#olivia001

Where: Ashville

With: @oliviawalters​

Tuah was at his garage, with The Clash’s ‘Rock the Casbah’ blasting through the speaker of his turntable. He was wearing a worn-out white shirt, with its short sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his hands smeared in motor oil as he tinkered his bikes. They weren’t due for maintenance just yet, but he needed something to do, anything at all to keep himself busy. Work had kept most of his attention once he returned from his visit to his grandsire, avoiding everyone until he was able to sort himself out.

He looked up when he heard a crash upstairs, his brows furrowing together and tilted his head slightly to the side as he wondered if he had heard wrong. Tuah stood up when he heard another crash, washing his hands and wearing his daylight charm as he bounded the stairs. “Issa?” he called the other out, wondering something had happened to him.

As he entered the kitchen, however, he didn’t find the young vampire. Instead, he found his kitchen in a state of disarray, glass shattering on the floor and dirt smudged the white tiled floor and tablecloth. Tuah felt his panic rising, paranoia set in thinking that someone had broken into his house without him realising it. His eyes quickly scanned the room before finding the culprit in one of the cupboard. “No!” Tuah moved quickly to save the novelty mugs that Atlas had gifted him from having the same fate as the rest of his dining set.

“Who in the devil’s name let you in?” Tuah grabbed hold of the orange tabby by his neck once he had set the mugs aside, “and how in the world are you able to make such a mess in such a short period of time, hm?” His question was only greeted with a long meow, to which he sighed. “Come on, let’s get you home.” It was fortunate that the cat was with a collar, and the owner’s contact number was listed on the tag.

Tuah had agreed to bring the cat to the owner’s house, and with the cat tucked under his arm despite his protest, he knocked on the door. “Hi there,” he greeted the owner with a smile, “I was the one that called you about your cat?”

Grant’s lost before. Hell, he’s lost to the Ravens year after year, and for a while, he thought he might almost be used to it.  It’s a reality of this team, and he knows that. It was easier to shake off last year, at least, because no matter how bruising a defeat seemed then, there was always the possibility of another chance. Another year. 

That’s not true anymore. Now, they’re nearly halfway through the first semester with only a single win to show for it, and no matter how much he wants to ignore it, this might be his last semester playing as a Fox. If they can’t make it to the Spring Championships, he’ll be done—because there isn’t going to be another chance after this season. Not for him, at least, not with this team. 

He’d dreamed of finishing this year strong, bringing the Foxes all the way across the finish line of the Championships. This season is supposed to be the culmination of all he’s worked for since freshmen year, but it could just as easily end with a whimper, not a bang. If they don’t turn things around, this will be another easily forgotten season—and that will make him an easily forgotten captain. An easily forgotten player. Not the person who gets recruited at the end of the year.

Predictably, with all those anxieties, he sleeps like shit the night after the game. Grant wakes up even before his earliest alarm, and despite the fact that this was supposed to be a rest day after last night’s game, Grant laces his sneakers and goes out for a run anyway. 

It’s dead quiet on Perimeter Road, especially when the sun hasn’t quite risen, and he focuses on the sound of his breathing and his shoes hitting pavement. He’s sore all over still, and Grant goes slowly at first, easing his muscles into it—and stops for a break sooner than he’d like, because despite the voice telling him to push himself fasterbettermore, Grant knows he can’t overdo it today. 

“I thought the wedding season was over.” Roman drawled, attention drawn to the figure entering the store by the chime of  the bell above the door, his usual neutral face pulling into a frown as his brain instantly recognised Olivia. She was nice enough, as often pointed out by his sister, though he suspected Ophelia’s defense of the younger woman was due to the similarities in their names. Inoffensive was probably the best term to associate her as, especially compared to some of the customers who came in.

Still, her constant questions that resulted in him doing her job on top of his own, well, the gimmick got old very quick. Or at least, that was the impression Roman tried to put forward with her. Leaning over the counter that registered the cash register, he let out a huff. “C’mon, get on with it. I have other things to do, y’know.”