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No matter where he is -- at the end of the universe or anywhere else -- it's a pretty great frakking day when a guy gets to start a whole new pyramid league with his favorite Viper pilot. A note goes up on the board:

MILLIWAYS PYRAMID LEAGUE
TEAM ASSIGNMENTS
Team 1: Ava. Elle. Kit. Rachel. Sameth. Voodoo.
Team 2: Dinah. Kara. Katya. Leo. Tommy. YT.
Team 3: Dean. Enzo. Grace. Kate. Sam.

Demo game later today.

Interested in joining but not on the roster? Sign up here.
Any questions? Ask Sam or Kara.

Once that's all set, he heads out back to warm up and -- predictably -- practice. Old habits, man, he can't shake them.

[OOC: for pyramid league info, see this back room post. The demonstration game is right here.
Here, you can sign up, react to team assignments (thread hopping highly encouraged!), or catch Sam either by the bar or outside.

Pyramid signups open forever!]

[Tag: Sam Anders, Tommy Gavin, Leo Fudou]

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She can't help the snort that comes out of her. You have to like his enthusiasm.

Smiling ear-to-ear when he steps away from her, she casually salutes with the ball in her hand. "Bring it, Anders."

She's been sure she could take him since the night they met, and even though he's beaten her a few times her confidence isn't remotely shaken. She'll give her team a great demo game: this is how you beat Samuel T. Anders in one-on-one.

She stalks to the central safe zone like she owns the entire lakeside area. "On three. One."

Crouching, she readies the ball under her palm in the safe zone.

"Two."

When she meets his eyes, her grin's the good-luck-you'll-need-it variety.

"Three."

Sometimes, all the practice and experience in the world aren't enough. Keeping things mostly legal, that's not the hard part: he's done it for years. But Kara, man, she's out for blood and he knows it from the very first tackle. Her elbow meets his chest, knocking him down, and from then on it's a scramble. There's not a godsdamn thing wrong with his form, not a godsdamn thing wrong with his arm, not a godsdamn thing wrong with anything. Pyramid's one of those games that on any given day, any given team can win. When two players narrow it down to one-on-one, the odds become even more... well, even. He's got the advantage on height; Kara's got the advantage on tactical surprise. Every game he ever played was part of the public domain and he knows all his moves were studied, talked about, parsed, picked apart. There's not a whole lot about his level and type of play that's a surprise but Kara, that's another matter altogether. Different training, different approach, and a different willingness to win for different reasons: those all play to her advantage.

Still, it's a really even game and he answers her, point for point until it's three-all. The most competitive part of him really wants to win, to show his teammates how it's done, to be able to brag about it again. The part of him that's starting to like Kara a little bit too much? That part wants her to win, because it wants to make her happy. Wants to see that smile on her face when it happens, wants to...

Focus. Three to three, and Kara comes up with the ball. He tackles her hard, right around the knees, and she hits the ground hard enough to have the breath knocked right out of her. The ball rolls away, and now it's a mad scramble for possession.

"What'd I tell you?" He doesn't let up his hold, other than to give himself the advantage reaching for the ball first. "Going down." When he comes up with the ball, he allows himself one very smug moment. Just one.

That's probably a mistake.

His smug-as-frak question is just fuel for the fire. She's on and she knows it.

He can beat her; he'll just have to step it up.

He's either too cocky or he's catching his breath when he takes the ball, but he's too slow. Just a little too slow, and she's barely up on her feet again before she slams into him with all her weight, arms folded against his back rather than thrown around his waist. Not having to disentangle herself from him buys her a second, and it's all she needs to snatch the ball back and heave it at the nearest backstop.

It arcs neatly and goes straight in.

A self-righteous laugh hiccups out of her, and she wipes sweat off her forehead. "What were you telling me?"

One more point and the game's hers.

It's the closest to her element she'll get with her feet on the ground, and now that she's up he can't be allowed to even the score. As soon as he's back out of the safe zone with the ball in his hand, she's in his face, grinning like a frakking shark, her hands running interference and her feet shadowing his. She pops the ball out of his grasp with a well-aimed slap, catches it before it even hits the ground, and protects it like it's the last one mankind'll ever see. Three steps down the court, one hand -- and elbow -- fending him off, she lets the ball trip right off her fingers and into the cage.

And then raises both arms in a celebratory yell.

And that, he tells himself, is the way this game went.

"Nice shot. Really nice shot." All he can do is shake his head, give her the congratulatory handshake. "Great game, outstanding play." Before he turns back to their audience (such as it is), he speaks so softly only she can hear him.

She's the best opponent he could ask for, and he's got nothing but admiration for her. Or maybe admiration and a little bit of lust.

Okay, a lot of lust. A lot of both. "Let me know when you want to cash in on our bet."

That's gonna be the real fun, or at least the real fun of a non-pyramid variety. He pats her on the shoulder, memorizes the look of that pleased-as-frak smile on her face.

It's beautiful.

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