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It's not officially Hockey Night in Canada, that's Saturday, but it has defintely been hockey night for Meg. She's spent the last four hours at her boyfriend's brother's apartment watching -- and listening to -- Alain and Luc and their friends watching -- and commenting on -- the Montreal Canadiens beating the Quebec Nordiques, 8-0.

Luc's apartment is a tiny box of a place that looks like a twenty-three year old man lives in it; he has a giant television, a battered couch, and very little other furniture. Meg winds up spending half the evening in what is optimistically called the "kitchen," talking to Luc's girlfriend Nathalie about anything but hockey.

It's not a bad way to spend an evening, but she's kind of glad to return to her own quieter -- and furnished -- apartment when it's over.

So, naturally, she's just found the End of the Universe where her living room should be.

At least now she doesn't have to make her own tea.

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"It depends on who is playing," Edward said, smugly. "At our speed we can cover all the positions with very few people."

Meg's trying to visualize it.

Let's see . . .

Three players per team, with Esme as the umpire. A pitcher, a catcher/infielder and an outfielder, maybe. Or maybe the pitcher runs and catchers her (in her mind, it's Alice, because Alice is the one she's seen pitch) own pitches.

Or maybe there's no catcher because all, or at least most of, the balls get hit.

And you probably don't have a lot of situations where people stop on a base, playing at the speed she knows Edward can move at (he made a cup of tea seem to appear on her table once).

So if you're not out on a fly ball, then you probably don't have any trouble getting around the bases, and the logical thing for an outfielder to do would be to throw home, because you'd have the most (albeit still not very much) time to get the ball there, and run less of a risk of the ball getting to, say, second base after the runner did. So most plays would be at home plate, so you don't really have to worry about having the bases loaded and no one to bat, which makes grand slam home runs kind of improbable but other than that . . .

Meg abruptly realizes that she's been silent longer than is usually considered polite.

And then she remembers that she also kind of hasn't.

She's still getting used to that.

Edward gets a small, just slightly sheepish smile.

She's still imagining it as the whole of their number to, while Edward studied her face. His features and gaze ever so faintly amused more than having shifted at all.

"Wildly inaccurate?" she asks.

"Not too far enough." Beat. "But you are still missing the visualization of games where there are only three or four of us."

And it still works out well.

Not as well, but still passably well.

And it was just more fun with everyone in on it.

She misses the visualization of Rosalie, too, since she has no idea what Rosalie looks like.

"I'm not sure how you'd have teams if there three of you . . .but you could play with pitcher, fielder, batter, and just . . . take turns?"

Four could be the same, adding another fielder, or it could be two teams of two. Maybe.

Edited 2010-03-25 00:30 (UTC)

"We're very fast," he reminds her, emphasizing the second word. "We can get to most of the field from any other position before a second passes."

Beat. "Though a lot of that can be dictated by the speed of the ball, more often than not."

She remembers having to write no playing all the positions by yourself into a certain set of rules.

"And then there's the part where if someone decided to try, say, bunting, you're not going to be surprised by it.

"It sounds like an interesting version of the game."

"It is usually why they attempt to split Alice and I up," Edward said with the very wisp of a smirk. The kind that said, this plan did not help the teams really.

And might have been more problematic if they wanted to make it be.

There's a moment's thought. She not sure what the why is here, since Edward told her he was the only mind reader in . . . well, anywhere, it sounded.

But all she asks (deliberately) is, "Do they succeed in splitting you up?"

Edward snorted. "Not to listen to them. They seem to think we form our own team in spite of the legitimate set up. In any game."

"Are they right?"

Edward's expression blanked instantly.

Except for the curl of his lips.
Just barely upward and out.

"That would be unsportsmanlike."

"Their thinking it . . . or your doing it?"

The smile stayed.

Cat-like, and eye butterscotch gold.
But Edward made no move to speak.

Both?

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