going so very random here, might be a shitty prompt… Beatrice and JC + run
Beatrice glances up from tightening the double knot of her shoelace and swallows down a sigh. "Sure," she says, rising easily to her feet. "If you feel like doing shuttles."
"The S&C team has you guys on them too, huh?"
"We do play the same sport."
"Right, yeah." He bounces up onto his toes. "Wanna put in a couple warm-up laps before we get going?"
"Two," Beatrice confirms, glancing at her watch before smoothly transitioning into an easy jog. JC hurries to catch up and takes position at her side.
Their footfalls land soft and rhythmic, both well-versed in the art of partnered running. Beatrice turns her focus inwards, monitoring the tension in her neck, her shoulders, her back, concentrating on keeping her jaw loose and her face slack. There's still a hint of a twinge in her right thigh, the deep bruise from a cleat stomp that hasn't quite gone away, but she lets it slip from her mind like so much sand. Focuses instead on the forward swing of her leg, the contact of her toe, the shift of her weight over her stance leg.
"You this quiet on the pitch?"
She only just has the wherewithal not to stumble, turns her head to find a thoughtful gaze directed back at her.
"Guess it'd be pretty difficult to run your backline if you were, huh?"
Beatrice hums her response, picks up her pace. He matches easily, legs swallowing up the ground she'd put between them. "Guess it would be," she replies, clipped and distant. She pulls up in front of the bleachers, wipes a hand across her brow.
"Just let me know if I'm talking too much," JC remarks, his breathing a bit ragged already despite the languid pace of their warm-up laps. "I won't take offence to it, I know you can get pretty intense about your training."
She pauses mid-search through her duffle bag and glances up at him. "Oh?"
"Yeah, my girlfriend says you've really been putting her through her paces." Her brows furrow, and he back pedals frantically. "Not that that's a bad thing! She's been enjoying it! And you don't get the captaincy without dedication, right?"
"Your girlfriend?" Beatrice asks distractedly, heading for the pitch with pylons in hand.
JC trails after her. "Yeah, Ava Silva? She said you two have been–"
"I wasn't aware you two were dating," Beatrice replies coldly. She paces out the distances, drops her pylons, tries desperately to keep her shoulders from climbing towards her ears. "She never mentioned you."
"Oh," JC says, looking a bit deflated. "Well, we are."
"Congratulations," Beatrice deadpans. She sets her feet on the starting line, darts her eyes over towards JC. "Are you ready?"
"We're already starting?" he squawks, darting towards her side.
She nods, sinks into the slow burning heat rising in her chest, pulls on it as fuel, as propellant, as impetus. She coils herself, taut as a compressed spring, every line of her vibrating with energy. Her watch joins the quivering fray as her alarm goes off.
"Three," Beatrice says out of the side of her mouth as she shifts her weight to her right forefoot. "Two." As she cocks her left arm back. "One." As her fuse burns down to nothingness. "Run."
