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Lloyd stood just outside the skating rink, elbows on the short wall as he observed all his peers gliding past.
His rented rollerblades tapped the carpeted ground nervously as he watched.
They were a size or so too big—he'd gotten the number wrong again, always forgot—but he hated to go back and curse the overworked employees with his presence by asking politely for new ones.
He probably wouldn't end up skating anyway. It looked kind of fun, but he didn't know how.
Oh, man, I hope it's not another dad thing, he realized. He was notoriously bad at those. Catching, throwing, riding a bike—if it required fatherly instruction of any kind, he was pretty much doomed.
(He was not looking forward to learning how to shave. Razor blades and his face—did not sound like a good combination. Hopefully he wouldn't be blessed with his uncle's knack for growing long, wise-looking beards.)
…And he was pretty sure he'd end up face-first on the floor anyway, regardless of skill level.
(There were approximately four male cheerleaders at the rink. Last time he'd checked, anyway.)
…Why had his mom thought it would be a good idea to drop him off at this event again?
Oh, right.
“It'll be fun,” she’d said.
“You'll make some friends,” she'd said.
Apparently, she thought his shortage of companions was due to a lack of social exposure.
(Personally, Lloyd thought his continued survival was due to a lack of social exposure.)
…Although, maybe having one or two would be nice. In theory. He supposed.
Not that it would actually happen.
“Oh, hello there, sweetie! What are you doing all alone over here?”
Lloyd didn't realize that the kind, accented voice was directed at him, until a gentle hand was put on his shoulder and he nearly flinched out of his skin.
“O-Oh! I, u-um—” he stammered, slowly turning around.
He didn't expect to need to finish. Once people caught a glimpse of his platinum blond hair and freakish green eyes, whatever kindness they'd previously held in their faces or tones would simply evaporate.
But the woman's smile held, her laugh lines only crinkling further. Lloyd was rendered dumbstruck.
…Did she not know who he was?
“Cat got your tongue?" she asked gently, warm brown eyes twinkling behind glasses. “Do you need any help? You look a bit lonely, sweetheart. Why aren’t you skating with your friends?”
“Uh, no, I uh—I-I don't have any friends,” Lloyd blurted, rather stupidly. He cringed inside. “I mean, um, I'm fine.”
“Oh, that's nonsense, hon! No shame in asking for help, I tell ya.” She waved aside his lie with a hand and tapped her chin in thought. “You know what? I do believe my son looks just about your age! Isn't that a coincidence? Look, there he is right now!”
And then, to Lloyd's utter mortification, she began to wave him over from the skating rink. “Jay! Jay! Come here! There's someone here I think you should meet!” she called loudly.
One of the boys on the rink gave a response to the summons, startling at his name and splitting out from the flow.
He had curly auburn hair, a bright blue shirt and an orange scarf, and excellent rollerblading skills, Lloyd noted nervously. The boy—Jay?—glided smoothly over to the edge of the rink, making several complicated twists and turns in the process.
Up close, he had a spray of freckles across his face and rather anxious energetic bright blue eyes. He rolled to a stop at the wall.
He seemed kind of short. About Lloyd's height.
“...What is it, mom?” he asked, apparently not noticing him yet.
“Jay, honey, this young man here doesn't have any friends.” She patted Lloyd’s shoulder in indication. “Perhaps you could skate with him for a bit?”
Jay's eyes finally settled on Lloyd. He recoiled with a small strangled gasp, mouth agape.
Lloyd shrank politely, with the offer of a faint, apologetic half-smile.
Looked like someone at least knew what he was.
“Uh…m-mom? Th-that's Lloyd Garmadon,” Jay pointed out shakily with a gulp. “Son of the evil Lord Garmadon? You know, the guy who keeps wrecking the city all the time?!”
His mother blinked in surprise. “He is?” She took a second look at him.
“Uh, yeah,” Lloyd admitted, hunching his shoulders to make himself even smaller. “I-I just live with my mom, though,” he clarified hurriedly, not that it would do much good. “We're divorced. I mean—she is. From him. I mean, my dad.” He braced himself.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Jay's mother exclaimed unexpectedly. Lloyd wasn't sure if she was referring to his parentage or the divorce.
(Or maybe both? He didn't know. He wasn't used to this sort of reaction. At all.)
“—No wonder you've had such a hard time making friends,” she said, nodding sympathetically. “My Jay here could use some as well. We're new to the area, you see. Just moved in from the old family junkyard, right on the outskirts of the city—”
“—Mo-om!” Jay interrupted, turning a bit pink with embarrassment. “You-you don't have to tell him that…”
“Tell him what, sweetheart? And don't mumble, dear. Is it the junkyard?” She tut-tutted a little and shook her head, before turning to Lloyd. “He’s always embarrassed when we tell folks where he grew up,” she explained, much to her son’s chagrin.
“Mom!” Jay shrank into his scarf.
“...Oh.” Lloyd blinked, not sure how else to respond.
Living at a junkyard? What was wrong with that? Did people pick on him about it or something?
(Which didn't quite make sense, exactly, but he knew from experience that bullies weren't all that known for their logic.)
“—Well, what are you boys waiting for? Go out and have some fun!” Jay's mother encouraged, shooing them both out onto the rink.
Neither of them had quite managed to register what in the world had just happened, and the pair of unintentional acquaintances found themselves skating in extremely awkward silence for a while.
(Well, one of them skated. Lloyd just sort of wobbled along in his rollerblades a bit loose around the ankles, gripping the railing.)
“...I am…so sorry,” he blurted at last, once they were out of earshot. “I-I didn't mean to—I wasn't— You don't have to skate with me.”
Jay gave him a funny look. “Well…I wouldn’t say you’re skating, exactly…” He gestured at him clinging to the wall like a spider.
“...I don't really know how…” Lloyd admitted, slipping again.
“...Then what are you doing here?” Jay looked genuinely curious, if not a little apprehensive.
“I-I honestly don't know… My mom keeps dropping me off at these events and stuff. I guess she thinks I'll just… magically make friends or something?” Lloyd shrugged, and nearly fell over. “Spawn of an evil warlord…I'm just trying not to get murdered…” he muttered, glancing around for any cheerleaders. He was a sitting duck on the hardwood rink.
“...What was that last part?” Jay sounded oddly concerned.
“Nothing,” Lloyd said.
A pause.
“...Do you really have monster fangs?” Jay blurted. Then he grimaced and hid in his scarf. “Sorry…”
“No, it’s OK.” Lloyd sighed. “I mean—kinda? They're sort of pointy? But I don't, like, "suck out the blood of the innocent" with them or anything. They’re just—they’re just teeth. That's all.”
“...Oh. Um, OK. Good—good to know.” Jay nodded awkwardly.
“—I—I always thought having fangs would be kind of cool,” he admitted softly at last. “Like, Serpentine or something. Or a bunch of the species in Starfarer—” He cut off his escalating enthusiasm with a wince. “Ah, sorry. That—that's probably lame…” He fiddled with his scarf.
“...I like Starfarer,” Lloyd put forward with a cough.
(Not that it really helped his case. He was pretty firmly in the category of “lame” himself.)
“Hmmm…” Jay trailed off with a thoughtful hum. Lloyd pitched forward again, barely caught himself. Jay cast a critical eye at his wheels.
“...I think your skates are too big,” he said at last. “Your feet keep sliding around in them. You're gonna get blisters. They—they really should be kind of snug.”
He lifted one foot—what seemed to Lloyd an impossible feat—and tapped his own customized blue rollerblade in example. It fit his ankle like a glove.
“See? Like that. You're not—you're not gonna learn much in those. Come on, let's get you something smaller.” Abruptly, he turned and made for the next exit.
Wordless and slightly in shock, Lloyd followed Jay out of the rink. He staggered after him to a bench on the carpet.
“Alright, take ‘em off,” Jay instructed. “What size did you get?” he asked.
Lloyd told him. He fumbled to undo the clasps, and slipped out his socked feet, damp with sweat.
Jay took the skates from him without visible disgust. “OK, I'm gonna get you some new ones. You just—stay here, alright?”
Lloyd nodded. He felt strange, like he was in a daze. Or maybe it was just the flashing colored lights and the music. Or the fact that some kid was trading in his skates at the counter, trying to find some that fit him.
…Were all bright blue boys raised in junkyards outside the city so strange?
“Here.” There was a new pair in his hands, with a number in marker two less than the last. “Try these on—I wanna see how they fit.” Jay watched him expectantly.
Lloyd obliged. They felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. Secure.
“Looking good!” Jay exclaimed. He helped Lloyd to his feet. “How do they feel? The ankles aren't loose, are they?” he asked anxiously.
“...No, they feel nice,” Lloyd said. He took a couple baby steps forward, and his heels didn't wobble. “Pretty comfy.” He smiled.
Man, that felt weird.
“Great!” Jay grinned back. “Let's try them out on the floor.” With that, he pulled an unsteady Lloyd back out to the rink.
As it turned out, roller skating was a lot easier when his feet didn't rock around in the blades like loose teeth. With a few tips from Jay, soon he could glide shakily around the rink without touching the wall.
“Hey, you're a natural!” Jay praised, as each loop became smoother and faster than the last. “You sure this is your first time on wheels?”
Lloyd laughed, and the sound was becoming less shaky as well. “Pretty much. First time actually skating with them, anyway.” He couldn't stop grinning if he wanted to. His face was beginning to hurt.
It looked like skating wasn't a dad thing after all. Jay was able to teach him just fine.
And hey, maybe all that ninja training was finally starting to pay off in real life! 'Self-defense' might've been a little out of the picture, but balancing on rows of little round wheels? Piece of cake.
Forget the son of Lord Garmadon. Lloyd was on cloud nine.
…So, naturally, the local cheerleaders decided that he needed to be knocked down a couple pegs.
Physically.
The alarm bells went off in his head a little too late, as the cluster of boys skated up behind him.
A blunt force slammed into his spine, expelling the air from his lungs and pitching him forward. His arms flew out in a last bid to regain balance, but his center of mass had already gone too far.
Lloyd's wheels slipped, and he tripped, and he slammed face-first—called it—straight into the waxed hardwood floor.
Oof.
Oww…
“—h my goodness, Lloyd, are you OK?!?” Jay's voice yelped. He sounded a bit fuzzy, and too sharp.
Lloyd winced, or whatever expression it was that he was able to make with half his face smashed into the ground.
“Yeahhh… I'm fine…” he managed. “Just… gimme a sec…”
Slowly, he peeled himself up off the floor. It was smooth, but sticky, and his skin burned pink with friction where it had made contact. His legs felt heavy with the skates, but as he went through the checklist of limbs in his brain, flexing each one, nothing seemed to be broken. It just hurt, that was all.
Jay was on his knees, next to him on the floor. His blue eyes were huge. He was rambling.
“I am so sorry, I can't believe that just happened! Why would they push you like that?! I-I mean sure, your dad destroys people's homes on a daily basis and everything b-but what did you ever do to them?!”
Lloyd blinked at him, slowly. He sounded really shaken.
How odd.
“Jay, I…I'm fine. It's OK. Really. This stuff happens all the time.”
“—That doesn't make it better!” he protested.
Carefully, Lloyd stood up. It was a bit more difficult than usual, on skates. He leaned his arms on the railing. Jay followed, still mumbling half to himself into his scarf.
The cheerleaders whizzed past them again, with satisfied laughter. “Freaks,” he heard amidst the rush of air. “Weirdos.” "Junkyard kid."
Lloyd frowned.
OK. He was one thing.
But Jay?
Sweet, shy, kind, thoughtful Jay? Still rambling in concern over a half-human being?
That wasn't fair in the slightest.
“Hey, Jay?” Lloyd interrupted his mutterings, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm. “I'm fine now. Really. It's OK. Can I ask you a question?”
Jay finally paused, distracted. “Uh, sure,” he said. “...What is it?”
“What…what was it like, having a junkyard?” Lloyd asked.
“...Oh?” Jay looked a little hurt. Like he was about to make fun of him. Lloyd swallowed.
“I just… I-I think it's pretty cool, you know? All those parts. You could build whatever you want.”
He sounded a bit wistful, imagining his dragon. His masterpiece, his baby. He had most of the blueprints hammered out by now, but… parts could be hard to come by.
(People didn't take too well to Lord Garmadon's son scavenging around in the wreckage left behind—even if it was already labeled as scrap.)
“Oh.” Jay blinked in surprise. His guard melted. “Yeah. I…I was able to make some pretty cool stuff,” he admitted. “Kinda miss it, actually,” he said softly. “Y'know? Just wish it didn’t have to sound so…weird.” He gave an awkward little laugh.
“Yeah, that part stinks.” Lloyd rubbed his head with a half-bitter smile. “They don't know what they're talking about. Scrapyards are awesome. What kind of stuff did you make?”
“Oh, all kinds of things,” Jay began, brightening up. “Stilts, rockets, gliders—I prototyped a ton of flying machines. This one time, I actually got stuck on a billboard, and boy was it tricky to get down—”
Jay kept talking, and Lloyd mostly listened, and gradually they began to skate again.
The ache in his body dulled much faster than usual, with the distractions of having company and talking mechanics.
(Though it was kind of hard not to blurt out, “Hey, I'm building a huge dragon mech to defend the city from my evil dad—wanna help?" He'd never exactly had the temptation before.)
Somehow, he’d all but forgotten about the cheerleaders by the time they came back for round two.
(Apparently, not visibly shrinking into himself for like five minutes meant he'd gotten too “stuck-up” or something for their taste.)
But this time, the more experienced skater of the two saw it coming.
“Watch out!” Jay shouted, and swung him out of the way.
Between his newfound skating skills and years of practice as a ninja, Lloyd was just barely able to stay upright on his feet.
Jay wasn't so lucky. The cheerleader rammed into him.
The shove wasn't full force anymore, but he was already off balance, and the blow still knocked him flat to the ground.
“H-hey, watch it!” Lloyd shouted, startling himself with the words that broke from his throat.
He'd never yelled back like that before.
The cheerleader blinked in surprise at hitting the wrong dork, and quickly moved along with a muttered foul word.
Lloyd skated back to Jay, unceremoniously clattering to his knees right next to him.
“Jay, I-I'm so sorry! Why'd you do that?! That was stupid! A-are you OK?!??” he blurted. His voice was shaky, and so was the rest of him.
Now I know how that feels, he thought. Except Jay really didn't belong on the floor.
“Ughh…” Jay groaned, and gave a thumbs up. “Don't worry, I'm good.” He got to his knees, and Lloyd helped him up. “Not my worst crash landing,” he said with a laugh and a much-too-pleased grin.
Lloyd was about to protest again, but the music grew muffled and a noise cut him off.
“Dude, no shoving allowed,” crackled the loudspeaker overhead, from the dark-haired teen in headphones working the DJ booth. “Chad, your gang's out.” He jerked a thumb towards the exit.
“But—I wasn't aiming for him!” the cheerleader protested, flinging an arm at Jay. “He just got in the way!” he spat.
“...Do you think I care?” the loudspeaker drawled. “Just get off the rink, man.”
Chad scowled and skated off, followed reluctantly by the rest of his friends. The music rose back to its previous volume.
“...Huh.” Lloyd blinked. “That was weird.”
“Yeah, why didn't he tell him off the first time?” Jay agreed. “Maybe he just didn't notice. Must be hard with those headphones...”
“That's not… that's not what I meant—” Lloyd started, but gave up and dropped it. “...Oh well.” He shrugged. "Nevermind."
“...Come on, let's keep moving." Jay pushed off from the wall. "I've gotta skate this off, or I am gonna be sore later. We're burning daylight!” Then he hesitated and made an odd face. “Or...LEDs?”
Lloyd laughed a little, shoulders loosening. “...All right,” he said. "Let's go."
By the time everyone was called off the rink, they'd skated around the oval more times than he could count, both pairs of their socks were drenched with sweat, and Lloyd’s facial muscles ached from the unfamiliar exercise of genuine smiling.
Too bad it was over. Something this nice was just too good to last.
“...Hey, I don't have a phone yet, but do you want my email?” Jay asked suddenly, pulling a pen and a piece of torn paper out of his pockets. Without waiting for an answer, he scribbled it down and held out the scrap, now covered in jagged, messy blue chicken scratch.
Lloyd stared at it like it was glowing.
Jay cleared his throat. “I mean, uh...if you'd like it, that is.” He sounded a bit nervous again. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes!” Lloyd interrupted, and snatched up the paper like it was going to poof into dust. “I…I-I mean, thank you,” he stammered, holding it close to his body. “W-would you like mine? I don't have a pen.”
Jay beamed and magically produced some more paper. Lloyd jotted his down, all the while feeling like he was floating off into space, or some strange reality where Lloyd Garmadon actually had friends…
When his mother arrived to pick him up from the event, he was still in a daze.
“How was the rink, honey? You meet anyone new?”
“Huh?” Lloyd tore his eyes away from the paper. “Oh. Uh, yeah, actually… It…it was nice.”
Without even meaning to, he found that his monster fangs were exposed in a smile.
Skating wasn't the only thing Jay had taught him, it seemed.