milliways_bar | (no subject)

Now, while it's nice and quiet outside, he can grab a little practice time. People are excited about the league and that's great, he loves it.

But he's always carved out time for throwing practice every day, even back on Caprica where the only people who care about pyramid are the people who survived the planet getting nuked. He's not gonna do things any differently here. Besides, it's nice out and he has to do something while he's here. It looks like that thing with Ellen and the armory is looming, but before that happens, there's this. This thing he loves, this thing he's really good at, this thing he's done all his life. He sets up one backstop, just one. This type of practice, it's finesse training. Memorizing every inch of this playing field: its bumps and lumps and pits and valleys, the way the wind blows in off the lake, the angle of the sun setting in the sky. That's all valuable data and he tucks it away for later use.

Fifteen game balls, fifteen shots. The first three go in like clockwork. The fourth is just wide, but five and six are almost perfect. He's feeling pretty good and hopes he never gets to a point where he has to say I used to be good at this. If it's the last frakking thing he does, he'll stay on his game.

[Tag: Sam Anders, Mark Grayson (Invincible)]

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"It's all just part of training. Just keep trying. I don't suppose your game carries on with the grand tradition of trash-talking your opponents? 'Cause too many words can be every bit as valuable a distraction as anything else."

He keeps up the running-at-the-mouth as they go through a whole series of things: stealing the ball, holding onto the ball -- glorified keepaway, really -- and when that's done and the ball's put away and they've worked on a couple tackling techniques, the sun's starting to disappear in the sky.

"I think" -- he wipes his brow with the back of his hand -- "that for a first timer, you're pretty frakking good." Doesn't mean there isn't a whole lot of work to be done 'cause there is, and shooting to score, that's gonna be a thing, but he really likes Scorpius's build and speed. someone like Voodoo's gonna look at him and dismiss him. Too slender and light on his feet. But when he thinks about the makeup of his team and who they have, he thinks they might have found a perfect sixth.

"So what do you think? Something you might be interested in?" He has to laugh at himself. "But no pressure, man, no pressure. It's all for fun."

Scorpius has fetched his wand and he conjures two goblets and fills them with water. He offers one to Sam.

"Yeah, I'm interested," he says, with a grin. He's sweating and exhausted, but he's feeling great.

"I mean, it could be a lot of fun."

"All right, man, that's good. That's great." So is the whole business of these frakking... goblets just appearing out of nowhere, water in them and everything ("hey, thanks") but this place, this frakking place is never gonna stop surprising him. He extends his hand for a shake.

"That puts you on my team, and not to be boastful or anything, but we are gonna be the best." Once again, no pressure: he just believes in them. "We've got you and me, Enzo, Dean Winchester, Kate Austen, and Grace Hanadarko. You know any of them?"

Time to put a practice squad together, get everyone working together. "I've also been doing some scouting on the other teams. You know, 'cause that's what we did in the pros and knowing as much as we can about the competition is a definite advantage."

He can get Scorpius a copy of the rules too, such as they are.

"I don't know," Scorpius says, thinking on the names and shaking the offered hand. "If I have met any of them, I don't know them very well."

He's probably crossed paths with one or two of them before. He'll recognize some by sight, likely.

"Our captain used to do that. My Quidditch captain, I mean. Scouting the other teams and all that. Before he left school, that is. He's playing professionally now, I think."

"Well, you'll know them soon enough." If anyone can take a mismatched bunch of rookies and turn them into ball players, it's him. Anyone at the end of the universe, that is.

He's... he's really not sure where this goblet came from. It's frakking crazy, right? Maybe not that crazy. Bar does the same thing, it's just... that's in there. He was kind of thinking out here was different, but he guesses that was wrong.

Whatever, man, whatever. He sets the thing down, starts breaking down the equipment for the day. "I'll get you that scouting sheet later tonight or tomorrow and get your name on the team roster. In the meantime, hit the gym here, or do whatever kind of workout you usually do. We've got some big guys on the other teams to try to fend off."

He hoists that backstop, carries it back over to the side of the bar. One day they'll have to find a more permanent home for the things. But maybe one day they'll have better equipment, too.

Yeah. And maybe one day this place will let him go back to Caprica, but he's not holding his breath.

"Got any questions?"

"No, I don't think so," Scorpius says, spelling away the goblets. "None that come to mind yet, anyway."

He might have some by the next time they meet. Maybe.

"All right, man." He starts back over to that third backstop, picks it up -- he can't make the things dance across the grass like Scorpius did, but he's okay with that -- and starts carrying it over. He's got the rest of the cleanup well in hand, knows the routine so frakking intimately.

"Glad to have you on the team."