huggingcompetition | redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Entry tags:

reno,
rp threads

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Getting shot through space would be traumatic if you weren't asleep and/or being beamed through it at the speed of life itself. It only felt like he'd had a long, restless sleep when Emil's eyes opened to focus blearily not on the smooth metal ceiling of his tiny apartment, or, more often than not, someone else's, but on the generically spackled ceiling of a hotel room in Malay. He was sure he was dreaming at first; he'd had dreams like this before, where he was back on earth and preparing to go about his day, at least until someone new happened out of the bathroom, or turned over beside him in the bed, but a quick glance around told him the one thing that made his heart sink straight into his stomach.

"Reno?"

Silence. just wind and surf and birds outside the cracked open window, and his own pulse plodding along strangely placidly.

He checked his phone to confirm what the date was, finding himself only a little bit alarmed to find out that time had passed here. Not much, but some. Enough to have taken up his vacation before he had to head home and begin arranging for the next winter sports season.

It would go like that for months after arriving back home and settling back into his routines. Wake up, work out, practice, visit with friends and family, with the underlying feeling that something was just off. It almost felt wrong just going back to his life now.

Sometimes, he'd try to talk to a concerned friend asking questions. Explain that he wasn't sleeping well. Making an effort to rationalize that he wasn't unjustified in feeling like something was missing or wrong. He had so much on his phone that confirmed what he already knew: this "dream" of his, about all of these people he'd met, couldn't be fake. He had photos taken of the park, of ladies he'd made friends with, of interesting people he'd met in the observatory or at the rink, of Koller and Reno and Mo Guanshan and Sam. He still had messages from some of them.

He reread those a lot as time went on. He couldn't possibly have fabricated those, surely. He'd start doubting every so often, wondering if it was all an elaborate, staged thing, like he'd been brainwashed. He joked that he'd been abducted by aliens, which did throw off some concern with the humor of it, but feeling so left of center never really stopped.

Even when the world started turning into the sort of low-key hell that had always been predicted by the sci-fi writers of the last century, Emil kept going. He went to the finals another few times, even making it to the Four Continents, with a piece that he'd choreographed on his own, to a remixed piece that he'd once worked on when he was still in his "dreamstate". That year he dressed in red with a yakuza-style phoenix emblazoned on his costume's back.

The summer after, he opted to take time off from his normal busy schedule to spend time close to home with his family, to reflect on what he wanted to do with the few years he had left in his skating career. He only had a few years left in him after all, as his body filled out and matured. He'd kept his hair short and feathery, but let his beard grow fuller and make his face much more mature. He walked the streets of Prague like anyone would the streets of home, having moved here the year prior after leaving his parents' home. It had been a move advised by his coach and some well-meaning publicists after some suspicious occurrences, including redirected phone calls and some increasingly freaky "fan-mail" that had apparently never had a name or return address attached. He'd been curious, but followed the advice nonetheless, if only to keep his actual fans from going on some kind of witch hunt.

Pulling out of his distraction for a moment, he stops in his meandering path through a small city park to sit and take a moment to zone out, a tablet in his lap for his fingers to flick across mindlessly. It's become home to a massive photo gallery, transferred from his phone when it was finally on the verge of death. The background of it is, predictably, a starfield, though if anyone looked closely enough at it they would realize that it isn't the view from anywhere on earth. In one corner of the image is a figure standing without paying attention, a shock of red hair tied and twisted into a haphazard bun over a simple tshirt, hint of tattoo peeking from the collar. Emil finds himself glancing back at it as he scrolls through an article linked from his Twitter feed, barely absorbing a word as his mind wanders.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Emil looks down at Reno's hand disappearing into his pocket, then at the address on the other half of the receipt. He reads it over when it's handed to him, brow furrowed. He knows this general area, at least through reputation. He'd only survive going through here by dint of looking tougher than he actually is. Not a good area of the city by any means. He's not all that surprised that Reno has made his home there.

"Okay..." He folds the paper carefully and tucks it into his wallet for safe keeping, about to say his goodnight and head inside, until Reno kisses his head. He can't help but lean into the gesture, eyes closing. "Okay. I'll let numbers I don't recognize go straight to voicemail. I want to hear all about what you've been up to since you've been here." He looks back at Reno with a slightly wobbly smile and wraps one arm around his shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug.

"Stay safe out there, huh?"

He straightens back up to head inside after that, giving a last look back and a slightly too bright smile; he'd just have to convince himself that this really was going to work out for them. He heads up the narrow stairs with his phone up, typing out as fast as his thumbs can move a message to one of his closest friends. He includes the picture of the two of them together after making her swear that she wouldn't show it to anyone else, or post it online. She was reluctant until he sent it.

The rest of the night was spent on a FaceTime call between them, interrupted by her brother only once, attracted by the unusually grave tone of Emil's voice. He's immediately threatening, insisting that if this "dream guy" did anything at all to compromise Emil's safety that he'd fly out of Naples personally to knock him out. Emil couldn't help but laugh at the idea, soothing Michele with the assurance that he'd do it himself if it came to that. Even though all three of them knew otherwise.

When he finally sleeps there are no dreams, no anxious lonely spotlights, no hyper-realistic memories, no awful what-ifs. Just peace.

By the time the lunch date comes about, Emil is waiting outside his apartment building, dressed as casually as ever, a pair of wristbands hiding his cuff augments from general view. He pulls at them anxiously, glancing up and down the street, valiantly ignoring the sneaky little voice trying to convince him not to get his hopes up.

Edited 2017-08-30 10:53 (UTC)

"Safe? Me? Please," the Turk snorts, rolling his eyes and smiling, hugging back because it felt right and good. He still let go, sliding away with no small amount of reluctance. Nodding, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and heads off, though he stops just around a corner, watching Emil leave, watching movement behind windows, watching the locale.

A nice place for a nice boy, where his home was a bad place for a bad boy.

Almost like starting over all the way back in the beginning, when he was still a stupid teenager. Back before he'd done horrible things just to get by.

Can people really start fresh? Completely? Maybe, he muses, smiling to himself and making his meandering way home. Back to his mattress on the floor, his milk-crate shelves, his box TV and his empty fridge. Except now he doesn't have to hate his empty space so much anymore, a little bearded ray of light in an otherwise dismal day keeping him above water.

Getting his hopes up was harmless in the end, the familiar shock of red hair turning a corner. He was in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks with brown loafers, an expensive-looking watch on one wrist looked at quite pointedly as he walks up, smirking at the skater.

"What's this, so eager to get lunch you're waiting outside ahead of time? Tsk, I hope you weren't left hungry too long?"

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over that shirt," Emil teases, grinning as his hand lights on Reno's shoulder, leaning in and bumping his jaw against Reno's in an easy greeting. "I couldn't help it, I was hungry. I'd even debated on leaving without you."

He hops off the step he'd been perched on, his hands tucking into his pockets, posture a little bit slouched as he relaxed at Reno's side. "So what did you have in mind? If anything. I know there are a few places we won't go broke for big portions."

"You said you already had a place in mind," the Turk murmurs, busy looking down at his shirt and trying to find any fault in the blue birds and bright pineapples on a background of palm trees and badly drawn waves. Well...maybe it's a little loud. But only a little!

"Leaving without me? I really don't think you should make it a trend," he remarks dryly, arching a brow at the other man. He raises a hand before Emil can protest the unfair comment.

"It's a joke. I'm over it. I freaked out for the first few months. By now I'm just..." he shrugs, unable to really describe his state of mind beyond 'fine', which was never an accurate enough assessment. Fine described an Amazon package, not a person's feelings.

"Anywhere that has crepes, if you know them. I'm a fuckin' sucker for crepes. They're the coolest thing. Breakfast? Crepe. Lunch? Crepe. Dinner? Crepe. Dessert? CREPE. There's nothin' you can't get!"

It is a loud and awful shirt and Emil actually likes it, at least on Reno. It's very indicative of...something. Maybe not his fashion sense.

Reno's joke catches him a little offguard and his smile fades, eyes going down to the sidewalk. He wouldn't start an argument about this, but that stung. Reno might claim that he's ok now, but that's not something Emil can honestly say.

The question of crepes is a distraction at least, and Emil seriously considers if he knows anywhere that has them that's not fancy and overpriced. He nods after a moment, pulling up a location on his phone so that Reno could see where they're going. It's a little longer of a walk, but he's fine with that. It would give them a little more time to just have time together. He doesn't trust himself to speak back up yet though.

"Don't grouse. The only thing that got me through all of it, aside from sheer stubbornness, was self-deprecating humor. Cut myself a little all the time so the bigger hurts get lost. It works for a while," he muses, shrugging slightly and shaking out both hands before reaching over and poking a finger gently against Emil's cheek.

"You missed me...right?" he asks, looking genuinely concerned. He knew he hadn't been forgotten, knew he wasn't an unpleasant memory, but now he didn't know if it was love anymore. At least, he didn't know if it were reciprocated love. He'd never stopped pining for Emil. It was never about the drugs, for Reno. He couldn't speak for the other man, though.

"Mm...nevermind. Let's talk about something else, yeah?" Because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to hear the answer yet, if it were no.

"I talked to the guys--" meaning the gang members he was affiliated with "--and they're gonna help me get sorted with documents. Just the basics. Apparently it's not that hard to get legitimized as a citizen at all, with the right channels. I gotta run jobs for them for a little while longer, but nothing big. The usual stuff. It'll pay for the papers without dipping into my savings. Apparently I was born in Pavlov," he chuckles, arching a brow before gesturing vaguely.

"We should visit one day. It looks nice. Small. Old."

"I'm not good at humor like that." Obviously. The poke has him making a face, but he still smiles at the question. Of course he did. It scared him to think that he'd just fabricated it all in his mind, that there was nobody in the first place that actually held those affections. "Dream guy" had to be real, if he wasn't, Emil was pretty sure he would have to be sectioned for being in love with his imaginary friend.

Before he can respond in any coherent way Reno changes the subject, and Emil blinks at him, absorbing after a moment. They were setting him up as a legitimate citizen. That was good! He'd be able to make a more stable life like this, right?

"I'd have suggested one of the little islands off the coast of Japan, personally. You used to speak something that sounded like an old dialect of Japanese." He nods though; they would have to start travelling and seeing other places together now that they had the chance.

"Hey, genius, we're trying to make me a Czech citizen, not Japanese. A criminal record with no legal visas could get me deported to a country I don't know any better than another. So I'm Japanese-Czech, so what?" Reno snorts, rolling his eyes and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a lollipop, of all things, peeling the wrapper off and sticking it into his mouth as he walked. It had kept him from other less savory distractions like smoking, after all, and it actually made for a more intimidating look, the way he kept the stick out the side of his mouth, like stereotyped gangsters with their toothpicks.

"I still do speak Japanese, evidently. Something with a Yokohama accent? Anyways, they use me for liaisons with overseas constituents." A nice way of saying Yakuza associates, but they were being delicate. Everyone here assumes I'm running from an old gang in Japan, everyone from Japan is confused about where I'm from because my tattoos are authentic and my language is fluent, but I'm a ghost there. It's actually kinda nice, everyone spreading wild rumors about me and all of them being wrong."

He smiles, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets as they walk, gazing up at the clouds idly. The candy clicks against his teeth as he rolls it with his tongue, thinking.

"When do you leave again?" he asks, glancing over at the skater from the corner of his vision, still keeping his face skyward, casual. The seasons rolled quickly and Reno still doesn't full grasp the circuits, but he knows Emil won't stay in Prague forever. He'll have to figure out his situation before then.

"So I'm the only one that actually knows anything about you and where you came from," Emil muses, smiling faintly. It actually felt kind of nice, being the only one in the world with that information.

The crinkling of the candy wrapper draws his attention and he can't help smiling at it. It fit, he thought.

"I've got another month, then the season starts up. I'll have to start training, but at least I can devote most of the fall to that instead of needing to participate in regional competitions. Last season I placed highly enough to still have that standing." He starts to go into greater detail, about the last season, about the plans he had for this one. He didn't have a full program put together yet, but he wanted to do something that related back to his first, and to the time after it. The year prior his theme had been about the persistence of memory, a clear ode to his continuing to hold onto what had happened after he'd turned eighteen and the things that he still held onto from that time. Reno included. So this time around, he wanted something that would mean he was moving forward and really growing up, moving on.

He looks back at Reno, his hands still in his pockets. "I want your help with this season."

"Yep, just you. I wouldn't trust anyone else anyways. I didn't even want to approach anyone we knew, just in case, y'know?" Further highlighting how alone he'd been, though he'd long stopped looking at it that way. There were millions of distractions in this world that didn't exist in his own.

"I know! I saw. I was there..." he murmurs, scratching one eyebrow, candy clicking softly as he smiles. "I attended as many of your shows as I could, though I was pretty much always in the nosebleeds. It was a pretty good consolation. You looked amazing," he muses, reaching up to clasp his hands behind his head, eyes still skyward.

"Huh?" he pauses, blinking a moment and lowering his hands with a small frown. "Emil, I don't know anything about skating. Not really. Asking me for help is like saying 'Eh, I'm not really interested in the gold, psh'. I mean, seriously."

Part of him wants to demand why, if Reno had attended his performances, hadn't he tried to get his attention. He could have, he could make a sign or stand on a seat and yell or make some other kind of commotion. They could have met before now...

He's distracted enough by this train of thought that it takes him a moment to actually reply.

"I mean it, I want your help! You don't have to get on the ice or anything, just be there to bounce ideas off of. I'm sure my coach would like the break..."

"I...guess. I'll help with whatever you want, but I don't want to be responsible for screwing everything up for you," the redhead murmurs, unsure, even while flattered.

If he knew Emil's thoughts he may have commented on already feeling dismissed by the ignored letters and gifts. He'd given up on pushing contact by that point, determining that face-to-face was the only thing that would suffice and that he went to the performances because he wouldn't miss them for anything.

Even when they got him in trouble with the gang for his absences during important issues.

Only in retrospect was sending clippings of hair and such probably weird enough to get thrown out, but he didn't understand the concept of people not getting their own mail, back then. everything was a learning curve for him.

"We should go skating sometime, though. I don't fall down anymore," he smirks, shrugging slightly. In fact, he had learned more than a few moves, and could do jumps effortlessly. No more fear of frozen water and knives on his feet.

"You don't have to perform with me or anything like that. You know I've only ever competed in men's singles." Though he might have enjoyed pair skating, it's not his call to make.

Yeah, not getting your own mail might seem pretty weird, until you factor in the possibility of really weird stuff sent by fans to celebrities, however minor of one he might be. Sometimes fans were kind of an uncomfortable thing to have.

The offer to come skating with him informally makes Emil smile though, and he nods at the idea. "I'd like that."

The restaurant was up ahead and already his stomach rumbles with the prospect of a good meal that he didn't have to make or to order in to a hotel room or hostel. He reaches to snag Reno's elbow and hurry him along a bit more. "If you like we could go see my new home rink later. The old one's in Brno so I can't really commute to it all the time."

"Hm? Yeah, sure!" Reno replies with a relaxed enthusiasm, nodding for emphasis. "If the fee isn't too much I'll come skate there, too. Not doubt a hell of a lot better maintained than the one I go to. I learned how to drive a zamboni because their guy was always off drunk somewhere. I probably spend as much time tending the ice as actually skating it," he huffs a sigh, rolling his eyes irritably.

"You should consider pairs," he remarks after a moment of silent thought.

"Your style lends itself really well to a more interactive format. Like...you do things that are pretty impressive, but alone a lot of your performances seem like there's supposed to be someone else there with you. If you had a partner worth anything, I think you'd take gold, easy. When it comes to individual sets, no offense, but your choices really aren't as gripping as Katsuki's or Plisetsky's."

Yeah Emil, he's been paying attention. A lot, evidently. The things that had mattered to Emil became important to the redhead in the Czech's absence. He even took a few public courses on astronomy (which served a double purpose because he needed a basic education and getting to at least 8th grade level was not something he could ask anyone to help with).

"You've gotten damn close more than once. Last years performance...well. It's pretty obvious that when there's any deeper meaning behind a set, the passion for the performance is what carries it just as much as individual talent. If you did something you really, genuinely, liked along with your physical ability and personal talent, there's no reason you can't take gold. I truly believe that."

Emil chews some at his lip as he considers that. He's never really seen that from his own performances, but then again it's different being an observer as opposed to performing. He could see things like what Reno was describing in other skaters, but he can't really see it in himself.

But maybe that had changed in the years since they'd met, then been separated. He doesn't know. But he does acknowledge that he's just not as engrossing to most audiences as some of the other skaters. More often than not, he's more of a footnote of competition seasons, even when he wins medals. The growing collection of them kept in a simple, out of the way display case is pretty indicative of that.

He's quiet on the matter, accepting the fact for what it is. He won't admit just yet that this might just be his last competitive season, just by dint of age and physical changes. A guy his size can't jump the way he does without fucking up the ice pretty bad.

"You know, I think if you'd been able to do it right, you would have blown me out of the water during the season. I know I'd have loved to watch," he comments, smiling faintly and nudging Reno's arm with his own. "Your passion's always obvious, and you've got so much of it. I don't think mine comes through very well."

"Well, you're passionate about everything you love," Reno observes, tone thoughtful. "Because of that, when you want to express something specific, the minutae gets lost on people that wouldn't know personally what you're trying to say." He shrugs slightly, expression apologetic. He doesn't see anything wrong with what Emil does, how, or why. The only reason it's a problem is because it won't win anything, and that's what the Olympics are about.

"My passion is...complicated, I guess. I'm either into something or I'm not. There's not really a bland middle ground. But more often than not, I ain't into somethin'. So when I put my head down and aim for what I want it can get...uh...volatile, I guess," he shrugs, rubbing under his nose lightly and glancing away.

Pretty much why he was a good thug; his temper was fairly black and white.

"Well, I'll come skate with you, if that's something you want. Not competitively - tch, they'd never have me." He knows from personal experience, turned away at the doors more than once just because he couldn't prove citizenship. Why should that matter? It's nothing he understands.

"But maybe if you have someone else on the ice with you, you'll get what I'm saying? You can't tell me you're ready to throw in the towel? You're not that old, yo. That Scott Hamilton guy skated into his fifties and battled cancer. Anyone that gives up under that kinda shadow never really cared in the first place."

"That Scott Hamilton guy was also smaller and lighter than me," Emil points out, indirectly admitting that he'd been considering doing just that, throwing in the towel and focusing on other things. After all, it isn't as if anyone would actually miss his skating, and he could still do it casually if he wanted to.

"Reno, you're explaining things to me that I already know. It's why I would have enjoyed watching you skate competitively if I'd ever gotten the chance. But...I don't know, maybe if we're able to skate together, even once, it'll make the rest feel better."

He hums quietly, his hands shoved down deep in his pockets once more. There's a lot he wants to do in the moment, including just stopping them both from talking so they stop hurting eachother carelessly. The food will help with that. The restaurant is just coming up, and they'd be able to get a table to lurk at as long as they felt like it between food and drink and acting like this really was their first date. Even if he sort of just wanted to go home and invite Reno along for a movie in, like they used to do.

Evidently Reno felt the same way, because he sighed, raising both hands in a gentle stopping motion.

"Ok. Fine, fine. We can talk about something else. Whatever." It irked him that emil was being so hard-headed, refusing to keep working for what he loved just because of a small complication, but it could be addressed some other time. They didn't need to fight when their relationship was barely attached by threads anymore.

Maybe that revelation hurt the most, Reno looking away miserably, hiding the brief spasm of pain. Maybe he shouldn't have come, he muses, chewing the inside of his cheek briefly before inhaling and forcing one of those trademark grins. Keep swimming, right? Like that little blue fish lady said.

"Two please!" the redhead gestured as they closed on the front of the restaurant. Ushered in, Reno was just glad to sit for a moment, focus on something else, like the fuckin' drink menu.

"Huh...they've got a lot of stuff on tap," he murmurs, all but announcing his intention of drinking. Of course, Reno drank to escape, so it was a pretty big tell how distressed he was silently feeling over the entire situation.

There's a moment where Emil wants to kick him in the ankle, to stop him from drinking, especially knowing that Reno used it as a form of escapism no matter how damaging it could potentially be. Even knowing that the man wasn't liable to actually be hurt by it doesn't stop him from worrying. The look on his face is pretty clearly disapproving though.

As much as he wants this to work again, he doesn't want to force it, or to make it seem like this was all some kind of act, going through the motions because he'd promised it. He wants to be here, and he wants this to work. But Reno doesn't seem to believe that. That telltale too-bright grin said it all.

So he does what comes naturally, even knowing it's probably going to be rejected outright: he lays his hand on the table, palm up, a soft, hopeful smile accompanying the worry.

"How about you tell me a little more about what you do for a living now? It must be more exciting than...what was it? Scooting around on frozen water?"

Looking up and seeing the face Emil was pulling, Reno chewed the inner corner of his lips before setting the drink menu aside. Maybe a beer with the meal, depending on what he got, but...nothing heavy. If things fell apart at last, he didn't want to be the reason.

"I'm a thug, Emil. I was never very good at anything else," he murmurs, reaching out unthinking to put his hand in the skater's. If the Czech boy thought Reno was going to distance himself, he was wrong. He'd been so alone. Having committed the only good parts of himself to Emil, they were lost without the skater. Just those tiny moments of connection were reminders that he'd been good, or tried to be good, once.

"I scoot around on the frozen water a lot these days, so not like I can lip off about it," he murmurs, staring down at their hands, expression distantly hurt, even as he struggles to keep that smile consistent.

"I took all the knowledge Koller spilled us and used it to my advantage, got in with one of the lower tier gangs. They kept me as legal as I had to be to stay in the country. It was a good place to be in touch with people that could forge citizenship whenever I needed to go somewhere. Easy money."

It was supposed to be a joke, mostly at his own expense, but he never had been very good at them. He'd curb trying, for Reno's sake. Their senses of humor just didn't line up very well. At least the rest of them did, when they found their rhythm again.

Emil's hand adjusted in Reno's until their fingers could lace together, firm without squeezing. It was an easy enough move for him, and his thumb dragged back and forth across the Turk's finger.

"It sounds like you're making yourself a good start to a life. If I can help in any way, let me know, hm? Even if it's just somewhere to sleep for a night. My couch is very comfortable." Because offering his bed seemed a little bit too much for what they were trying to accomplish here. "Perhaps a regular practice partner too. Your...friends? I don't know if you can call them that. They must think you're hilarious, doing your thug thing while you keep up your training."

"A lot more derogatory talk gets flung around than I'm used to," he admits, reaching up and scratching the side of his head with his free hand.

"I get called a queer and faggot and stuff, though usually without the malice the words usually suggest. They can't really reconcile those two sides, which is fine. I don't need their approval past doing my job well. But I wouldn't get involved with them if I were you. There's gonna be enough trouble when they find out you and I are close. They love blackmailing and extorting anyone with a position greater than their own," he sighs, rolling his eyes and leaning back a bit to slouch in the chair, though he's careful not to pull his hand away.

"I wouldn't really call it a good life. I squirrel away whatever money I can, but I live in a shithole and the nicest things I own are my clothes. not these ones. My suits and stuff. Don't judge my wardrobe on this set."

"I will absolutely judge your taste in clothing on this set at least," he pointed out, trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling over Reno getting harassed in any capacity for something the man only started doing because it made Emil happy. His hand tightened down on Reno's, his free hand coming to rest in the crook of his elbow as he leaned forward against the table.

"I don't know what they could do to get to me and my family, but I'll try not to let it happen regardless." He offered a wider, hopefully more comforting smile as the waitress returns to take their orders, if they have them ready. Emil's hand almost loosens on Reno's, but stays right there in his grip as he looks up, considering. A beer for each of them, that shouldn't be too bad, right? As long as he limits himself to one, and maybe keeps an eye on Reno.

Reno appreciates the order for the beers, noting to himself to behave for Emil's sake, particularly since he'd made the allowance. Ordering a couple appetizers, Reno's main order is for an entirely overstuffed savory meal. Unsurprising. When the server leaves,teal eyes turn on the other man.

"I promise I haven't committed any violent crime or anything. I was doin' my best to stay out of trouble. If I found you, if we found each other again, I didn't want to be someone you'd have to be embarrassed or ashamed by."

"I'm glad I was good for something all this time." He looks both relieved and sad about the idea. He could have been there, should have tried harder. Given Reno the home he'd offered before they'd ever left. He'd never be able to make up for that.

At least he could try and make going forward worth it.

His own order consists of a large amount of pasta and meat smothered in a thick, savory sauce, just as filling as Reno's meal. They could easily eat their fill, and if there was anything left, they could take it with them. He's looking forward to seeing Reno get back out on the ice again after this though, distracting himself with the thought until the appetizers and beers arrive.

"Mmh...to fresh starts?" He raises his bottle as soon as it's opened.

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

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