![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Contact sports are so much more fun when you have someone to contact with. Brian was swiftly missing the good old days when he always had friends around the block to coerce for Football. The hot Brazil sun would bake the ground, energizing them. They would always manage to get at least ten other guys out to an open field for a nice bought of sport. He even missed the quips and taunts of the others as they jeered their opposing team, making it hard for anyone not used to it to concentrate. And if someone else had the ball? Nothing a tiny little tap to the shoulder couldn’t fix. Even before he understood much about his mutation he knew that he could make his teammates flock quickly to whoever he wished. Maybe that was cheating but it was too long ago for Bry to care. No one knew he was living at Xavier’s. What could they say to him now?
Brian never really thought that using his gifts to his advantage were really so wrong in the first place. Everyone uses what they've got to succeed. Whether its strength or smarts or wealth. So he should not feel remorse for something that was given to him. Not only that but his mutation was far too convenient a power for sports to be neglected. That would have been a folly. And were any of his other team mates or opponents to have such a talent they would all use it without a seconds hesitation. They wouldn't have made such a secret of it either as boastful as his old friends were.
Bry chuckled at the fond memories. He spun the black and white checkered ball on his finger as he came back into the mansion, his braided hair bouncing down around his face. He'd forgone a shirt even though the weather held a small bite. Even with the chill, tiny beads of perspiration dotted his tan skin. First stop: a shower. He always managed to give himself a workout while knocking the ball around. It would be a lot more worth it if he could gather up some people around here for a game. Maybe he could suggest a team in the journals. Was anyone else in this bleak school as interested in sports as he was? The only one he had known of had been Roberto, but Roberto was gone. Poor guy. He shook his head when the small twinge of leftover grief hit him. It was tragic, really. The man had been such a good player, and the only other one around here who spoke his language. Too bad really, to go so young. This school had a lot more in store for its inhabitants then mere security. There was a whole storage of trouble just waiting to be unlocked.
He was now tossing the ball back and forth between his hands, not paying too much attention to where he was going. His destination momentarily forgotten, he slowed his gait and became lost in thought.
This tiny open available to Jaya...
Brian never really thought that using his gifts to his advantage were really so wrong in the first place. Everyone uses what they've got to succeed. Whether its strength or smarts or wealth. So he should not feel remorse for something that was given to him. Not only that but his mutation was far too convenient a power for sports to be neglected. That would have been a folly. And were any of his other team mates or opponents to have such a talent they would all use it without a seconds hesitation. They wouldn't have made such a secret of it either as boastful as his old friends were.
Bry chuckled at the fond memories. He spun the black and white checkered ball on his finger as he came back into the mansion, his braided hair bouncing down around his face. He'd forgone a shirt even though the weather held a small bite. Even with the chill, tiny beads of perspiration dotted his tan skin. First stop: a shower. He always managed to give himself a workout while knocking the ball around. It would be a lot more worth it if he could gather up some people around here for a game. Maybe he could suggest a team in the journals. Was anyone else in this bleak school as interested in sports as he was? The only one he had known of had been Roberto, but Roberto was gone. Poor guy. He shook his head when the small twinge of leftover grief hit him. It was tragic, really. The man had been such a good player, and the only other one around here who spoke his language. Too bad really, to go so young. This school had a lot more in store for its inhabitants then mere security. There was a whole storage of trouble just waiting to be unlocked.
He was now tossing the ball back and forth between his hands, not paying too much attention to where he was going. His destination momentarily forgotten, he slowed his gait and became lost in thought.