IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE?

My body doesn't fit me, my dreams are like great ships lost at sea. Brandon Shaw. Head Assistant Coach.

[joelcarlyle-blog]

Joel couldn’t sleep. He had a lot of trouble sleeping as of late and he wasn’t all that sure why. He slipped out of bed and the warmth radiating off of his boyfriend as he pulled on a pair of jogger pants and a Palmetto hoodie before pulling on a pair of socks and his sneakers. He grabbed his phone and wallet and started off toward the court. He usually ran but tonight he walked. The fresh air helped to clear his head and that’s what he needed.

He thought about going to the court itself to throw a ball at the wall but instead he went to his office and sat on the couch going over the tapes Wymack had given him of potential players for the team. He was so immersed in them that he never heard someone come in.

[brandonshaw]

Sometimes it still feels a little thrilling, having access to the court at all hours of the night. He’d done his fair share of extra practices as a Fox, spent time on the court just because it was the court and he could—because Exy had finally stopped being something that he only watched on a screen and something he claimed for himself. Something he could keep.

He tries to keep a regular sleep schedule—Betsy’s recommendation, besides being up and alone in the middle of the night reminds him of the worst days of his injury, when he’d find himself sleeping all day and awake all night, nothing scheduled and nothing to wake up for to keep him in line. But with every game it’s gotten a little harder to turn his thoughts off at the end of the day, leave the game on the court when he goes. Some nights, Wymack’s pullout couch just seems more uncomfortable than other nights. And, when he can’t sleep, it seems better to leave Wymack’s apartment than pace around and potentially wake Wymack up.

And, if he’s going to leave Wymack’s apartment, he’s going to go to the court. He doesn’t expect to see any lights on—but maybe he should, it seems every time Brandon thinks he’s alone at the court, he isn’t, and so he can’t help but poke his head in on Joel. “I realize that it’s hypocritical for me to be saying anything, but I’m gonna say it anyway—what’re you doing here so late?”

[brandonshaw]

camtrask:

Cameron was certainly one of the Foxes you could count on to still be on the court long after practice had ended, just putting in that extra bit of work, always paranoid she would fall short. The game from last season where a crucial point had slipped past her still haunted her, certainly far more than it should’ve, but that was a part of her that Cameron just couldn’t turn off no matter how hard she tried.

But for once, she wasn’t lingering to practice. She was pleased with where her game was right now, with the ever increasing amounts of creative and daring plays her and her teammates were figuring out. What she wasn’t pleased about was how her classes were going. She was doing well, but the work load this year felt like a nightmare, far more than she’d had to deal with before as she was given more practical assignments that required finding volunteers, or travelling to clinics nearby.

Cameron was fairly convinced she would be able to make it onto a professional team. She was making a name for herself early on in her career, and her game was only getting better each year. But after having lived in poverty, she was pretty much incapable of not having a backup plan. So here she was, sitting in the middle of the empty court surrounded by heavy, secondhand textbooks, when the noise of her shuffling her things around must have attracted Brandon to find her.

“Hey, sorry, I can go,” she said, the stress obvious in her voice, and she smiled a little tightly. “Just… even the library is a little too crowded sometimes. I’m guaranteed quiet  here.”

When Brandon missed being a Fox, he missed Exy. He missed playing for the team, missed knowing his place in it, being so sure of where he belonged. He can’t say he really missed homework. He’d worked as hard as he could at his coursework, is distantly proud of graduating, the degree that’s still in storage in Kansas City, but school had come second to Exy.

Maybe he should have worked harder at it, back when he didn’t know he would need a fallback, but maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference—he has a Biology degree, but he can’t see anything that he really wants to do with it. Anywhere he wants to be other than right here, if he has to be somewhere that isn’t playing professionally.

So he’s a little bit surprised to see Cameron putting the court to use for something that isn’t practicing—he hasn’t really thought much about the Foxes and their classes, the other responsibilities they have when they leave the court. Maybe he shouldn’t be: he knows when he was a Fox, he’d spent as much time at the court as he could, just because he liked it there. Because it felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to be there, and didn’t want to miss a second—and, yeah, looking back, he’s glad that he did, even when he didn’t know how quickly it could all be over.

“Oh—no, you don’t have to go,” he says, offering her a smile since he feels a little bit bad now about barging in on her, when she’s studying instead of potentially practicing too hard and overworking herself. “How’re classes treating you? Midterms must be just around the corner, right?”

[brandonshaw]

lgntrask:

                     It surprised even him, stepping out of the locker room that night after their game with the Tornadoes, to notice that his was one of the very few faces - if not the only face, it seemed, among the players on the bench and coming out of the court - that held a smile on it. When did he become so… optimistic? No, no, that wasn’t quite the right word for what he was exemplifying, but there wasn’t any of that gloom and doom that shrouded the team on him, he wasn’t beating himself up over the fact that they weren’t able to secure the win at an earlier time, with a cleaner game, with higher points. Logan didn’t used to be the type of person who looked at the endgame more than the process, and yet now he simply looked at their previous game for what it was: a win that took them one step closer to the finals and the championship, what was to be sad about with that?

                   The fact that he had stayed behind tonight after practice to keep working on his shots wasn’t the manifest of some residual need to do better after their next game, but was nothing less than Logan wanting to better himself for himself. It used to be that he would come back to the court an hour or two after practice to make up for the fact that he’d gone to the official one with a hangover and a less than stellar performance, hone his technique to alleviate the guilt in his chest from not giving his teammates his best, but this time around, for the first time in a long time, Logan was stone cold sober and staying that way, he was here just to be here, because it was better to be here than to be out there where he could be tempted.

                  “You know, I always thought that whole ‘work yourself too hard’ shit is a myth,” he didn’t even take his eyes off the goal, trying to gauge if he was too far or close enough to make the shot he was attempting. “This is a typical Friday night for me, Shaw, Jackrabbits or not. And anyway… the Jackrabbits? Get back to me with that once we’re up against one of the big three and not… them.”

“Yeah, I’m sure muscle strain is just a conspiracy theory.” He says, dryly. He can’t exactly blame Logan, though—Brandon doesn’t really do what he can still do on the court, because it feels like deluding himself, feels like there’s no point when it’s not good enough, not as good as he used to be. So, yeah, if he had Logan’s ability, he thinks he might have be dragged bodily off the court. That nothing short of that could stop him. But then again, that wouldn’t be taking care of himself—exhaustion leads to bad form, bad form leads to injuries, and injuries would deprive the team of the players they need to accomplish their goals, to go all the way.

But then, it doesn’t take much for his mood to change: he came out here wanting to talk whoever it was off the court, but now he’d rather make Logan stay on it, run suicides until he can’t be quite so cocky anymore. He’s got nothing wrong with the Foxes believing in themselves—from where he’s standing, they’ve got good reason to. But that doesn’t mean they’ve got reason to act like the rest of the teams are beneath them. Before last season, they were all above the Foxes, kicking their ass to the bottom of the standings. He’s sure they’d all like nothing more than to do it again.

“You want to go up against Penn State and USC, you’ve got to go through our district first. If you don’t think you’re going to have to work hard to beat the Jackrabbits, you’ve got another thing coming. You play one good season and you forget where this team came from?” How much this team lost, most of the time that Logan’s spent on the team, the time that Brandon’s spent on the team, and time before both of them—that the whole history of this team was nothing but losing, except for that one time when they won. Logan should remember that—it’s not like it was that long ago.

[brandonshaw]

striker-brayden:

Maybe, it’s childish, but Brayden’s been avoiding his room ever since the banquet. He’s been finding things to do around campus or town, until he’s sure the rest of his roommates are asleep. At least this time, he’s doing something productive, choosing to avoid reality by getting some extra practice in. The last game was a messy one, and he’s not going to be the reason they have another.  It seems like they’ve almost running on pure luck so far, and he has a feeling it’s going to run out soon. They can’t win every game. 

He dribbles the ball idly in his hand before placing in the net of his racket and slamming it into the goal with more force than necessary, taking out all the pent up frustration with himself. He knows he’s been a mess at practice, and Wymack is probably ready to bench him for real this time, given the way he’s been purposefully not working with Arlo. He can barely look at him in the eye, let alone team up with him. He broke his own rule, and now he’s paying the price. 

As a voice echoes through the court, he drops the ball in surprise, letting out a breath when he sees it’s just Brandon. “Yeah, well, I’m fine,” He shrugs and leans over to pick the ball back up. “I need the extra hour,” Or three, considering his performance during practice isn’t worth counting. “Why are you still here?”

Three wins to their name, and Brandon should feel like they have more momentum than this. But winning streaks are not something he’s had a lot of experience with, and he’s sure the other Foxes haven’t either, and he can’t help but feel a little bit like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For their luck to turn.

None of them got to where they were by being content with their performance: part of being an elite athlete is always seeking to improve, to perform better—and if there’s such a thing as a perfect win, Brandon hasn’t seen it yet. But Brandon’s not sure if they can fix all of the missteps from the last game before the next one—especially when new problems seem to present themselves without warning.

Like Brayden in practice this week. Since their conversation at the beginning of the season, Brandon had thought that he was focused, steady—a player he could rely on.

And yeah, maybe it’s good to see him putting in the extra time, but it’d be better if he used practice for its intended purpose and did it right the first time. “My job doesn’t end when your practice does—there’s a lot of video I have to review to make sure we’re prepped for the Jackrabbits.” He stops in the doorway of the court, leaning against the Plexiglass. Not quite inside. It feels like where he belongs, now.

“It’s not your shot that needs practice, it’s your teamwork.” He says, keeping his tone one of neutral observation instead of accusation, not sure if that’ll really be enough to help. “What’s up with you this week?”

[brandonshaw]

akiraxsato:

It wasn’t uncommon for Akira to stay late after practice. He’d linger in the locker room until everyone had pretty much left and then he’d grab a bucket of balls and head back out there. Drills with the team were great, necessary even, but drills by himself? Akira loved those. Loved smashing the ball against the same small spot on the glass until it was smudged and dirty. If there was something  Akira prided himself on since becoming a Fox it was his accuracy and speed. He worked harder on that those than he did most everything else. Today was no exception. As soon as the last Fox had walked out the door he’d set himself up in front of the goal to try and work out the kinks of his lower left aiming. It was getting better but he still had a habit of swinging wide to the left.

He’d been at it for an hour or so when Brandon’s voice straddled him out of his thoughts. He dropped the ball he’d been holding into the bucket and lowered he racket so the woven basket end rested on the ground. He turned to face Brandon with a sheepish smile and removed his helmet, dangling it on his fingers. “It’s nothing I’m not used to by now.” Akira said, rubbing his hand through his sweat drenched hair. He probably should start wrapping things up, he didn’t want to blow out his arms, but he’d been feeling so good. So like himself again.

“I was just wrapping up anyways. There’s only a handful of balls left in the bucket and usually by the time I gather them all back up I want to go home.”“ He smiled again at Brandon. It was true. He usually did a bucket and then scooped up any near him for a while before calling it quits. It was only after a particular awful game that Akira would fill the bucket back up and go at it again. He did that a lot in the early days of his rebooted love for exy. Drove his coach nuts and the people at the rec center even nuttier. “And don’t worry about the Jackrabbits game. I’ll be at the top of my game when it’s time to go out onto the court. Promise.”

He remembers walking into the Foxhole Court, wide-eyed at its size, how pristine it all was, from the floors to the rows and rows of seats to the gleaming white-and-orange paint. Now, having lost count of the number of stadiums he’s been in, from the teams of their district while he was a Fox to the too-few professional courts he’d seen as a Cyclone, it’s become normal, something he hardly even notices. He still loves it, still feels like he never wants to leave it, but it’d different. Before, he’d felt a little bit like he felt when he was younger, walking into nice foster homes, knowing that it wasn’t for him, and then eventually he’d be made to leave. Now, it feels like none of those homes ever had—it feels like home. 

There were times that it had been him with a bucket of balls after practice—not that it had ever made much of a difference, all the extra practices in the world hadn’t been enough for the Foxes to make it to Championships when Brandon was on the team. He understands the appeal. But he does mean what he said: the Foxes’ practices are tough enough, probably even tougher than he remembers them being since they have a new sense of purpose and possibility, and he can’t help but worry about them tiring themselves out, running themselves into the ground—there’s still a whole lot of season left. And, since they’re still on track to make it there, Championships after that.

But for all the time he still spends at the court, he spends very little of it on the court proper. During practices, he’s on the outside of the Plexiglass once the doors close for scrimmages and drills; after it, he spends most of his time in the office next to Wymack that he and Sebastian share. Even now, he pauses in the doorframe of the court doors, like he’s wary of going any further. “You’ve had a good season so far,” he says—because it’s true, Akira’s scored a point in each of the Foxes’ three games this season; and because he remembers their conversation after the Terrapins game, and so he’s not sure if Akira knows that. “So I won’t say whatever you’ve been doing isn’t working for you. Just remember that it’s important to give your body time to recover, too.”

[brandonshaw]

Don’t read your own press was true for most people somewhat in the public light, but it was probably about twice as true for Foxes. But it’s hard to avoid when it seems like it’s Brandon’s job, and he can’t help the feeling, in the lull between their game against the Tornadoes and their upcoming game against the Jackrabbits, like the sharks are circling. There’s blood in the water: the Foxes beat the Tornadoes, but they stumbled, they showed weakness.

An overtime win is easy to dismiss, easy to argue that the Foxes were outplayed, that they just got a lucky bounce. Who knows, maybe it’s true. If it were, at least luck would have gone in the Foxes’ favor for once.

As a Coach, it’s his job to get the balance right: to keep the Foxes from getting complacent, but not let them get discouraged by their past mistakes. They’re still in the mix for Championships, as the regular season enters its second half, they have to stay focused, they can’t falter now. He doesn’t know if he’s achieving it, doesn’t know if it’s something he can do. All he does know is that he’s spending more time in the court than ever before—and that, from the sound of it, he’s not the only one.

“Practice ended awhile ago,” he calls, having followed some sound into the should-have-been empty court. "If you work yourself too hard, you won’t have anything left for the Jackrabbits.”

[dailykeithpowers]

[brandonshaw]

lukasbaxter:

With a pang, Lukas realizes that for anyone else, Brandon’s sort of compliment would probably make them feel fond, proud to be big brother to such a spunky girl. But to him it’s just… frustrating. Not at Brandon, of course. It’s just that the more he learns about Piper, how she’s quickwitted and intelligent, and apparently brave as anyone else he knows, the more he thinks she’s a little sister he might actually enjoy spending time with. That, of course, also makes him wish he’d actually attempted to get to know her when they were actually living under the same roof. Then it all circles back around to being angry at his parents again and really, it’s exhausting. Instead of being drunk and celebrating a win, he’s feeling emotions. Gross.

“I texted them,” he says lethargically, keeping an eye on Piper as she scans the vending machine choices as if it’s life or death which basically confirms she really is his sister. They look alike now that she’s gotten older, the resemblance uncanny, though her smile is a little warmer than his, less of a smirk. “I’ll call them later when she’s asleep.”

It’s honestly a miracle to him that his parents didn’t call the cops, though according to Piper she left a note that confirmed her confirmation for her ticket because of course it did, so at least they’d known where she was going. Still, he wouldn’t put it past his parents to call the cops just because she was with him, in case he endangered her life again or whatever it was he was supposed to have done last time.

“So… we don’t have to get anyone else involved, right? I’d really rather… do literally anything besides repeat this interaction with anyone else tonight.”

Spending almost his entire life in the foster system meant that Brandon had seen a lot, been a lot: sometimes he’d been the youngest, sometimes he’d been the oldest, sometimes he’d been somewhere in between. He’d adapted—it was what he was good at—to ever-changing sets of faces and circumstances, where the only consistent thing he has was himself. Like, no matter how many other foster siblings he had, all of them in a house together, when it really counted, it was just him. Alone.

He doesn’t know anything about Lukas, really, had known nothing at all about him just a few minutes ago. But he can see him as a big brother, the way he keeps half an eye on Piper while they talk. No matter how many foster siblings Brandon had half-heartedly babysat over the years, none of them were every really his, had made much of an impression at all.

It wasn’t a big deal, wasn’t an absence—he’d learned pretty early to stop longing for family. He’d learned to make his friends his family—(though he’s sure there’s a sealed juvenile record that would tell him how bad of an idea that had been)—he’d started playing Exy and learned how to make the team his family.

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees easily—if Lukas’ parents know and no one’s calling the cops, it seems like Lukas has got this pretty well handled. And maybe Brandon will give Wymack a heads up, but he and the rest of the Foxes and Vixens will know soon enough tomorrow morning, when Lukas shows up for the bus back to Palmetto with Piper in tow, and it won’t be Brandon’s problem. “D’you want any company with her or are you good for the night?”

[jakefeldman-deactivated20171121]

     He should have known better. Every inch of his body and mind is screaming at him that this was a mistake, and the results of his first game with the Palmetto State Foxes do nothing to prove them wrong. They won, technically, but the somber mood in the team doesn’t exactly reflect that.

     He’s numb. Has been ever since he walked off the court after the second half and even as he gets off the bus he’s just following the herd. In his mind he’s replaying every moment where he knew he could have done better but didn’t. He should have seen the bluff that lead to the first goal, should have been able to follow his Captain’s plays better as the Tornadoes’ strikers continued to pummell them, but he hadn’t…. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come to Palmetto in the first place.

     “I need to get some fresh air,” he mutters to his room mate from where he’s stood with his back to them, and he’s out the door and heading to the nearest exit of the hotel before they can even reply.

     He’d frozen when he heard the buzzer ring out not moments after the second half had started, staring down towards the other end of the court as the Tornadoes’ players all swarmed together in celebration of the goal. In that moment he had felt so displaced from everything he’d just wanted to fall to his knees and scream. He had failed. And on the first ever test he’d gotten in Class I as well.

     “FUCK!” He shouted into the void of the cold night sky above Raleigh the moment the doors shut behind him, hoping that it would relieve any of the tension that had so desperately built up inside of him from the moment he’d lined up to get on the coach. He’d fucked up, he’d let everyone down, he was a fucking fraud. Wymack had signed him based on his performance in Boise, but those days were long gone, and it was obvious that the gossip columns from oh-so-long-ago were true. The death of his father and brothers really had taken all the talent Jacob Feldman had from him.

[brandonshaw]

It’s like deja vu: another game, another hotel—another disorderly Fox, yelling into the night. Brandon had hopes that this game would bring the team back together, soothe the gaps that he’d seen forming in the aftermath of the last game, no matter how steep their win was. But then, Brandon doesn’t usually get what he wants—he is a Fox, after all. Or he was.

He’s pretty sure there’s something people say about stupidity, or insanity, and that it’s doing the same thing twice, expecting a different result. If he’d learned, then maybe he would have stayed in his room tonight, done what Wymack does and flip the do not disturb sign. But he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone. He sees fractures, and he wants to fix them. He sees a team that’s 3-0, and he wonders why the hell it doesn’t feel that way, when he would have killed to have a season like this when he was still a Fox.

Wymack’s perfected being a hands-off Coach, and Brandon can’t help but wonder if he was always that way, or if after enough years with the Foxes he just learned that it was best. Wonders how many years it will take for Brandon to learn to do it too, to stop trying so hard, to stop thinking he can accomplish things that he can’t. Wonders if he’ll stick around long enough to figure it out, or if he’ll be off to something else, even if he can’t see now what that might be. If this is forever, or if somehow he’ll take a step forward into a future that feels more real than this does, most days. 

“Did that help?” He asks, announcing his presence, standing up from the curb in the parking lot he’d staked out for himself, wanting some fresh air after an empty hotel room seemed a little too quiet. Something he thinks that he should take up smoking, or something—it’s not like he needs his lungs for much. It’d give him something to do with his hands, make it look less like he’s lurking. But that’s probably about what he’s doing—hanging around outside because he’s not sure where he should be.  

[brandonshaw]

biancashay:

It didn’t seem to need a response. Her eyes continued to gaze upon the court, the orange and white harsh against each other with the ringing from the previous noise still in her ears. She felt alive with the remaining electricity, the rush coursing through her veins like a calm aftermath. She couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like out there in the mix of it all, not that she really wanted to know for herself. It was more of a scientific question. Bianca wasn’t built for violence, didn’t have the right drive, despite her own being more vicious than anything her mother had ever seen. Exy seemed to take a different kind of person altogether and while she would never understand, she found she might want to.

“Bianca.” She offered her hand, her smile widening as he returned her one of his own. It was nice when people noticed, though she personally thought that she wasn’t very hard to miss. She didn’t look particularly unique, not that she minded being conventional, but her looks weren’t what she thought made her stand out. Bianca was perhaps the softest battering ram the world had ever seen. She wasn’t a visible threat, too bouncy and flirtatious to be violent but she demanded attention in her own way. 

“I’m still processing.” The words were slow, deliberated while they left her mouth and she took another second to contemplate before continuing. “It’s different from own here, I mean, being even kinda apart of it.” She had watched from the stands a few times the last year. Mostly just to stalk Kent, the game itself not of much importance to her but that changed when she became a vixen. “I don’t think you have enough pads.” She shook her head with the words. 

Brandon had spent a lot of time watching Exy before he ever played Exy. After the foster home with the Exy racquets in the closet, it was like he was hungry for it, turning the TV to games in every foster home he could get away with it in, checking scores on school computers. What he’d played when he was a kid hadn’t even really been Exy—no padding and no real rules, only a chainlink fence that made for really unpredictable rebounds—but he’d been sold on it ever since.

There’s something that’s almost poetic about it, then: coming full circle, back to watching and not playing once again. If only he’d been allowed to play when he was younger, in high school, before juvie, but there’d always been some kind of excuse, something in the way. He would have had more years on the court. 

Still, it’s hard to remember exactly what it was like to look at the game with new eyes. And the Vixen—Bianca—doesn’t seem as entranced by it as Brandon can remember himself being. He can’t even say, now, what it was that gripped him about it: he hadn’t considered himself a violent person, still doesn’t, but there’s something about the brutality on the court that had appealed to him, appeals to him still. He doesn’t know how to explain it, just that he loves it.

“I’m Brandon—Assistant Coach. I used to play for the team, couple years back.” He says it like it’s just a fact, because maybe one day that’s all it’ll be. Practice makes perfect. But there isn’t enough time to get caught up in it, because at her last words he’d barking out a surprised laugh. “What we’ve got covers the important parts. We still need to be able to move out there.” 

[brandonshaw]

caseyhendrix:

Really, the Ravens should just–invent some kind of excuse so they can stop coming to these things, where clearly no one wants them. When he hasn’t been out dancing with Joel or one of his other friends he’s been hovering near the back wall, where of course the Edgar Allen team has decided to congregate because clearly they are too cool for something like this. He tries to keep his eyes forward, pinned on Joel across the room talking to someone that he doesn’t recognize, but one of them looks right at him and starts rubbing his shoulder and making strained faces, and all he can do before throwing a punch is walk away. 

He’s perfectly aware of Wymack’s warning that no one is allowed to leave, but Wymack is also perfectly aware that large groups of people are not Casey’s strong suit. Really, he hasn’t left the building, and he’s trying not to get into trouble, so he should just get this one. If not, he knows a coach he could very persuasively get to cover for him. The locker room seems like both a safe bet and not–he’s sure he’s not the only one of his teammates that have pondered their options and come to this conclusion, it’s the equivalent of the roof of the tower at the moment–but at the same time he’s really desperate for just two seconds of quiet, two seconds to make sure his head is on straight. After last weeks game at Nashville, it’s kind of been in question. 

He ponders just turning right around when he sees Brandon of all people standing in front of the door–Wymack probably told him to stand there or something to make sure that no one could get away. Unfortunately he doesn’t really get a chance, as the assistant coach turns to look at him and starts speaking. Luckily, it turns out he has the same idea that Casey does. “Yeah,” He smiles, tinged with only a little bit of relief. “Your secret is definitely safe with me. I’m not afraid to get Joel to cover for me. Or you, now that you’re here.” 

Wymack can, and does, shield the Foxes from a lot. But some things—like press duty, like (hopefully, if they’re lucky) three banquets a year—can’t be avoided, can only be sucked up and dealt with. They’re also the things that the Foxes will have to do more of, if they want to make it professionally, where people won’t give them nearly as many allowances as Wymack does. Brandon hadn’t quite understood that, when he left the Foxes for a professional team; didn’t understand how different things would feel in the Kansas City locker room, how different the expectations were. He understands it now. 

He knows it isn’t easy—and he can see how,a year after the Foxes did better than anyone expected and shook up the standings, the animosity towards them has only increased. Brandon always knew that everyone wanted to see the Foxes fail, but it feels tenfold more intense now. But that just makes tonight, under their own roof and with everyone’s eyes on them, more important. It isn’t necessarily fair, but when everyone’s already primed to think the worst of you, sometimes the only thing for you to do is try to not give them any more ammunition.

The foyer is blissfully quiet, and Brandon closes the door behind him and Casey, the noise of the banquet outside falling away. Brandon immediately feels a little more relaxed, a little less on edge—making him realize how on edge he had been before, probably even before that coach said what he did. He’d gone to the Championships Banquet at the end of last year, but this is different—he’d thought of last year as a practice run, and this is the real thing. He doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Well, you got me, and we’ve got five minutes. You good?” He asks, for want to anything else to say—caught up in the cluster of coaches, Brandon didn’t really know what was going on with the rest of the teams on the court. “None of the other teams being any worse than usual?”

[brandonshaw]

striker-brayden:

Brayden doesn’t realize it until he’s right in front of the door, but he’s been inching his way towards the exit for the past half hour. Even after Wymack’s warning that he specifically aimed at him, he still can’t seem to resist the urge to escape. His pack of cigarettes are burning a hole in his suit pocket, his craving for nicotine at an all time high. In the past, he’d just go. He wouldn’t think twice before stepping outside and working his way through an entire pack before deciding he’s ready to return to the chaos. He’s usually drunk too, but both of his crutches are off-limits tonight. Wymack made it clear that he can’t even leave the room. 

Sighing heavily, he leans against the door and takes in his surroundings. He got separated from Arlo during the transition from the dinner to the dance floor and all of his conversations with his teammates were kept relatively short. Despite Wymack’s advice, he finds himself alone in the large court. Typically, he prefers to be alone, but tonight it leaves him vulnerable. He’d even talk about the weather right now if it gave him a distraction.

Brandon appears in the corner of his sight, also looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Their gazes meet and Brandon offers Brayden the best thing he hears all night. Brandon is staff, so it’s not even a question of whether he should or not. “Fuck yes,” He breathes with a shake of his head, looking over his shoulder before pushing the door open and stepping outside. 

There’s an immediate effect, the tension melting off his shoulders as he separates himself from the overcrowded room. “Banquets not your thing either?” He asks the assistant coach. 

It’s kind of funny from the outside, watching the Foxes try and abide by Wymack’s decree. Brandon’s an extra set of eyes, and watching the team gives him something to do besides awkwardly mingle with the coaches, who are mostly closer to Wymack’s age than they are to Brandon’s. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he caught someone sneaking out—probably nothing. Probably wait until the end of the night, let someone else catch that they aren’t there.

He likes keeping the middle ground: between Wymack and the team; only an enforcer when he has to be, leaving the tough love to Wymack whenever he can. He’s not sure if he’s built for it: if anyone on the team would look at him folding his arms and pretending to be stern—pretending to be Wymack, because that’s what it would be—and do anything but laugh. 

So he’s bending the rules a little bit—barely, because it’s not like Wymack meant to deny the team, like, bathroom breaks—but he doesn’t care, pushes the door open and enters into the Foxes’ inner sanctum, the door closing behind them and dampening the sound of the banquet on the other side as they stand in the foyer: it’s meant for press microphones and cameras, so its sound dampening properties are pretty good. 

“It’s not that—”he protests. He doesn’t even know why, it’d be an easy and graceful out. But he doesn’t hate the banquets, hates them even less now that he’s on the outside of the team looking in, missing everything that came with being a Fox. It’s the same and it’s not—he goes to practices, goes to games, goes to banquets—but doesn’t have the same comfort that comes with a team at his back when he does. 

But then, of course, he does have to give an explanation. “It’s just—something one of the other coaches said. It’s stupid.”

[paxtonridley-blog]

brandonshaw:

He wishes so much that things had been different, when he was a Fox. Not just that the team was better, or that they won more, of that he made it to the Championships just once—but also that he was better. That Wymack had seen what was going on with him, somehow, and stepped in before Brandon was having panic attacks after practice. That he’d started meeting with Betsy regularly sooner, took her seriously, took helping and improving himself seriously. 

It’s not anybody’s fault. Brandon had left DC and thought he had it all together. Wymack and Betsy treated him like an adult, capable of knowing his own mind and what he wanted. And, when he needed them, they were there, keeping him from hitting rock bottom. They did it for him again, even when he was no longer a Fox, no longer their responsibility. They let him come home. 

So maybe he sees a little bit of himself in Pax. Pax is also doing what Brandon can’t—they’re back on the court after an injury, and Brandon isn’t. Brandon won’t be. It makes him want to see them succeed even more. And not beat themself up when they don’t deserve it. 

“I don’t know what could have happened, I only know what did happen. And you didn’t get another card. You didn’t hurt the team. Exy is an intense game, emotions run high—it happens. And sometimes it’s better to have a player take a risk and get a card than hold back and play safe.” It’s not advice that Brandon would give to every player on the team—some of them definitely don’t need to hear that it’s okay to get a card. But Pax isn’t that player, and so his advice for them is different.

“It’s good to have expectations for yourself. Goals. But it’s not good to set them so high that you can’t—enjoy playing. Enjoy winning. And this was a good win. You don’t know what the rest of the season might hold, wins like this are the reason we play.”

                   It might be easy to hide behind the I’m fine excuse that Pax could give to other people. But the Foxes and people affiliated with the Foxes knew that wasn’t true at all. None of them were actually fine. They all had something they were working on and Pax liked to think that their issues weren’t that bad, even if that was just an excuse to push them further down and forget that they existed. It would be easy to push someone away that could potentially help. That wasn’t healthy. They knew that talking was going to help. For so long they had refused to let things get to them, but that wasn’t a healthy lifestyle either. It was going to take a while for Pax to learn just how to embrace anger and when to not push so hard.

                   At some point, Pax needed to realize that being like this was not helping them. It was not going to be perfect because life wasn’t perfect. Life was messy and complicated. Sometimes that idea was just difficult to embrace. And for Pax, Exy was the only thing that they cared about so it was that thing they pushed too hard at – which was always something that they were still learning to not do. And it didn’t matter anyway because unlike some of the members of their team, Pax didn’t want to play professionally. They wanted to coach.

                   “I suppose,” Pax said. Even if Brandon was right, Pax would never admit that he was right. They were too stubborn. This wasn’t going in Pax’s scrapbook of good games because to them a yellow card was unacceptable. It wasn’t the end of the world – but it wasn’t the type of person that Pax wanted to be. Pax’s comment was the only thing they could say without it risking like they didn’t agree.

                   “Yeah, okay,” they nodded. “I wasn’t taught that growing up. Living up to someone that my parents thought was perfect at everything and I just fell short on everything is still a difficult thing to handle.” Not that Pax thought their parents were right for doing that. Emma’s ability to succeed at anything she put her mind to wasn’t something Pax could do. What Pax could do was put every ounce of energy into being perfect at one thing. And sometimes it hurt when they weren’t perfect at that one thing. “I’m still not ready to go to bed… but I’m alright.” I’m alright – meaning Pax wasn’t going to get into any trouble tonight.

[brandonshaw]

paxtonridley:

                   Itwas easy to feel worthless after being told for so long that you wereworthless. Almost from day they understood language they knew they were adisappointment. To people that didn’t matter anymore, but still. Being worthsomething to people that did matter was difficult and a new feeling that Pax wasn’tsure made them feel any better. Perhaps perfection was an impossible thing toachieve, but Pax never even felt close to that for a second. Watching some peopleglide through life like it was simple and easy was difficult. Sure they werearound a bunch of people that had problems and were in the exact same boat asPax was half the time, but they were beginning to feel like it was on stepforward and three steps back. They weren’t making progress at all and that’swhat was really bothering Pax. Life was actually decent for once and Pax wasstill having problems. Their mind got stuck on individual little moments thatplayed over and over in their mind on how they could have fixed it and made iteasier. That wasn’t the right way to live and Pax knew that, but how did aperson break a cycle like that? And how could they make things better when theywere just one member of the team?

                   Paxknew they were a stronger player than when they started at Palmetto. Deep downthey knew that. They didn’t want to become someone that was totally reckless oncourt because that could be dangerous. Maybe that’s what the problem was. Suredeep down, Pax had problems with being injured on court, but not like before.They used to have anxiety about just being on court and doing drills. Now itwas different. They were more rational about it, if only slightly. Pax was incrediblythankful to play with the Foxes because otherwise they wouldn’t be playing atall and life would have been drastically different for them. But sometimes thestress just go to them. On nights like tonight when they were shaken from thegame, when they thought about just how much Exy meant to them, when they werestressed about everything else, and on top of that had to worry about more thanjust themself. It was a lot to think about.

                   “Ifeel like I played like crap,” Pax replied. “I could have easily gotten anotherone. I was angry.” Pax didn’t normally get angry on court. In fact, theynormally could keep their anger in check. Tonight was just different. Pax justhad this deep desire to start standing up for what they felt rather thanpushing their emotions down like they had in the past. The messy emotions werestill important. Pax shouldn’t try and hide them. “I’m still angry.” As weirdas that was to admit, it was true. Pax had always tried to put things inperspective. The things they’d gone through were important and mattered tothem, but there were people that went through worse situations and Pax neededto realize that. That wasn’t an entirely healthy way to look at things, though itwas an easier way to think about it. “Sure, but I’m not here for thecompetition. I’m here because I love Exy and because I want to prove toeveryone that’s ever doubted me that I’m capable of handling whatever is thrownat me. And I want to deserve it. That means not getting carded, not gettingangry on court, not letting myself overthink or panic or feel too much.”Perfection. That’s what it boiled down to. Pax was trying to chase a dream that was impossible.

He wishes so much that things had been different, when he was a Fox. Not just that the team was better, or that they won more, of that he made it to the Championships just once—but also that he was better. That Wymack had seen what was going on with him, somehow, and stepped in before Brandon was having panic attacks after practice. That he’d started meeting with Betsy regularly sooner, took her seriously, took helping and improving himself seriously. 

It’s not anybody’s fault. Brandon had left DC and thought he had it all together. Wymack and Betsy treated him like an adult, capable of knowing his own mind and what he wanted. And, when he needed them, they were there, keeping him from hitting rock bottom. They did it for him again, even when he was no longer a Fox, no longer their responsibility. They let him come home. 

So maybe he sees a little bit of himself in Pax. Pax is also doing what Brandon can’t—they’re back on the court after an injury, and Brandon isn’t. Brandon won’t be. It makes him want to see them succeed even more. And not beat themself up when they don’t deserve it. 

“I don’t know what could have happened, I only know what did happen. And you didn’t get another card. You didn’t hurt the team. Exy is an intense game, emotions run high—it happens. And sometimes it’s better to have a player take a risk and get a card than hold back and play safe.” It’s not advice that Brandon would give to every player on the team—some of them definitely don’t need to hear that it’s okay to get a card. But Pax isn’t that player, and so his advice for them is different.

“It’s good to have expectations for yourself. Goals. But it’s not good to set them so high that you can’t—enjoy playing. Enjoy winning. And this was a good win. You don’t know what the rest of the season might hold, wins like this are the reason we play.”

[brandonshaw]

lukasbaxter:

Lukas doesn’t really think he owes a Fox staff member an explanation about anything, but before he can say as much out loud, Piper is interrupting him to dish out her life story, a-fucking-pprently. “I’m Piper. Lukas is my big brother and my parents don’t like him much but I don’t see why because I liked him a few summers ago. So I saved up my allowance to come see him myself since they won’t take me and this game was the cheapest ticket Greyhound had. The end.” She stops there, turning to Lukas. “Can I go to the vending machine?” In a weird sort of daze, he nods, and she skips off as if she didn’t just unload all that on someone Lukas has talked to like, maybe once.

Still, it at least answers some questions for him. He and Piper had come to the hotel separately from the other Vixens, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to talk in the Uber on the way over because this was the part of his life that he didn’t share with people, stranger or best friend. Telling Jordan about it had been enough to handle, and he’s not sure he has the emotional capabilities to deal with this more than once. But now he knows that Piper is here because she’s decided that despite what he did (and he knows their parents told her) she still wants to be his sister. That’s beyond foreign to him, because his parents hadn’t wanted to be his parents anymore after his mistake.

That just further drives home the conclusion he’s come to over the years that his parents just aren’t really cut out for being caretakers in any capacity. They’ve denied Piper what she wants, which is apparently to see him more, and now she’s run away because of it. She literally got on a Greyhound and left town. Perfect, spoiled Piper. She’s the same age he was when he started acting out, and he can’t help but wonder if maybe his parents are just as bad as handling it with her as they were with him.

Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, all Lukas can offer Brandon is a shrug. “That’s the gist, yeah. I wasn’t planning for this at all, but  you don’t have to worry about it. I’ll get her back to the Den safely, and then my parents can come collect her and we can pretend this never happened.”

The girl—Piper, apparently—skips off down the hall, leaving Brandon bemused, and with way more questions than he even started out with. It feels a little bit like a tiny tornado just roamed through—Brandon used to deal with kids younger than him when he was in foster care, dealing with them more often than his peers because even if he was quiet and sullen he was still quiet, capable enough at making sure they didn’t do anything stupid and hurt themselves. But it’s been a long time since then. He’s older. And the only “kids” he deals with regularly now are eighteen year old Fox freshmen. They only half-count.

But an explanation doesn’t really get him any closer to what to do about it. The Vixens might not exactly be Wymack’s problem, but he—and Abby—are the most authoritative people on the road. For the Vixens, it’s just Vivian. And, if Wymack’s asleep or just not around, then Brandon’s the closest thing to his deputy that the team has. He can’t help but feel responsible. Though they’re separate, they’re still kind of a unit. Anything that reflects badly on the Vixens reflects badly on the Foxes. And a runaway preteen seems like the kind of trouble that would be easy for someone to—twist, somehow. Any news, with this team, is usually bad news.

He can appreciate that it’s a little awkward, someone Lukas doesn’t know all up in his business—it’s a little awkward for Brandon, too. “Your sister is—something,” he offers, that something a little bit admiring. He doesn’t think that he would’ve gotten up the nerve to take a greyhound by himself at that age, and he was far from a model kid. But maybe that’s at least partially because there was nowhere outside of DC for him to go. “Have you called your parents yet?”

It’s like a game: what would concerned parents do? Sure, he’s mostly working in the dark here, but he’s pretty sure the answer is: call the police.

[brandonshaw]

“What do you think about Kansas City’s chances this year?”

The worst part was, it hadn’t even been malicious. Just a coach from another team, trying to make conversation, trying to save Brandon from standing silently at Wymack’s elbow. He hadn’t known that Brandon couldn’t deal.

But he can’t—he hasn’t watched a Cyclones game since he was still watching them from the press box, dressed in a suit instead of Exy armor. Since he still thought that maybe, just maybe, his recovery would go well and he’d be back out there. He’s hardly watched a professional game—not just a Cyclones game, but any professional game—since, hardly kept up with the scores, tried to hardly think about the team and the teammates that had so shortly been his.

He doesn’t know what he said, mumbled something vague and excused himself from the conversation as quickly as he could. He’s not a player, Wymack can’t bench him when he doesn’t play, but he knows that he’s meant to play by the same rules as the Foxes, meant to set a good example. He can’t duck out—but retreating into the Foxes’ empty locker room for a little bit wouldn’t be leaving right?

He hovers by the orange-painted door until he catches someone else doing the same thing: “Five minute break? I won’t tell if you don’t.”

[bwboysgallery-deactivated202007]