Raising a Raquet {open}

[Spicyrocketsauce]

OOC: I got the title of this thread by typing "Tennis puns" into google. That's how bad I am with titles.

"Deuce!"
Miles wiped some hair out of his face. He was sweating bullets; he hadn't ran for this long in months. The match had gone on for almost three-quarters of an hour and Miles was starting to develop a slight twitch at the sound of the word "deuce". His usually pale face had gone bright red, his breathing had become heavy and his raquet arm had gone an unhealthy shade of purple. But he HAD to keep going. He HAD to beat this guy. At the end of every tennis lesson, he had pictured that sweet moment of victory when he finally brings that cocky bastard down. Deep down, he knew the actual victory would involve far less cheering and fireworks, but still, it was a nice image.

He had never beaten his opponent before, Bradley or Brandon or something, he could never remember his name, but Miles was certain it was no fault of his own. His opponent was at the very least two feet taller than him, and could cross the court in about three steps. Of course, if he was simply a talented player, Miles wouldn't have made such a mission out of beating him. The fact was, for lack of a more polite way of putting it, this Bradley-something was a complete, irredeemable dickwad. When he was winning, the soundwaves would be awash with endless taunts, trash-talk and uninformed speculation regarding the promiscuity of Miles' mother. When he was losing, however, it seemed as though he was yet to master any social interactions outside the realm of grunting and snarling.

Miles was now closer to beating him than he ever was. They were playing a three set match, and had both won one set each, they were now at deuce on the final game. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Both players stared down the court at each other, exhausted almost to the point of collapse. Murmuring something indistinct about Miles' mother, Brandon-whatever lobbed the ball into the air, slamming it with a satisfying THWACK. It was a perfect serve, shooting like a fuzzy green bullet into the most inaccessible part of the court, but before Bradley could admire it, Miles had already returned. Bradley launched himself over to the other side of the court with agility almost unheard of in someone his size, but missed. Miles' heart leapt into his throat.

"Advantage, Kroma!"

Bradley was obviously quite nervous at this point, and served before Miles had even realised what had happened. It was obvious, however, that he didn't think it through properly, and the ball floated lazily toward Miles, giving him ample time to respond. Using all of his remaining strength, Miles returned the ball just out of Bradley's reach. Bradley didn't swing his raquet at the ball so much as flail it, gliding through the air in a grace pirouette, and missed by a country mile.

"Game, set and match, Kroma!"

Finally. Miles turned to his opponent to deliver unto him some much-deserved gloating, only to notice his opponent storming off the court before he could get a chance to say anything. "Hey, good game!" Miles called out to him. Brandon-something didn't even turn around. "...Dickhead." He added, too tired to think of anything wittier.

Using the little strength remaining in his legs, he staggered over to the side of the court and collapsed into the bench.

OOC: Only one spelling error in that entire post. I feel proud.

[Nicolette]

[OoC: Well done for a first post! =D]

The match had blown him away! He'd never really gotten a chance to see a live match before, and this match between the two males was exciting! He sat off to the side of the court, stretching casually with his raquet off to the side. The raquet had just arrived the previous morning from England. He loved his mother for taking the time to send him the prized possession.

He stopped his stretching, opting for sitting down against the fence, as he watched the heated match, his grey eyes open in awe. He watched the ball and the style of both players, taking in everything as he watched. He recognized a few tennis moves from television, but everything looked so new and it stuck so fresh in his mind.

As the match ended, he stood from the ground, patting the back of his shorts to rid them from any dirt they might have attracted. He picked up his raquet and walked over in the direction of the winner (seeing as the loser was leaving and looked very unhappy). He was hesitant, but rose his voice, his British accent ringing clear.

"Ah, Kroma, right...?" He had heard the referee call it out numerous times. He wasn't sure if it was his first or last name, though.

[Spicyrocketsauce]

Miles jumped when he heard someone talking, or at least he would have jumped if he had energy in him limbs. He was so focused on the match that he hadn't even noticed the small boy watching from the sidelines. The student approaching him looked oddly familiar, but then again, T'zenshin was only so big. He must've seen everyone on the island at least once.

"Yeah... That's right... Miles Kroma. Pleased... to meet you." He was still thoroughly exhausted from the match, but still managed to choke out a greeting in between deep breaths. He took a few seconds to catch his breath before continuing. "I'd shake your hand, but I don't think I can move my arms."

With some difficulty, he lifted his right arm and wiped the sweat off his brow. When his arm was clear of his face, he got a better look at the boy. He couldn't have been a day over thirteen, and the look on his face indicated that he was either excited from the match or on one hell of a sugar high, possibly both. Miles could've sword he'd seen the kid's face before.

Miles took a drink from the water bottle he'd left on the bench, at which point he realised where he'd seen the boy's face; the kid sitting next to him bore a stunning resemblance to the Student Council president. "Hey, aren't you Nicolette's little brother? Henri or something?"

[Nicolette]

He'd gotten the name right. Good. It would have been embarrassing to have said the wrong name. He gave a small smile at the comment on how the older male would shake his hand and Henri could understand the fatigue the male felt. While he hadn't ever played hard enough to be really tired, he had seen how long the match had gone on and would have been surprised if Miles wasn't tired.

He shifted a little as he noticed the older player was looking at him rather intently, as if he were trying to figure something out. He swallowed and scuffed his foot on the court, his eyes dropping for a moment so he could pretend that he wasn't being stared at.

However, he looked back up when his sister was mentioned. He felt his heart sink a little at the fact that he was recognized as his sister's younger brother. He supposed that's how it would be, having an older sister who was not only a twelfth year, but the student council president. He gave a small nod and looked to the side.

"Yeah, Henri Verity..." He didn't bother with the other name. He'd stopped using it after a while, annoyed with the fact that no one could pronounce it and it bothered him when people butchered it. So he'd go with the simpler of the two last names.

He shook his head and looked back up at the older tennis player, quickly changing the subject before he could be asked about the different last name. "You were really good out there. How long have you been playing tennis?"

[Spicyrocketsauce]

Miles felt a pang of sympathy when he saw Henri's face fall. Miles was the only Kroma at the institute, so he couldn't know what it was like to be known almost exclusively for your connection to another person, but he imagined that it couldn't be good for the self-esteem. "Don't worry about it. Nicolette's a great girl, if you're anything like her you'll get along fine here. There are a lot of much worse things you could be known for." His face remained mostly neutral, although a close observer would've noticed the faintest hint of a comforting smile. "Besides, she'll be gone next year."

Miles had been trying not to think about that. The vast majority of the council were twelfth years, and when they left next year, Miles would find himself the senior member of a student council that was hopelessly outnumbered by the freedom force. The mere thought was terrifying. He almost seemed to drift off for a few moments as he contemplated the grim possibilities, so Henri's next question caught him slightly off guard.

His past was another thing that Miles tried to avoid thinking too hard about, lest things he was trying to forget come bubbling back up to the surface. "Hmm, I think I started playing when I was about five or six. I played heaps of casual tennis when I was younger. I didn't start playing seriously until I came to T'zenshin, though."

Miles glanced at the raquet he was carrying. Tennis wasn't his main hobby, and most of his money went towards keeping up with scientific literature and paying for independent experiments. As a result, Miles didn't have his own raquet, and had to use the free raquets provided by the school, something that some of the tennis club's snobbier members had been very quick to notice. These raquets weren't exactly precision instruments, but they did their job, so Miles couldn't complain. "What about you? Do you play much? Got your own raquet?"

[Nicolette]

Henri let the comments about his sister slide. Yes, she was a good person... But Henri was hardly anything like her. He was too honest for his own good, usually hurt people's feelings with some of his comments, and wasn't a very social person to begin with. The fact that he was talking to Miles was certainly an accomplishment for him.

He shook the thoughts of his sister away and focused on what the older male had to say about tennis. He nodded at the appropiate times when Miles spoke and his eyes showed his interest in the subject. Tennis was something he very much enjoyed, even more than the piano.

"Ah, me...?" The younger boy shrugged, his fingers wrapping tighter around his raquet. "I have not had much experience playing. I mean, I practiced a little bit back at home, but I have never really played against someone. I was more of a watcher than a player..." He shrugged again, looking at the ground as he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor. "Mom bought me a raquet a few years ago, and she just sent it to me through the mail." He lifted the said raquet to show it off.