Ok guys, so this is my first fic in a LONG time so it's a slow start I'm afraid. Chapter 1 is a warm-up to get your noodles going and see if you like the style. Sing out if you have any niggles.
Mighty Ducks and all ensuing characters are owned by Disney.
Chapter 1 - R.I.C.E:
Well, here he was again. The cactus, the nurse's office and an ice pack – a typical post-game situation. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, balancing the ice pack on the swollen bridge of his nose and groaned, reliving the previous half hour.
So the other player had fouled him, fair enough. And he had punched said moron, also fair enough. Tit for tat on the ice, that's how it works; then the dog pile ensues and that's when the real fun starts! But in retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have started on the ref.
That may have been a mistake.
He sniffed and dabbed a knuckle under his nose, checking for fresh blood.
He definitely shouldn't have started on the ref.
He closed his eyes as his head rested against the cool wall, feeling a headache brewing. This was going to take some serious beer to relieve, a lot more than he and Fulton had stashed around the cooler parts of their dorm room he feared. Maybe there was something a little stronger in Dwayne's stash…that cowboy knew how to drink. The impressive part was seeing him do that and then run a riding lesson at the private junior school attached to Eden Hall Academy – how he managed to drink and operate a vehicle that had the added difficulty of thinking for itself was a complete mystery to Portman. Everyone has surprises, he reflected ruefully, flipping the ice pack over to expose the colder side to his face.
He drifted off into a daydream of liquor and a pleasantly busy weekend, beginning to grin to himself, when a clatter rattled him back to the peppermint walls of the medical bay. Someone settled themselves onto a chair opposite him and huffed what sounded like a pretty pissed sigh. His eyes slid open a fraction to peer over the increasingly droopy parcel on his face, nonchalantly eyeing up the next sickbag waiting for the nurse. What he saw surprised him, however.
Facing Portman was a petulant little figure of animosity, dressed in what appeared to be a Halloween outfit that had lived a long and difficult life as a highway mop and then retired into lap dancing for a change of scenery. She had short hair coloured black and followed through with streaks of electric blue, unusual for an environment such as Eden Hall, and her face was made up to look like a grinning skull mask except for a patch over her left eye that was smudged and swollen, the eyelids nearly closed together. He was willing to bet that the colour under all that face paint was a lovely, blossoming purple already. She threw something onto the floor in frustration, muttering to herself and flopped back against the chair back, splaying her little legs out in front of her. He noticed several things at once: the thing she had thrown was a used ice pack – as well as a tantrum – she had on pads that looked a little like his rollerblading kit and on her child-sized feet was a pair of roller skates. Not blades, but quad skates. His own ice pack slipped to the floor as he tipped his head forward to get a better view – this was surely a situation with an interesting explanation?
She raised an eyebrow.
"You get a good enough view or do you want a ticket to the whole show?"
Portman was caught momentarily off guard, but swiftly recovered himself and snorted.
"You're mighty full of yourself ain't you? Who says I'd need to pay?" And he wiggled an eyebrow suggestively. The girl smirked a little, feeling that a game was brewing here. "So," he continued, "is there a story to go with that eye?"
She poked the swelling flesh around her bruised eye and winced, then looked up at him. "Yep but you can be sure you're not hearing it, Jockstrap."
"Ooh you're hurting me babe, really cutting me deep." He smirked at her. "Come on, I'll tell you about mine if you'll tell me about yours?"
Silence.
Portman grinned and leaned back against the wall again. He shrugged. "Suit yourself fishnets, but when you're all alone tonight in your little dorm room with your little roommate, you'll be thinking to yourself 'gee I wish I'd talked a little more to that handsome guy outside the nurse's office'. And you know what? It'll be too late."
The small girl stared incredulously at him for a moment before gathering her expression into a frown and taking a deep breath, ready to let rip. At that moment however, the nurse's door opened and the school nurse called out "Dean Portman?"
He rose from his seat and winked at the girl. "Later fishnets."
She deliberately looked in the opposite direction, but as he slipped into the medical room he distinctly saw a small smile pull at her lips.
1 – 0 Portman.