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Elliot Ashford (bound_elliot) wrote in bound_rp,
@ 2013-09-14 17:02:00

Entry tags:

elliot ashford, in progress, john irvine, private

weekend warriors
Date: July 13, 2012
Time: 2:00 p.m.
Location: Memorial Park; Crescent Cove
Characters: Elliot Ashford, John Irvine
Description: Pigskin bro-ments.
Status: Private, In Progress

Laughter carried through the openness of the outside, gently handled by the surprisingly cool breeze dancing throughout the park. Families rested atop picnic blankets, while some fathers chased their daughters and sons. Most mothers were sitting, looking on at their loved ones and their fun, while others were in the midst of the joy themselves. Elliot, being no stranger to the joy of the area, allowed a smile to pull on the corners of his lips; Memorial Park was always one of his favorite places to visit when he was younger, if only for the sights of pure entertainment that the park always had. It wasn’t shocking that he’d suggested the park as a meet-up as soon as he’d gotten into town.

Escaping from the lab back at school hadn’t been his idea, but rather the one of an old friend. He’d missed the opportunity to travel back home for his break back in March, and had been on the receiving end of guilty ever since; Elliot knew that if he didn’t make a weekend trip as soon as his schedule allowed it, his friends wouldn’t ever stop with their guilt trips. It had always been easy for the witch to lose himself in his studies, becoming too preoccupied with what was tangibly in front of him instead of the people that kept him grounded whenever he needed a breather. Usually they had to rip him away, reminding him to come up for fresh air every now and then. But the science!, he’d always retort – more often than not, that only earned him a pair of rolled eyes and, on rare occasion, a snort.

He walked through the green, carefully maneuvering through the blankets and families to a decently sized open area – the earlier decided meeting place his friend had chosen. The old pigskin gripped tight between his long fingers had seen some serious wear-and-tear over the years, though Elliot still had a soft spot it. Stood in the grass, he turned, letting the wind caress his skin as he waited for John.

“Just like a princess, always taking his damn time.”

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bound_john
2013-09-22 07:04 pm UTC (link)

"Like a princess?" John grumbled, slapping his friend on the back. "Pretty sure I'm not that pretty. Hey man, what's going on?"

Okay, so, maybe he was a little late. It wasn't his fault as such, more the fault of time. Moving too fast for his schedule, and all. And okay, maybe he could have not had that extra slice of pie at the Coffee Shoppe, but there was no use in crying over spilled short crust.

His eyes latched on to the old ball in Elliot's hand immediately. Privately, he was amazed that it was still pick-up worthy, after all of these years. It was good to see it, though. Standing in Memorial Park, tossing a ball with a buddy, it would be just like old times.

"Ashford, what's the deal man?" he asked, beckoning for the ball, and signaling for him to go long. "You don't write, you barely call, I never see you here any more."

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bound_elliot
2013-09-25 08:42 am UTC (link)

The surprising slap on his back gave his body a slight jump, Elliot not having expected his friend to appear so soon. A chuckle slipped out of his throat, the boy turned to face John. “Yeah, I’d hate to give you that much credit.”

Quickly pulling in his friend for a hug, he pushed the ball into the other’s chest, handing it off before backpedalling, ready to get the fun started.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ya missed me. I’m touched.” Raising a hand to signal he was ready, he let his neck roll, enjoying the popping sensation that his bones produced.

“Figured if I didn’t come visit now, you’d be hospitalized for withdrawal. Let’s face it: I am the drug ya can’t get enough of.” Stood ready, he watched for the ball, preparing himself for the throw. Football never was his forte, but he’d never hated it; if anything, it was something his friend enjoyed, so he didn’t mind it.

“Consider yourself lucky that you’re my first stop. If your girl got wind of me being back and not immediately showing up on her doorstep, she’d kill the both of us, yeah?”

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bound_john
2013-10-07 09:49 am UTC (link)

"Man, only reason I missed you is because I missed those fifty bucks I lent you before you left the last time," he grinned, pulling his arm back and glancing behind him. The last time they'd played, he'd stepped on a baby.

It hadn't ended well. Come to think of it, it was pretty much right here, too.

He caught the signal, and locked in the angle, crunching the likely arc in his mind as he pulled back even further, and then released, giving it a little spin as the ball left his hand, his fingertips grazing along the stitches. Or the seam. They didn't actually stitch balls these days, and after football practice in high school, where the coach had made them learn how to pass with turn-of-the-century, genuine leather balls, he was glad for it. Those things hurt.

"Uh huh," he replied. "Lux is as much my girl as you are, man," he called out, privately hoping that she wasn't in earshot. "But you seriously haven't seen her, yet? Say good bye to your children plans."

He caught the ball as it was tossed back, gearing up for another throw himself. It was repetitive, and it was stupid, and there was little or no point to it, but John loved throwing the ball around. There was something therapeutic in the mundane nature of it, in the repetition itself, that was entrancing.

"So, not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you back?"

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bound_elliot
2013-10-11 08:44 pm UTC (link)

“Lent me? More like owed me for putting up with your ass all these years,” he chuckled, spinning a bit as his arms locked around the pigskin thrown his way. The dirt slid just so underneath his sneakers, but thankfully he kept his balance – he’d save the tripping for later, thank you.

He launched the ball back the way it came with a hard toss, the old leather sliding off his fingertips with a practiced ease. It was relieving to lose himself in an old game, if even for a temporary moment. Life normally didn’t allow the appreciated break.

“Hah, you could only be so lucky. How many times do I have to tell ya? Not my type.” Elliot geared up for the second pass, knowing it would take his focus if he didn’t want to end up with a ball-to-face like last time; the park was no place for bedroom festivities.

Wincing as John mentioned Lux’s wrath, he launched the ball back after catching it. “Yeah, she’s my next stop. I figure if I show up with dinner or something, she’ll just be too mesmerized by my dashing good looks to worry about how long I’ve been here.” It wasn’t going to go down like that at all, but hey. Who was he to hold back on dreams? “Maybe I’ll bring a gift, too. That’s probably the safest bet.”

It had been too long since he’d visited, he knew that. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thankful for the way everything fell back into order, no matter how long it had been since he’d been with his friends. For a brief second, he just watched John, remembering years ago when this had been a routine activity for the two.

“So what does Crescent have to offer recently? Or have you just been an old shut-in?”

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bound_john
2013-11-26 10:07 pm UTC (link)

"Uh huh," John replied. "Just because you have no chance. Or do you?"

John caught the ball deftly, trying not to wince as it flattened the top of his thumb. Elliot had a bit of an arm on him when he wanted to, and punching through the kind of calluses John had on his hands took a bit of force. He surreptitiously shook the fingers out, hoping it was far enough away that his friend didn't notice.

"Bring a gift," he advised, tossing the ball back, giving it a bit of height this time. "You even seen her in the past couple of years? I don't know, man, Boston changed her. She's, uh, angrier." He held up a hand for a moment before he moved to where his pack lay on the ground a few feet off, taking out his sunglasses. The light had begun to shift just enough to hit his eyes, and a busted face wouldn't be the easiest thing to explain to the foreman tomorrow. Or to live down, for that matter.

"Same as always, this place doesn't change," he said, taking the opportunity for a draw on his water bottle, before signaling one-handed for the ball again. "I mean, outside of the usual, it's not a hive of east-coast activity. What was it that Katie called it last time? Crescent Grave."

He caught the ball again, feeling his muscles begin to limber up and he let it fly back.

"What about you? You don't call, you don't write. You can't spell in a text message to save your life. What's been going on in your world?"

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