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“Merle, did you turn Angus religious?”
Merle looks up from his gardening magazine, lifting his shades just enough to peer at the world’s greatest detective. Angus stands with his hands clasped in the center of the soccer field.
“Wasn’t me,” Merle shrugs, watching Angus mouth quick words to himself. “Didn’t think he was the prayin’ type.”
“Obviously it’s your fault, goofus,” Lup says. “He’s hoping you don’t kill the other team.”
Taako gasps. “I would never interfere in our dear Django’s soccer game.”
Lup doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, she leans over her brother to snag the box of ghost pepper flavored chips that Magnus shoved into their food bag, the ones decorated in red packaging and flame motifs around the edges. They’re her favorites. She tears it open with an unapologetic series of crinkles. The mother sitting on Barry’s left, dressed in a truly hideous orange sweater, glares at her.
“How long until the game starts?” Magnus asks.
“Dunno, Maggie. You’re the one that’s supposed to know about sports and shit.”
“I know all about soccer. The goal is to put the ball in the net.”
Barry adjusts his glasses on his nose. “Which net?”
“The one you’re standing in front of! You pass to the goalie, and they do like a pinwheel turn, and do this really epic kick into the net. ‘s called a bicycle kick ‘cause it goes spinning like a wheel.”
“No, Magnus,” Barry says. “No, that’s...that's really not how that works.”
“Well, that’s how I play soccer.”
Barry looks tired. “Then you’re playing it so, so wrong.”
“Also, Magnus, you can’t play soccer with only one person,” Lucretia points out.
“Of course you can’t,” he says brightly, reaching over Merle to pat her on the back. “That’s why I play with dogs! It’s great training!”
Taako tunes out the inane conversation happening around him, opting instead to stake out the scene. It’s an offensively bright day outside, the type of day Angus eagerly called “the perfect day for soccer, sirs and ma’ams!” before trotting toward the field. It even smells nice and shit, and it isn’t just Kravitz, who always smells fucking amazing - the flowers are blooming around them, enticing smells wafting from the bakeries lining the street behind their bleachers, and there’s even a dash of birdsong in the air.
Practically every single member of his family has their butts warming the shitty, chill-enhancing steel of these soccer bleachers. Taako’s flanked on one side by Kravitz, who is diligently guarding their bag of snacks from the bottomless pit surnamed Burnsides. On the other is Lup, who’s munching on her chips, making as much noise as possible, to the increasing dismay of Rumpled-Sweater on Barry’s right.
One of Taako’s knees is hooked over Magnus’s shoulder, foot dangling down by the belt that holds his ever-present whittling tools. Angus vetoed a giant banner emblazoned with his name, much to Magnus’s and Lup’s dismay, so Magnus has settled for a flag that looks comically tiny in his massive bear-hands with GO ANGUS! scrawled on one side and the name of his team in tinier letters below. Merle’s draped himself against Taako’s knee, claiming it as a backrest while he flips idly through a gardening magazine.
Lucretia sits with impossible poise next to Magnus, looking dignified with her hair pulled into a silver bun, even though they’re relegated to squished seating in uncomfortable proximity to dozens of other excited soccer families. On the edge of their tight-knit pack sit Ren, who is chatting animatedly with one of the parents (a man wearing the other team’s colors - traitor!) and Barry, more preoccupied with his handbook on theoretical physics plus magic than the soccer game gearing up to start in front of him. Carey and Killian are seated close together on the bleachers behind Taako and Kravitz, giggling with their foreheads together as Killian bashes her way through a brightly-colored game on her handheld device.
At least it’s spring. There’s a gentle breeze playing across the bleachers and the field, warding off the smell of all these bodies packed together. Taako pulls a face and surreptitiously reapplies cologne, sending about ten dollars worth of a fresh rosemary smell spritzed up into the air.
“Ango!” Magnus hollers, and Taako blinks back to attention. Sure enough, their favorite boy detective is jogging across the field, looking unaccountably nervous in his blue-and-green uniform. For Angus’s sake, Taako bites down on his many, many thoughts about the color pattern Angus’s coach chose for her team.
“Hello, everyone!” he says brightly.
“You’re doing great so far!” Magnus says, waving his flag excitedly.
“These are just warmups, sir,” says Angus, “the game doesn’t start for another five minutes or so. I’m not technically supposed to be here - ”
“Hell yeah, kid, rules are for breaking,” Lup grins.
“ - But I wanted to make a request before we started! So. Guys. My beloved family. Please, please don’t kill anyone.”
Magnus gasps. “We would never.”
“Oh, I know you won’t,” Angus says, patting Magnus’s knee reassuringly. “It’s Miss Lup and Miss Lucretia I’m worried about!”
“Hey!” yelp Taako and Lup at the same time. “The fuck, kid, why’re you worried about Lucretia?”
Lucretia folds her hands in her lap calmly. “Sometimes, the situation calls for aggression,” she says, nodding toward Angus. “Not all wars are won with words.”
Taako goggles. “The fuck.”
“‘s that a quote, Madam Lucretia?” Ren asks. “I liked it. Not all wars are won with words.” She mouths it beneath her breath. “Kinda hard to say, though.”
“It doesn’t roll off the tongue easily,” Lucretia deadpans, a smirk curling up the edges of her mouth. “But yes. It’s a quote of my own invention, all rights reserved, baby.”
“I’m really glad you’re all here,” Angus says, looking nervous, “but I just wanted to ask. Again. Please don’t kill anyone.”
“Of course we won’t, Angus,” Lucretia says.
“Or set anything on fire.”
“Gotcha, kiddo.”
“Or turn anyone’s hair a different color.”
“No promises, pumpkin,” Taako says, to which Kravitz sighs, saying, “He’ll behave,” for which Taako swats him.
“No siccing dogs on the other team, either.”
“I am a dog-free spectator of this game, Ango.”
“And no cursing them with the wrath of Pan, no undead zombies,” Angus rattles off, going down the bench, “no stealing the ball or their uniform, no crossbow bolts inside the field of play, no...Ren, I don’t know what you’d do, but I’m sure it’s appropriately terrifying and please don’t.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she promises.
“I’d believe you a lot more if you didn’t work with Taako on a daily basis.”
Lup lifts a hand for a high-five, which Angus returns solemnly. Then he nods his head. “Okay, it’s almost game time,” he says, starting to bounce on his toes in anticipation. “I hope you guys enjoy watching the game!”
“Don’t lose or I’m disowning you.”
“Merle!”
“Kidding, kidding,” he says gruffly, and readjusts his sunglasses. They’re an earthy brown and absolutely dull compared to Taako’s own bedazzled pair. “Mostly.”
“Don’t worry, Ango. I’ll always love you.”
“I know, sir.” Behind him, a whistle blows, and Taako looks past Angus to see his red-headed coach wearing that absolutely atrociously-colored uniform and waving Angus over to her. “Okay, I gotta go! I love you guys! Bye!”
“Good luck, Ango!”
“Kick ass, bubbeleh!”
Angus jogs across the field, turning and waving as he goes. Taako snatches the chips from his sister and steals one. The resulting squabble spills chip dust all over Kravitz’s sweater and knocks Taako’s sunglasses askew on his face. Kravitz brushes off his shoulder with admirable patience, then snags the chip bag for himself.
“Kravitz!”
“Mine now,” he says, and staring a horrified Taako directly in the eyes, straightens the bag and shovels the rest of the dust into his mouth. He licks his lips. “Delicious,” he says.
There’s a beat of silence, then Lup leans over. “You kiss that mouth, 'Ko,” she says.
“Not anymore,” Taako says, disgusted, then turns to Ren. “You’re my new girlfriend, Ren.”
“I’m a lesbian, Taako.”
“I’ve already claimed her,” Lup says. “You’re my girlfriend now.”
“Barry’s not my type.”
“Understandable,” says Barry, without looking up from his book.
“Excuse you,” says Lucretia. “Ren’s my girlfriend.”
“No I’m not. I’m too old for you.”
“Shit.”
“Hey, join us,” Killian calls, looking up for her game. “We always got room for one more.”
“Nope. Anyone else?” Ren says to the bench at large. “Anyone else want to date me? Put your hand down, Magnus, you don’t want to date anyone.”
Magnus pouts, but slowly lowers his hand.
Taako leans forward. “Maybe next time we should invite the cute barmaid from the Prancing Stallion, hmm? What was her name - Avanna? Eva? Remind me what you called her...oh yeah, ‘the cutest girl in the world’, wasn’t it - ”
“Shut up, Taako!” Ren yelps, smacking a hand over his mouth.
Ren is saved from being licked only by the sound of a whistle blowing. Taako brushes the last of the dust off Kravitz’s sweater, glares with immense feeling at his disgusting, revolting boyfriend and receives the biggest shit-eating grin in return, then settles against Kravitz’s chest to watch the match. Kravitz accepts him back warmly, crossing his arms over Taako’s chest and holding him close.
Taako understands next to nothing of the game. Angus hangs toward the back of the field most of the time, running up and down to follow the play. A couple of times the ball goes out of bounds, and sometimes the person to throw it back in is on Angus’s team, and sometimes it’s someone in the also horrendously-designed orange-and-green uniform of the other team. About ten minutes in a kid kicks the ball right at the tiefling referee’s face and knocks her over, and all ten of them erupt into cheers.
“Play of the game!” Magnus is whooping, on his feet and thumping his chest. “Play of the game! Three points for us!”
Half the game passes. Magnus stands up during halftime and yells for Angus to join them. Angus does not join them, because Angus is discussing strategy with his team during halftime, like an actual soccer player. This is not the first soccer game that Magnus has attended, and never once has Angus been able to join them during halftime, but Magnus does not stop trying.
“We winnin’?” Merle asks Taako during the downtime, marking his place in his magazine with one wooden finger. It’s a gardening magazine of the strange and occult. A lot of the plants boast magical, cleric-boosting properties. On several occasions, Taako has expressed his fervent desire for a type of plant that would maybe teach Merle how to cast a healing spell everyone once in a while.
“Nope,” Taako replies, popping the ‘p’. “Tied zip-zilch, my man.”
“Aw,” Merle says. “Darn. I was hopin’ someone woulda scored by now. Want me to cast Bless on the kid?”
“Excuse me,” says the woman from earlier, voice prim. “Did I hear you threatening to cast magic on the players on the field?”
Taako looks at the woman for a long moment. She’s a small woman with a mess of black hair piled on top of her head and a sweater two sizes too small for her and three seasons out of style, baggy in all the wrong places. Taako feels bad for her for a moment before remembering that orange is the color of the opposing team, and then he feels bad for the sweater.
“Yeah,” says Merle. “Bless, on our kid.”
“That’s illegal, dear,” she says. “I will report you to the referee.”
“Report us to the cops for all we care,” Merle says, waving a dismissive arm in her direction. “See if they do somethin’ to the kid, why dont’cha.”
And for most people, that would be the end of the conversation. “No one is above the law!” says the woman in a shrill voice. “Not even you six aliens! I doubt you even live here legally, do you?”
“Nope.”
“I really should call the police,” sniffs the woman in the sad orange sweater, huffing and glaring.
Merle flips his wrist at her in an extravagant go ahead motion. Taako flips her off.
The next part of the game passes without a hitch. Magnus is still convinced they’re trying to score on the wrong goal, because “trust me, I’m a coach, I know how sports work!” he says, or at least until Lup says “yeah, and you coached a bunch of Losers,” which shuts him up.
Merle manages to not pay one lick of attention the whole time. Ren, who knows the most about soccer out of all of them except Barry simply by grasping the concept of a corner kick, applauds politely when the other team heads a corner kick out of bounds. “Good try!” she calls encouragingly. Lup pinches her.
“Name of Pan,” Merle swears, as the cheers of the crowd of zealous parents peaks. “Just a damn game, calm down.”
Taako ignores him. Rumpled-Sweater does not. “Are you a cleric?” she asks, physically leaning over Barry to peer closer at Merle. Barry leans far back in his seat, and Lucretia reaches an absent hand backward to grab his ankles and hold him in place.
“Yeah,” Merle grunts. “What’s it to you?”
“Sharon Stone,” she says, her attitude a complete one-eighty from the reserved disdain from earlier. "From the Brightwater Complex." She extends a hand toward Merle. Merle stares at it for a moment, then deliberately sticks out his soulwood arm. She sort of jumps at the living wood waving gently in the spring breeze, then hastily shakes it with her other hand.
“I’ve got a bad arm,” he offers by way of explanation, and Taako bites down on a snort. “Nice to meet you, lady.”
“A true pleasure," she says, shaking his hand a little awkwardly. "I’ve always admired you men of the cloth. Or, I suppose, dwarves of the cloth. Such good character and tolerance!”
Merle barks out a laugh. “You can say that again,” he says, nudging Taako in the side. “Hear that, kid? I’ve got good tolerance.”
“Of course you do,” Taako replies, not bothering to look at Rumpled-Sweater. “I’ve seen you down a case of beer in less than three minutes flat, I can personally attest to your tolerance.”
Shock flicks across her face. “Well!” she says, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s not the type of tolerance I was referring to!”
“What were you sayin’, then?”
“Oh, I just mean...” she says, voice dropping, then shoots a glance over her shoulder at Carey and Killian. Taako rolls his eyes. “It’s awfully kind of you to attend a game with an Orc. Such good humor you must have!”
“Ah...right,” says Merle. “And why would that be a kindness, Miss Stone?”
“Well, because she’s an Orc, of course!” Rumpled-Sweater says in a hushed undertone. “Surely you know - they’re responsible for a large majority of the crimes in our beloved city! Are you attempting to convert that one?”
“Her name’s Killian,” Merle says, looking incredulous. “Orcs have those, y’know. Names.”
“Of course, of course. Yes, I suppose most species do. But yes, Killian - a rather revolting name, don’t you think?”
“Ummm...no?”
“And this is what I mean!” Miss Stone exclaims, smiling indulgently at Merle. “Such tolerance! You know, if I had my way, I’d give Neverwinter a little cleansing,” she says, making a small circular motion with her fingers on the bleachers, as if to give them a little polish from Orc-filth. “It would make our city much safer. I want the best of lives for them, of course! It’s just, I don’t want them here, you understand? Though I must admit, I’d strangle some of them if I could - my house was robbed several months back by a nasty Orc. Nasty, nasty Orc. I’d love to give them a piece of my mind.”
“Right,” says Merle. “Unfortunately, my dear lady, I don’t know enough about crime in Neverwinter to really refute your claims, but I can say this: that Orc right over there has done more for your city than you and your entire family, and you can’t hold a Pan-damned candle to her, and I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut, Miss Stone, ‘cause you’ll find that I’m not the only one on this bench that finds your attitudes revolting.”
“Fistbump,” Taako says solemnly, and extends a fist. Merle returns it without even looking. Gods, his surrogate father’s getting so hip with the teens.
“Excuse me!”
“You’re excused,” Taako says, flipping his hand toward her. “Now shoo, Sarah, my kid’s playin’ a game and I wanna watch.”
“My name is Sharon!”
“Right, Sylvanna,” he says.
“I - ” she says, swelling in indignation. “I will have you know that I am on the council for this team! I can have your child evicted! Do not cross me!”
A distinctly Cockney-accented voice sounds from behind Taako, and Taako chokes on his own breath. “Ma’am,” says Kravitz, “Am I correct in thinkin’ your surname is Stone?”
“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that your name is Sharon Stone, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good,” says Kravitz languidly, conjuring his book. The pages ruffle through the air until it opens to the correct page, and Kravitz traces one finger down the center. “So. Shay-ron Stone. Sharon St-one,” he says, bouncing the syllables ridiculously. “Are you aware that your husband was a necromancer?”
“A what?”
“A necromancer, practitioner of the dark arts, meddler with the undead,” Kravitz lists, voice still affected. “The sort of person I kill, sweetheart.”
“You can’t scare me easily!” she blusters. “You might have killed my husband, but you won’t kill me! Not over some - some second-rate chump with my ring on his finger!”
Taako’s ears pick up Lup desperately muffling a giggle into her hand. Magnus isn’t nearly so subtle. “Oh, I didn't kill your husband," Kravitz says. "He wasn't nearly powerful enough to merit me. But I’ll warn you, that sort of thing runs in the family. If you find yourself expressing any...shall we say, violent tendencies, I’d start to be a bit worried, Miss Stone. Thoughts of “giving someone a piece of your mind”, or strangulation, for starters.”
“Are you threatening me?” she gasps.
“I am preparing you for an eventuality in which I would I have to,” Kravitz replies, closing his book with an officious snap. “Necromancy is for losers, Miss Stone,” he says. “Don’t be a loser. Keep the dark magicks at bay.”
Lup has her face buried between her knees, eyes squeezed together in an effort not to laugh. Even Lucretia has her lips pursed together harder than usual, her cheeks dimpling slightly.
Miss Sharon Stone from the Brightwater Complex turns away with a shaky huff, crossing her arms in her pressed red sweater. There’s a beat of silence, and then Lup grabs a handful of Barry’s jean sweater - a jeater, as he calls it - and cracks up into the fabric.
Taako turns to Kravitz, grinning. “You sounded exactly like a motivational poster, my dude.”
“Would you believe,” Kravitz says in his normal voice, completely deadpan, “that we have those hanging up around the office.”
“We do,” Barry confirms. “The one about losers is right outside the Raven Queen’s office. She loves it. She threatens to tattoo don’t be a loser, keep the dark magicks at bay on my forehead every time I bring up the fact that we were liches.”
“She doesn’t threaten me with that,” Lup says smugly. “She loves me best.”
Barry pouts. “Don’t worry, Barry,” Lucretia says. “I love you the best.”
“Awww,” says Barry, no longer pouting. “I love you too, Lucretia.”
“What the hell, ‘Creesh!”
Merle elbows Taako. “We didn’t just get the kid kicked off his team, did we?”
“Nah,” Taako shrugs. “Soccer teams don’t even have councils, she was bluffing like hell.” A smirk curls up his lips. “Why, you worried about dear ol’ Django?”
Merle returns to his magazine, completely unruffled. “Don’t be ridiculous, kid.”
Rumpled-Sweater stays well away from their group for the next bit of the game, a fact for which Taako is extremely grateful. He’s also grateful Killian didn’t hear a word of that exchange, because then Carey would’ve killed Miss Stone, and then their family wouldn’t be allowed to watch Angus’s soccer games any more.
Magnus starts coaching Angus’s team under his breath. Lucretia pulls out a notebook and begins to sketch Angus’s profile on the field - another one of those drawings she’ll never show anyone but will keep pinned on her nightstand or something. Taako’s pretty sure she’s got a full gallery of drawings of each of them tucked away in some corner of her house.
Merle finishes his magazine for the second time and starts snoring on Magnus’s shoulder. Barry explains the basic rules of soccer to Lup, and Lup takes up cheering way too loudly whenever Angus’s team gets a throw-in. The concept of corner kicks evades her, though, so out of fear of rooting for the wrong team she doesn’t cheer for those.
Angus’s team scores, and Lup applauds so enthusiastically that a nearby bush catches flame. Then the other team scores, and the bush’s sister turns to ash, too. Ten minutes to go, and every single person on the bench - save the snoring Merle - is watching the game with fierce anticipation.
Five minutes left. Two minutes left. One minute left. Angus’s team has possession. Angus’s team loses possession. Magnus is hollering indiscriminately, adding to the racket rising from the parents-and-family bleachers.
Here’s the scene: a breakaway from center field. Three defenders left between the forward and the goal, then two, and then it’s just Angus. Angus does what Magnus proclaims to be “the greatest juke a human being has ever done,” even though it’s really just a mediocre steal, and things look to be going pretty well, until Angus gets slammed into full-force by a burly midfielder wearing orange, who boots the ball into the goal.
The midfielder’s foul is not called because the ref has no time to make the call, because the second Angus goes flying both goalposts go up in flames.
“Get your hands off our kid!” Lup roars, already on her feet and storming across the field. Magnus is inches on her heels, angrily adding noise to the chaos. Behind them, pandemonium: every single parent is on their feet, either cheering their win or angrily condemning their loss. A shockingly small portion seem alarmed by the flames consuming the goals on either side of the field.
“Ma’am, please put out the goal - ” the tiefling referee asks, to no avail.
“Foul!” Magnus is crying. “Foul, we should get an automatic point! Automatic win for Ango!” he says, and adds “and the rest of his team!” as a clear afterthought.
“Ma’am, the goalpost - ”
The auxiliary refs wave the teams off the field as the coaches stagger under giant water jugs, trying to put the fires out. The teams meet briefly, the players side-eying the flaming wreckage of the nets, then break for their parents.
Angus bounces over to the stands, laughing with another one of his teammates that also played toward the back of his field. He calls a brief goodbye, then bounds over toward his family. “Hi everyone!” he chirps.
"Hey, Agnes."
Behind him, the top bar of one of the goals collapse. The argument between Lup, Magnus and the referee escalates. Ren stands. “I’m gonna go see if I can talk some sense into Miss Lup,” she says wryly, and pats Angus on the shoulder. “Well done, little star.”
“Thank you, Miss Ren!” Angus beams.
The commotion from the evacuation jolts Merle awake. “What’s goin’ on - ”
“Game’s over,” Barry says, pulling himself to his feet. “Lup set the goals on fire.”
“Oh,” Merle says, yawning and adjusting his glasses. “Darn. I was having such a nice nap, too.”
“Well played, Angus,” says Lucretia, surreptitiously tucking her notebook into her bag. “Are you injured?”
“Thanks, Miss Lucretia!” he says, beaming. There’s dirt all over his face and twigs stuck in his socks and he smells like the Starblaster’s gym after one of Magnus’s all-day training sessions. “And not at all. But could you put out the goals?”
“Of course.” She snaps her fingers, and the flames engulfing the goals are quelled. Across the field sounds an indignant “Lucretia!” that Lucretia easily ignores. Seconds later, the goals catch fire again. “Enjoy the game, Angus?”
“Very much so!” Angus pipes, eyes sparkling. “You guys cheered at a lot of the wrong times but it was nice to know that you guys supported me!”
“I tried to teach them,” Barry says. “I really did.”
Angus pats him on the arm. “I know you did, and thank you, sir! It’s just bad luck they’re the worst students ever.”
“Got that right, kid,” Barry snorts and ruffling Angus’s hair. Then he looks over at his wife, who’s hovering several feet off the ground with hands silhouetted crimson in an attempt to intimidate the referee. “I should really go help Ren make sure she doesn’t commit arson.”
“It’s a bit too late for that, sir.”
“Make sure she doesn’t commit arson for the third time, then,” says Barry, and pats Angus’s shoulder. “Good game, kid.”
“Yeah, yeah, good game, lil man,” Taako says. Then he turns. “Lulu!” he shouts over Barry’s head. “We’re going!”
“Okay! We’re not leaving until the ref says Angus’s team won!”
Taako nods and flips her a spectral thumbs-up. “Hell yeah!” he shouts. “Meet us back home when you’re done!”
Instantly, a second Mage Hand appears and returns the thumbs-up, to the delight of the dispersing soccer players and awe of some of the teenagers amongst the vacated stands. “Hell yeah!”
Distantly, they can hear the ref saying “Ma’am, please just put the goals out,” and Lup’s instant demand of “then admit Angus’s team won!” and an exasperated repetition of “I can’t do that, ma’am,” then Ren’s “Do you know who they are, ma’am? They’re the Birds, you know, from the broadcast,” to which Magnus nods eagerly.
“She should really just give your team the win, Agnes,” Taako says musingly. “Much less chance of the whole field catching fire.”
“She can’t do that, sir. That’s really not how soccer works.”
“Agnes,” Taako says, flicking him between the eyes. “Do I look like a man who knows the first thing about soccer?”
Angus looks at him, then shakes his head decisively, grinning. “Not at all, sir.”
“Excellent detective-work, I don’t know shit. ‘Kay, folks, we’re leavin’ Lup and Mango, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“This isn’t a - ”
“It’s an expression, Krav.”
“Oh,” says the Grim Reaper, and blushes. It’s adorable. And when Angus takes his hand as they exit the field, Angus chattering away about his best plays, Taako damn near melts.
“You know,” says Angus in that sly tone of voice he uses when he wants something, “it’s customary after soccer games to buy ice cream for the players.”
“Horseshit,” says Lucretia calmly. Angus’s face has just enough time to fall before she adds, “It’s customary to buy for all participants of the game. Bystanders included.”
“Right!” Angus nods eagerly, perking right back up. “So silly of me. How could I forget? Everyone gets ice cream, right Miss Lucretia?”
“Of course,” Lucretia says, and winks solemnly.
“I’m in!” says Carey, and Killian grunts her approval from behind her handheld display. Merle grunts, too. It’s not nearly as impressive as Killian’s.
“I certainly wouldn’t mind,” says Kravitz.
“As long as I’m not paying,” says Taako.
“We should get ice cream for everyone,” Angus says thoughtfully. “Does anyone know the others’ favorite flavors?”
“Nuh-uh, kid,” Taako says, looping an arm around his shoulders. “We only buy them ice cream if they convince the ref you won.”
Angus ponders that for a moment, then grins as he feels Taako direct him toward the ice cream shop on the corner. “Okay,” he says, a devious smile creeping up his face. “But we should buy them some in case they succeed.”
They do. They walk back with arms full of eleven gallon-sized tubs of ice cream, one of which Angus pops open and eats on the way home, talking happily all the while. When he’s finally eaten his fill, he adds his tub to the stack towering in Killian’s arms and takes Kravitz’s hand again. He doesn’t seem to care one bit that the Reaper’s hand is even colder than the ice cream he licked off his spoon.
By the time Lup, Ren, Magnus and Barry return from the game, Carey and Killian have started playing Jenga with the tubs of ice cream. Lucretia referees, which means Lucretia makes sure none of the tubs hit the ground. Taako starts whipping up homemade ice cream, which is much better than the storebought kind, thank you. Angus spectates, chattering happily about the game and the weather and his teammates and a hundred other things as he watches.
The four of them didn’t manage to convince the referee that Angus’s team won the game, but Angus gives them ice cream anyway.