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“Fuuuuuuuuu –“
Will didn’t finish the curse that threatened to leave his lips as the roarball clanked loudly, again, off the rim of the basket. That was five in a row that had laughed at him in the empty Greenhouse court, the fifth one that his swollen wrist had shot awry and caused him to get that much closer to just…
Hopelessness.
In his frustration he didn’t realize he had an audience. From where he lay atop the warm stadium lights well above the goat’s head, yellow eyes were half-lidded as they watched his movements. This was Will’s way of venting the emotions broiling just beneath the surface of his control, and Modo was content to let him do what he needed so long as he didn’t go overboard.
The rest of the Thorns had called it a night after the game, not picking up on the same things that the komodo had.
Will was new to these intense emotions, especially to how incredibly quickly they manifested. While he had obviously been singled out for size and strength before, this new exposure was… intense.
The goat below him strode across the damp court that grew humid in the absence of the recently-passed rain, rolling his stretch-bandage wrapped wrist in an attempt to loosen it. Grabbing a hold of another roarball from the rack, he let out a miniscule wince at the twinge his swollen joint gave.
The game had ended a handful of hours ago, and it was currently, as Jett would so elegantly put it when they flew at this hour, stupid o’ clock in the morning. Sleep had been elusive, not that it was really a shock.
This was, of course, not the first time Will had a bunch of Bigs single him out. It was a common thing, but one that he was usually able to hop or skip or jump his way out of relatively well.
The saltwater croc hadn’t just taken a snap at him, he had blocked his exit so quickly that Will had found himself scrambling to the side and trying to get some form of defense with his arms crossed loosely in front of him.
Archie had thankfully been right behind him and took his aggressor right off of his feet, and even more fortunate for Will the rhino hadn’t seen the look of terror plastered all over the goat’s face.
Tonight, Will had a Big single him out with the legitimate intention of causing him severe harm for no reason other than to just… do it.
It wasn’t the move that had terrorized Will so badly, it was the look in those beaded eyes. It wasn’t a player pinning him down, it was more like… an animal that meant him harm.
This was the first time that Will felt truly afraid.
It was beginning to screw with his head. For the first time since he had started in ROAR, he actually began to wonder if they were right in what they said – was he actually out-classed, out-sized… too small? The rhino that protected him had never said as much, but Will was beginning to wonder that if he had seen the whole scene if his opinion would change.
All of his flexibility, agility, ability to jump would be useless if someone twice his size decided to hurt him. Not shallowly like Mane, just to get a win – just to cause him terror and pain.
Archie hadn’t seen that look that Will had made, hadn’t seen the fear of his life that had contorted his features and nearly stopped his heart, hadn’t registered that Will had caught his weight on the wrist that was now wrapped and garnering all of his focus.
Archie hadn’t seen any of that.
But Modo had.
The rhino wasn’t the only one ready to level the grey scaled predator for such unnecessary aggression. Modo had as well from where he had sat on the bench, and if he had made the decision to act their combined energy would have done a dire number on the Tremor.
Wisely he had stopped himself when the rhino moved in, his own focus shifting from the handled aggressor to the unaddressed victim.
Will had done well playing it off after that, sharing a high-five with Archie and returning to the game as though it hadn’t bothered him as badly as it did. That’s why Modo was here, belly and chest pressed to the warm box containing the light hanging over the stadium, limbs and tail splayed over its sides.
Will had done well playing it off, but it was because he had suppressed. Suppression of such intensity always led to inversion. Modo had seen it plenty of times before: if you keep shoving emotions down, they will always rise again… but sometimes they were sideways. Twisted. Turned inward. Explosive.
Isolation and harm were its usual two side effects.
The first was already happening, being silently addressed by the protective reptile.
He was hoping there was enough structure left for Will to avoid the second.
Another roarball cracking off the backboard followed by an aggravated shout told Modo that probably wouldn’t happen.
Will’s shout pushed his vocal chords more than they were accustomed to, his frustration at the disobedient roarball that had rolled back to him accented by a kick that he walloped on it. It flew away with intensity, smacking into a courtside seat, and came back to him again, smacking him in the chest as he turned around.
That made him grow quiet as his fists clenched.
He forced himself to walk away from the ball and stopped a few strides away, body under the roarball basket. Unclenching his hooves he raised them up as he inhaled, and lowered them as he exhaled.
He needed to chill. Take a breath.
“Okay, chill,” he prompted himself, sliding his eyes closed while repeating the motion with his hooves, “In, ou-“
*plink*
A drop of collected rain smacked the top of his head, making his lip twitch and prompting him to take a side step.
He tried again.
“In, out. In, ou –“
*plink, plink*
His sidestep had put him under the edge of the rack, earning him two drops of rain. Momentarily his hooves clenched again and his eyes opened to send a glare to the goal, stomping three steps away to stand in the clear.
One more time.
Hooves unclenched, eyes closed, breath deep.
“In, out. In, out…. Better… in, out. In –“
*plink, plink, plink, plink*
A soft breeze shook the vines above his head and sent a fresh torrent of water down onto his head. Will’s arms dropped in utter aggravation, his ability to contain his growing irritation washed away as it began to slip from his control.
A bleat of irritation ripped from his throat and chest, his first thought was to grab the nearest roarball and send it flying upward toward the stadium monitors. It made contact and ricocheted off higher, its contact bringing yet another deluge of water right down onto the youngest Thorn.
*SPLASH*
That did it.
*plink*
Actually, it was that last singular drop that did it. Will’s control over his frustration was completely nullified, and immediately he was over to one of the announcer’s stone tables, hooves curled into fists as he ramrodded as much of that energy into his blows that he could.
That force might not have been much to an opponent but to Will’s own fists it hurt a good bit, every bit of effort he could manage to scrounge up being sent through his arms into the fists. The stone bit back just as hard.
It was the soft tap of a ball against his calf that had him pausing.
That was….a really long fall from where it had ricocheted off to. Will’s head cranked back, the realization that he hadn’t actually seen where it had gone off to, and that he hadn’t heard it hit the ground on its way back to earth sinking in hard.
How…
A low grumble sounded just out of his field of vision in the stands and his head whipped around to find –
Modo finally catching the second runaway roarball from almost a half hour ago in his jaws, leaping down onto the court to release it and allow it to join its brethren. A happy grumble sounded then as the reptile scurried over on all fours, climbing a bit above where Will stood before flipping himself over to land loosely in the courtside seat.
His confident and relaxed – yet deeply studying – gaze settled on Will, and unconsciously the goat shrunk back a bit. Modo had the ability to make you feel like he wasn’t really just looking at you. He was looking through you.
Everything you hid. Like he suddenly knew more about what you were feeling than you were. It could be… unsettling.
In a snap Will’s fists dropped into timid hooked paws that hung in front of his chest, his two hooves tapping together nervously. He was pretty sure his eyes were bugging out of his head when he spoke to his teammate.
He tried to sound confident.
“I’m just doing some…” the false bravado was replaced by sheepishness, “…practicing.”
That was such a weak lie he himself grimaced. Modo’s gaze, still dissecting and confident, gained a light of amusement. One scaly arm folded up and over the back of the bench he sat on, one knee planting on the damp seat, the scaly tail tapping the stone with thoughtful wiggles.
“Modo has never seen such ways of practice before. Show to Modo, he returns stray balls for goat.”
Now Will had gone and dug himself a hole, you see, and he had to grab one of those returned balls and pretend that the unsettling eyes didn’t make him feel like every single motion had to be workable.
The roarball ricocheted off the basket again, shooting astray. It was captured by the komodo who immediately scrambled back to where he had been a second before, the roarball held securely under the arm not slung over the back of the bench.
Will shifted under the relaxed, yet piercing, gaze of his friend. When he didn’t immediately move, one green eyebrow rose and the dragon questioned:
“Goat finished with practice?”
Any more experienced mammal would have just said yes. Young Will, on the other hand, decided to open his mouth and shove his foot into it, digging his hole a bit deeper with a:
“No! No, man the balls are just damp from the rain water is all. It’s messing up my shots.”
He toddled away, shaking his head at his own lame excuse as he retrieved another ball.
Will Harris had shot baskets in blinding snowstorms, biting sandstorms, downpouring rain, and singing magma. Damp droplets of rain water, even if they weighed down his coat, were of absolutely no consequence.
This awkward hole digging hobby of his continued for the next three balls he shot and failed to land, all three eventually being added to the growing collection at the feet of the watching reptile. Modo retrieved them diligently and effectively each time before returning to his lax position on the bench…
And it was beginning to unnerve the goat at the center of his current focus.
As it usually went, his resilience finally burned out and gave the aggravation a way to come pouring out.
“Fine! Fine!” He actually let himself yell after missing yet another shot, throwing his arms through the air in irritation. “You got me! I’m aggravated as heck, man – this whole thing is frustrating and irritating and --- Argh!”
His foot slammed into a puddle on the ground, sending the water splashing away. No response came from behind him as his rant continued, sending him spinning on his heel to glare at the relaxed reptile who studied him.
“I didn’t ask for this – he fouled me!”
Modo gave a quiet humph of thought, sitting up in the bench and bringing a roarball to rest on his thigh. Will’s voice was shrill when he shouted louder, tears threatening to spill over his tenuous grip.
“He fouled me!”
“Little goat tells Modo he is angry,” Modo’s voice was calm and low, his green snout tilting a bit as he blinked in curiosity at the sniffling mammal, “Modo believes he is, but Modo does not believe anger to be the true emotion here. Tell Modo why.”
In any other situation Will’s face probably would have been funny, a flabbergasted and bewildered look contorting his features as his hooves paused open at his sides. In this scenario, it gave away his bitter frustration.
“Did you not see the game?! Did you not see the foul?!”
“Fouls happen often in games, many times to goat. Yet, never has goat become like this after foul happened, even when pushed into ice water by Kapitan last year. This emotional pressure is different.”
The green throat hummed.
“Such tension is new.”
The eyes stared right into Will’s soul.
“Modo would like to know why.”
The sentences flooding through the goat’s brain all tried to tumble out at the same time, getting jammed and jumbled together somewhere between his mind and his mouth. Exasperated, his hooves grabbed his horns momentarily as his body doubled over under his own pressure. He managed to gather himself after a few seconds, letting his horns go with a breath as he started over.
He tried to sound calm. The tears hiding in his voice ruined that for him.
“I’m so tired of getting pushed around like a kid’s toy just because I’m smaller! I get fouled every game, every time – every time! So yeah, I’m angry!”
Modo’s tail twitched, tongue flicking. The real issue was beginning to make itself, and its scent, known.
“When scaly snap-jaw trapped goat…”
Will’s breath hitched.
“…what did goat believe was going to happen?”
That question seemed to be a prompt for his brain to immediately roll the replay of that moment in his head. It was a silent, black and white film of the stop, the fall, those eyes… unconsciously, his own widened a bit at the memory.
Modo watched it happen, gesturing with his free paw toward Will.
“Why is goat shaking?” his voice was even.
Will was pulling back hard in his head, trying to get away from this sickly, bubbly feeling that was burning its way through his body.
“I’m not!”
That got him an incredulous look.
“Hold out hooves,” Modo prompted him.
The goat followed it, bringing his hooves to be palm-up in front of his waist as he stared down at them, commanding them to be still. They ignored him, shaking and trembling and quaking. His best answer against this growing insecurity was to get away from it. Closing his hooves tightly into fists, he stood himself straight, pretending that he wasn’t crying.
The reptile watching him saw the change, his tail patting the bench in contemplation. If the goat kept going this way, he would have to meet him in that mental pit instead of talking him through it. Will just had to pick a path and commit to it.
“Why do you care, bro?!” the words were strained, a tear pressing out beyond Will’s control, “I can’t even fight back, and you already said you won’t teach me how to fight, so this conversation’s going nowhere! Asking politely isn’t going to get them to back off!”
He turned and began striding toward the nearest court exit. Despite his shoulders being as close to his ears as they had ever been in his life, he tried hard to roll them back and hold his head higher in faux confidence.
“Forget this man, I’m out. You always say I don’t need to learn how to fight because I know enough then I get railroaded in front of a stadium of people.”
It was beginning to fight its way out. Modo needed a bit more to work with. Will didn’t disappoint, turning around briefly as he kept back pedaling, hooves open at his side in a gesture of ‘know what?’.
“He can fucking kill me if he wants to, there’s nothing I can do. I’m going home.”
That energy Modo could use.
Will had turned himself around, moving as the fastest walk he could manage in his faux-calm. With his back turned, the sound of Modo’s voice stopped his retreat.
“Little goat.”
Moxy boiling in his chest, Will gave a huff, whipping around for a second to snap back:
“What?!”
That moxy was whipped right out of his grip when he realized that where he was looking, where Modo had been not three seconds before, was devoid of the dragon. The flash of green made the goat look onto the court, finding the predator standing on the free-throw line with that seeing gaze looking right through Will.
With the roarball held to his left hip by his arm, Modo used his right paw to point a sparkling paw to the ground in front of him.
“Come here,” the words came calmly.
Before Will realized it, he was obeying the command. Those two words hadn’t been any louder than anything else Modo had said all night, but they had come with an air of confidence that snapped the goat to attention. Modo wasn’t the kind to order or demand of anyone, but when he did… you listened.
The roarball was spinning on a glittering claw when Will came to a stop in front of him. Hastily a furred arm rubbed away the tears burning his eyes, and hastily a moment later it caught the tossed roarball as it floated to him.
“Shoot ball.”
The goat stared at the dragon.
“Seriously?”
“Shoot ball.”
The roarball rebounded off the basket with that annoying ringing of irritated steel, quickly retrieved by the reptile and handed back to the goat.
“Shoot ball.”
Will did. Again, it ricocheted off the basket and was returned to the mammal.
That same repetitive scene played out another five or six times until, finally, that broiling emotion exploded from Will’s chest as his hooves pressed into the sides of the ball.
“I can’t, man – okay?!”
A pink tongue flicked through the air, nictating membrane blinking over those piercing yellow eyes.
“Cannot what?”
“Shoot the ball – I can’t! Not tonight.”
Aha. Just a bit further.
“Why not tonight?”
Will held up the wrapped wrist as if it were a viable answer.
“My shooting wrist is hurt, dude.”
The light cackling chuckle and lolling of Modo’s tongue was proof the excuse was lame.
“Goat has had much worse before, always able to shoot.”
“Look Modo, I’m distracted, okay?!”
Will’s voice had strained a bit on the pressing words, begging for his friend to back away. Modo didn’t, instead leaning himself forward a bit at the waist so they could be at eye level. One yellow eye looked to Will, the other looked off into the distance.
That lowered the pressure on the mammal, allowing him to breathe a bit easier as he tried again to gulp down the tears.
“Distracted by what?”
Will had opened his mouth twice to answer, and twice it clicked shut again. The third time, he managed:
“…I keep seeing him.”
Modo’s eyes softened deeply. There was no need for any more pressure, they had finally dug through the anger and frustration enough to find the real problem.
“Where is scaly snap-jaw now, goat?”
“I don’t know, probably the hotel or the plane or going home.”
“So, he is not here?”
“No.”
“Then who makes goat miss shots?”
Those burning tears were back in Will’s eyes again and he peeled his gaze away from the calm eyes studying him, embarrassment at this sudden show of emotion shaking his confidence under such a gaze. He jumped a bit when a glitter-polished claw tapped on the roarball that he had forgotten he was even holding.
“Scaly snap-jaw is on way home,” Modo’s voice was low and rumbling, a surprisingly comforting tone for the goat that was struggling to keep himself as calm as he could. When Will’s swimming eyes rolled back to the reptile’s, the claw tapped the ball again, “Yet goat allows him to continue playing.”
Whether Modo would judge him for it or not was logged out of Will’s mind as one arm came to scrub the tears roughly from his snout.
“Goat should stop fighting, he is too busy wrestling ghost. There is strength in acknowledging it is heavy,” that warm voice rumbled to him, “Set it down, let it go. It is past.”
The softest calming purr rumbled from the scaled chest, one finger reaching past the roarball to lightly tap the goat’s chest.
“Don’t let him control you.”
Modo stood tall again, letting Will grab ahold of his own jersey to mop the burning tears from his face and sniffle in a small breath. When the mammal spoke again his voice was thick, lost.
“I can’t even fight back. He’s twice my size, Modo, and he’s gonna do it again. I’ll never out-muscle him.”
“Do not need to,” the predator told him, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the look the bloodshot eyes gave him, “Goat is correct, though. He will never be stronger than scaly snap-jaw.”
A bubbly snort came from the goat.
“Thanks, man. That’s helpful.”
“…but goat does not have to be,” Modo continued as though Will never spoke, a toothy grin spreading across his face. His paws rose to curl in front of his chest, tongue flopping from his maw, “Goat has more heart, and better leverage.”
Will blew an exasperated raspberry.
“Modo, he’s got like…. A hundred fifty pounds on me.”
“Bah! Means nothing,” Modo told him passionately with a dismissive brush of a paw, tail wiggling, “Only gives more weight to hit floor.”
Will’s enthusiasm spiked at that, eyes alight with hope.
“You think so? Really? How?”
His cheeks puffed at Modo’s tutting sound, watching a finger wave a ‘no’ in front of his snout.
“Goat has already done what is needed, just needs to use it. We address this second. Now,” the komodo flipped backward, landing on all fours in a ready position, “Shoot ball.”
Bouncing the ball twice Will complied, the small smile of victory that crossed his lips growing into a full grin when a flash of green returned the ball to his hooves with a happy trill. It rapidly turned into a one-sided pick-up game that involved Will trying to outpace the excited reptile retrieving the roarballs as they swished through the net.
That endeavor was doomed to fail, but it did so with an airless bit of laughter from the young mammal who sprawled backward on the court when his energy ebbed. Modo won their proverbial game when he came trotting over with the final roarball, dropping it from his jaws onto Will’s stomach.
The unbridled laughter from the young mammal had the green snout raising with pride, eyes sliding shut as the predator gave a satisfied nod. The wagging tail and happy purr gave away his clear joy.
“Hey, Modo?” the breath-strained voice on the ground called up to him.
“Hmm?” the green neck stretched down, bright eyes blinking into Will’s own.
“You really think I can stand up against that guy?”
“I dooooo,” was the response hummed back, the yellow eyes splitting, “Goat already uses motion, just needs connection.”
“What’dya mean?”
Modo let out an excited trill, crawling a couple of blitzing circles around the goat before he bounded a few feet away to sit on his haunches.
“Come to Modo,” he prompted with a heavily wagging tail, “Bring ball.”
Will obeyed with a small grunt, the gravel and sand of the damp court ground scratching at his back and shoulders as they clung on for the ride. He passed the ball into the gesturing paws.
“Push Modo,” the komodo instructed, standing loosely as the ball was pressed into his left hip.
The goat stared at him unblinkingly. A paw goaded Will forward, and just as he knew he would, he felt his feet slide uselessly on the damp court floor when he pushed his shoulder as hard as he could into Modo’s chest and tried to push the predator back. After four or five seconds, he backed away and clapped his hooves to his knees, gasping up at the amused reptile.
“Bro, you’re like a wall.”
Modo spat out a cackling laugh and gave him a wink with a lolling tongue.
“I have been called worse,” the ball was rolled back into the tan palms, “Shoot ball.”
“I’ve been doing that all –“ Will’s protest was cut short by the strong smack of the green tail against the court floor and his friend’s pressing, yet even, command.
“Shoot ball.”
The furred cheeks puffed out in exasperation but the goat complied, taking a couple small steps back and bringing his arms back to shoot as his legs took stance. His arms rose ready to flick his wrists to shoot the b—
*schwip*
Will was so surprised at the swiping green tail that he just froze in place when it flew into his vision, snatching the ball from his grip and setting it to Modo’s side. He stared bewildered at the grinning reptile, slowly lowering his arms. He grew confused at the sudden growl and thump of his friend’s tail.
“Shoot ball.”
“I don’t have a ball –“
The tail smacked the court again with emphasis, the neutral expression on Modo’s face remaining frozen as his voice pushed out the two words with calm pressure:
“Shoot. Ball.”
A blank stare was the response to that command, and an unblinking one pushed back to it. Slowly Will moved his body back into the stance to throw the imaginary roarball, nearly leaping out of his skin when the two scaled paws snapped up to grab his wrists at the mid-point of their movement.
Gently Modo’s own feet nudged Will’s a bit more until his stance was firmer, the larger paws adjusting his arms and hooves to be strong in their position.
“Stay firm. Strong,” the bass voice told him warmly, “Hooves press out. We call here ‘push’, yes?”
Will gave him a nod as the paws retreated. He dropped the stance at the gesture Modo gave, watching the green nostrils flair.
“Raise ball with both hooves,” the dragon demonstrated the motion, the paws smacking the two wrists to stop the furred arms the same way when they were raised to the correct level, “This called ‘raise up’.”
He pushed the hooves down, raising his own paws into a target for the wrist to meet.
“Raise up,” he commanded, nodded happily when the two wrists smacked into his grip, “Show Modo ‘push’.”
The goat fell into the prior stance. Modo crouched himself over a bit with a toothy grin, holding his paws palm-forward to him.
“Double victory slap.”
Will translated that as a double high-five, and the motion received a nod. He let his hooves get folded back in front of him and he dropped the stance as Modo stood tall and lumbered a bit over in front of him.
“Now,” the grin was back, the green tail wriggling with energy as he retrieved the roarball and held it in his paws, “Do in order to Modo: ‘raise up’, ‘push’, victory slap – to here.”
A glittered claw tapped his own sternum in direction before his stance dropped.
“Goat keeps doing until Modo us pushed back to basket. He will not make it easy,” the pink tongue flicked and the scaly brow quirked, “Come!”
With only a slight bit of hesitance Will did, the first combination of those moves enough to knock Modo’s grip of the roarball free and nudge his body backward.
“Push harder,” the predator hissed at him.
That earned a surge of energy from the goat, the familiar motion of his arms shooting the ball coming through as his hooves thudded again and again and again off the muscular chest of the reptile who was now being forced to retreat as his balance was thrown back. When they finally reached under the basket Modo finally moved to stop the panting goat, that proud grin lighting his eyes.
“Did well,” he praised, lightly pushing the mammal away.
He waited until his back was turned before he gave a quick heads-up hiss, letting Will know to be on his toes as Modo threw a flailing punch that was designed to miss. When he finally got his footing again, it happened so fast:
Raise up.
Push.
Victory slap.
Without thinking about it his hooves landed square in the middle of Modo’s chest, and the predator’s own energy had him stumbling back a couple of steps. The mind blown eyes of the goat looked down to his own non-shaking hooves, then back up to the komodo who was now dancing and leaping and cackling in victory under the basket.
“Ah! You see?! Goat has leverage,” Modo landed on his haunches and demonstrated the pose for a second. When it dropped his paws curled in front of his chest and he wiggled an excited brow at the mammal, “Is very useful. Can send many snap-jaws to ground easy – just has to stop thinking so much.”
The glittered claws tapped his right temple.
“In this, Modo is better. He acts without thinking.”
“I can see that,” Will told him with a smile, only half-joking.
His friend gave him a hearty laugh.
“Modo acts only with intention – he believes it to be best trait to not overthink everything.”
A warm growl and twitter left the scaly throat before he was suddenly in the goat’s bubble, eyes almost touching Will’s where he bent himself over to be the same level.
“Goat understands?”
“Yeah… I think so.”
“Then tell to Modo what goat has learned.”
It took a second, but a smile cracked its way across Will’s snout as he offered:
“Don’t let him control you.”
The loud, manic laughter and frolicking komodo echoed off the empty Greenhouse stadium walls, the second impromptu game of ‘Modo the ball retriever’ beginning in earnest as the dark feeling of despair let go of the young goat.