#casey001

The better part of 10 years was a long time to go without a television - in the age of the millennial, the technologically savvy, the social media addicted, it was all but unheard of. But the desert hadn’t afforded much in the way of technology, and what they had was used sparingly, fraught with warnings of dependence that wouldn’t be sustainable when the world took a nosedive and there’d be no other option but to go without. 

But even when he’d had the opportunity to watch, presented with things like TV and convenience stores and free time, Sterling had been wary of them like mirages, false hopes that were as dangerous as they were tempting. There were other things that needed to be done, always. Sitting still for hours on end without anything to show for it felt like a cardinal sin committed against the church of preparation where he’d been indoctrinated - fed the communion of filtered information, taught hymns of productivity, prayed over with the words of the afraid, blessed for his seriousness when he should have been carefree.

It was still a mentality he was unlearning, and maybe he’d eventually do that where that process could be seen, but... not yet. So he dodged or ignored questions, if they ever arose, about where he went on Sunday afternoons, and made his way to the movie theater downtown, buying a single ticket for whatever outdated movie they were playing for re-run night. 

He’d made his way through a series of terrible 80′s movies at the end of last season before returning home for the summer, where he’d tried to adjust to the convenience of Netflix. But trying to watch something at home had proven impossible, too many distractions and opportunities everywhere he looked, and, lacking the rationale that he’d at least paid for the experience, had gotten up and walked away through several movies before giving up on the endeavor entirely. He’d missed the ritual of it, the isolation and the sureness with which the huge screen and encapsulating audio commanded his attention and wouldn’t permit him to think about anything else for a while. 

Seth had not been in the mood for a lot lately. He’d been continuing to keep up Noah Cross’ cross country vacation, having booked him for a secluded and private vacation far from Louisiana. He’d told his boss that he was stressed about the divorce and that unfortunately, he needed to take some time for himself. That gave them a bit of time to clear things up and most importantly, for Seth to focus on Emmeline and to make sure that she was going to make it through this. Beth had eventually become something that the pair had to face, although he could swear every time Emme looks at Beth, he loses a little traction inside of her. The traction he’d been trying to gain by reminding Emme that it wasn’t her fault. And truly, it wasn’t. So, Seth decided to get Beth out of the house, allowing the mother a bit of free time and making their way to get some snacks for the house. Whatever she wanted, Seth told her. So, to the store they went, Beth practically bouncing down the aisles as she hummed a tune, reminding Seth of her mother. He smiles and stops in front of the fruits section while keeping an eye on Beth right around the corner (but still visible). The nice thing about Noah being dead is that Seth is less worried about anyone popping up and grabbing her while they made their way through the store. 

A step too many has Seth tense though, moving quickly to visualize Beth who literally is a foot farther down the aisle. In his haste, he nearly runs over the person next to him, his attention not even on them when he’s trying to check on Beth. That is, until Beth’s waving and walking back to him. He’s on high alert still, even if Noah isn’t a threat— he’d failed in protecting Emmeline, he wouldn’t fail in protecting his girlfriend’s daughter too. Finally, he turned and looked over. “My bad. Kid got outta my sight. Ain’t takin’ chances in this town,” he shrugs, wondering if the other is going to push it. “Maybe next time don’t stand so close.”

Going back into the routine of practices was no doubt easy for some, but Grayson didn’t fall into that category. It wasn’t the morning practice that threw him—he woke up far earlier than 8am back home. Palmetto was just so...different than Wyoming. He’d spent the whole summer carefully moderating every action, playing the part they expected from him with an ease that only came from practice. Quiet. Contrite. Guilty.

Or, no, that wasn’t strictly true: the confines of his role had chafed more than ever this year. He’d once been content as a ghost in his own home, drifting quietly from room to room as he waited for his dad to acknowledge him—but each time he came back his resentment at their situation grew, and Grayson found himself wanting to scream some nights. It was a relief to be back here, and although this sport was supposed to be a diversion, Grayson had to admit: he’d been craving this for months. Exy had always been place he came alive in the worst of ways, and all that anger he’d stored up over the summer needed somewhere to fucking go, so: the sooner they started practices the better.

He couldn’t be blamed for hitting too hard in their first practice back. Warm ups were just ending, and Grayson was already slightly bruised just from the punching bag, verging on tired even before Grant paired them off for the real drills. Yeah, he’d missed this.

Grayson found himself staring at one of the new backliners, sizing them up quietly for a moment before speaking up. “Casey, right? Got any questions about the team before we start?”