Starter: closed ~ @thalassafm~ Location: Ray Harbor Park
Charlie wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, his breath shallow and quick as he pressed his weight back into the defender behind him. Charlie, for better or worse, had let himself fall right back into that old rhythm. Fast feet, sharp mouth. A smirk curled at his lips as the man behind him gave an irritated shove. Charlie didn’t budge, he leaned in more, crowding the space like he had something to prove. The ball skimmed across the field and landed at his feet and that was all it took. He surged forward, a blur of movement and muscle memory, weaving through defenders with ease. The rush was there, intoxicating. For a moment, he wasn’t the version of himself with carefully rolled sleeves and practiced kindness. He wasn't the injured could've-been. He was just fast, dangerous, competitive. Until that same defender slid out and took him down hard. Charlie hit the ground with a low grunt, checking his knee with instinct.
The foul wasn’t subtle, and neither was the shout that followed it. The other man barked something, defensive, too proud, and Charlie was on his feet before whoever was pretending to ref could step in. "Got a problem, mate?" Charlie snapped, grinning in that way that wasn’t friendly at all. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp, and he stepped up into the man’s space with all the posture of someone looking for a scrap. "Yeah? Didn’t like bein’ left in the dust, that it? We compensatin' for somethin' here?" He didn’t notice the figure standing just beyond the sideline at first, jewelry glinting in the sun, arms crossed and unimpressed. Vic Holström had arrived just in time to see Charlie puffed up, posturing, and looking like the exact kind of boy Signe had been warned about.
Vic often had their arms crossed, UNIMPRESSED with grown men who fought on sports fields. However, if this had 15 years ago it would've been made them a hypocrite to be so judgemental of being so prone to fits of justified rage & bravado. The truth was that there was an envy, deep within their marrow, that wished they could be perceived in the way that this fanfare was. Oh, to be a man fighting on a field over a game -- to be a man cheered for the way that so many of their idols had been before them. A gender envy that Vic was able to achieve, not the same as they once were back when they were still performing. But this bravado was unimpressive when it came to pick up games in the park. At least the fouled had had a reason to spit fire at their opponent -- was that?
Was that who Signe had been raving about? At least he was a good football player. In reality, Vic was kind of shocked that Signe hadn't gone for a more artistic type -- but opposites did attract. To the person next to them, they said, "I feel like I should've taken up this sport when I had the chance. Getting to INJURE people like that and get away with it? Is there a court for footballers?" It was said loud enough for anyone to hear, including the ref. The glowering stayed on Charlie Hughes, like a hawk, like a dare.
