Emeffy Wins at Life!
Title: The Other Guy
Author: respectmyright
Pairing: EMEFFY! (Because Tinzzle and I have decided that Emeffy wins at life.)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is on DBC, yo. Baaad crack!
Notes: While this fic is totally Teh Cheez Crackfic, and also is written in some form of English that doesn't seem to follow any form of grammatical correctness, it is beautiful for two reasons: a) It is Emeffy, and Emeffy win at life; and b) The term "novice-level" is used five times. *novice-level gang sinez*
Feedback: Iss coo', yo. Iss coo!
Splat!
The boy who'd just crashed to the ice picked himself up, brushed snow off his butt, and grimaced. It was about the fiftieth time he'd fallen on that particular jump today, but despite the fact that it was past midnight and he was the only one left at the rink, he wasn't ready to give up just yet. With a sigh, he circled the rink yet again, dug in his toe pick, launched himself into the air, pulled his arms in tight to complete four revolutions and...
Crash!
He cursed loudly as he hit the ice. Not bothering to get up, he sat on the ice in the semi-darkness, fuming. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult. Sure, the jump he was trying to execute - the quadruple toe loop - was the hardest one performed in the world, and very few skaters landed it consistently, but he'd been landing it with ease for the past six years. Why had it suddenly abandoned him?
His left hip throbbed, and as he gingerly got up, he knew he'd overdone the jump for the day. Reluctantly, he gave up, stepping off the ice and tossing his gloves somewhere in the vicinity of his skate bag before starting to untie his skates. Leaving them on his feet half untied, he stared out at the empty ice surface.
My life is so full of woe, he thought broodingly. Angst and anguish, anguish and angst. No rest for the weary.
Life was admittedly difficult at the moment. He'd lost the title he'd held for three years to a skater who landed nothing more than novice-level combinations, and his quads, the secret weapons that made him his own only true rival, had suddenly gone missing when he'd returned home from the competition. It was enough to make a saint emo, and he wasn't exactly known for saintly behaviour. Nah. He left that to the other guy.
The Other Guy... Why was he so preoccupied with a dude with bloody novice-level combinations? Sure, he'd stolen his title and his fans, but there was nothing he could do to change the fact that both the judges and the fans were philistines. The guy didn't have even one quad, let alone two, making any kind of real rivalry impossible. A rivalry with a quadless soul would just be... well... gauche.
Why, then, every time he'd launched into the air to try a quad since he'd come home, did a picture of The Other Guy flash into his head, affecting his concentration enough to land him squarely on his (very fine, if he had to say it himself) ass? Why had he called a friend in Lake Arrowhead and, through some shady finagling, procured The Other Guy's cell phone number, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into the pocket of his skate bag? Why was he reaching for his skate bag now, and pulling out the number and his own (ghetto, bling-encrusted) cell phone, figuring it was, after all, only 9:30 in California?
"Hello?"
When he heard The Other Guy's voice on the end of the line, he almost hung up. He didn't, though. Hanging up would be chickening out, and chickening out would be like resting on his laurels and doing novice-level combinations instead of quads.
"Um, hey!" He attempted a breezy, chatty tone. "It's the E-man!"
"The... oh, Emanuel?" Jeff sounded completely confused.
He tried to sound suave. "Yeah."
"Um... hi?"
"I was just calling to... to, uh..." Why was he calling? "Um... to see how things were in Cali," he finished lamely.
"They're, um, pretty good," the other boy replied. "How's... uh... the weather over there?"
"Not bad, I guess," he replied stiltedly. What the hell? he thought to himself. We're like two 12-year-olds who like......... Then it hit him, and suddenly, he understood, and yet, he couldn't believe it. No effing way!
Jeffrey was clearly searching for something to say. "So... you, um, decided not to go to Korea either, eh?"
"They kind of decided for us, didn't they?" He managed a seriously forced laugh. The conversation was getting painful, and he couldn't take it any longer.
"Listen," he said with a deep breath. "The real reason I called is... because I wanted to say... that I was sorry for all that crap that was in the papers and stuff in London. The, um..." He couldn't bring himself to actually use the words 'novice-level combination'. "...the stuff about the jumps."
"Oh." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a second, Emanuel wondered whether Jeff was considering whether or not to reject the apology. Then he heard laughter on the other end of the line, and when Jeff managed to speak again, his words came out amidst giggles. "I don't know why everyone made such a big deal about that. I thought it was funny. I couldn't believe you said it, but it made me laugh."
"I'm still sorry," he repeated honestly. "And... I have to go now, because I'm still at the rink and it's almost one in the morning, but... Jeff?"
"Yeah?"
"I never congratulated you on the title." I can't believe I'm doing this. "So... uh... congratulations."
"Thanks."
As he got off the phone, he didn't realize that in California, Jeff felt that though his new title was almost three weeks old, that phone call had just given him the right to call himself the Canadian champion. What Emanuel did know, though, was that he'd just turned The Other Guy from a dude with novice-level combinations into a real rival. A rival and... something else.
He glanced down at his half-untied skates, and then suddenly, struck with a new wave of determination, he quickly retied them and returned to the ice. His brain knew he should leave the jumps alone for the day, and his body knew he shouldn't attempt anything without warming up, but somehow, his heart knew that just this once, none of that would matter.
When he launched himself into the air, the four revolutions felt effortless, and when he landed on a clean back outside edge on one foot, picked again, turned three times, and tacked a double loop onto the end of the combination for good measure, he knew that this time, his heart was right.
- END -
Author: respectmyright
Pairing: EMEFFY! (Because Tinzzle and I have decided that Emeffy wins at life.)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is on DBC, yo. Baaad crack!
Notes: While this fic is totally Teh Cheez Crackfic, and also is written in some form of English that doesn't seem to follow any form of grammatical correctness, it is beautiful for two reasons: a) It is Emeffy, and Emeffy win at life; and b) The term "novice-level" is used five times. *novice-level gang sinez*
Feedback: Iss coo', yo. Iss coo!
Splat!
The boy who'd just crashed to the ice picked himself up, brushed snow off his butt, and grimaced. It was about the fiftieth time he'd fallen on that particular jump today, but despite the fact that it was past midnight and he was the only one left at the rink, he wasn't ready to give up just yet. With a sigh, he circled the rink yet again, dug in his toe pick, launched himself into the air, pulled his arms in tight to complete four revolutions and...
Crash!
He cursed loudly as he hit the ice. Not bothering to get up, he sat on the ice in the semi-darkness, fuming. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult. Sure, the jump he was trying to execute - the quadruple toe loop - was the hardest one performed in the world, and very few skaters landed it consistently, but he'd been landing it with ease for the past six years. Why had it suddenly abandoned him?
His left hip throbbed, and as he gingerly got up, he knew he'd overdone the jump for the day. Reluctantly, he gave up, stepping off the ice and tossing his gloves somewhere in the vicinity of his skate bag before starting to untie his skates. Leaving them on his feet half untied, he stared out at the empty ice surface.
My life is so full of woe, he thought broodingly. Angst and anguish, anguish and angst. No rest for the weary.
Life was admittedly difficult at the moment. He'd lost the title he'd held for three years to a skater who landed nothing more than novice-level combinations, and his quads, the secret weapons that made him his own only true rival, had suddenly gone missing when he'd returned home from the competition. It was enough to make a saint emo, and he wasn't exactly known for saintly behaviour. Nah. He left that to the other guy.
The Other Guy... Why was he so preoccupied with a dude with bloody novice-level combinations? Sure, he'd stolen his title and his fans, but there was nothing he could do to change the fact that both the judges and the fans were philistines. The guy didn't have even one quad, let alone two, making any kind of real rivalry impossible. A rivalry with a quadless soul would just be... well... gauche.
Why, then, every time he'd launched into the air to try a quad since he'd come home, did a picture of The Other Guy flash into his head, affecting his concentration enough to land him squarely on his (very fine, if he had to say it himself) ass? Why had he called a friend in Lake Arrowhead and, through some shady finagling, procured The Other Guy's cell phone number, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into the pocket of his skate bag? Why was he reaching for his skate bag now, and pulling out the number and his own (ghetto, bling-encrusted) cell phone, figuring it was, after all, only 9:30 in California?
"Hello?"
When he heard The Other Guy's voice on the end of the line, he almost hung up. He didn't, though. Hanging up would be chickening out, and chickening out would be like resting on his laurels and doing novice-level combinations instead of quads.
"Um, hey!" He attempted a breezy, chatty tone. "It's the E-man!"
"The... oh, Emanuel?" Jeff sounded completely confused.
He tried to sound suave. "Yeah."
"Um... hi?"
"I was just calling to... to, uh..." Why was he calling? "Um... to see how things were in Cali," he finished lamely.
"They're, um, pretty good," the other boy replied. "How's... uh... the weather over there?"
"Not bad, I guess," he replied stiltedly. What the hell? he thought to himself. We're like two 12-year-olds who like......... Then it hit him, and suddenly, he understood, and yet, he couldn't believe it. No effing way!
Jeffrey was clearly searching for something to say. "So... you, um, decided not to go to Korea either, eh?"
"They kind of decided for us, didn't they?" He managed a seriously forced laugh. The conversation was getting painful, and he couldn't take it any longer.
"Listen," he said with a deep breath. "The real reason I called is... because I wanted to say... that I was sorry for all that crap that was in the papers and stuff in London. The, um..." He couldn't bring himself to actually use the words 'novice-level combination'. "...the stuff about the jumps."
"Oh." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a second, Emanuel wondered whether Jeff was considering whether or not to reject the apology. Then he heard laughter on the other end of the line, and when Jeff managed to speak again, his words came out amidst giggles. "I don't know why everyone made such a big deal about that. I thought it was funny. I couldn't believe you said it, but it made me laugh."
"I'm still sorry," he repeated honestly. "And... I have to go now, because I'm still at the rink and it's almost one in the morning, but... Jeff?"
"Yeah?"
"I never congratulated you on the title." I can't believe I'm doing this. "So... uh... congratulations."
"Thanks."
As he got off the phone, he didn't realize that in California, Jeff felt that though his new title was almost three weeks old, that phone call had just given him the right to call himself the Canadian champion. What Emanuel did know, though, was that he'd just turned The Other Guy from a dude with novice-level combinations into a real rival. A rival and... something else.
He glanced down at his half-untied skates, and then suddenly, struck with a new wave of determination, he quickly retied them and returned to the ice. His brain knew he should leave the jumps alone for the day, and his body knew he shouldn't attempt anything without warming up, but somehow, his heart knew that just this once, none of that would matter.
When he launched himself into the air, the four revolutions felt effortless, and when he landed on a clean back outside edge on one foot, picked again, turned three times, and tacked a double loop onto the end of the combination for good measure, he knew that this time, his heart was right.
- END -