Page 8 of Falling for the Felid
Erik must notice it too, because instead of jumping in with the razzing as usual, he’s frowning. As I come to a halt beside him, he murmurs, “It could be worse,” then puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles piercingly.
The room falls mostly silent, aside from a few chuckles and jeers as the guys turn their attention in our direction. I’ve been a soldier for a long time and have been trained in countless ways to both defend and attack using physical and magical means, but it’s still somewhat unnerving to have so many big, powerful, sweaty men staring my way. Some of them are scowling, which makes it worse.
But in a good way.
“Thanks, fellas,” Erik begins, his voice pitched to carry. “I won’t take much of your time. You’ve all met Ari, who’s going to be working with me on the outreach program to create more hockey fans among the elves and dragons. What we need now is hockey players to show off, and that’s where you come into it. Coach already mentioned some of you being interested, but we need more volunteers.”
Silence follows his words. Neither of us is surprised—even though we spent most of training camp talking up this program, we didn’t expect a lot of enthusiasm from the players. The Warhammers aren’t known for being a particularly community-minded team, though Erik quietly told me that he’s got high hopes for that to change under the new GM and now new head coach. I hope he’s right, because the sooner this program is off the ground and running, the sooner the DEA will be able to find someone to take over from me and let me get back to my hockey-free life.
“What, ah, what would be involved?” The reluctant question comes from the hulking hellhound who’s the captain, Yancey.From what I’ve heard and observed, he’s one of the players who seemingly fit in with the toxic antics of the team but actually kept out of them most of the time. I could write a fucking book about the anomalies in the culture of this team. One thing’s for sure: no matter what species, no matter whether it’s a sports team or an army unit, the culture comes from the top. It’ll be interesting to see which players respond well to the new coach.
“It’s pretty simple,” Erik replies. “There will be a few photo ops, a skate with some schoolkids, a few autograph signing sessions. We’re also considering a one-day training camp for adults who want to learn to play hockey, to raise money for charity. That one’s still up in the air, though.” He looks around the room. “You don’t need to volunteer for everything, but if you can agree to do at least one event, that would make my life a heck of a lot easier.” His tone has switched to coaxing, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way to convince these guys.
I narrow my eyes. I’m not sure how to get the demons on board—those bastards are hard to read—but more than half of these guys are hellhounds, and I’ve unfortunately had plenty of experience dealing with them.
“Anyone here ever met a dragon?” I ask, and there’s a little ripple at the abrupt change of subject. Felix Ansas half raises his hand before letting it drop, but nobody else does. “You’ve heard about dragons, though… right?”
There’s an agonized little pause, as though they can sense the trap but still desperately want the bait. I wait, unbothered. It’s not like the trap is a bad one.
“Can they really fly?” someone asks, cracking. I don’t remember his name, but sure enough, he’s a hellhound.
“Yeah. And breathe fire.”
A few of them exchange glances.
“And… you think they’d like hockey?”
Got ’em.
“There’s already a growing fanbase of dragons, right, Erik?” He’s the one who told me that.
“They’re dragons,” he says, rolling his eyes. “This is a fast-paced, rough, skilled sport. The only way they’d like it better is if they could do it in the air and incorporate fire.”
I shudder at the thought and mutter, “Don’t ever say that out loud again.” Like most elves, I have a soft spot for dragons—they’re baffling and unpredictable, but you’ll never find a species more loyal and fun. Working for the DEA and occasionally needing to help clean up their messes has made that soft spot a little firmer, however. Dragons are fucking menaces.
Which makes them the perfect counterparts for hellhounds, as long as you don’t mind the chaos that ensues.
“I can guarantee that dragons will be at these outreach events,” I announce, making a mental note to talk to some of my dragon colleagues at the DEA to tee that up. I honestly don’t think it’ll take much to get them to agree—hockey really is the perfect sport for them.
“Would they agree to take us flying?”
The question comes from Sarcnet, one of the guys who’s already on our list, and who I made a mental note during training camp to keep an eye on.
“I can’t promise that. But don’t be an asshole, try to make friends, and…” I shrug. “I’ve never met a dragon who didn’t like to fly and show off.” Part of me wants to introduce some of these guys to Steffen Draco, Wingleader Brandt’s head of security. They’d be crying by the time he finished with them.
On the other hand, I’d rather not do anything to make Steffen pissed off withme, so that’s not going to happen.
“Well, we can always use more fans,” Yancey says, sounding a lot less reluctant. “Sign me up.”
Erik’s shoulders relax a little, and I remember how young he is for an elf. He’s done a remarkable job of assimilating with theEarth species and starting a new life here, and in his own way, he’s trying to help others do the same. It’s common knowledge that sports help to form communities.
We spend the next ten minutes doing a circuit of the room, talking to players who seem even slightly interested. Erik’s list grows a respectable amount, and he assures several of the guys who aren’t quite on board that they can always volunteer later if they change their minds.
“Good job,” I murmur to him as the last player we talked to heads toward the showers.
He shrugs awkwardly. “It’s going okay. You did the hard part—using the dragons as a lure was inspired.”
“I’m just impatient. You would have got them eventually. I’m not lying when I say you’re good at your job.”
