Can You Serve? [Ase & Michael]

[parsnip]

The class bell rang twenty minutes ago, but still Ase was atop the roof overlooking the courtyard with a book held high, resting his head on his backpack. He kept grinning at the same paragraph, having to re-read it as his attention is drawn elsewhere. It wasn't an entertaining book, but one full of quotes and various case studies about experiences with the District Hospitals, and how to improve service provision. The perfect ready for a curious teenager who loves gossip.

Down in the courtyard there was a constant whacking noise. Unescapably so. Recognisable by any as a racket hitting a ball. Once, then twice. Thrice, then more. He looked down, eventually. The heights stopped bothering him a long time ago. He could hear the ball but not the location, so he made his way down. Not the obvious route, obviously. Down drain pipes, an external vent or two. Finally, he emerged at the courts where the ball was there, solitary, as though it had just been used but abandoned. He shrugged to himself, and made his way into the fenced area. He picked up the racket, gripped the handle, and tapped the ball back and forth to the ground and upward again.

He eyed the wall that people hit with the tennis balls when playing solo. He let out a sigh, and he hit it as hard as he could, being a total newcomer. The ball hit the wall hard, but disappeared on its return, behind him. He looked, and seen where it went.

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

That empty feeling in Michael's chest? It never feels fuller. It can't, not even with Jillian's constant background lingering. Jillian and Michael act as each other's replacements for Jimmy. He wishes he could talk to someone about it. Someone other than Jillian who essentially enables everything he thinks of the boy. Ginger. A Garner. Sassy. His age. It's not to say that he hates seeing the girl - he knows that she's grieving just as much.

He's just tired of mourning internally. Michael hasn't talked to his family about it. They just know Jimmy as a lab partner - or that's what Michael hopes. They still take him to the small church on Sunday to pray, so he hopes it's enough. How high-strung his mother is on religion and his father on tradition, he figures they'd hardly allow him in their church let alone the house.

Luckily for him, the biggest distraction came from tennis. While it's usually a two player game, the school yard has a spot where one can practice against the wall. It's the one spot he goes to after school now. Not the science room to work on projects, not Jimmy's house to "study." Tennis is the one place that has always been his, despite the dead boy's attempts to learn the spot. It was just him, and that's enough to let those thoughts marinate.

He takes a break to grab a sip of water, but when he turns around someone has grabbed his racket to start playing themselves. Guess his tennis racket was just for communal use now, huh? "Ah- I think you've got my racket there." Michael doesn't play around with his shit. It's his after all, go get your own! He doesn't need someone else's untamed grip destroying the damn thing. "There's a few school-owned ones over here if you want to play, though." He grabbed the purple-and-grey colored racket that's very clearly school-themed. The brunette holding the tool wasn't anyone he recognized, but Michael also wasn't as interwebbed as Jimmy was. Jimmy might know him. Michael watched as the ball rolled away, and said that "you must have never played with a return like that."

Teaching the game could be a nice distraction. Maybe that's all he needs.

-

Okay, we'll add a lil fun dice factor to it! Every time they try to rally, player 1 (so I guess Ase) will do [font color="1d1ce1"]5|w19wNRBS[/font][font color="0d1ce0"]1-10[/font]. I will then post, guessing if it's higher or lower! If my guess is correct, that's a hit and the volley continues! It would then go to you to guess higher or lower. If either of us guess wrong, we'll just reset.

1-10

[parsnip]

There's a sure air about Ase that gives him the approachable quality, in the way his default posture is welcoming, his smile seems neutrally present at most times, and his eyes rarely scowl unless laughing. Still, it sometimes surprises him when people do approach him. It's usually in the sense that he's the bestower of knowledge for someone lost, or he's guiding somebody in their messy life. He's a helper. But as the ball he was using flies away behind him, he tracks the movement, and the approacher it lands near seems at least a little disgruntled. "Ah- I think you've got my racket there."

Ase takes a good second. He eyes the guy down playfully. "Finders keepers, right?" He shrugged to himself, placing a finger gently into the spools of the racket and passing it over that way.

"There's a few school-owned ones over here if you want to play, though."

He looked at them. Likely the least inviting sports equipment he's seen today (he's seen little, ever). He heads over to pick one up. When he gets back, he motions to the nearest painted court for them to use.

"You must have never played with a return like that."

The weight of the racket gets tested first. It's light and airy. There's a clipping-against-the-wind sound as it swings, which he tests, of course. His swinging is all wrong. He puts it all in the strength, which he doesn't have tonnes of, and there's next to no finesse. "Sure, we can go a few... rounds? Bouts? What do they call 'em in tennis?"

He leans down to pick up the ball, gripping it in his palm before readying it against the racket. It's quite clear he's looking around for guidance. Not from his new peer, but anyone else in the area who happens to be a pro. No luck. He brings the racket up with the ball in hand still, releasing, and as the ball flies into the air he slams it down with a useless attempt at a serve.

"That's a test. It doesn't count..."

And that's how it would begin, his likely unending losing streak as an amateur. Not even entry-level. Entirely rudimentary in his attempts.

He fetches the ball and returns to his spot. "Okay..." He tries again. This time, it's at least an attempt at a serve.

"Oh, it's Ase, by the way. My name?"

5|w19wNRBS1-10

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

Soon enough, the racket is returned to it's owner. Michael wasn't worried that it'd be broken. He just doesn't own many things that are his, so it's nice to have something like that. The boy, who he soon learns is named Ase, goes and grabs one of the school-sponsored ones before directing himself to a more fuller court. Michael was mostly hoping to just deal with a wall today - a wall can't talk, a wall can't feel. A part of him hoped that Ase was some boring academic brickhead that offered no value. Not by his words, of course. That's how Jimmy described most of the boys at the school.

The racket swings in the air as it's tested. Michael watched with an internalized joy. Something he inherited from Jimmy was the ability to internalize his joy, find a fun out of people struggling. He always thought that it was crude to treat life as a joke. But is it not, anyway? Regardless, he watched with fascination. Obviously, Ase wouldn't know any better how to swing the racket correctly. The irony of Ase's name to the tennis term also didn't pass the boy.

He finds it hard to take much else of the world in. His senses have felt limited ever since Jimmy's gone - as if a part of him, sensually, also died with that cannon. "That's a test. It doesn't count." The trance he's in is quickly disturbed by the sound of a tennis ball hitting the ground at full force. Clearly, this dude must have thought muscles were the most important factor of playing tennis.

"Woah there, buddy." Michael allowed his laugh to come out this time. "This is tennis. Not a gun show." He held the racket out, moving his thumb into a noticeable position. "Your grip is supposed to be like this." Michael's three fingers wrapped around the handle, whereas the index and thumb rest carefully. It's in the grip of his middle, index and pinky. "We're also looking to rally, not demolish the ball." That was likely going to be the hardest thing for Ase. It seemed that Ase just wanted to go - that's going to work in a proper match, but when you're looking just to hit the ball back and forth, that won't do it.

"Okay..." Ase starts, and he's ready to start this time. Michael runs to the other side, because he mostly just doesn't want to waste time chasing after a ball Ase has already hit. He wondered if this was all some ploy to get him distracted. Michael's essentially a lone wolf now, and anyone could use him for free test grades. Was this some way to try and bond with him?

"Go for it." His knees lowered, he's ready to jump into action when possible.

-

going for higher!
zEtyDVZFA61-10

1-10

[parsnip]

Naturally, being new to the game meant Ase had an endearing freshness about his approach. Everything seemed rare, and occasional, as though this is the first and last opportunity to do it.

It took him back, as most things tend to do for the young in this world. He thought briefly on how his parents would take him to the park and play tag, hide and seek, all sorts of things. The likes of which he hadn't done in so long, at least with them. His free time was spent climbing and running across buildings. Evading the law. He wondered if, maybe, he'd bumped into his next buddy willing to skip class for a while each day.

Needing to keep up a rally wasn't something he knew how to do. But, he smiled as he watched the guy teach him the proper way to hold the racket. "Nice" he commented politely. "I think I've got it..." He mimicked. It's rudimentary, but it just might work.

His serve seemed good enough to have the ball return to his side of the court. His legs stretched into a overdone position in order to hit the ball, though. He flung his backhand into it dramatically, still overexerting himself, but having fun - clearly!

"Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this! What was your name again?"

Trying for lower!
G_XcIPudno1-101-10