Where: The Foxhole Court | PSU Date: Thursday, February 7th Time: 7:45 AM Status: Closed to @cartermaddx
“Walsh! Maddox!”
Wymack’s voice snaps the words at them like a whip from across the court, his dislike of repeating himself lacing annoyance across the surface. “Did I stutter? Get moving, or I will make you move.”
Sterling scowls from inside his helmet, feet dragging as he halfheartedly trots towards the coned-off square that Carter’s standing in. Avoiding Carter has certainly made dealing with what happened at the banquet easier, but the relief dissipates like steam when he steps into the square. His pulse kicks. He’s never had a problem with this drill or with the physicality it demands as the defensive players try to keep the strikers from reaching the other side of the square, but Wymack’s whistle screams shrilly over the court to indicate their start and Sterling is still a good two feet away from his mark.
It’s hard to look at Carter, nevermind look him in the eye. He hasn’t said anything but ‘hey’ or ‘heads up’ to him since he bolted from the elevator.
He readies - bending his knees enough to move side to side effectively, and and extending his arms out to either side of himself to block more space. Dropping his chin, he looks up at Carter from under his brows, expression stern and focused. Shuttered. The scuffs of shoes on the floor and sounds of effort fill the court, barely audible over the pounding in Sterling’s ears.