palmetto state foxes.

She doesn't know what time it is anymore. First serve was at seven, and that's the last thing she really remembers. What time did the final buzzer sound? What time did they get to Eden's? What time was it when they were dragged into the police station, how long did they cool their heels there before Wymack decided to show up? She doesn't know, but it feels like as long as she doesn't know she can just keep going indefinitely.

So she doesn't peer at the dashboard from the backseat of Wymack's car, doesn't check her phone, just looks out the window at the quiet, empty streets between Columbia and Palmetto, lets Wymack's voice roll over her. He's pissed, but he's not really pissed. He doesn't always remind her of her father, but times like this he really does: he never managed to be truly angry at her, either, was fond and amused at her wild antics in a way that nobody else ever was.

She used to have more nights like these: nights where she stayed up late enough to see the sunrise, slept the daylight hours away. Sometimes just to do it all over again the next night. She lived far enough away from everything else that it's not like anyone was going to go out of their way to drop her back off—not that anyone was in a state to, the kind of parties she went to. Including her.

She crashed on couches, in the back of cars, on old stained mattresses dragged into long-abandoned barns—wherever she could. Back home, there would be chores going undone, chickens going unfed, but she couldn't bring herself to care much. Her world had used to be so narrow, just her family's house and the land that surrounded it, and she knew it all like the back of her hand. Once her world got bigger, it was much easier to get lost in.

She has less of those nights now—she's got responsibilities now, ones that she doesn't want to blow off. Early morning practices to keep her honest, classes she tries not to skip the way she blew off just about everything in high school right up until Exy got her on the straight and narrow. She goes out, and she drinks, but she doesn't mess with anything else anymore. Keeps her head screwed on tight and her feet planted firmly on the ground—metaphorically, at least, because she's still never met a high place she didn't want to climb to.

But it's a Friday night, or a Saturday morning: she's got a whole weekend ahead of her, she's not in jail, the Foxes are moving onto the Championships, and she's got Parker making her an offer she doesn't want to refuse.

And so she doesn't. She slips her hand back into Parker's just like she did in the police station, easy, gives it a squeeze as she gives her a smile and says: "Sounds good to me. Lead the way."

#parker #interaction: parker #parkerglory009

She's more relieved than she should be that Glory says yes—because this is what they do, isn't it? Sneak away, just the two of them, and carve time out together. "Perfect," Parker says, before pulling Glory towards the roof with their connected hands.

It's a poorly kept secret up there, but Parker's gambled correctly. The other Foxes have gone somewhere else for the night, whether to celebrate or lick their wounds, and when Parker pushes the door open they've got the roof to themselves. It's colder up here than it was down below, and substantially less romantic than she'd hoped when the rooftop is cluttered with cigarette butts and other litter.

But there are the stars. There's the two of them. And if Parker's going to do it, right now is as good a time as any. Better, probably. They won a game, and survived a fight. They're going into the Championships. It feels like the night to take risks, doesn't it? So she spins around to face Glory, still holding onto her hand.

Parker should've spent the car ride back figuring out what to say or do—it's not like she was listening to Wymack's lecture. But she's gotten this far on instinct, so what's one more leap of faith?

"It was bad ass, watching you defend the team," Parker says, because it's the first thing that comes to mind. "You're so hot." Her bravado stalls out there. There's no cool way to say so hey, do you still like me? Or even more pathetic, how much do you like me? Are you my girlfriend, check yes or no?

Because she knows Glory likes her, even if they've mostly danced around the subject all year. She doesn't even have to look hard for the evidence. Glory's been sweet since the brawl, holding her hand all night. It could be enough, if Parker wasn't apparently determined to ride this adrenaline high all the way to the end.

She steps a little closer, clearing her throat. "Okay, sorry, I don't know how to jump into this. But, uhm. I was kind of hoping we could talk?" she says, before she can talk herself out of it. Glory's been honest before, and Glory's been vulnerable about what she needed, and Parker can do the same.

"I know you needed time, and then we came back in the fall and it seemed like maybe you were ready? Ready to see how things went, at least," Parker adds. "So, like. How are things? How...are we?" And then, even if maybe it goes without saying when the Foxes are so insular, practically living out of each other's pockets: "Because I'm not seeing anyone else, just as you know. I don't want to."

Kent knows the way to Indigo's heart: she's in this less for the money and more for the opportunity to shit talk her teammates, with money attached.

Plus—get a few bets going and, all of sudden, even if the Foxes lose she might still win something. A game within a game. She's always liked making her own fun. Kent, with his spreadsheets, seems much the same way, running his little betting ring with the same organization and fervor that Claudia's been running their practices since the tiebreaker.

Her idea of fun doesn't include spreadsheets, so more power to him. She just gets to reap the benefits, getting comfortable in her chair with her legs thrown over one arm as she makes a show out of considering her options.

"If we don't make it out of the first round, that's two goals per game. Brutal." For better or for worse, she feels some solidarity for the Fox goalkeepers still, even though she thinks she'd still try to go on strike if there was a freak accident that killed or incapacitated them and the only person who could possibly go on was Indigo. Mostly for better, except for when he's being exceptionally morose, she likes Charlie. So Kent can keep that bet.

"What are you counting as a fight? Dropped gloves? Red card? Or just a little schoolboy shoving match?" One sounds a lot more doable then the other. Because, again: three games in the first round, and who knows if the Foxes will survive them. Three might be all that they get, which would make three fights a tall order—even for Mateo.

But Kent saves his best for last, and they actually make Indigo laugh: "Oh, I definitely want to put my money on Parker not winning. Have you seen her throw a punch? And I think that if Claudia's going to punch anyone, it's way more likely to be friendly fire at practice. Or maybe Bryce. Are we allowed to have two Captains in the same city? Shouldn't they have to duel or something?"

#kent #interaction: kent #kentindigo007

The bet against Charlie is, admittedly, just an excuse to talk shit about him. As funny as it would be for Charlie to let in multiple goals per match, Kent's played with Charlie long enough to know it's unlikely. But, hey: a man can dream, right?

Kent's about to clarify the one on Mateo—shoving matches count, because yes, Kent's optimistically set some of these numbers high in the hopes of getting more than three games this semester, but he's also not actually trying to lose all his money when they inevitably crash and burn—but Indigo's already made her pick.

It makes sense. Kent might hate Charlie, but Indigo hates Baby Sinclair. Clearly, the Sinclair family is good at pissing people off. If it weren't for his own personal grudge against Charlie, he might actually respect it.

"Duh, that's why I called it a long shot," Kent says. "You wanna do money? Or something funnier?" he adds, recalling their karaoke night from the beginning of the year. Of course, this is the Championships, and quite possibly their only shot at it—the stakes need to be higher than a little public embarrassment in a bar. He's sure they can both think of something, though.

Because at the end of the day, Indigo's already got plenty of money. They all know it. If Kent actually manages to win this one with all odds against him—because, yeah, he's seen Parker's attempts at a punch, and it's not pretty—it's only fair that Indigo's loss means something to her. And, as a bonus, if Kent loses, he'll still have beer money.

Location: Santa Monica Pier Date: Saturday, Jan 29th Time: Afternoon (open)

Mateo itches for a cigarette as he leans against the railing and watches the waves wash ashore. A steady roar from the crowd surrounds him, the occasional screaming standing out that he's learned to ignore.

He's from San Francisco, but he's been to Santa Monica Pier too many times to count. LA was like a second home to him, thanks to his dad's business. He thinks when he was younger he actually liked these rides—back when his mom would take them on them, but now he has no desire to go on them.

Maybe it's because this is another outing funded by Kai's parents and he doesn't want to participate out of principle. Or maybe it's because he's sore from yesterday's game and he'd rather be asleep than stuck with a bunch of tourists.

The wind whips against Mateo's face and knocks his hood off his head, prompting him to tug it back over to fight off the chill. It's nowhere near as cold here as it is in Palmetto, but it's still cold because it's fucking January. Who goes on rides in January?

He taps his fingers against the railing and bites the inside of his cheek, debating whether he's willing to walk all the way back down the pier so he can smoke. The answer is not really. When one of his teammates joins him on the railing, he says, "I'll give you $100 if you buy me a beer." If he's going to celebrate Kai's birthday, then he refuses to do it sober, and the vendors here won't turn a blind eye to the fact that he clearly isn't twenty-one.

#kai AGAIN because he's the BIRTHDAY BOY #kai #interaction: kai #kaimateo004 #shoutout mateo getting cold in jan in CA btw me too bud

Kai's trying to be grateful. He's been smiling, and telling his parents thank you, and pretending he's just nauseous from the rides. He's got less than a week until he's nineteen, now. Another age Katie will never see. Another year older than his twin.

If she was here, they'd make fun of their parents together. Because, of course their parents always mean well, but who dreams of riding a carousel for their nineteenth birthday? It would've been part of the fun, though, laughing in secret about their out of touch parents.

Kai should get an award, really, for how how long he makes it before he gives his parents the slip with some bullshit excuse. Instead, his reward is that he accidentally chooses the same length of railing as Mateo for his pity party.

"Why the fuck would I buy you a beer?" Kai snaps, automatically on edge around his least favorite teammate. Except, for once, Mateo has the right idea—Kai would love a drink right now. It's not like his parents noticed in the past, when Katie and Kai would come home from some party or concert wearing perfume and chewing mint gum to cover the smell of booze.

It's surprising that Mateo doesn't have a fake, but Kai's got one now. He doesn't need one really, not when the Eden's bartenders don't seem to care what age they are, but he can't seem to resist collecting IDs that say male. "Make it $200. Plus whatever my drink costs."

Location: Bruins’ court Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Post-game (open)

Dayton's body hasn't hurt this bad since he was stuck in a hospital bed, but it's a good kind of hurt. One that reminds him that his body is still his and he can still use it the way he wants. Did he play any good tonight? Not at all. In fact, it was probably one of his worst games in history, but at least he played. Not just any game either, but a Championship game against players who have more experience than him or never had to take a long hiatus like him.

They lost, but Dayton is still proud and he's buzzing all over from a mix of adrenaline and excitement. It's probably a dangerous combo when he's ushered off to answer questions for press duty, but he doesn't think too hard about it. He just answers the questions as honestly as he can, like he does with most things in his life.

Press duty is finished in a blink of an eye, and when he returns to the locker rooms, the vibes are pretty bleak. They don't match his mood at all. He feels ready to explode over the fact that he can still play Exy, while the others are mourning that 5 - 2 score.

Dayton doesn't let it crush his spirts as he goes to his locker and starts changing out his sweat-drenched jersey. "Press duty was wild," he announces to the room in general, whether anyone is listening to him or not. "I don't remember a single thing I said. I think I blacked out."

Laughing, he shakes out his damp hair and shoves his jersey in his duffle bag, his shoulders aching from the movement. "Fuck, that hurts. Hey, what's the secret to not feeling like you got hit by a car after a game?"

#kai #interaction: kai #kaidayton002

Kai's procrastinating. He's already showered, dressed in his most comfortable hoodie, and now he's fidgeting uselessly with his gear bag as if he truly needs to pack and unpack everything over and over again. There's no reason to be here still.

The second he steps outside the locker room though, he'll have no excuses anymore. He'll have to find his parents, and they'll want to...do something to celebrate. They flew all the way here, after all, leaving the Bay behind for LA.

So they'll take him out to dinner, at the very least. If he's lucky, they'll want to dissect the game. More likely, they'll want to talk about his life in Palmetto, if he's made friends, what he'll do for his actual birthday next week. He doesn't have an answer to that last question yet—or, at least, not one his parents want to hear.

It's a relief when Dayton comes barreling in then, all smiles somehow. Kai played like shit, but even from the bench he could tell it wasn't Dayton's night either. Still, if that's bothering Dayton, it's impossible to tell from the outside. It's kind of nice actually, and not just because Dayton provides a needed distraction.

"You got thrown into the deep end with Casey's injury," Kai says, with a sympathetic wince. And then, seizing on another reason to dig through his bag again instead of going outside to face the music— "I've got some tiger balm, if you want it."

Colin grew up hungry. Grew up greedy.

You could blame it on Las Vegas: all those flashing lights, hordes of people hoping to win big and mostly just losing it all. It made up some of his earliest memories: holding tight to his mother's hand in the crowds thronging the strip, standing by while she tried to convince someone else on staff—the cleaning crew, the kitchen, anyone at all—to keep an eye on him while she worked the casino floor. It was shiny, and it was fake, and it was sometimes sinister—but he loved it. Before Palmetto, it was the only place he'd ever called home, the place he ran back to when he could have gone anywhere at all.

Or you could just call it his mother's influence: she was the one that taught him how to lie, how to cheat, how to steal. She'd made an art out of extracting favors from people: nights on their couches or in their spare rooms that turned into weeks, money that she never paid back, goodwill that she never returned.

She taught Colin how to survive, but she'd also taught him how to want. He wanted anything he could sink his teeth into; he wanted everything that other people had. Because, in comparison, he felt like he had nothing at all, was nothing at all. He'd smile and he'd lie and he'd make up a life for himself that was better than the one he had, like convincing other people it was true was enough to make it so. He'd appear in a new town and a new school and wouldn't rest until he was someone everyone wanted to know or befriend or more—because it wasn't enough to be liked if he wasn't liked best.

Exy, somehow, felt like an exception to that. Oh, he wanted it—wanted it more than just about anything else. But maybe it's because he wanted it so much that he's been able to temper his expectations.

He never took playing for granted, not when they moved around so much. When he was a kid, it was enough to just be able to play. And, when he was a high school senior staring down the rest of his life, he never imagined that the Big Three would knock on his door—or anyone else, right up until David Wymack did. Now he's a fifth year, playing in the Championships for the first and only time in his Class I career, waiting to see what the draft has in store. He still wants: he wants to win, to go as far as they can; he wants to be drafted, for his Exy career to not end here—but he already knows that he'll take what he can get, whether it's a first-round exit or a league-minimum contract on a bottom-ranked team. For Exy, he'll accept scraps, because they're better than nothing at all.

Because, without Exy, he's not sure who he'd be, but he's somehow sure that he probably wouldn't like it very much. That it'd be a someone a lot more like his mother.

Maybe that's the difference between him and Grant—one of them, at least, because he can't pretend they only have one. Because Grant seems so angry—at the Foxes, at Exy—in a way that Colin's never been able to be, even when he's wished that things were different. Maybe, it's because he'd really wished that he was someone different, and that wasn't something that Colin could blame on Exy at all.

"Man, I don't even know what a Billiken is," he says with a snort. "But they don't sound that scary. Pretty sure we could take them. And, hey—I've been a lot of places, but I've never been to Missouri. I could cross that off the bucket list, though I can't say it's very high up on there. You ever been? Seen the Arch, or whatever?"

#figured i would move this one to a wrap since it's older!#so maybe ending here/on your reply if you have more to add?#grant #interaction: grant #grantcolin003

Colin's joking—Grant knows this—but he can't help himself. This might be his first year playing Class I Exy, but it's not his first year following it. "It's a good luck charm...thing," Grant says, before doubling down on his disdain. "Not that it seems to help them." He's a Fox, yes, and he's painfully aware this team is ranked far below the Billikens. Tonight, though, they actually won one. And anyway, he can always be proud of himself, even if he can't be proud to be on this team.

Technically, St. Louis is driving distance from Freeport. But even if the Arch ranked on his top travel destinations, it would've been an insurmountable distance coming from Freeport. He spent his freshmen and sophomore year cobbling together long walks and bus rides just to make it two towns over, and that was with proper motivation—that's where the Exy was, at least until he could convince Freeport High to restart their team.

As far as vacations, any out of state trips while in foster care required special waivers, permission from his case worker, planning that took months—time he didn't typically have with any single family. And when the back and forth meant he was back with his mom, it took money she didn't have. Really, what would've been the point in planning something? Time with her was just as brief as any foster home.

So, for the most part: if there wasn't a travel game there, he hasn't seen it. It's fine. It's not like he sat around pining for St. Louis.

"Nope," Grant says, now. With the conversation shifting—away from Exy, apparently, and onto something more personal—he's more aware of how late it is, how tired he'll be in the morning. He can just as easily talk bucket list destinations with Colin in the morning. Not that he will, of course. "Whoever we play, we'll need to bring our A-game," he adds, pushing off the wall. He's not tired, but he doesn't feel as restless and sweaty as he did before stepping outside. It might be enough. "Think I'm gonna get some sleep."

Dayton swings back and forth for being eager to get off the bench and terrified to play his first game. Pre-game anxiety isn't new for him. Even before the accident, he used to fight off a panic attack before his high school games. It's just a lot of pressure—all those eyes on him, waiting for him to screw it all up.

It doesn't help that Dayton is obviously rusty. He had an unplanned year long break, and despite being fully recovered, he still has a lot of days where he can barely get out of bed because he feels so bad. Those are a lot rarer than they were before, but they're still there. It's only January and he already missed a few classes.

Not only will this be Dayton's first game in over a year, he'll also be travelling for it, which is a little nerve wracking. He's not sure if his parents are flying in for it to support him or to be close in case he drops dead. Knowing them, it's probably both.

California isn't new territory for the Tans, but it might as well be for Dayton, because he doesn't actually remember living in Monterey. He was four? Maybe? Too long ago to remember, obviously. He's excited to go back and create some new memories—ones his brain will hopefully hold onto.

Finally done with classes for the day, Dayton makes his way back to the Tower and passes Kent lounging on the couch along the way. He stops pre-emptively in hopes that the older striker will talk to him, and he's a little more than pleased when he actually does.

"Oh, bets!" Dayton exclaims a little too loudly. "I heard you guys are into that. Who do you have your money on so far?" He isn't going to copy Kent; he can definitely form his own opinions, but he's still interested in the other's answer.

#kent #interaction: kent #kentdayton001

At this point, Kent's seen plenty of Foxes come and go over the years. Dayton's mostly notable because of his timing. His first ever Class I game will be a Championship one. That might come with pressure from another team, but Class I fans aren't expecting much from the Foxes.

Hell, the vast majority of Foxes who have already graduated and left can't claim a single Championship game on their resume. By landing themselves at least three this year, the Foxes are already breaking the mold.

There's freedom in those low expectations, even if half his teammates don't seem to recognize that. But even on another team, Kent doesn't think he could ever be the kind of player who twisted himself into knots about the outcome of each game. If Exy stopped being fun, he'd find something else to do—hell, doing that is the whole reason he plays Exy in the first place, rather than sticking with football. And his old coaches were right: since he never learned to pull his punches out there, Exy suits him a hell of a lot better.

"I've got a bet out on you, actually," Kent says, conversationally. It's tradition for any new players. There are some less flattering ones, of course—how many strikers might slip past a rusty backliner, or how many minutes Wymack actually gives the newbies in their first game—but there's a funnier one to lead with, too.

"Read your intro in College Exy Online the other week. 'I'm a Sag, I'm single'," he quotes. "I'm betting you get a fan's phone numbers in LA. I'm pretty sure they love that astrology shit over there." He checks his notes. "And, uh, Parker's the hater who bet against me. You planning to prove her wrong?"

Maybe he should have taken his own advice—you could just go ahead and be a dick first—because Kai crumples instead of taking the bait and TK, suddenly, has no idea what to do.

After an entire semester, he's used to seeing Kai in their dorm: the one that feels like a warzone, everyone else versus Mateo and so, by extension, versus Mateo and TK. He's used to seeing Kai on the court, where they're surrounded by their teammates, where even if they run drills on a line together they're just two out of seven strikers, rotating through every possible pairing in order to be prepared for whatever situation may come up in a game.

He's not used to spending time with Kai one-on-one. Has actively avoided it, actually. Strange to think that, for a little while back in California, TK was instead actively trying to find time for them to be alone together, even if it was just for a handful of minutes of time at a party before they went their separate ways.

Another thing that TK's actively avoided: thinking about that, or acknowledging it in any way. There's part of him, somewhere, that thinks he should probably say something, but what is there to say? It sure is weird we made out a few times, huh? A lot's changed since then.

Not that he's thinking about it now, either. Not when Kai seems—upset, or something like it. Something that probably doesn't have anything to do with his broken headphones, or even TK's unwanted presence. TK's sure he could come up with a few ideas of what it does have to do with, because it's not like TK isn't upset all the time, too, even when he tries to soldier on and act like he isn't.

"Nah, you're not being that bad," he offers, pushing through the awkwardness with a half-smile and an attempt at a joke: "We room with Grant—I've seen way worse. If he broke his headphones, then I'd probably laugh."

#coming here after writing grant telling TK to FUCK OFF right away in their first ever on screen interaction...feels right #kai #kaitk002 #interaction: kai

There's a moment of silence that stretches a beat too long—Kai deciding how to respond to TK's olive branch. Finally, he decides to take the opportunity to salvage his dignity.

"Not as much of a dick as Grant," Kai says, huffing out a laugh. Hopefully it sounds more convincing than it feels. Of course, there's a benefit to faking it: when he actually laughs, it has a tendency to spike too high and breathy. If he's not careful, it could still almost be described as a giggle. "That's a pretty low bar," Kai adds, because if nothing else, TK's correctly assumed they've got a common enemy in Grant.

Of course, Kai doesn't need to admit that, as far as he's concerned, all three of them are in the running for worst roommate. He's played alongside his other teammates for over a semester now. Wymack didn't give Kai a choice, but Kai would rather room with any of the other Foxes—including the ones who are all dating each other—over TK, Mateo, and Grant. He's pretty sure he's had knockdown drag-out games that are more relaxing than their dorm room.

Grant and Mateo are more openly determined to piss everyone off, yes, but it's not like TK stays on the sidelines when it comes to Mateo. It's not like Kai does either, in fairness. He's certainly never responded to Mateo's quick temper with anything resembling an olive branch. And just like he tried with TK today, he's poked at Mateo just to get a fight going before.

"But I'll take it," Kai adds, because whether TK means it or just wants to move on, Kai isn't about to argue with that particular statement—despite everything, he does think he's an easier person to be around than Grant. "You're not as bad as Grant either, for what it's worth."

Location: California Hotel Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Late (open)

It's hard to sleep after a game, hard to come down from the adrenaline, the bright lights, the screaming crowd—even when, back in Palmetto, it's even later than it is right now in California.

After a win, that's not a problem. After the tiebreaker, he rode that wave from press duty to Eden's Twilight and all the way back to Palmetto, with a bar fight and a run from the cops in between. After a loss, though, there's none of that. They lost their first Championships game: and, while there might have been moments where they had a chance, the game got away from them. By the time it ended, it wasn't even close.

It's hard to sleep, too, when he feels like he spent the night throwing himself against brick walls over and over again. The Bruins played hard, and they have the win to show for it. TK has the bruises to show for it, too, and he's sure the rest of the Foxes do as well.

So, after trying and failing to get comfortable, he slips out of the hotel room he's sharing with Mateo and makes his way down the hall, still in his pajamas, to the ice machine.

Late at night, there's no real sound but the hum of the fluorescents, his footfalls on the hallway carpet. If he forgets about the long flight the Foxes took to get here, he could be anywhere—not back in California, though still hours away from home. Not that it really matters: home feels like a technicality at this point, when his parents are gone and the house he grew up in doesn't exist anymore and the only person left on earth that means anything to him is in South Carolina with him.

The rumble of the ice machine breaks the silence, enough that he doesn't hear the person coming up behind him until he looks up and sees their reflection, distorted and ghostly, in vending machine—startling him enough that he jerks, sending ice cubes scattering along the floor.

"Shit," he says, once he's recovered from the initial shock. "You scared me. Can't sleep either? I feel like I got run over by a truck."

#hotel california you can check out any time you'd like but you can never leave #also i'm assuming the hotel rooms are in sets of two? so grant would not be rooming w/ tk & mateo #and if there are larger groups in the rooms perhaps they both said “NOT GRANT WYMACK PLEASE”#unfortunately for TK he is still here to overreact and cause problems #grant #interaction: grant #granttk001

After the game, Grant crashed. He'd barely had enough time to get ready before he was asleep—exhausted from some combination of the travel, the game, the rush of playing in the Championships, the fallout from the loss, however expected that loss was.

But, of course, he can't stay asleep tonight. When he startles awake from a nightmare, the last thing he wants is to stick around long enough to have some awkward fucking conversation with his unwanted roommate.

Normally, exercise is his best bet. If he's tired enough, his brain has to cave to his body and let him sleep. But that's already failed him. Grant's only hours removed from a game, body still sore from fighting and diving to defend his goal. If he drags himself to the hotel's fitness center, he'll only regret it in the morning. The only productive thing he can do right now is rest.

That, and cool himself down. LA is too warm for January, especially when he's used to snow in Freeport. He'd like to blame that for the uncomfortable layer of sweat coating him from head to toe, but he knows that comes from the nightmares too. Still, it gives him an action plan. Something to reboot his body and his mind. He sneaks out of the hotel room in search of the ice machine.

Unfortunately, someone's already there.

"Fuck off," Grant snaps, because normally, TK is one of those roommates he's avoiding after a nightmare. He'd rather swallow glass than talk about it with any of them, but that doesn't mean he thinks they haven't noticed—especially on the rare occasions he wakes up loud, accidentally dragging himself out of the nightmare with a shout. At least he hasn't woken up crying in years; he'd never live it down.

He tries to decide what's more obvious to someone he's already been forced to share space with for months—admitting that he woke up in the middle of the night, or claiming he couldn't sleep in the first place. The answer, he decides, is admitting either of those things to TK would be unacceptable. So, he goes on the offensive instead. "You let that Bruin throw you around. No wonder you're sore."

There's optimism, and there's realism—Olivia's answer manages to thread the needle between both. Casey grins, lifting their beer in a cheers.

"That's what I mean," they reassure her, because as much as they'd love to believe the Foxes could go the mythical all the way, walk out of this season with the trophy, Casey's played against the other teams going into the Championships. Casey, like Olivia, knows who they could be up against.

It isn't just raw talent, although there's plenty of that out there. It's a numbers game too. Larger teams can handle injuries, red cards, even simple fatigue better. More experienced teams have practical knowledge on how to face an Aggies' striker or Vandals' goalie, while most of the Foxes can only study old games and hope to apply what they learn.

But if the goal is to prove people wrong about the Foxes, to prove that the Foxes are worth more as an Exy team than people realize, then they don't have to go all the way to the end. No doubt everyone is expecting that the Foxes will get knocked out in the first round. They have to beat that, and then do as much as they can afterwards.

That does feel possible, especially after their win tonight. "But I think we've got a better shot at making it through this round than people think. Especially if we're lucky in the matches." Of course, if they do, then the death matches come next—and what felt intimidating even as a Buckeye could be terrifying as a Fox.

Olivia's other comment is a stronger blow against Casey's pleasant mood, even if it's true. This could be Casey's last shot at the Championships—if they graduate without offers, it could be their last shot at competitive Exy at all.

As they've already discussed, Casey's been wrong before. Casey's been forced away from Exy, and found a way to come crawling back. They know success in the draft isn't the only path to professional Exy, either. It's the one they envisioned for themself all through high school though, all through those first years as a Buckeye. Now, it's hard to imagine someone besides Wymack taking that kind of risk on a player with Casey's history.

It's easy to imagine a professional team wanting Olivia. Even as a Fox, she's had other offers—she chose this team last year rather than becoming a Vandal, and Casey's grateful she did.

"One more, technically," Casey says, stating the obvious. "But I'm focusing on this season," they add, which is equal parts truth and a distraction from what they're afraid waits for them—or doesn't—after the Foxes. And then, so Olivia knows this isn't some Zen and The Art of Exy style stance: "I'll freak myself out otherwise."

#works as an ending for me!#casey #interaction: casey #caseyolivia008

She knows all about freaking herself out; all the ways that her head can be her own worst enemy. It felt like she spent that whole last year at Penn State locked up in her head: she was so used to the court being her place of refuge, the place where everything felt okay, she didn't know what to do when Exy was suddenly the problem. She dreaded practices, dreaded games, and when she was on the court she'd make mistakes that she hadn't made since Little League, which only made her feel worse.

But that was rock bottom—or she's determined to make sure that it was, that she won't go there or anywhere worse again. And things are better but, even now, there's a part of her that's still in her head, still somewhere else. She's trying to ignore the way her phone feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, begging her to pull it out and check: did her father text her? Did he call? If he didn't—if she's going to the Championships, and he didn't—what does that mean? Should she leave this party, find a quiet corner of the sidewalk, and call him?

No. She won't do that. Not when she should be celebrating, and not when she's been drinking. Another reason, maybe, for her to break two years of abstinence now.

But when she joined the Foxes, he'd given her an ultimatum. A challenge. He said he wouldn't come watch her play a game in a Fox jersey unless she was playing in the Championships. Now that she is, does she call his bluff? Or—and considering this feels unthinkable, but here she is, considering it anyway—does she ask him to stay away?

Once, he used to feel so essential to her game. So inextricable from it. Stepping onto Pride Court without him there had felt like walking onto the court without her racquet, when he'd always been there before. The only coach she'd ever known. She called him almost daily from Penn State, talking through things that she was struggling with in practice, getting his feedback after games. Her coaches hated it, she knew, but she couldn't stop, even all through that second year.

She'd learned how to play without him at Palmetto, because she had to, so what is he to her game now?

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she says, hoping that Casey can tell that it's not just words from her. That she knows all about coming to this team with baggage, and how heavy that is. "So—we take it one season at a time, one game at a time. I'll drink to that if you will. And I've only got a little bit left, so if you want to drink to something else tonight, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Location: Upstate Regional Airport Date: Friday, Jan 28th Time: Morning (open)

Tonight, the Foxes will be in California. It feels unthinkable—and not even because they'll be playing in the Championships.

For so long, Owl's Bend was Glory's entire world. And even then, it was mostly just her family's land. They lived far enough out from what could be called town that going there always felt like a production—enough of one that meant that even when people in Owl's Bend were supposed to go to church every Sunday they couldn't always be bothered. When her father drove away in his truck, leaving them alone with Justice and Glory climbing to the tops of the highest trees so she could know the moment he came home again, it felt like he might as well be going to Mars, but he wasn't even leaving Missouri.

She'd hardly ever left Missouri. She'd learned about running, about piling into the back of a friend's car and pooling all their cash to spend a night in a motel on the side of the highway, just for the feeling of being somewhere else. But she hadn't even left Missouri then, either. Not until she left it for the last time.

And even then she only got as far as Kentucky. Brought into town in the back of a cop after they picked her up on the side of the road, on some long stretch of highway where there was nowhere for her to hide.

She's been more places since, but never to California. And now, instead of seeing the scenery roll by on another long bus ride, she'd going to be on a plane, flying over even more places that she's never been on her way to somewhere else.

It's early, early enough that she still feels only half-awake, but the airport is still busy. It's another thing that feels strange, or used to: where she grew up, strangers were difficult to come by. Now she's surrounded by them, and she wonders the same things she usually does: who they are, where they're going and why.

Tired or not, she'd been too antsy to just sit at the gate waiting for their flight and had made a lap of the concourse, straying into each brightly-lit but somehow almost identical storefronts full of paperback books, electronics, and snacks. She'd been tempted by the latter, and when she comes back to their gate to find her teammates, she has a fairly full plastic bag and a black coffee.

"You better hope you're sitting next to me," she says, holding the bag aloft and giving it an illustrative shake. "I'll share, but only if you promise to hold my hand if things get bumpy."

#grant #interaction: grant #grantglory001

This year feels like a wish on a monkey's paw. Grant's playing for a Class I team, but only because Wymack saw him as a charity case. He's in the Championships, but only because the Belmonte Terrapins were disqualified. He's flying to California to play the Bruins, but the Foxes don't stand a fucking chance.

Maybe he could delude himself, pretend they might win tonight. Maybe that's how the Jackrabbits and the Rebels felt last week—but it's not like they pulled off a grand upset. They lost, just like the Foxes will tonight. Cutting his teeth against the stronger teams is something, sure, but Grant can't pretend there either—it won't be enough for him.

He knows all this—knows their chances, the miracle it would take to compete at all after qualifying on accident, let alone win anything—but he can't stop himself from reading about it anyway. Seeing the odds that Exy Online has calculated, the pre-game threads on Reddit as they analyze each of the matches coming today.

He hasn't decided yet if he dreads seeing his name in those posts or longs for it—another way the Foxes have managed to corrupt something he'd always dreamed of. All he knows is he can't look away. He keeps up with every scrap of online chatter. There are days when it's not complicated, when he sees them talking about Freeport and he's sure he hates it. It still doesn't stop him from looking.

He's refreshing Twitter next when Glory's voice breaks his focus. He frowns as he looks away from his phone, taking in the packed bag instead. From what he's seen so far, airport food is the same as gas station food, only more expensive. The coffee looks more appealing, even if he's not exactly tired—too antsy with the promise of a game, despite the fact that they still need to fly across the country first. "I'm not hungry." He nods towards her drink though, because it's not like he's going to sleep on the plane anyway. "How much was the coffee?"

Charlie's gaze continues to dart around the station, so distracted that he barely notices Parker wipe her hands off on his shirt. He doesn't have it in him to comment on it either. His gaze settles back on her to watch her sign, and he's a little relieved when her response is finally on the more serious side.

Parker's right. They aren't going to individually process each of them over this. The officers probably have more important things to worry about, like muggings or car accidents, than a bunch of rowdy Exy players. Charlie takes a deep breath, then lets out a deep sigh, trying to calm his frayed nerves.

Calm down, Parker signs, like it's that easy. The closer Charlie gets to graduation, the harder it is to talk himself down. It's always felt like he's had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but that weight is only growing heavier now, crushing him. A few deep breaths isn't going to make that feeling go away.

Charlie is too tired to keep arguing about it, though, so he merely signs back, "Fine." He almost drops his hands into his lap, but then he remembers there's other important things to check on, too. "Did you get hurt during the fight?"

#parker #interaction: parker #parkercharlie009

Parker's knuckles sting, and her cheek echoes that feeling. She isn't really hurt, though. Doesn't think so, although there's likely enough adrenaline in her system to disguise it.

At least Charlie's calmed down. Must've, if he's changing the subject, even if he won't admit that Parker's right about the actual consequences from tonight. "I'm good," she signs. "Hopefully all the bruises will make us look kind of bad ass for our next match. Don't fuck with the Foxes."

Tonight was nothing like her old days—she was the only one behind the wheel back then, competing for herself and only herself, rather than surrounded by a mass of other Exy players. She never really worried about getting hurt back then either, not like the bright shock of pain when someone lands a hit on you. She's not an idiot; she knows people crash. That knowledge didn't stop her from feeling invincible behind the wheel.

There are similarities to tonight anyway, as Charlie's already pointed out. But she's focused less on the fact that she's in a police station, and more on the feeling that she's gotten away with something—she has missed that, she realizes. Even better, the combined rush of a win and the fight tonight feels almost like finishing a race.

"What about you? You're all trained up after Kent," she adds, miming a punch after she finishes signing. "Bet you got some good hits in, yeah?"

Amplified sounds about right, especially when this is Charlie's last chance. Everything already feels so high stakes, but now Championships are no longer just an unachievable dream—they're real. Charlie should be grateful that he finally gets to play in them at all, but he knows that losing will still hurt.

It's pretty fucking cool that they're the first group to play in the Championships in years, but it would be even cooler if they also won it, too. With their record, the idea is almost laughable, but the Foxes have won before. Who says they can't do it again?

Charlie wants it so badly that he can taste it—a Championship win right before he leaves Palmetto behind. Maybe he's just being greedy, though. Once the thought enters his mind, he realizes that he is being greedy. And selfish.

This is Casey's first Championships as a Fox. Without the pressure of being the star player or drugs in their system. Charlie doesn't know whether that's a relief for them or terrifying. Casey doesn't give too much away with their answer either. Considering they're in the middle of Eden, that's probably for the best.

"No, that makes sense," Charlie assures them. The small smile on his face grows bigger when Casey adds how determined they'll be to guard Charlie's goal. "My hero," he replies playfully, then grows more serious. "I'm really glad we're doing this together. When you first joined the team, I never thought we'd end up here. I was...I was worried I was just giving you empty promises."

#caseycharlie011 #interaction: casey #casey

"I'm glad too," Casey says. "And for what it's worth, empty promises or no, it was nice to have some hope when I joined this team." Whatever happens this semester, Casey has at least one more chance with the Foxes—which may not count for much, Casey knows that, despite their hopeful mood tonight. This could be the last Championships they see.

Although really, this is borrowed time. If it weren't for their suspension, they'd be graduating this year. For the first time they're grateful for that extra time—even if the cause of it is still their biggest regret, even if it might not change the outcome for them in the end. Maybe they would've felt ready to graduate from the Buckeyes, but they certainly don't feel that way now.

And speaking of: it could have been Casey's last season, but it's definitely Charlie's. Five years on the Foxes, and this is his first and only Championship run. Casey meant what they said—they're motivated to make this chance matter, for Charlie as much as themself. Maybe more for him.

Casey's probably already blown their shot at a pro contract, already imploded any goodwill they earned before the results of their drug test went public. But Charlie's not walking around with a black mark on his record. If someone can look past the Foxes' reputation, Charlie would be a smart pick for any team. He's reliable, he cares, he works hard, and he defends his goal. Casey's biased, sure, but they don't think they're wrong either. They know Exy.

If Casey's thinking about it—Charlie's future, and the role this season may play in it—then it must weigh exponentially as heavily on Charlie. "What about you? How are you feeling about the Championships?"

Even with things as good as they are, he hasn't forgotten how things started between them.

Hooking up with Kent and not talking about it. Stewing over it in silence until he had to tell Sterling. Thinking Sterling was mad at him when, in actuality, he was really just jealous. Hooking up with Sterling only to end up fighting with him. All three of them fighting on the beach before they worked their shit out. All the steps on the way that led to them being here, together, on New Year's Eve. Sterling's birthday.

He was the first to hook up with each of them. He was the first person to really hook up with Sterling ever. If he were a better person, maybe that wouldn't matter to him so much, but it does. He was the one who didn't have to be jealous, or insecure, looking at his two best friends hooking up without him and wondering what it meant, what it said about him that they didn't want him there, too. By the time Sterling and Kent did anything with each other, he was already there.

It made it easier for him to watch them want each other, too. To, for the first time that he could remember, see someone he considered his turn their attention on someone else and feel like it wasn't taking something away from him, but adding something. He doesn't think it makes him magnanimous, or anything, like he's risen above all the petty jealousies and insecurity of his past and reached some kind of enlightenment. Mostly, if just makes him turned on.

He knows that Kent and Sterling probably expect him to act jealous, left out, even if they know that it's all in jest. But he's been giving Sterling shit all night and he's not about to stop now—especially not now that Kent's changed sides and is joining Sterling to gang up on him instead of the birthday boy.

"Oh no, my super hot boyfriends putting on a show for me. That sounds terrible." He rolls his eyes to really sell it, as he hears their teammates in the background shuffling around, gearing up for the countdown to midnight. "You better make sure to feel him up, too. It's his birthday."

The countdown's starting in the background now. It doesn't really matter what happens at midnight—whoever's kissing who now, whatever the fun game they're playing, they're all going back to their dorm together at the end of the night. The way things are going, it might not even be that long before they're dragging each other back to their room for more privacy than the kitchen can afford.

It's better this way. Kent's been the one hooking up with only one of his best friends, and he's been the one on the outside looking in, too. Kent can say with certainty that as much as he wants to kiss Sterling, he also wants to know that Colin's watching them. Hell, Kent's always enjoyed putting on a show. Flashy shots on the goal, off tune karaoke, press duties where he says whatever he thinks is the funniest possible answer, regardless of what Wymack might prefer. This might just be his favorite iteration of that, though.

Dimly, he can hear other Foxes in the background, a mix of familiar voices calling out—seven, six, five. There's hardly any space between the three of them already, with Kent close to Sterling's side. If he twists to face Sterling though, there's enough room for his hand to splay against Sterling's hip. It's enough leverage that he can tug Sterling just barely closer to him and further away from Colin—better viewing, that way, even if Sterling is technically still sandwiched between both of them. Somehow, he doesn't think Sterling minds.

He’s kissing Sterling before the countdown hits one, maybe too eager—but it's Sterling's birthday for a few more seconds, as he's so emphatically reminded them, and they've already made him wait long enough. Kent's hand doesn’t stay at his hip, either. It slides around, slow and deliberate, until his fingers catch at the front of Sterling’s waistband. His fingers hook there and he tugs gently, angling Sterling more towards him. With that shift, Kent crowds closer, giving up on the showmanship now to focus on trapping Sterling between him and Colin instead.

#getting the end on my blog as well!#interaction: kent #kent #kentsterling014 #kentcolin012

Ever since Sterling was rescued from that commune, all he ever wanted was to fit in—to appear so confident that no one would ever guess how behind he actually was. When Kent and Colin hooked up, he never felt more like an outcast. Maybe it was never intended that way, but it was like they decided he wasn't good enough to take that step with them.

Sterling didn't even realize he wanted them like that until the jealousy consumed him, and now he has to laugh at his past self for not seeing it way earlier. He's only ever really cared about Kent and Colin. There's some teammates he likes more than others, but even now, they're nothing but background noise as he's sandwiched between his boyfriends.

After being the one left wanting for so long, it feels good to be the center of attention tonight. Like it's a privilege to be his birthday and his New Years Eve kiss. He only wishes he had two mouths so he could kiss both of them at the same time, but that would look pretty freaky.

Besides, it's fun to put on a show for Colin. He was at the center of all of this at first, and now he gets to watch the results of all his hard work. "What ever will you do?" Sterling jokes, sending Colin one last smirk before Kent draws him in closer.

The hand on his hip is enough to litter his skin with goosebumps, and his heart skips a beat as their eyes bore into each other. Sterling meets Kent halfway for a kiss before the countdown can even finish, and he's already so lost in it that he doesn't hear "one."

Sterling tangles his fingers into his boyfriend's hair and kisses him back harder. As his boyfriend's fingers hook into his waistband, he suddenly doesn't care about this party at all and is more than ready to back to their room. Breaking the kiss with teasing nip to Kent's lips, he takes a deep breath and angles his head to check on Colin. "Well, it's midnight. Birthday's over. Let's go back to our room, yeah?" he says in a rush.

"Shit," he says, without really thinking, just like he'd asked the question without really thinking what Nico's answer would be. Just running his mouth, like he usually does.

Maybe he should know what to say now. He's been on the other side of it often enough, having to tell teachers or coaches or anyone who bothered to ask that his dad was in prison—but he didn't usually them them that he loved him first, or at all. He usually told them his dad was a piece of shit, actually, even if they didn't ask.

But Nico loves her locked-up sister, so he doesn't bother with the right thing, whatever that might be, and just presses: "What's she in for?"

Maybe, in a few months or a year from now, there will be two Foxes making the long trek to the bus station in Columbia, saying: Hey, you remember that old Fox Captain? He's locked up now. Maybe his mother will be in Pensacola telling people that her son is in prison just like his father, saying something like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree even though Bryce went to that fucking gas station because he thought the money would help his family while his father just smacked his around.

Maybe, if he gets lucky, she'll say it, but it'll be about Beckett instead.

That part still doesn't sit right with him. He doesn't know when he and Beckett stopped being a team, when his brother first looked at him and saw him as a scapegoat rather than his best friend, but he thinks it had to have happened before Beckett was tripping him in front of the cops. He was just too fucking stupid to see it.

But it's pretty fucking clear to him now: his best way out of this mess is to hope that Beckett goes down for it alone. Like they've both got the fucking gun now, and they're pointing it at each other. Or their lawyers are, at least. And that's good, probably, even if it doesn't quite feel like it, because Bryce knows he has the better one.

"Makes sense, I guess," he continues, though he knows he's still just running his mouth some more. It's a way to pass the time, isn't it? "That's why you're a little gun shy? Don't want to end up like her? I don't think getting a little rowdy after a win is the kind of thing you do hard time for."

#interaction: nico #nicobryce001 #nico

"It doesn't matter," Nico mumbles, less confident in her answer now. This part feels like lying—of course it fucking matters. A man was alive, and now he's not. Jared Callahan mattered to his aging parents, and his ex-wife, and all the other people who must've known him. Nico still has nightmares about the sound of the gunshot; with her thoughts that far in the past, she still halfway flinches when she hears Bryce throw out the phrase gun shy.

She promised herself she'd be honest about Alondra, but that honesty has limits, apparently, even if they'd fall apart if anyone happened to search up Alondra Romero in the system. Even if Nico wanted to talk about it—which she doesn't, not really, not when she hasn't even truly talked to Alondra about it—the memories usually lodge in her throat.

And anyway, Bryce may be her knight in shining armor tonight, helping her navigate the streets of an unfamiliar city, but she still doesn't want anyone's first impression of her sister to be first degree murder—because bringing the gun into someone else's house counted as planning ahead, even though Alondra swore it was only supposed to be a threat, that she'd panicked when she'd seen Jared was armed himself. If Jared had shot first, it would've been classed as self defense. It was cut and dry to the jury, even if Nico can't quite square that truth away with the memories of the sister who raised her.

She thinks that the Foxes might understand more than her last team, but she's afraid that can only go so far. As much as Nico loves her sister, even she doesn't understand all her choices—doesn't even know, to this day, when Alondra started carrying that gun around.

"But it's not about that. I can't get arrested," she says now, instead of explaining any of that. Instead of explaining that, technically, she's already been to court, and the jury decided that Nico isn't like Alondra. It's why Nico's free. It's why she's able to be here tonight, worrying about what would happen if the police caught her again. "They wouldn't let me visit her, and that's the whole reason I transferred."

So the Foxes are going to the Championships. Put the Foxes on a spectrum, and Indigo is definitely not among the most thrilled, but it's not like she's completely indifferent. For all that she swears that being bored is only for boring people, Palmetto as a whole is a lot more interesting with Exy than without it—though, say that to her when it's six in the goddamn morning and she has to be at practice and she'll deny it.

A week from today they'll be suiting up against the Bruins in Los Angeles, a far cry from the same revolving door of Southeastern District teams that Indigo has been playing for the last three years. A curious side effect of a life spent mostly overseas at her father's posts and then in boarding school means that, while Indigo lived for several years of her young life in Pretoria, there are still many places in the United States she's never set foot in.

If the Foxes don't fuck it up early, maybe she'll get to see a few of them.

Though, if they're betting on it—and the Foxes are always betting on it—Indigo wouldn't put her money on them getting very far. While it's not like she gives a shit about making losing bets and throwing away her parents' money, she is a realist.

And it's not like she needs the Foxes to win the way it feels like some of her teammates do. She likes playing Exy, even more when she's playing as a striker, but it doesn't define her. Win or lose, she's still going to be Indigo. And, when she finishes her time on the Foxes two years from now, she won't be trying to go pro.

What will she be doing? She doesn't know, and she's not about to start worrying about it now—if ever. When the time comes, she's sure she'll figure something out.

For now, though, she doesn't have to think about much, especially not on a Friday afternoon when she's done with class and very much not thinking about homework. "You know I'm in," she says, throwing herself into one of the worn lobby chairs and leaning over the armrest like that will give her a glimpse of Kent's spreadsheet. "What're you putting your money on? You're alright, but I still want to steal your money and make you cry."