#grant.

“You don’t have anything crazy planned tonight, right?” Grant asked, raising an eyebrow at Robin. It wasn’t like Robin to let just any holiday pass by, especially father’s day, so he was definitely a little suspicious. He turned his attention back to Carson in her high chair and returned to feeding her the disgusting baby food from the bowl in front of her. It looked disgusting, but he was trying his best to pretend like it was appetizing. Carson seemed to enjoy it whenever he pretended the spoon was an airplane. But his shirt was also decked out in a few stains from instances when she didn’t enjoy her lunch all that much. He slid the bowl out of the way and reached over onto the table to grab a new item for her to eat, tiny bites of grapes that she could hande on her own. “Caroline’s sent me a couple texts today,” he mumbled with a disappointed shrug. “I don’t know if she’s coming over though.”

She looks a fright, and she knows it: the last vestiges of her Halloween dye still clinging to her hair, faded from a bright red to more of an unsightly reddish-orange tinge; the bruising surrounding the cut on her cheek from the Hornets game just last week mottled into a series of sickly colors. Looking at her, she’s sure no one would be surprised to know that she has two yellow cards in the past two games. 

It could be the beginning of a bad reputation, but she doesn’t think she cares. She thinks she’s proud of it: her grit is what got her noticed, she only feels like she’s doing anything on the court if she’s riding right on that edge between controlled and out of control. She hasn’t tipped over it yet: no red cards, no penalty shots. If anything, she feels like she’s settling in. Finding her place. Playing her game. 

Right now, though, she mostly feels drunk. Loose with it, a red plastic cup held in her hand and some soda-and-something concoction in it, made from whatever impromptu supplies the team had mustered up after the win that Glory had no part in procuring. 

When she sees Grant, though, she tries hard to hide it: straightens up from her listing slump against the wall, tries to open her eyes wide instead of letting them be hazy and hooded. It’s a party, she doesn’t think he expects her to not take part when everyone around them is, but she doesn’t know him very well yet. She’s still a freshman. Still wants to impress him, wants him to know that she’s serious. When she speaks, she picks her words carefully, tries to keep them from slurring together any more than they usually do, with her accent. She doesn’t think she’s very successful. “Three in a row! Does it always feel like this?”

          Like normal, Pax found themself on court late at night, trying to feel at least a little prepared for the next game in a just over a week. Pax was probably putting more effort than they needed to put into practicing since they always stayed late. They just felt that they needed the extra practice. With a terrible start to the season, Pax didn’t want the Foxes to continue to lose this year. Maybe it was determination to win, maybe it was actually having a family member on their side for once, maybe it was a combination of the two -- but whatever it was, had sparked some kind of drive in Paxton that they hadn’t felt since their championship game in high school. Which may be a dangerous thing or might just be the driving factor into getting a Fox win. Whatever it was, Pax wasn’t going to chance it by sitting around and not doing extra work to get ready for the game. They knew they weren’t the only one that wanted a win. Along with the Vixens, Pax knew every one of the Foxes was just as frustrated. But they knew, the Foxes knew a thing or two about being the underdog and they weren’t about to be underestimated this season no matter what happened. 

GRANT: Your son is currently screaming his head off.

GRANT: I won't let him crawl around the kitchen. He's pissed about it.

GRANT: And Carson's jealous because she's a way better crawler than he is.