, he just focused on his sanctuary, his Shangri-la: the tennis courts.
The normally-irritating fact that tennis was overshadowed greatly by hockey at this school made an about-face today. Maybe just for today, or maybe it always had a hidden benefit and Ivan just chose not to notice. It wasn't the prevalence of tennis that had changed, but simply how much it annoyed Ivan. Today, he needed to be alone and, lo and behold, the courts seemed deserted as they came into his sights. Ivan could almost picture an imaginary thermometer slowly dropping, the green clay replacing the sights and sounds of that chess player, Aaron... him and his shouting at that girl. That girl... she had annoyed him as well, but both visages were out of both sight and mind. He could finally rest easy in their absence.
Overstepping in order to nudge open an unhooked chain-link door with his foot, his footsteps finally ended with the clip-clip-clip sounds of walking on the dry court. It was nearly enough to make him groan and sigh with relief to feel his home-turf. The pace was picked up to a slow and reserved jog, carrying an eager Ivan to one of the wooden benches at the side of the court. He only needed his racket and one tennis ball, the rest of his equipment could stay on the bench. All set to go, the boy practically bounded for the practice wall in his excitement before he realized his world was still set in a dominating green hue. His glasses... those had to change.
A few seconds later, Ivan had swapped his green glasses for a clear but otherwise identical set, keeping his shades in the tennis bag. Excitement had pushed his patience to the brink, he couldn't wait any longer! Short, powerful pumps of his legs saw him fighting the wind to get to the practice wall, set up on the western-most court of the school. This had been a long time coming...
The ball, the racket, the wall. That's all he needed. He might've been alone, but he was happy.
Chain-link fence, open sky
He studies alone, practices alone.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
It was Friday afternoon, and that meant Claire Lambert had the day off. Ever since she'd told her manager about the fiasco with JJ and Johnny at work a few months back he'd been giving her Fridays off, which she couldn't be more thankful for. There was no better way to start her weekend than not having to worry about work or homework. Friday was relaxing time.
So, with her duffle bag in hand and backpack slung over her shoulder, Claire slipped through the gate leading onto the courts and made her way over to one of the wooden benches. The courtside lockers were a great service, having been just recently installed and assigned to the members of the tennis team. Her fingers working through memory, Claire span the combination lock around and opened the locker, shoving her backpack inside rather forcefully to get it to fit and removing her windbreaker, which she also stored away.
After closing and locking up her belongings she withdrew her racket and cylinder of balls from her duffle bag, zipping it back up and carrying it in her free hand. She was about to make her way over to the wall when she noticed Ivan for the first time.
Beat me to it...
Ivan was a nice guy from what she could tell, but he really didn't talk much. She'd had a few brief interactions with him on team outings, but other than that she knew little more than his name. Still, he wasn't taking up the whole wall, so she wouldn't be one to bother him.
As silently as he did, Claire went about serving an overhand swing against the wall on the opposite side of the court, dropping into a ready stance to return her own shot.
So, with her duffle bag in hand and backpack slung over her shoulder, Claire slipped through the gate leading onto the courts and made her way over to one of the wooden benches. The courtside lockers were a great service, having been just recently installed and assigned to the members of the tennis team. Her fingers working through memory, Claire span the combination lock around and opened the locker, shoving her backpack inside rather forcefully to get it to fit and removing her windbreaker, which she also stored away.
After closing and locking up her belongings she withdrew her racket and cylinder of balls from her duffle bag, zipping it back up and carrying it in her free hand. She was about to make her way over to the wall when she noticed Ivan for the first time.
Beat me to it...
Ivan was a nice guy from what she could tell, but he really didn't talk much. She'd had a few brief interactions with him on team outings, but other than that she knew little more than his name. Still, he wasn't taking up the whole wall, so she wouldn't be one to bother him.
As silently as he did, Claire went about serving an overhand swing against the wall on the opposite side of the court, dropping into a ready stance to return her own shot.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Thwock!"
Settled in with simply shooting straight shots and bounces, Ivan began to angle the ball. First one was a few degrees to the left, his feet immediately pushing off at full blast to cover the few feet he needed in order to be ready, having set his position comfortably before the ball returned to him. Giving the ball a solid overhand smack, Ivan gave a mental cheer at the ball's trajectory; heading to the right, a few more inches over where the original bounce was. If he kept going like this, he'd be practicing his spreads beautifully and efficiently.
The imagined image of his muscles warming up, not unlike that of a vehicle's engine surged in Ivan's mind. Dash to the left, watch the pacing, stop, swing! Dash to the right, watch the pacing, stop, backhand! Further and further he needed to run, but footwork was something that he was always ready to work on and utilize in order to make up for his short stature. Even most of the female tennis players were taller than him, something that bruised his ego (and he was none to eager to admit it).
Things had gotten to the point where he was struggling to hit the ball before he had even stopped, so the spreading of distance had to stop there while he increased the distance between him and the wall. Once things had become managable, the horizontal distance could once again lengthen. In order to stay alert, the boy's mind began to coax itself into a sort of rhythm consisting of his feet and the ball. Between the pattering of his shoes, the ball hitting the racket and shooting to the wall, more running, the ball hitting the clay court... the 'song' drove him to consistently push himself. He had even forgotten why he was there... not like it mattered.
Clop.
Gears locked up, turntables screeched, and the song spun off into disrepair. The Kuznetsov had been staring so intently at the ball, nearly projecting himself into it that he had been waiting for each 'beat' it contributed to his mental practice song. That clop he just heard wasn't part of it.... it wasn't HIS ball that collided with the practice wall. Slowing to a stop, the boy craned his neck in the direction where he believed the offense had taken place, his tennis ball rolling right by his feet unnoticed. Once he had located the scene of the 'crime', his brain had to run what he was seeing by a sort of database. The girl was definitely on the tennis team, he knew her and had amired her formidable skills (from a distance), but the name was drawing a blank in his mind. Cleo.. Claire... Claire something. That was as close as he could get.
".... Whatever..." He mumbled quietly. The girl wasn't talking or making much noise outside of her own activities, so it was still a tolerable addition to the atmosphere of practice. Formal tennis practice was much louder, anyway. For that reason alone, Ivan greatly preferred to do most of his practicing alone or with his brother Louis. Now if only his little brother could develop some more skill, Ivan wouldn't even see the need to practice with anybody else.
The methods of his 'inner song' no longer applicable due to Claire's own practicing, Ivan switched from footwork to serving/power-shots. One short jog to find his stray ball later, he was lined up with the wall and ready to go... tossing it up with his right hand, he grunted lowly in time with the powerful overhand strike delivered by his left arm. The satisfying, louder sounds of the green felt object striking the wall began to make the Russian/Spaniard's blood pump. With as hard as he was hitting the ball with each strike, the rarity of a grin began to spread on Ivan's face. Only tenths of a second to react to each bounce... sometimes the ball never even touched the court, going from wall to racket and back to wall. The exhilaration was peaking just as Ivan's freshest hit bounced high from the wall...
Having to tilt his neck up a bit just to see it, Ivan already began to backpedal. With how the ball was sailing, it was highly likely that it was 'out' anyway... but nothing could break the flow of his practice! He had to return it, no matter what he did! He struggled to keep his eyes on the ball while reaching back with his racket... as the ball neared the right level, he saw that it was approaching on his right side. He crossed the racket over his chest.... and that triggered disaster.
Knocking himself off-balance in his endeavors with that movement, Ivan could already feel himself falling backwards. "SHIT!" He yelled reflexively, twisting his body and tucking most of his right arm underneath him to avoid a straight-on collision with his back and the court. Releasing the racket in his hand out of primal instinct, Ivan's left hand wrapped in front of himself to try and help cushion the fall. As shooting pain running through his body and his vision going red indicated... it didn't work.
"F... Fu..." Ivan croaked, rolling right back into the prone position. He struggled to open his eyes and stare at the sky, maybe count the clouds to dull the pain, but the sun seemed to have it in for him with a glare that inhibited much of his view. It hurt even to breathe, so he knew he messed something up pretty nastily. Excruciating pain seemed to be focused on his right side, but his left palm was biting at the boy as well. Biting too much, actually, to the point where Ivan couldn't bear to use either arm to try and right himself.
"...H... Help?"
Settled in with simply shooting straight shots and bounces, Ivan began to angle the ball. First one was a few degrees to the left, his feet immediately pushing off at full blast to cover the few feet he needed in order to be ready, having set his position comfortably before the ball returned to him. Giving the ball a solid overhand smack, Ivan gave a mental cheer at the ball's trajectory; heading to the right, a few more inches over where the original bounce was. If he kept going like this, he'd be practicing his spreads beautifully and efficiently.
The imagined image of his muscles warming up, not unlike that of a vehicle's engine surged in Ivan's mind. Dash to the left, watch the pacing, stop, swing! Dash to the right, watch the pacing, stop, backhand! Further and further he needed to run, but footwork was something that he was always ready to work on and utilize in order to make up for his short stature. Even most of the female tennis players were taller than him, something that bruised his ego (and he was none to eager to admit it).
Things had gotten to the point where he was struggling to hit the ball before he had even stopped, so the spreading of distance had to stop there while he increased the distance between him and the wall. Once things had become managable, the horizontal distance could once again lengthen. In order to stay alert, the boy's mind began to coax itself into a sort of rhythm consisting of his feet and the ball. Between the pattering of his shoes, the ball hitting the racket and shooting to the wall, more running, the ball hitting the clay court... the 'song' drove him to consistently push himself. He had even forgotten why he was there... not like it mattered.
Clop.
Gears locked up, turntables screeched, and the song spun off into disrepair. The Kuznetsov had been staring so intently at the ball, nearly projecting himself into it that he had been waiting for each 'beat' it contributed to his mental practice song. That clop he just heard wasn't part of it.... it wasn't HIS ball that collided with the practice wall. Slowing to a stop, the boy craned his neck in the direction where he believed the offense had taken place, his tennis ball rolling right by his feet unnoticed. Once he had located the scene of the 'crime', his brain had to run what he was seeing by a sort of database. The girl was definitely on the tennis team, he knew her and had amired her formidable skills (from a distance), but the name was drawing a blank in his mind. Cleo.. Claire... Claire something. That was as close as he could get.
".... Whatever..." He mumbled quietly. The girl wasn't talking or making much noise outside of her own activities, so it was still a tolerable addition to the atmosphere of practice. Formal tennis practice was much louder, anyway. For that reason alone, Ivan greatly preferred to do most of his practicing alone or with his brother Louis. Now if only his little brother could develop some more skill, Ivan wouldn't even see the need to practice with anybody else.
The methods of his 'inner song' no longer applicable due to Claire's own practicing, Ivan switched from footwork to serving/power-shots. One short jog to find his stray ball later, he was lined up with the wall and ready to go... tossing it up with his right hand, he grunted lowly in time with the powerful overhand strike delivered by his left arm. The satisfying, louder sounds of the green felt object striking the wall began to make the Russian/Spaniard's blood pump. With as hard as he was hitting the ball with each strike, the rarity of a grin began to spread on Ivan's face. Only tenths of a second to react to each bounce... sometimes the ball never even touched the court, going from wall to racket and back to wall. The exhilaration was peaking just as Ivan's freshest hit bounced high from the wall...
Having to tilt his neck up a bit just to see it, Ivan already began to backpedal. With how the ball was sailing, it was highly likely that it was 'out' anyway... but nothing could break the flow of his practice! He had to return it, no matter what he did! He struggled to keep his eyes on the ball while reaching back with his racket... as the ball neared the right level, he saw that it was approaching on his right side. He crossed the racket over his chest.... and that triggered disaster.
Knocking himself off-balance in his endeavors with that movement, Ivan could already feel himself falling backwards. "SHIT!" He yelled reflexively, twisting his body and tucking most of his right arm underneath him to avoid a straight-on collision with his back and the court. Releasing the racket in his hand out of primal instinct, Ivan's left hand wrapped in front of himself to try and help cushion the fall. As shooting pain running through his body and his vision going red indicated... it didn't work.
"F... Fu..." Ivan croaked, rolling right back into the prone position. He struggled to open his eyes and stare at the sky, maybe count the clouds to dull the pain, but the sun seemed to have it in for him with a glare that inhibited much of his view. It hurt even to breathe, so he knew he messed something up pretty nastily. Excruciating pain seemed to be focused on his right side, but his left palm was biting at the boy as well. Biting too much, actually, to the point where Ivan couldn't bear to use either arm to try and right himself.
"...H... Help?"
Claire felt herself developing a rhythm just as Ivan seemed to stop to take a break, her feet guiding themselves along the clay court as she bounced along with the ball. She couldn't help but give a soft grunt along with a lot of her returns, a fashion she'd found strange when she watched tennis on TV in grade school but had become gradually accustomed to as she began to play the game. She considered it a sort of motivational tactic, the oomph behind her hits increasing as she pumped herself to work more efficiently. Her eyes moved as fast as her feet and arms, tracking the elusive green devil as it sped to and from the wall...
"SHIT!"
Claire lost track of her ball as she turned towards the source of the expletive just in time to notice Ivan collide with the ground, hard. His racket had fallen out of his hand and he seemed to have pinned himself to the ground. His pitiful attempts to bring himself back to his feet seemed quite painful, and Claire immediately found herself gathering up her racket and ball even before Ivan had a chance to speak.
"...H...Help?"
"Just a sec!" Claire shouted in response, opening her locker quickly and shoving her duffle bag inside before closing it and locking it again. Something inside her instinctively told her she'd be taking Ivan elsewhere to have him looked at, and her belongings were safer in her locker than they were out in the open. She supposed it wasn't the best time to be putting herself first, but part of her couldn't help but be a tad selfish. That equipment was expensive.
Her gear and belongings packed safely away, Claire jogged over to Ivan and knelt beside him. He had enormous scrapes down his right arm that were bleeding freely, dotting the clay with red where he'd landed. His shoulder looked slightly contused, and from the awkward way that same arm was positioned it looked like he'd done something to it when he landed.
"All right, this might hurt a bit," she warned prudely, bracing Ivan under his left side and grabbing him around the waist before hoisting him to his feet. Thankfully the extra two inches she had on the boy made it a tad easier to lift him, but she still found the task worthy of a grunt as she pulled, trying her best to work through the pain Ivan was feeling.
"Sorry, we're good," she re-encouraged him, letting go and stepping back a bit to look him over. He seemed fine to stand on his own, if a little off balance; his arm seemed to be where the majority of the trouble was. It really didn't look right to her.
"Uhm..." she started, trying her best to show concern without seeming too overbearing. Being quite accustomed to speaking good English, she wasn't used to stuttering...therefore, after shaking it off, she continued her train of thought. "We should get you to the Nurse's office. I'll take your stuff," she offered, and before he had a chance to reprimand her she was snatching up his racket and ball and putting it back into his duffle bag somewhat invasively. She didn't really stop to consider that the way she approached the situation was a tad rude - she hoped sincerely that he wouldn't take it the wrong way.
After snatching up all of his equipment and with some effort hoisting it onto her back, she made her way back over to him. She could come back for her stuff later.
"Come on..." she urged, sticking close to him and leading the way to the Nurse's office.
(Claire Lambert continued in Nature vs Nurture)
"SHIT!"
Claire lost track of her ball as she turned towards the source of the expletive just in time to notice Ivan collide with the ground, hard. His racket had fallen out of his hand and he seemed to have pinned himself to the ground. His pitiful attempts to bring himself back to his feet seemed quite painful, and Claire immediately found herself gathering up her racket and ball even before Ivan had a chance to speak.
"...H...Help?"
"Just a sec!" Claire shouted in response, opening her locker quickly and shoving her duffle bag inside before closing it and locking it again. Something inside her instinctively told her she'd be taking Ivan elsewhere to have him looked at, and her belongings were safer in her locker than they were out in the open. She supposed it wasn't the best time to be putting herself first, but part of her couldn't help but be a tad selfish. That equipment was expensive.
Her gear and belongings packed safely away, Claire jogged over to Ivan and knelt beside him. He had enormous scrapes down his right arm that were bleeding freely, dotting the clay with red where he'd landed. His shoulder looked slightly contused, and from the awkward way that same arm was positioned it looked like he'd done something to it when he landed.
"All right, this might hurt a bit," she warned prudely, bracing Ivan under his left side and grabbing him around the waist before hoisting him to his feet. Thankfully the extra two inches she had on the boy made it a tad easier to lift him, but she still found the task worthy of a grunt as she pulled, trying her best to work through the pain Ivan was feeling.
"Sorry, we're good," she re-encouraged him, letting go and stepping back a bit to look him over. He seemed fine to stand on his own, if a little off balance; his arm seemed to be where the majority of the trouble was. It really didn't look right to her.
"Uhm..." she started, trying her best to show concern without seeming too overbearing. Being quite accustomed to speaking good English, she wasn't used to stuttering...therefore, after shaking it off, she continued her train of thought. "We should get you to the Nurse's office. I'll take your stuff," she offered, and before he had a chance to reprimand her she was snatching up his racket and ball and putting it back into his duffle bag somewhat invasively. She didn't really stop to consider that the way she approached the situation was a tad rude - she hoped sincerely that he wouldn't take it the wrong way.
After snatching up all of his equipment and with some effort hoisting it onto her back, she made her way back over to him. She could come back for her stuff later.
"Come on..." she urged, sticking close to him and leading the way to the Nurse's office.
(Claire Lambert continued in Nature vs Nurture)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
She was right there... why isn't she helping me? I can't move... what the hell did I do to my arm? At least it's my right arm...
Ivan's mind was racing over a multitude of questions as he laid on the hard clay. He couldn't see much of anything thanks to him facing up towards the sun's glare, yet a wet and warm feeling focused around the pain in his right arm told him the gut-wrenching fact; his arm was bleeding, and bleeding rather heavily. With the sun beating down the way it was, the boy eventually resorted to sticking his left hand, palm-down, over his eyes to aid the struggle in keeping them open. This postion, as it turned out, also gave him a wonderful view of what had happened to his hand. It stung like hell, but the damage was quite superfluous when compared to what had happened to his other limb; the palm was a little scraped, some blood showing, but nothing game-threatening. Ivan could probably play with that hand if he slapped a bandage on it, and that was if it wasn't healed completely by the time the next game...
The game... is there one coming up? Will I be able to play!?!?
He groaned, this thought co-inciding with a silhouetted figure standing over him. He just barely made out the words "This may hurt a bit" before the unmistakable touch of hands met his skin. The verbal warning had given Ivan enough time to brace himself for Claire's lifting, and yet he still had to shut his eyes as tight as the muscles could bear.
She's touching me... damnit, too close, TOO CLOSE!
The apprehensive thought was immediately followed by a silent self-reprimand as Ivan hissed, his legs creaking and reluctantly sliding under him in the agreement to bear his weight. He had asked for help, how else was he going to get it? That being said, there was still no overcoming his reluctance to be grabbed in such a way, by both hands even. If he hugged anybody, Ivan hugged his parents or, on somewhat rarer occasions, his brother. He never thought he would ever have a girl get THIS close to him, even given the situation. Because of this, as the short boy was hoisted to his wobbly yet capable legs, there was a slightly reddish tinge on his face to match the blood seeping from his arm.
Able to see once more, Ivan took the opportunity to stare at his arm, the horror thickly reflected in his face as he finally got to see the wounds that were causing him so much pain. After staring at the abrasions, Ivan got the full punch of the situation when he noticed the muscle. He had never seen it this bad.. he had irked his arm or his pec a few times, but this pain was much worse, and the shape of the muscle was never that incorrect. His staring caused him to almost completely skip out on Claire stuffing his things in the dufflebag, which was for the best with the rough way that she handled them.
".... You didn't have to." He said simply when he saw her holding his things. It was a nice gesture, but probably more of a necessary one seeing as how his right arm was out of commission, and his left was being used to cradle his right. There wasn't any way he could hold it. Still.... it was a nice thing for her to do. Ivan had to admit that to himself as he followed her to the Nurse's office.
(Ivan Kuznetsov, continued in Nature vs Nurture)
Ivan's mind was racing over a multitude of questions as he laid on the hard clay. He couldn't see much of anything thanks to him facing up towards the sun's glare, yet a wet and warm feeling focused around the pain in his right arm told him the gut-wrenching fact; his arm was bleeding, and bleeding rather heavily. With the sun beating down the way it was, the boy eventually resorted to sticking his left hand, palm-down, over his eyes to aid the struggle in keeping them open. This postion, as it turned out, also gave him a wonderful view of what had happened to his hand. It stung like hell, but the damage was quite superfluous when compared to what had happened to his other limb; the palm was a little scraped, some blood showing, but nothing game-threatening. Ivan could probably play with that hand if he slapped a bandage on it, and that was if it wasn't healed completely by the time the next game...
The game... is there one coming up? Will I be able to play!?!?
He groaned, this thought co-inciding with a silhouetted figure standing over him. He just barely made out the words "This may hurt a bit" before the unmistakable touch of hands met his skin. The verbal warning had given Ivan enough time to brace himself for Claire's lifting, and yet he still had to shut his eyes as tight as the muscles could bear.
She's touching me... damnit, too close, TOO CLOSE!
The apprehensive thought was immediately followed by a silent self-reprimand as Ivan hissed, his legs creaking and reluctantly sliding under him in the agreement to bear his weight. He had asked for help, how else was he going to get it? That being said, there was still no overcoming his reluctance to be grabbed in such a way, by both hands even. If he hugged anybody, Ivan hugged his parents or, on somewhat rarer occasions, his brother. He never thought he would ever have a girl get THIS close to him, even given the situation. Because of this, as the short boy was hoisted to his wobbly yet capable legs, there was a slightly reddish tinge on his face to match the blood seeping from his arm.
Able to see once more, Ivan took the opportunity to stare at his arm, the horror thickly reflected in his face as he finally got to see the wounds that were causing him so much pain. After staring at the abrasions, Ivan got the full punch of the situation when he noticed the muscle. He had never seen it this bad.. he had irked his arm or his pec a few times, but this pain was much worse, and the shape of the muscle was never that incorrect. His staring caused him to almost completely skip out on Claire stuffing his things in the dufflebag, which was for the best with the rough way that she handled them.
".... You didn't have to." He said simply when he saw her holding his things. It was a nice gesture, but probably more of a necessary one seeing as how his right arm was out of commission, and his left was being used to cradle his right. There wasn't any way he could hold it. Still.... it was a nice thing for her to do. Ivan had to admit that to himself as he followed her to the Nurse's office.
(Ivan Kuznetsov, continued in Nature vs Nurture)