Sorin Neculai Antonescu (secondself) wrote in st_margarets, @ 2015-10-08 21:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: daniela vazquez, character: sorin antonescu, character: winifred jordan, location: sport fields |
Thread: Penalty Kicks
WHO: Sorin, Fred, Daniela, and OPEN
WHEN: Thursday late afternoon
WHERE: Soccer field
"Sixty," Sorin panted, leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. It was a little embarrassing to admit that Ashton, a boy who had been a dragon all his life and human shaped only recently, had better control over his limbs than Sorin, who had been human all his life. But it was clear when they got onto the field that Sorin was not the most coordinated, the fastest, or the hardest kicker the team had. Mickey had done his best to teach Sorin in the short time they had together, but he needed more work. Ashton's frustrations at Sorin's shortcomings as a player were motivation for the witch to try harder. This assignment to work on his penalty kicks would hopefully help with that.
That is, if he could figure out a way to not only get it between the goal posts, but past Fred who was playing goalkeeper for him.
They were working with four balls and Sorin would take turns with each of them, lining them up ten yards from the goal box. He'd just finished another set, this last one going wide and pinging off the goal post instead of going inside. It took a lot for Sorin to become disheartened, but he was starting to think that maybe he'd never get better at this. His heart sank to think he was letting his team down.
"Sorry," he straightened up, giving Fred a small wave. "This must be very boring for you both." He summoned up a smile, walking over to the benches where Daniela was sitting so he could take a break. Instead of sitting on the benches, Sorin plopped down onto the grass and laid back, staring up into the sky.
The afternoon was a cool one, but Sorin was staying warm from the running and the kicks. His practice jersey was hanging from bony shoulders and the soccer shorts clung to a thin waist. The summer at St. Margaret's had been kind to him, putting more flesh on him, but he still looked like an emaciated scarecrow compared to the other, healthier students.