Chapter Text
It’s often taught that success requires being at the right place at the right time, but what is seldom understood is that most of life is spent being in either one or the other. A lot of what makes a good soccer player is being able to identify where those right places are, but even then you’ll still have to wait around until the time is right. You’ve never been much of a fan of waiting.
Grass shreds beneath your cleats, wind ripping through your hair, you dart between players of either team; none of which could ever match your speed or control. You’ve been watching the ball get passed back and forth across the field in patterns you’re all too familiar with. Lana is wary of how close Yeulan is getting and knows she can’t out speed them, so she’ll kick it to Joanne. Joanne will get too nervous with all the attention on her so she’ll kick it over to Kira, but it’ll never make it to her because Jessy will snag it. Jessy is skilled enough to get it past Ulline and Tiffany, but she’ll get tripped up by Zine who’ll kick the ball out from between her feet. But you know you can be there in time to catch the ball before it gets out of range of the goal. It’s a sure victory, all you have to do is close the gap. So, you’ve basically got it in the bag.
There isn’t a person at the academy that can outspeed you, and there likely never will be. Admittedly, this is largely due to the fact you are one of two dog/human hybrids in existence, and unless you ever intend on getting pregnant (ew gross) or you end up with some siblings on your Harley side, there’s likely only going to be two dog/human hybrids. But you don’t really let your speed get to your head all that much, afterall you’re weaker than everyone else in a single regard. While your dog half gives you a boost in burst speed it also weakens your human side’s endurance. So stunts like the one you’re about to pull are generally all you can really do. Stunts that your couch has often urged you not to indulge, because it’s apparently “bad teamwork”. Whatever. All the games would be boring if not for your crazy plays and they just can’t admit it.
You’re almost to Jessy now. She’s passed Ulline, dodged Tiffany, and Zine is coming right for her. You clench your teeth and dig your cleats into the earth like claws advancing like the predator you are with eyes only for your prey. Zine feints to the left and Jessy falls for it. You have them in your sights, there’s no escape now. Zine’s foot seems to collide with the ball in slow motion. You brace yourself to counter her kick. But she hit it with the wrong angle. She’s popped it into the air. There’s no time to think about ways to correct. You lunge into the air with all your momentum.
You blink.
The first sensation you recognize is the sharpness of the grass tickling your palms and calves. The second is the worst headache you think you’ve ever experienced in your entire lifetime. You lift a hand and try to feel around the area to figure out where the pain is coming from and it feels wet. Not from sweat, although there is quite a lot of that, but something thicker. It isn’t until you lift your hand again that you realize the sky has taken up your entire vision. The blue and white contrasts very nicely with the crimson peppering the hand you’ve now raised. It isn’t long before you’re completely surrounded by those wishing to gawk at your predicament.
Zine: h0Xly shit, are y0Xu 0Xk Yiffany?
You stare at her yellow eyes for what feels like significantly longer than you really should’ve been allowed to without giving a response. You are just simply captivated by how you can’t tell if she’s scared of you, or if she’s excited. She’ll probably be the talk of the school for at least a solid week. Everyone will want to talk to the troll who knocked the dog girl out. Meanwhile you’ll have to deal with all of them snickering about you where they think you can’t hear them. But you’ll hear every word of it. You’ll know they’ll try to hide how much they hate you with a smile, expecting you not to say a word. You remind her that she should feel scared.
You go from lying on your back in the grass to tackling Zine in a split second. Before her head hits the ground you make note that she’s appropriately scared this time. Good. You get one good punch in before people start to hold you back. It ends up taking three people to pull you off of her, the whole time you’re snarling at them.
What you did doesn’t begin to settle in until after you’ve been sitting in the waiting room of the counselor's office for at least half an hour. You didn’t even get to change clothes or take a shower you’ve just had to stew in your own filth this entire time. Literally and metaphorically. You get that’s the entire point of making you wait this long, so when they finally have you sit down on that stiff, gaudy couch with that obnoxious crocker logo you’ll just confess to all your sins and tell them you’re such a naughty girl and that you desperately desire redemption or whatever else that clown spouts. Not really your style. Sure, you really don’t know why the hell you decided to punch a girl whose only crime was not being as good a player as you expected her to be and you do feel bad about it, but you don’t need anyone’s help processing that on your own.
You’ve already got it all planned out. You’ll sneak out later tonight after classes are over and visit her dorm. She usually retreats to her room when she’s in a bad mood, so you’re sure she’ll be there. Then you’ll secretly apologize and offer to help her with her math as atonement. You’re sure she won’t hold a grudge, she’s probably the type who actually likes that kind of stuff anyways. Maybe the both of you can start a secret underground wrestling team and induct other members by just randomly punching people and seeing who likes it when you go to apologize. You’d need a catchy name to really sell it. Slam Sisters? Pugilism Puela? Rough’n Tumble Sadomasochism Gang? Zine is better at words, she’ll probably come up with the name.
Yannis: Miss Yiffany, may I come in?
Great, there goes that entire thought adventure. You don’t really understand why he asks when he’s just going to walk in anyways. If he was actually considerate of your “feelings” he would just let you go, but no matter how many times you’ve tried that never seems to be an option he considers.
Yannis: I heard you attacked Mis Zine out on the field today
He says standing in the now open doorway.
Yannis: Would you like to come in and talk about that?
Yiffy: no.
You cross your arms and continue to avoid eye contact.
Yannis: Will you try for me, please?
He motions with his hands for you to get up and follow him. Despite how hard you know he’s trying to hide it you can very clearly tell he wishes he could be anywhere else. You let out a low growl and flash your fangs, but you know it’s easier to just get it over with, so you comply. The couch is, unfortunately, exactly as you remember it from the several dozens of times you’ve been in this room before. Yannis sits across from you on a comically out of place plastic chair faced the wrong way around so he can rest his elbows on the back. You’ve assumed that’s his way of trying to relate to you and your fellow classmates by showing he can be “cool” too, but honestly he might just think sitting like that is normal. He takes out a matching set of Crocker brand notepad and pen, both the signature red color and featuring the infamous spoon iconography.
Yannis: Did Zine say anything to you that made you angry?
He asks and then readies his pen like a journalist about to get the scoop of a lifetime.
Yiffy: look I don’t get why you’re making this out to be some big deal. she scored one hit on me so I just had to even the playing field. I’m not angry at her or anything if that’s what you’re asking. It’s no big deal.
You almost get distracted by his lightning fast scribbling mid sentence a couple of times.
Yannis: We take incidences of Troll violence very serious here Miss Yiffany. Are you sure you didn’t feel threatened by her when she attacked you with the ball?
Yiffy: what the fuck are you talking about
Yannis: Are there any other incidents you’d like to report of Miss Zine having caused you any trouble in the past? Perhaps this isn’t the first time she--
Yiffy: how about you stop pretending to care about me to validate your own racist bullshit, huh?
The room is silent for a moment, save for the furious sounds of pen on paper. You notice you ripped a hole in the couch with your claws, the fluffy stuffing now jutting out from the wound over your fingers.
Yiffy: I’m not putting up with this shit.
You get up from the chair and strut out of the room before Yannis so much as has a chance to open his mouth to stop you, and you just keep walking. It’s now that you start to realize your head is spinning, and you feel ridiculously stuffy. Leaning on the wall you start to catch your breath, but the haze doesn’t stop. You muster enough energy to make it back to your room before collapsing on your bottom bunk. Your roommate is probably still in class around this time so you’ve got the place to yourself for another hour or two at the least. Which is enough of an excuse as any to finally get yourself out of your disgusting uniform.
The moment your top comes off your smell hits you like a truck. Specifically a truck that was carrying half fermented peaches that’d been out in the scorching sun for the past 6 hours. It’s a disgustingly sickly sweet smell that’s incredibly unfamiliar. What? Everyone smells their own sweat, that’s perfectly normal. It’s important for situations like these where you notice something’s different so you can tell your doctor or some shit.
You glance over at the full length mirror on your wall, trying your hardest to ignore just how rank you are. You’ve been athletic since you were a kid, and that’s granted you a nicely toned body even at your age. Nothing too pronounced, your musculature is something someone would have to look at you long enough to really be able to define clearly, but it still makes you feel good when you admire yourself. Although you’ve noticed your chest has started to sag a bit more towards the top. You really hope they stay relatively small so they don’t impact your performance; you’ve seen how much trouble larger ones give your coach. What catches your eye however is that your tail has seemingly lodged itself between your legs. Usually it’s wagging freely about, giving away your hands during strip poker with the girls. You’ve only seen it do this when you’ve felt scared before, but you feel fine? Odd.
You decide to ignore all of these important warning signs and instead opt to take a shower and forget everything post haste.