He doesn't mean to be that guy, but he gets to the rink an hour early, laces his skates up and hits the ice just for something to do, because it's been three days since he was last on the ice and he starts to feel a little jittery if he goes too long without skating. He's there for about ten minutes doing a series of lazy loops, sort of but not really playing keep away with an imaginary attacker when he hears the clatter of the rink door, and he glances up to see a massive blond dude skate out onto the ice, wearing number seventy four on the back of his jersey, an A over his heart. Ray keeps skating in circles, maybe showing off a little with the puck as he listens to the guy warming up with short sprints to the blue line and back, and then suddenly the guy's on him, stealing the puck right off his tape and using his bulk and longer reach to stop Ray from taking it right back.

The battle for possession turns ugly fast, with Ray using a lot of dirty tricks when he realises the guy's not going to be muscled off the puck, and so he changes direction, sprints up off the ice and loops around, coming at him diagonally and  laying himself flat on the ice right in front of the guy so his choices are give up the puck or run his skates over Ray's arm. The guy leaps over Ray, getting a surprising amount of height for such a big guy, but the puck is Ray's, and he slides to his feet and takes off down the ice towards the net, slotting it in just as the guy full body checks him, breaking his stick and sending him flying. He skids into the boards and has the foresight to protect his head when he hits, curling up and taking the brunt of the hit with his shoulder pad.

'What the fuck, man?' he shouts, climbing to his feet gingerly. His shoulder has the kind of ache that probably means it'll be an interesting shade of bruised tomorrow morning. 'I'm not wearing a helmet, what the fuck is your problem?'

The other guy skids to a halt, showering him in ice. He's grinning. 'You were never going to hit your head. I've seen you play, you're not an idiot. You protect your head and neck at the expense of losing the puck. It's smart. Smarter than a lot of the guys on this team.' He shrugs one of his gloves off and holds his hand out. 'Colbert.'

'Person.' Ray doesn't shake his hand. He picks up the pieces of his stick and rescues the puck from the back of the net. 'You know, I've seen you play, too.'

'Yeah?' Colbert's skating alongside Ray slowly, barely moving his feet. He's at least six inches taller than Ray, and he doesn't know why that pisses him off, but it does.