(no subject)
interrupted 2/?
elise
ryan miller
Ryan stared at the painting, sipping his beer. He blinked a few times, feeling his face warm from the shots. He tilted his head, squinting his eyes, trying to figure out the artist's vision. It was an abstract exhibit at a nearby bar. The artist used monotone colors, painting long columns that resembled grain elevators. He licked his lips, noting how phallic they looked. He hadn't returned to the hotel for a few hours, and he knew at least some of his teammates were worried. He was embarrassed, to put it simply. Patty had caught him not only once, but twice. Ryan looked more deeply at the painting, blushing a bit at the common theme of long shapes. He shut his eyes, swaying a bit. They had a game tomorrow, and he really shouldn't be drinking. If Lindy found out, he would be in deep trouble.
Ryan's phone went off and he looked down, trying to focus on the small screen, squinting some more. He might be drunker than he thought. Ryan picked it up, "I.... hello?"
"Miller, where the hell are you? It's past curfew and Lindy is livid."
"Who is this?" Ryan said, "I don't even know who you are."
The man on the other end of the phone paused and said, "Are you drunk? Its your captain. You've got fifteen minutes to get into bed."
"Craig... Craig..." Ryan whispered, "Too short. I'm far away."
"No shit, jackass." Craig hissed, "Seriously, where are you? I'll have you picked up."
Ryan turned, looking around. He walked to another person, tapping them on the shoulder. "Pardonez-moi... ou est... here?"
The person looked amused, responding with the name and Ryan said smugly into the phone, "I'm at La Rouge Tigre. Why can't I stay out?"
"You're drunk and alone. Why did you go off on your own, Miller?" Craig sighed, continuing, "We'll be there soon."
"I'm alone," Ryan said, "Are you mad?"
"My children behave better than you do. Don't move." Craig said before hanging up.
Ryan leaned his head against the window, feeling his warm skin cool on the glass. He thought back to earlier, grimacing at the memory. Jason looked over from his seat, Craig in the front glaring. Jason whispered, "Tell me you're ok, Ryan... please?"
"Fine." Ryan said, the alcohol making his head swim.
"Why'd you do this, huh?" Jason asked, "What happened?"
Ryan shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. Craig turned, looking at his now miserable looking goaltender and his worried winger. He sighed and said, "You know, Ryan, you're going to have to answer to Lindy."
Ryan turned his head and stared at Craig. To Craig's credit, he didn't flinch but the captain wanted to. Ryan's eyes were entirely black and he looked old and tired. He looked lost and angry. Craig sighed, "it wasn't my fault. You know Lindy likes to keep track of everyone."
"Lindy..." Ryan started, then shut his eyes, leaning against the window, "I'm not afraid of Lindy."
Raising an eyebrow, Jason said, "Perhaps this might be a good time to start."
"Fuck you guys." Ryan whispered, curling up.
The taxi driver's eyebrow raised at the cursing. He pulled over in front of the hotel, speaking to Craig, who paid the man. Jason helped Ryan out, who insisted that he could do it. After a few stumbles, Ryan made it into the lobby. He saw Lindy, sitting on one of the couches, looking just as tired, but hiding it. Jason grabbed Ryan's arm, but Ryan jerked from him, pushing him back. "Don't touch me."
"Whoa... Ryan, calm down." Craig said, stepping between them, "Cut it out."
Shaking his head, Ryan grabbed Craig by the shirt, fingers trying to tear at the clothing. In seconds, Lindy had his arms around the goaltender whispering something in his ear. Craig watched in amazement as Ryan completely relaxed, the situation diffused. Ryan shook slightly, angry, but moved to sit on the couch, not making eye contact with anyone. Craig tilted his head, inquiring but Lindy waved him off. "Go to sleep."
Jason nodded his head, touching Craig's shoulder, "Come on. Lindy's got it from here."
"What just...?" Craig said, in french.
Responding in like manner, Jason sighed and said, "I don't know, just leave it. Later, we'll talk later."
The two players walked away, Ryan still looking at his hands. Lindy sat down next to Ryan and said, "You know we're going to have to start again."
"Please... Lindy..." Ryan whispered, begging almost, "I'll do better. I don't want to talk to anyone."
"I thought you could go on these trips without the psychiatrists, but you can't. It's ok, Ryan, we'll discuss it in the morning, when you're sober."
"I hate you." Ryan said, dropping his head, feeling nauseous. He felt sick.
Ryan stood up, interrupting whatever Lindy was going to say and hurried to the bathroom, emptying his stomach contents. Lindy rubbed his face, sad to see Ryan regress.
elise
ryan miller
Ryan stared at the painting, sipping his beer. He blinked a few times, feeling his face warm from the shots. He tilted his head, squinting his eyes, trying to figure out the artist's vision. It was an abstract exhibit at a nearby bar. The artist used monotone colors, painting long columns that resembled grain elevators. He licked his lips, noting how phallic they looked. He hadn't returned to the hotel for a few hours, and he knew at least some of his teammates were worried. He was embarrassed, to put it simply. Patty had caught him not only once, but twice. Ryan looked more deeply at the painting, blushing a bit at the common theme of long shapes. He shut his eyes, swaying a bit. They had a game tomorrow, and he really shouldn't be drinking. If Lindy found out, he would be in deep trouble.
Ryan's phone went off and he looked down, trying to focus on the small screen, squinting some more. He might be drunker than he thought. Ryan picked it up, "I.... hello?"
"Miller, where the hell are you? It's past curfew and Lindy is livid."
"Who is this?" Ryan said, "I don't even know who you are."
The man on the other end of the phone paused and said, "Are you drunk? Its your captain. You've got fifteen minutes to get into bed."
"Craig... Craig..." Ryan whispered, "Too short. I'm far away."
"No shit, jackass." Craig hissed, "Seriously, where are you? I'll have you picked up."
Ryan turned, looking around. He walked to another person, tapping them on the shoulder. "Pardonez-moi... ou est... here?"
The person looked amused, responding with the name and Ryan said smugly into the phone, "I'm at La Rouge Tigre. Why can't I stay out?"
"You're drunk and alone. Why did you go off on your own, Miller?" Craig sighed, continuing, "We'll be there soon."
"I'm alone," Ryan said, "Are you mad?"
"My children behave better than you do. Don't move." Craig said before hanging up.
Ryan leaned his head against the window, feeling his warm skin cool on the glass. He thought back to earlier, grimacing at the memory. Jason looked over from his seat, Craig in the front glaring. Jason whispered, "Tell me you're ok, Ryan... please?"
"Fine." Ryan said, the alcohol making his head swim.
"Why'd you do this, huh?" Jason asked, "What happened?"
Ryan shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. Craig turned, looking at his now miserable looking goaltender and his worried winger. He sighed and said, "You know, Ryan, you're going to have to answer to Lindy."
Ryan turned his head and stared at Craig. To Craig's credit, he didn't flinch but the captain wanted to. Ryan's eyes were entirely black and he looked old and tired. He looked lost and angry. Craig sighed, "it wasn't my fault. You know Lindy likes to keep track of everyone."
"Lindy..." Ryan started, then shut his eyes, leaning against the window, "I'm not afraid of Lindy."
Raising an eyebrow, Jason said, "Perhaps this might be a good time to start."
"Fuck you guys." Ryan whispered, curling up.
The taxi driver's eyebrow raised at the cursing. He pulled over in front of the hotel, speaking to Craig, who paid the man. Jason helped Ryan out, who insisted that he could do it. After a few stumbles, Ryan made it into the lobby. He saw Lindy, sitting on one of the couches, looking just as tired, but hiding it. Jason grabbed Ryan's arm, but Ryan jerked from him, pushing him back. "Don't touch me."
"Whoa... Ryan, calm down." Craig said, stepping between them, "Cut it out."
Shaking his head, Ryan grabbed Craig by the shirt, fingers trying to tear at the clothing. In seconds, Lindy had his arms around the goaltender whispering something in his ear. Craig watched in amazement as Ryan completely relaxed, the situation diffused. Ryan shook slightly, angry, but moved to sit on the couch, not making eye contact with anyone. Craig tilted his head, inquiring but Lindy waved him off. "Go to sleep."
Jason nodded his head, touching Craig's shoulder, "Come on. Lindy's got it from here."
"What just...?" Craig said, in french.
Responding in like manner, Jason sighed and said, "I don't know, just leave it. Later, we'll talk later."
The two players walked away, Ryan still looking at his hands. Lindy sat down next to Ryan and said, "You know we're going to have to start again."
"Please... Lindy..." Ryan whispered, begging almost, "I'll do better. I don't want to talk to anyone."
"I thought you could go on these trips without the psychiatrists, but you can't. It's ok, Ryan, we'll discuss it in the morning, when you're sober."
"I hate you." Ryan said, dropping his head, feeling nauseous. He felt sick.
Ryan stood up, interrupting whatever Lindy was going to say and hurried to the bathroom, emptying his stomach contents. Lindy rubbed his face, sad to see Ryan regress.