#135; The Eh Team
Title: The Eh Team
Artists: Kris/Henry/Wendy/Krystal/Amber and Mark and Johnny from SMrookies
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Word count: 2.907
Warnings: None
Prompt: #135 - Henry/Kris/Wendy i.e. SM Canadian line in which they go out and eat all the traditionally Canadian food and reminisce about weird Canadian traditions. + if the SM American line walks in on their gathering. ++ if there's an SM Canadian line vs SM American line battle of some sort e.g. food eating contest or video games
Notes: Thank you to A and K for encouraging me to finish this.I had grand plans for this fic but ended up making a bigger mess of it than the Conservative Government of...well everything.This fic is very Canadian, like it bleeds maple syrup.
I’mma throw in Mark Lee from smrookies bc Canadian
“Are you ready, guys?” Henry's grin is wide as he stand in front of the door, practically vibrating in excitement. Wendy rolls her eyes as Mark whines from where he’s koala wrapped against Kris’ much larger frame. “Hyung, hurry up already, it’s hot as hell.” Henry ignores the grumblings of his less-than-impressed audience, one hand on the doorknob as he turns to face them. “I present to you, the newest, hottest, happening-est place in Seoul, available for one night only.” He throws the door open and it ricochets off the wall with a loud bang. “The Canuckian Cave!’
The four of them file inside, Wendy, Kris and Mark gaping at the interior of the practice room that has been transported into something out of a Canadian Tire home catalogue. There’s a small red Chesterfield shoved in the corner and rugs spread here and there with a small tent pitched to the side. There’s a wood burning stove in the corner (“What the hell Henry, that’s a fire hazard!”) and a stuffed moosehead leering down at them from the wall. Framed prints of Canadian natural wonders, like the Rocky mountains, Niagara Falls and Pamela Anderson’s boobs are hung along the walls. Something warm and comforting is scenting the air and Wendy throws her head back to sniff, letting out a shuddering sigh. “Canadian back bacon febreze. It’s been too long.”
“My mom managed to smuggle a can over the last time she visited. Sit back, get comfortable!” Henry gestures to the room distractedly as he roots through a chest in the drawer. Kris kicks a stray hockey stick out of the way as he flops onto the loveseat, Mark not far behind. Henry turns then, arms full of fabric. “Okay everyone, dress up time!”
Three pairs of eye blink up at him, before Mark speaks. “Hyung, it’s Canada Day. Not Halloween.”
“I know that but what better way to get into the true Canadian spirit than through costumes? See? I’m going as Wayne Gretzky.” Henry gestures to his jersey before reaching over to plonk a brown hat on Mark’s head. “Here, you can be a Mountie.” He passes over a red jacket and a stuffed horse and Mark acquiesces after a long sideways glance. Kris grudgingly accepts the toque and the plaid shirt he’s been handed. “What am I supposed to be?”
“A coureur de bois.” At the other’s blank look, Henry rolls his eyes, releasing a long suffering sigh. “A lumberjack, here.” A plastic axe and a plush beaver are shoved at him. Wendy stares at the garish floral print suit jacket and fake white beard she’s been given. “Am I supposed to be Colonel Sanders at Toronto pride?”
“I should revoke your citizenship for this, honestly.” Henry shakes his head disapprovingly. “Don Cherry, hello? Hockey Night in Canada host, owner of the most fabulous formal wear in North America?”
“I’m not a hockey fan.” Three heads turn to stare at her and she cowers under their judgemental gaze. “Definitely in need of revoked citizenship.” Mark assents.
“Well, I mean, she is from Toronto.” Kris smirks. “Can’t blame her for not wanting to support the Leafs.”
“Hey!” Henry spins around to point a hockey stick threateningly at the snorting pair on the couch. ‘No one insults the NHL’s oldest, greatest franchise in my presence.”
“Greatest? When was the last time you made the playoffs?” Mark taunts and Kris gives him an approving pat on the head. Wendy scoffs, flipping her hair over one floral-covered shoulder. “When was the last time the Canucks won a Stanley cup? Oh wait, that’s right-Never!” She and Henry high-five.
“Okay, okay, the point of this is not to start an East coast vs West coast war.” Henry intervenes as Mark tries to throw a cushion at Wendy. “We’re here to celebrate the the 147th birthday of our noble homeland-”
“Ahem.”
“Adopted homeland for some people present.”Henry amends.”Although most of us haven’t been back in a while, we still took time off on one of our rare free days to come together and-”
“Actually, hyung, you dragged us here. I wanted to sleep in.” Mark mumbles, using his stuffed horse as a makeshift pillow.
“and celebrate” Henry continues, tone venomous as he glares at the youngest. “The joys of being from the best damn country in the world!” He raises his arms over his head, the miniature hockey puck strung around his neck bouncing from the movement. Kris and Wendy let out hesitant cheers while Mark snores. Henry’s right eyebrow twitches but he seems to draw on some well of hidden restraint, jabbing the other none-too gently in the stomach to awaken him. “So, I had some activities planned before we get to lunch-”
“There’s food?” Wendy perks up, predatory gleam in her eye. “What kind?”
“Oh, all the classics. Bison burgers, bacon, tourtière poutine. For dessert, we have beavertails, butter tarts, Nanaimo bars-” Henry counts off on his fingers, oblivious to the glazed-eyed expressions off his three companions. “Oh and Timbits!”
It’s a like a switch has been flipped. The others look at each other, nodding simultaneously. “Get him.”
Henry lets out a pained yelp as he’s tackled to the ground by Mark, struggling fruitlessly until the other sits on him. Kris and Wendy meanwhile comb the room, hunting for anything that looks like it could contain food. Kris flips over a small box and a stack of Kids In The Hall dvds fall out. “Nothing here.”
Wendy lets out a grunt as she shifts a stack of snow tires, chain rattling as they make contact with the hardwood floor. “Negative in this corner.”
“If you guys would just let me get up, I could show you.” Henry rasps out, the others ignoring him to continue combing the room, going so far as to flip over the couch and pull all the cushions out. Finally they all slump to the floor, and Kris gestures for Mark to let him go. Henry rubs at his chest as he sits up, glaring at all of them. “You ruined my interior decorating!”
“Oh who the hell cares, just give us the food.” Wendy groans head thrown back as she kicks her feet. Henry stands up, clutching his side. “You wanna know where I’ve hidden the damn food?” he snarls, limping over to the wall where a framed print of Stephen Harper cuddling a kitten is hung. He knocks it to the side, revealing a built-in refrigerator. Mark stares at in awe. “Hiding something delicious behind something repulsive. You madman.”
Wendy tugs fruitlessly at the handle. “Why won’t it open?” She bangs on it with her fists, sliding legs buckling in despair as she slides down the wall. “I want my timbits, goddamnit!” she wails.
Henry smirks. “I have the passcode to the fridge. You want food, you cooperate. So as I was saying-I have activities planned.” He points to the stripped down sofa. ‘Sit.”
Once everyone is assembled, the lights are flipped off and a projector is set up. Henry presses play and somber piano music plays from the speakers as a Canadian flag waves regally in the breeze. A voiceover plays in the background “Founded in 1867, Canada possess a rich cultural history.
“This is giving me flashbacks to ninth grade.” Kris mutters fighting to keep his eyes open. Wendy stifles a yawn, the light from the screen reflected in her eyes. “What was so bad about ninth grade?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen my yearbook photos.” Kris mutters in response. “Jesus, how long is this video?”
Wendy’s saved from replying when the door slams opens and someone flicks the lights on. Amber stares down at all of them, a wide grin spreading over her face. “Oy!” she yells over her shoulder. ‘I found the Canerds.”
“Canerds?” Kris asks as Mark awakens with a yelp, having fallen off the couch. Krystal peeks in over Amber’s shoulder, snorting at the sight. “Oh my god, it’s even worse than you said it would be.”
“You-!” Henry sputters, getting to his feet. “Why are you here? I told you you weren’t invited.”
“Cage the rage, bro.” Johnny drawls, from where he’s squished in besides Krystal in the doorway. “We were just dropping by to say hi.”
Henry points to a poster stuck on the door, a drawing of Captain Canuck putting his American counterpart in a chokehold, “NO YANKEES ALLOWED” written on the bottom in giant block letters. “Bye.”
“Yankees?” Amber lets out an indignant sniff, striding further into the room, her posse not far behind. “You know what, just for that crack, we won’t leave.”
“You called us Canerds first.” Mark points out. “Whatever that is.”
“Canerds.” Johnny articulates each syllable slowly. “Canadian nerds.” he lets out a braying laugh and everyone in the room stares at him. “Get the boy a Pulitzer.” Kris comments dryly.
Amber flops down beside Henry, feet finding their way into his lap. “So what do Canadians do to celebrate independance day? Decorate the igloos?”
“We burn down American homes just like our ancestors did in 1824.” Wendy gives Amber a cheery grin. “I’d have a fire extinguisher on hand if I were you.”
“Psht, Canadians trying to make threats.” Krystal waves them off. “You guys are the country equivalent of the kid in the playground who got buried in the sandbox.”
“And you’re the one who threw up after he ate all the paste during art class.” Kris responds.
“We have a functioning army.”
“We don’t start wars.”
“Maple syrup suckers.”
“McDonalds addicts.”
“Free Amazon delivery!”
“Free health care!”
“Cheap gas!”
“Gay marriage legal nationwide.”
Amber and Henry look back and forth between their shouting charges before turning to face each other. “Well this isn’t good.” she states.
“You’ve driven three polite Canadians to this.” Henry looks to be on the verge of tears. ‘You monster.”
“There’s only one way to end this.” Amber ducks to avoid being brained by a stray hockey puck. Henry looks to her and they nod. “Twister.”
The teams are separated, the mat set up and the lines are drawn. A pile of food and the honour of two nations is put on the line. Mark is banished to the sidelines to serve as the spinners while the other members of their team gear up to play, doing stretches alongside the mat. Rush booms from the wall speakers as they get into position, Johnny being the first to go. Mark spins and announces. “Left foot on red.”
The game progresses well, the two teams alternating turns as they contort themselves into increasingly more ridiculous positions on the mat. There’s a close call for Team Canada when Henry nearly trips over Amber’s ankle while trying to place his right hand on green and Team America’s Krystal has to deal with the indignity of having her face precariously close to Kris’ crotch for three spins. Twenty minutes in and both teams are holding strong although Johnny has turned a worrying shade of white from his upside down position underneath Amber’s legs. Mark frowns at the scene before him. This game is going nowhere. He decides it’s time to take a page from American foreign policy and engage in some outside intervention. It’s Wendy’s turn and he gives the spinner a perfunctory spin, analyzing everyone’s positions on the mat before smiling. “Right foot on yellow.”
In her current position, Wendy has to do some sort of grudge-esque backwards crawl, leg bending underneath her as she tries to slide it past Krystal onto the yellow circle. And just like Mark had planned, her arms give way and she falls down, the first casualty of the night. Team America jeers only to have Krystal fall in the next turn. Johnny and Henry follow suit and then it’s just Kris and Amber on the mat, struggling to stay balanced as exhaustion sets in.
“Give in already, beanpole.” Amber grits out as she maneuvers her hand around his leg to reach for the green circle. Kris grunts. “You first, midget.” Wendy shakes her head from the sidelines. “Is this game really worth it? At this rate Kris is going to pull a testicle.”
“Do we really want him to reproduce, anyways?” Krystal points out, ignoring the indignant yell she gets in response.”How about we leave these two to battle it out and get some food?”
“I will poison you in your sleep.” Amber swears as her left leg starts to go numb. Her eyes widen in horror as it begins to slide and she scrabbles against the mat fruitlessly before she falls. In a very comprimising position. There’s silence. Someone wolf whistles.
“Well, that’s one way to promote international harmony.” Johnny remarks dryly as Mark rushes to take as many pictures as he can of of Amber face down on Kris’ crotch. Henry raises his arms triumphantly, ignoring the traumatized wails coming from the floor. “Team Canada takes it!”
“Well played.” Krystal acknowledges, helping a shuddering Amber off the floor, her face red from scrubbing at with her hands. Kris lies flat on the mat, arms and legs akimbo. Wendy pokes him in the head. “You won!”
“Have them put that on my grave.” Kris mumbles before rolling over, back making a hideous cracking noise. Henry starts shooing the Americans from the room, shit-eating grin back in place. “Have an enjoyable rest of the night! Go eat Mcdonalds, watch Real Housewives, interfere in international conflicts, whatever you Americans do for fun!” He slams the door in their glowering faces, turning back to face the others. “So, where were we?”
“Henry, I swear to god, if you make us watch any more videos, I’m gonna beat you with that lacrosse stick.” Wendy glares. “Food.”
Henry acquiesces and soon the safe is opened and the precious food emerges. Kris miraculously regains his strength, stuffing three timbits and a bison burger in his mouth in quick succession. Mark and Wendy follow suit and even Henry can’t resist the lure of the rare treats. He turns on a background playlists and a familiar song starts to filter through the wall speakers. His audience all groan in succession. “Really Henry, out of all the song to play?”
“I’m losing my appetite.” Mark grumbles as the woman continues to warble in the background. Henry swats him on the head. “Hush you, she’s a national treasure.”
“Can we call Nicholas Cage to come retrieve her?” Kris snorts, Molson almost going down his shirt. “This music suc- CAUSE I’M YOUR LADY! AND YOU ARE MY MAN!” he warbles on cue with the other three. ‘WHENEVER YOU REACH FOR ME” they chorus. “I’LLD O ALL THAT I CAAAAAAAAAAAAN.”
Henry smirks at the mortified expressions on the other threes faces once the song ends. “Told you. No Canadian can resist Celine Dion.”
“I remember them playing this song at my first school dance.” Wendy is swaying side to side, dreamy smile on her face. “And this really cute guy asked me to dance to Photographs with him.”
“Nickelback, eh? Canadian middle school romance at its finest.”Henry laughs as he leans back against the couch.” I remember we used to blast Rockstar while playing street hockey. Drove all the neighbours crazy.”
“I miss it.” Mark props his chin on his hands. “No one here even knows how to play hockey. Or Yahtzee.”
“I haven’t seen my friends from high school in forever. I think most of them are graduating college now.” Kris mulls. “We used to go down to Canada Place to watch the fireworks on Canada Day.”
“We did that at Harbourfront in Toronto. My parents always made a big deal out of it, they’d get all dressed up in their Canada gear and stuff us all in the car.” Wendy’s voice is soft, nostalgic. “I miss it. Them.”
There’s silence for a while after, all of them caught up in their own thought, nostalgia and melancholy intermingling. Henry clears his throat before he stands, extending a hand towards Wendy. ‘C’mon. I planned one more thing.” They follow him out to the back, to the small courtyard outside the gym where the trainees hang out and play basketball, abandoned at this time of the night. Wendy stands in the middle, back hugging Mark as Kris and Henry disappear to the side. “What do you think the surprise is?”
“A moose.” is the prompt reply and she chuckles, ruffling his hair. Something wet falls on her head and she frowns, looking up at the sky. “Did they forecast rain for today?”
“I don’t think so-look!” Mark pulls away from her, hands outward, face lit up in childish wonder. “It’s snowing!”
“In July?” But Mark is right, soft white flakes falling from above and coating the ground in a light dusting of white powder. She hears a shout and looks up to see Kris and Henry waving at them from the gym roof, a large cannon like machine spitting white flakes from between them. They disappear from sight and then they’re turning the corner, joining the other two in staring the courtyard. Henry slings an arm over her shoulder. “A leftover from Miracles in December filming. Figured they wouldn’t miss it for one night.” He gives her shoulders a small squeeze. ‘After all, how can we celebrate Canada without snow?”
“Eat snow bitches!” the moment is promptly ruined as Mark nails a direct hit with his snowball, Kris following up with two of his own. There’s an indignant yell and then Wendy and Henry are running, struggling to obtain their own ammo. It’s messy and wet and they’re all underdressed for snow. But it doesn’t really matter.
Artists: Kris/Henry/Wendy/Krystal/Amber and Mark and Johnny from SMrookies
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Word count: 2.907
Warnings: None
Prompt: #135 - Henry/Kris/Wendy i.e. SM Canadian line in which they go out and eat all the traditionally Canadian food and reminisce about weird Canadian traditions. + if the SM American line walks in on their gathering. ++ if there's an SM Canadian line vs SM American line battle of some sort e.g. food eating contest or video games
Notes: Thank you to A and K for encouraging me to finish this.I had grand plans for this fic but ended up making a bigger mess of it than the Conservative Government of...well everything.This fic is very Canadian, like it bleeds maple syrup.
I’mma throw in Mark Lee from smrookies bc Canadian
“Are you ready, guys?” Henry's grin is wide as he stand in front of the door, practically vibrating in excitement. Wendy rolls her eyes as Mark whines from where he’s koala wrapped against Kris’ much larger frame. “Hyung, hurry up already, it’s hot as hell.” Henry ignores the grumblings of his less-than-impressed audience, one hand on the doorknob as he turns to face them. “I present to you, the newest, hottest, happening-est place in Seoul, available for one night only.” He throws the door open and it ricochets off the wall with a loud bang. “The Canuckian Cave!’
The four of them file inside, Wendy, Kris and Mark gaping at the interior of the practice room that has been transported into something out of a Canadian Tire home catalogue. There’s a small red Chesterfield shoved in the corner and rugs spread here and there with a small tent pitched to the side. There’s a wood burning stove in the corner (“What the hell Henry, that’s a fire hazard!”) and a stuffed moosehead leering down at them from the wall. Framed prints of Canadian natural wonders, like the Rocky mountains, Niagara Falls and Pamela Anderson’s boobs are hung along the walls. Something warm and comforting is scenting the air and Wendy throws her head back to sniff, letting out a shuddering sigh. “Canadian back bacon febreze. It’s been too long.”
“My mom managed to smuggle a can over the last time she visited. Sit back, get comfortable!” Henry gestures to the room distractedly as he roots through a chest in the drawer. Kris kicks a stray hockey stick out of the way as he flops onto the loveseat, Mark not far behind. Henry turns then, arms full of fabric. “Okay everyone, dress up time!”
Three pairs of eye blink up at him, before Mark speaks. “Hyung, it’s Canada Day. Not Halloween.”
“I know that but what better way to get into the true Canadian spirit than through costumes? See? I’m going as Wayne Gretzky.” Henry gestures to his jersey before reaching over to plonk a brown hat on Mark’s head. “Here, you can be a Mountie.” He passes over a red jacket and a stuffed horse and Mark acquiesces after a long sideways glance. Kris grudgingly accepts the toque and the plaid shirt he’s been handed. “What am I supposed to be?”
“A coureur de bois.” At the other’s blank look, Henry rolls his eyes, releasing a long suffering sigh. “A lumberjack, here.” A plastic axe and a plush beaver are shoved at him. Wendy stares at the garish floral print suit jacket and fake white beard she’s been given. “Am I supposed to be Colonel Sanders at Toronto pride?”
“I should revoke your citizenship for this, honestly.” Henry shakes his head disapprovingly. “Don Cherry, hello? Hockey Night in Canada host, owner of the most fabulous formal wear in North America?”
“I’m not a hockey fan.” Three heads turn to stare at her and she cowers under their judgemental gaze. “Definitely in need of revoked citizenship.” Mark assents.
“Well, I mean, she is from Toronto.” Kris smirks. “Can’t blame her for not wanting to support the Leafs.”
“Hey!” Henry spins around to point a hockey stick threateningly at the snorting pair on the couch. ‘No one insults the NHL’s oldest, greatest franchise in my presence.”
“Greatest? When was the last time you made the playoffs?” Mark taunts and Kris gives him an approving pat on the head. Wendy scoffs, flipping her hair over one floral-covered shoulder. “When was the last time the Canucks won a Stanley cup? Oh wait, that’s right-Never!” She and Henry high-five.
“Okay, okay, the point of this is not to start an East coast vs West coast war.” Henry intervenes as Mark tries to throw a cushion at Wendy. “We’re here to celebrate the the 147th birthday of our noble homeland-”
“Ahem.”
“Adopted homeland for some people present.”Henry amends.”Although most of us haven’t been back in a while, we still took time off on one of our rare free days to come together and-”
“Actually, hyung, you dragged us here. I wanted to sleep in.” Mark mumbles, using his stuffed horse as a makeshift pillow.
“and celebrate” Henry continues, tone venomous as he glares at the youngest. “The joys of being from the best damn country in the world!” He raises his arms over his head, the miniature hockey puck strung around his neck bouncing from the movement. Kris and Wendy let out hesitant cheers while Mark snores. Henry’s right eyebrow twitches but he seems to draw on some well of hidden restraint, jabbing the other none-too gently in the stomach to awaken him. “So, I had some activities planned before we get to lunch-”
“There’s food?” Wendy perks up, predatory gleam in her eye. “What kind?”
“Oh, all the classics. Bison burgers, bacon, tourtière poutine. For dessert, we have beavertails, butter tarts, Nanaimo bars-” Henry counts off on his fingers, oblivious to the glazed-eyed expressions off his three companions. “Oh and Timbits!”
It’s a like a switch has been flipped. The others look at each other, nodding simultaneously. “Get him.”
Henry lets out a pained yelp as he’s tackled to the ground by Mark, struggling fruitlessly until the other sits on him. Kris and Wendy meanwhile comb the room, hunting for anything that looks like it could contain food. Kris flips over a small box and a stack of Kids In The Hall dvds fall out. “Nothing here.”
Wendy lets out a grunt as she shifts a stack of snow tires, chain rattling as they make contact with the hardwood floor. “Negative in this corner.”
“If you guys would just let me get up, I could show you.” Henry rasps out, the others ignoring him to continue combing the room, going so far as to flip over the couch and pull all the cushions out. Finally they all slump to the floor, and Kris gestures for Mark to let him go. Henry rubs at his chest as he sits up, glaring at all of them. “You ruined my interior decorating!”
“Oh who the hell cares, just give us the food.” Wendy groans head thrown back as she kicks her feet. Henry stands up, clutching his side. “You wanna know where I’ve hidden the damn food?” he snarls, limping over to the wall where a framed print of Stephen Harper cuddling a kitten is hung. He knocks it to the side, revealing a built-in refrigerator. Mark stares at in awe. “Hiding something delicious behind something repulsive. You madman.”
Wendy tugs fruitlessly at the handle. “Why won’t it open?” She bangs on it with her fists, sliding legs buckling in despair as she slides down the wall. “I want my timbits, goddamnit!” she wails.
Henry smirks. “I have the passcode to the fridge. You want food, you cooperate. So as I was saying-I have activities planned.” He points to the stripped down sofa. ‘Sit.”
Once everyone is assembled, the lights are flipped off and a projector is set up. Henry presses play and somber piano music plays from the speakers as a Canadian flag waves regally in the breeze. A voiceover plays in the background “Founded in 1867, Canada possess a rich cultural history.
“This is giving me flashbacks to ninth grade.” Kris mutters fighting to keep his eyes open. Wendy stifles a yawn, the light from the screen reflected in her eyes. “What was so bad about ninth grade?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen my yearbook photos.” Kris mutters in response. “Jesus, how long is this video?”
Wendy’s saved from replying when the door slams opens and someone flicks the lights on. Amber stares down at all of them, a wide grin spreading over her face. “Oy!” she yells over her shoulder. ‘I found the Canerds.”
“Canerds?” Kris asks as Mark awakens with a yelp, having fallen off the couch. Krystal peeks in over Amber’s shoulder, snorting at the sight. “Oh my god, it’s even worse than you said it would be.”
“You-!” Henry sputters, getting to his feet. “Why are you here? I told you you weren’t invited.”
“Cage the rage, bro.” Johnny drawls, from where he’s squished in besides Krystal in the doorway. “We were just dropping by to say hi.”
Henry points to a poster stuck on the door, a drawing of Captain Canuck putting his American counterpart in a chokehold, “NO YANKEES ALLOWED” written on the bottom in giant block letters. “Bye.”
“Yankees?” Amber lets out an indignant sniff, striding further into the room, her posse not far behind. “You know what, just for that crack, we won’t leave.”
“You called us Canerds first.” Mark points out. “Whatever that is.”
“Canerds.” Johnny articulates each syllable slowly. “Canadian nerds.” he lets out a braying laugh and everyone in the room stares at him. “Get the boy a Pulitzer.” Kris comments dryly.
Amber flops down beside Henry, feet finding their way into his lap. “So what do Canadians do to celebrate independance day? Decorate the igloos?”
“We burn down American homes just like our ancestors did in 1824.” Wendy gives Amber a cheery grin. “I’d have a fire extinguisher on hand if I were you.”
“Psht, Canadians trying to make threats.” Krystal waves them off. “You guys are the country equivalent of the kid in the playground who got buried in the sandbox.”
“And you’re the one who threw up after he ate all the paste during art class.” Kris responds.
“We have a functioning army.”
“We don’t start wars.”
“Maple syrup suckers.”
“McDonalds addicts.”
“Free Amazon delivery!”
“Free health care!”
“Cheap gas!”
“Gay marriage legal nationwide.”
Amber and Henry look back and forth between their shouting charges before turning to face each other. “Well this isn’t good.” she states.
“You’ve driven three polite Canadians to this.” Henry looks to be on the verge of tears. ‘You monster.”
“There’s only one way to end this.” Amber ducks to avoid being brained by a stray hockey puck. Henry looks to her and they nod. “Twister.”
The teams are separated, the mat set up and the lines are drawn. A pile of food and the honour of two nations is put on the line. Mark is banished to the sidelines to serve as the spinners while the other members of their team gear up to play, doing stretches alongside the mat. Rush booms from the wall speakers as they get into position, Johnny being the first to go. Mark spins and announces. “Left foot on red.”
The game progresses well, the two teams alternating turns as they contort themselves into increasingly more ridiculous positions on the mat. There’s a close call for Team Canada when Henry nearly trips over Amber’s ankle while trying to place his right hand on green and Team America’s Krystal has to deal with the indignity of having her face precariously close to Kris’ crotch for three spins. Twenty minutes in and both teams are holding strong although Johnny has turned a worrying shade of white from his upside down position underneath Amber’s legs. Mark frowns at the scene before him. This game is going nowhere. He decides it’s time to take a page from American foreign policy and engage in some outside intervention. It’s Wendy’s turn and he gives the spinner a perfunctory spin, analyzing everyone’s positions on the mat before smiling. “Right foot on yellow.”
In her current position, Wendy has to do some sort of grudge-esque backwards crawl, leg bending underneath her as she tries to slide it past Krystal onto the yellow circle. And just like Mark had planned, her arms give way and she falls down, the first casualty of the night. Team America jeers only to have Krystal fall in the next turn. Johnny and Henry follow suit and then it’s just Kris and Amber on the mat, struggling to stay balanced as exhaustion sets in.
“Give in already, beanpole.” Amber grits out as she maneuvers her hand around his leg to reach for the green circle. Kris grunts. “You first, midget.” Wendy shakes her head from the sidelines. “Is this game really worth it? At this rate Kris is going to pull a testicle.”
“Do we really want him to reproduce, anyways?” Krystal points out, ignoring the indignant yell she gets in response.”How about we leave these two to battle it out and get some food?”
“I will poison you in your sleep.” Amber swears as her left leg starts to go numb. Her eyes widen in horror as it begins to slide and she scrabbles against the mat fruitlessly before she falls. In a very comprimising position. There’s silence. Someone wolf whistles.
“Well, that’s one way to promote international harmony.” Johnny remarks dryly as Mark rushes to take as many pictures as he can of of Amber face down on Kris’ crotch. Henry raises his arms triumphantly, ignoring the traumatized wails coming from the floor. “Team Canada takes it!”
“Well played.” Krystal acknowledges, helping a shuddering Amber off the floor, her face red from scrubbing at with her hands. Kris lies flat on the mat, arms and legs akimbo. Wendy pokes him in the head. “You won!”
“Have them put that on my grave.” Kris mumbles before rolling over, back making a hideous cracking noise. Henry starts shooing the Americans from the room, shit-eating grin back in place. “Have an enjoyable rest of the night! Go eat Mcdonalds, watch Real Housewives, interfere in international conflicts, whatever you Americans do for fun!” He slams the door in their glowering faces, turning back to face the others. “So, where were we?”
“Henry, I swear to god, if you make us watch any more videos, I’m gonna beat you with that lacrosse stick.” Wendy glares. “Food.”
Henry acquiesces and soon the safe is opened and the precious food emerges. Kris miraculously regains his strength, stuffing three timbits and a bison burger in his mouth in quick succession. Mark and Wendy follow suit and even Henry can’t resist the lure of the rare treats. He turns on a background playlists and a familiar song starts to filter through the wall speakers. His audience all groan in succession. “Really Henry, out of all the song to play?”
“I’m losing my appetite.” Mark grumbles as the woman continues to warble in the background. Henry swats him on the head. “Hush you, she’s a national treasure.”
“Can we call Nicholas Cage to come retrieve her?” Kris snorts, Molson almost going down his shirt. “This music suc- CAUSE I’M YOUR LADY! AND YOU ARE MY MAN!” he warbles on cue with the other three. ‘WHENEVER YOU REACH FOR ME” they chorus. “I’LLD O ALL THAT I CAAAAAAAAAAAAN.”
Henry smirks at the mortified expressions on the other threes faces once the song ends. “Told you. No Canadian can resist Celine Dion.”
“I remember them playing this song at my first school dance.” Wendy is swaying side to side, dreamy smile on her face. “And this really cute guy asked me to dance to Photographs with him.”
“Nickelback, eh? Canadian middle school romance at its finest.”Henry laughs as he leans back against the couch.” I remember we used to blast Rockstar while playing street hockey. Drove all the neighbours crazy.”
“I miss it.” Mark props his chin on his hands. “No one here even knows how to play hockey. Or Yahtzee.”
“I haven’t seen my friends from high school in forever. I think most of them are graduating college now.” Kris mulls. “We used to go down to Canada Place to watch the fireworks on Canada Day.”
“We did that at Harbourfront in Toronto. My parents always made a big deal out of it, they’d get all dressed up in their Canada gear and stuff us all in the car.” Wendy’s voice is soft, nostalgic. “I miss it. Them.”
There’s silence for a while after, all of them caught up in their own thought, nostalgia and melancholy intermingling. Henry clears his throat before he stands, extending a hand towards Wendy. ‘C’mon. I planned one more thing.” They follow him out to the back, to the small courtyard outside the gym where the trainees hang out and play basketball, abandoned at this time of the night. Wendy stands in the middle, back hugging Mark as Kris and Henry disappear to the side. “What do you think the surprise is?”
“A moose.” is the prompt reply and she chuckles, ruffling his hair. Something wet falls on her head and she frowns, looking up at the sky. “Did they forecast rain for today?”
“I don’t think so-look!” Mark pulls away from her, hands outward, face lit up in childish wonder. “It’s snowing!”
“In July?” But Mark is right, soft white flakes falling from above and coating the ground in a light dusting of white powder. She hears a shout and looks up to see Kris and Henry waving at them from the gym roof, a large cannon like machine spitting white flakes from between them. They disappear from sight and then they’re turning the corner, joining the other two in staring the courtyard. Henry slings an arm over her shoulder. “A leftover from Miracles in December filming. Figured they wouldn’t miss it for one night.” He gives her shoulders a small squeeze. ‘After all, how can we celebrate Canada without snow?”
“Eat snow bitches!” the moment is promptly ruined as Mark nails a direct hit with his snowball, Kris following up with two of his own. There’s an indignant yell and then Wendy and Henry are running, struggling to obtain their own ammo. It’s messy and wet and they’re all underdressed for snow. But it doesn’t really matter.