The bandleader marked the beat, and everyone wearing a colorful uniform in Paladin’s green and blue stood to play their respective instruments.
Off-key, and not all at the same time, as it happened.
June winced, then grimaced after hearing a few boos, then tried to focus on the competing cheers from the bouncing squad at the bottom of the cold aluminum stands. “I suppose we’re not known for our music programs.”
“Nor your so-called ‘football’,” Peter said blithely. “Whatever this actually is, proper footie it is not.” He passed her an already-lukewarm hot chocolate and a pretzel that appeared to be older than the half-eaten ramen she’d found in her office earlier, then pulled a swath of paper napkins and an oozing cup of molten cheese. “However, I believe these are traditional.”
“Though possibly as much of a waste of time as the band’s efforts,” June mumbled – though only after a quick glance to make sure no one was close enough to hear. She gnawed on a bit of torn pretzel, then gave up and swallowed with difficulty. “Well, they’re enthusiastic.”
“So, faculty representative,” Peter said heartily. “Is that promising? Da hasn’t been asked to attend one yet. He and Mum would have joined us, but they’re hosting a visitor at the moment.”
“It means no one else wanted to come, and they look at me and see a kid,” she said gloomily, and perched her chin on a propped-up hand. “I want to think of it as paying my dues, but…”
She didn’t bother to finish, poking pretzel into the plastic cup of liquid cheese. Below, a whistle blew, with a few thumps as pads and the humans encased within walloped the unnaturally grassy field.
The band, unfortunately, began to play once more.
He squeezed her gloved hand in silent support. Below, the game continued, if largely unseen by either.
“Do you feel that?” Peter’s words cut through the cacophony, despite his low voice. “It’s more than just sport.”
Nodding, she scanned the stands, biting her lip. “Magical pressure. Think it’s someone who new to power, maybe is inadvertently steering their team?”
His brow furrowed. “Feels oily. Cold. Power’s rising too fast for an accident.”
“Malicious,” she whispered. “Darkness rises.”
June’s words were drowned by piercing screams.
***
This week’s prompt came from nother Mike: When the bandleader marked the beat, everyone…
It was a trade! Head on over to MOTE and check out what he did with: There was a blank void where there should have been words…
