NOW LOOK AT THIS NET

[Pippi]

“Oh, come on, you’ve gotta be ffff…. Freakin’ kidding me!”

((Roy Benson; Pregame Start))

Roy hunkered down in his seat and waited for the disgruntled looks from the patrons around him to vanish and for everyone to go back to their own meals and conversations. He looked down at his plate of nachos, breathed out through his nose, then took a sip of his Pepsi.

He was, for lack of a better term, sulking.

Breaking his arm had put a massive damper on his year to begin with. He had been flying so goddamn high before it happened. It had been looking like his best season ever; MVP awards game after game, so many hype plays, and no-one could stand in his way. He was totally unstoppable, and he couldn’t wait to bring the same thunder to the rink as well.

Then, midway through yet another flawless performance, it had happened. Baxter had thrown that ball, Roy had run on to catch it, and the last thing he remembered was the guy built like a brick shithouse with a face to match charging towards him.

He could spend an entire fucking day working through who was to blame the most for his injury, but whoever it was, the end result was the same; his arm had snapped, it wasn’t going to get better for another couple of months at least, and his season was pretty much over. No more football. No more hockey. Hell, he could barely play Madden or GTA anymore.

Roy clunked his drink down, then picked up a chip loaded high with cheese, salsa, sour cream and guac. He sighed, before shovelling it into his mouth. The one upside to this whole situation was supposed to have been that he could still watch the NHL and the NFL, and he wasn’t going to miss any matches that went on at the same time as training.

Unfortunately, the New Jersey Devils had apparently decided that this was the year that they were gonna completely shit the bed.

Roy was pretty certain that he could play better than everyone on the team right now. Fuck, cut both his arms off and put the stick in his mouth, he’d still be able to play half of them off the field. It was never easy to be a Devils fan, but it seemed that this year was really gonna put his love for the team to the test.

Roy shook his head, and scooped up another couple of chips and dip. He looked back up just in time to see the Maple Leafs slap the puck into the back of the net once again.

“Oh, fuck off…” he muttered.

[Latin For Dragula]

((Theodore Fletcher comin' at ya))

Don't talk about his arm.

Theodore had learned over the years that there were some topics he was better off not having the first word on. It wasn't the same as lying. He just chose not to talk about it. It was a compromise of sorts. He wasn't good at the vague wandering around subjects that passed for "polite" conversation, but he couldn't mess up if he just didn't talk about it, right?

Don't talk about his arm.

That was his plan of attack when he spotted Roy down at Benson's. Theo was just finishing up his snack when he noticed him sitting all alone. Everybody at school had heard about the injury, even him. It had to suck, getting forced out of your favorite hobby just because of a freak accident. Roy wasn't a close friend or anything, but everyone could use a kind word after something like that! He slipped the journal he'd been making notes in under his arm and shouldered his bag, headed towards Roy with a big smile.

Don't talk about his arm.

Figuring out what he wasn't going to say was the simple part. How he was going to act on this plan to bring a little sunshine into Roy's life was...harder. Possibly something he should have contemplated before he headed over. Definitely something he should have contemplated before he headed over. Oh no, oh no, what was Roy into? Sports? He didn't know anything about sports! He could ask about his ca-

DON'T TALK ABOUT HIS ARM

"H-Hey Roy how's sports?"

Theo kept that grin up and tried to act as if that was exactly what he wanted to say, but there was clear panic behind his eyes. Upon further reflection, this seemed like a textbook example of why he didn't do things spur of the moment. His whole body felt like it might implode just to escape the embarrassment.

This is how I die.

[Pippi]

Don’t ask who the fuck this guy is.

Roy considered himself a fairly popular guy. He was cool with a whole bunch of people around school, mostly fellow sports types, and he knew most other people in his year from classes and stuff, so he wasn’t used to not knowing who anyone his age in Denton was.

And yet, when Roy looked up again from his plate of nachos, a complete stranger looked back down at him. A frown crossed Roy’s brow. Was this guy in one of his sports teams? A quick glance up and down suggested ‘hell fucking no.’ Dude was rake-thin, to start with, and he looked like he was about to piss himself just talking to another person. Odds were he was just in one of Roy’s classes; probably math or chemistry, or some other class he barely paid attention in. He finished off the chip in his hand (too much cream, not enough guac) and took a sip of his Pepsi.

The guy’s question couldn’t have been more vague, and normally Roy wouldn’t have had time for that shit. It’d be like asking someone about to tuck into a big fuck-off steak dinner ‘how’s meat?’ If Roy had been asked this question a couple months back, he’d probably have an incredibly witty and sarcastic response, with potentially a ‘fuck off’ depending on if he liked the person or not. Right now, however, there was a perfect, eloquent statement, that summed up how ‘sports were.’

“Fuckin’ shit, that’s how they’re going.”

As if it was trying to hammer in Roy’s point, a group sitting at the bar burst into a chorus of groans. Roy craned his neck to look round the strange guy and up at the screen, just in time to see a replay of the Devils’ goalkeeper doing his best impression of a fucking oil tanker and taking five years to move his fat ass just to miss the puck. Roy made a noise of frustration, and took a large swig of his drink.

“I mean, look at this shit. I dunno what the fuck these chucklefucks have been doing over the past month or so, but if we got 6 people from the crowd and put ‘em in Devils’ jerseys we’d be doing better.”

Roy shook his head and fixed the guy with a side glance.

“At least they’re actually fucking playing. My entire season’s pretty much ruined thanks to this-“

He raised his left arm as high as he could at this statement.

“-And without me, P.J. Hobbs’ sports teams are gonna be like a boat without a fuckin’ rudder. Can’t play football, can’t play hockey, can’t even go fuckin’ skeet shooting. Maybe I should take up chess or some shit.”

[Latin For Dragula]

CRISIS AVERTED

Theo was so relieved that apparently Roy was one of those guys who liked to hear himself talk. Normally that was a frustrating person to have a conversation with, but that wasn't really on the agenda anymore. Now he just wanted to escape without embarrassing himself anymore or making him any madder, since it seemed like he was in a pretty foul mood. Just his luck for trying to be nice.

He didn't know who the "Devils" were but Roy seemed pretty passionate about them and how badly they were doing at...hockey? That's what was on the screen, so he had to be talking about that, right? It'd be weird to talk about a different team or a different game while they were watching something, right? Maybe not. Ugh, this wasn't his wheelhouse at all. He just nodded along politely for now.

Stay on target. Just say you hope things get better and goodbye or something. Don't be an idiot, Theo.

He was right on the edge of doing just that when Roy started going off on all the sports he couldn't play. Awww. That was really rough. It sounded like he was involved in a lot more than football. It kinda made him feel guilty for wanting to slink off, if the guy needed to vent this much to a total stranger he had to be in a pretty bad place. When he mentioned the chess club, his eyes brightened up.

Maybe I can help after all!

His mouth moved faster than his brain again. "I mean, if you want to I know some guys on the chess team! They meet, uh, let me think here..." That thought collided with the too-late realization that Roy was probably just being sarcastic. Instead of finishing the sentence, he just trailed off in embarrassment. If he just pretended he was still thinking, maybe Roy wouldn't notice.

You're an idiot, Theo.

[Pippi]

Sometimes, Roy wondered what it would be like to have to face against him on the football field. He imagined it wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. Running into 167 pounds of pure power, strength and skill? Yeesh, yeah, that’d be enough to make any opposing player piss themselves and run for the changing rooms. The worst situation would be knowing you were gonna be up against him. That long, slow wait in the locker room, before having to file out onto the field and be thoroughly outclassed in every way, knowing that you wouldn’t even get a pitying glance from the cheerleaders because all eyes were gonna be on Roy Benson, baby. Yeah. That had gotta be torture.

Now, in Benson’s Bar and Grill, Roy was subjecting Theo to his own version of that long, drawn out torture sequence, as he slowly turned his head to look straight at the other guy. His face was a mask of aggrieved bewilderment, the same look he frequently gave the TV whenever the Devils were playing. Maybe he should give the chess club a whirl. And maybe he should try out for the cheer squad as well whilst he was at it. Who wouldn’t wanna see his unshaven legs on full display in a miniskirt?

“Yeah that… that was a joke, dude,” Roy said slowly, pausing briefly to take a sip of his drink. “Pretty sure that’d bore me to tears. No offense if that’s your thing, or whatever, but all I know about chess is that little horse guy can jump over the other pieces, and that seems like some straight up bullshit to me.”

He was, perhaps, being a little harsher than necessary. He doubted that chess could have rules too complicated for him to pick up in a couple hours or so, and he was always willing to try most sports at least once. Just… not this one, if you could even call it a ‘sport’. It just didn’t interest him, simple as that.

Besides, he had an image to maintain, and if someone like Baxter, or worse, fucking Adonis found out he’d been playing chess, he’d probably have to change his name and move to Guatemala.

“I’m just gonna have to fuckin’… grin and bear it, I guess,” Roy shrugged, taking another drink. “Just wait until this arm mends, then I’ll be back on the field, bringing so many trophies to P.J. Hobbs it’ll make your head spin.”

Roy flashed a grin at Theo, before grabbing another handful of chips. He paused before shovelling them into his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, uh, thanks for the offer, and whatever.”

[Latin For Dragula]

"Haha, yeah, I know! I just, uh..."

Get out. Get out now. Maybe he'll just forget about you.

It was an awfully tempting thought. Theo didn't have anything else to add, but at least he seemed to have cheered him up a little.

"Anyway, I gotta get home, I hope your game picks up!"

Theo hurried away to the front door with a wave. He really was running late, all he'd meant to do was say hello. In an odd way he sort of liked Roy though. He was blunt and crass and kinda really really really scary when he gave him that intense look, but when he wasn't all mad he was funny and charming and maybe just a little bit cute.

Ooooh, tucking that one in for later. I mean it's not happening... but tucking it in for later.

Despite his more practical urges trying to restrain him, Theo blushed the whole way home.

((Theodore Fletcher Continued Elsewhere))

[Pippi]

Right. Well. That had certainly… happened.

Roy gave the beanpole a brief nod, as he bumbled his way to the exit, somehow managing not to trip over a stray table leg or actual leg on his way there. Roy briefly considered the fact that he still didn’t know the guy’s name, but in just as brief a space of time, concluded that it really didn’t matter. Unless he decided he had nothing else left to live for and did join the chess club, or perhaps even more unlikely, Fedora the Explorer decided to come along to watch a school football game, chances of them meeting again were pretty damn slim.

Much like the chances of the Devils figuring out they needed to get the puck in the opposition’s goal to win. Looking back up at the TV, Roy was greeted by some bumblefuck, who could only have gotten onto the team by sleeping with the coach or something, completely fluffing a shot and letting the Maple Leafs break and, in a turn of events that not even the worst psychic in the world could have failed to predict, send the puck into the back of the net. Disgusted, Roy shook his head, and went back to the remains of his meal.

“Fuck this noise,” he muttered, before downing the rest of his Pepsi.

All things considered, being interrupted by Skeletor was probably the best thing that’d happened in this little excursion to Benson’s. True, that was mostly due to the Devils sucking more ass than Roy had thought humanly possible, but despite the dude being as socially awkward as he expected a member of the chess club to be, it hadn’t been an unpleasant little talk, and in his current situation, ‘not unpleasant’ was a pretty high mark.

Roy finished off his nachos and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before glancing back up at the TV again. The Maple Leafs had won, to the surprise of Literally Fucking Nobody, and they were prancing about on the ice like this was the finals of the goddamn Stanley Cup. Roy snorted as he stood up. There wasn’t even a parallel universe where these two teams would be in contention for that trophy.

As Roy made his way out of the building, he offered a silent prayer to God, or Buddha, or Zeus, or whoever the fuck was listening, in the hopes that one of those Canadian pricks would slip and totally eat shit.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that The Big G was a Maple Leafs fan.

((Roy Benson continued in Front Flip for Style))