[COLOR=GRAY][INDENT]The flat was small and cramped, and occasionally the stout smell of coriander and anise would leak in from the flat next to them, but it was home. Trace’s father kept it militantly pristine, and there was always this lingering hint of bleach with a mixture of lemongrass and honeysuckle. They’d never figured out where it came from. The soap smelled like trees and citrus. They noted that as they scoured their hands with said soap and hot water. It was late, and the muted telly was the only light on in the combined living space. Trace had barely noticed the darkness until the overhead light popped on. Through the front door came Dad, his digits fumbling with his key as his arms were weighed down with paper sacks. Trace instinctually jogged over and grabbed the bags. They placed it on the small, linoleum island that made the kitchenette area seem nicer than it was. They peeked in to see a whole, roasted chicken.

[color=#D90037]“Dad,”[/COLOR] they said flatly. [color=#D90037]“What is this? It’s just me and Trev and [i]you[/i]. And Trev isn’t even here, he’s over at what’s-her-face, probably given her a good—”[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“Nope,”[/COLOR] he said, locking the door behind him. [color=#48746E]“We all know what a teenage boy is doing. There’s no need to bring it up. And, I figured that we could have a nice dinner for a change.”[/COLOR]  Thomas Whitlock consumed the small entryway. While he was a demure man with soft sensibilities and a delicate accent, he looked like you’d not want to meet him in the alley. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and all his button-up shirts fought against his barrel chest. Trace knew he’d been in the military, and knew that he was in security now. There was a tickle in the back of their mind that said that he probably knew more ways to kill a man than they knew lewd gestures. He’d even shown them a few tricks to stop anyone that tried to be aggressive with them.  Not that it mattered much, now, as they were able to sprout multiple arms and flail them with the insipid rage of a drunk toddler.

[color=#D90037]“It’s 11 o’clock at night. We’ve way exceeded dinnah.”[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“Oh, so you’ve eaten?”[/COLOR] 

[color=#D90037]“Fuck,”[/COLOR]  they remarked. [color=#D90037]“No, I just got in.”[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“And I’m going to have a talk with Tim about having you out that late.”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“Look, Dad, it’s not his fault. I choose the extra work.”[/COLOR] They reached into the bag and pulled out the chicken, the heat radiating from the bottom singed the tips of their fingers.

A disappointed frown appeared underneath their Dad’s mustache before he smiled. He knew why they stayed late and went in early. Few people stared at them. It was a realization he’d had a while ago. He dropped the other bags on the counter, pulling out the containers with various precooked vegetables packed into them. 

[color=#48746E]“You know you look like your mother.”[/COLOR]

Trace jerked their face over and stared at him. Their blank eyes wide and possibly insulted. [color=#D90037]“Wha? Like a black and white photo where some serial killah like scratched out the eyes? Wha the actual fuck, Dad?”[/COLOR]

He only chuckled. Usually, he’d reprimand them for their language, but he was apparently tired. [color=#48746E]“I know you don’t really remember her, but you have her smile and her laugh. I didn’t even think it was possible. It startled me the first time I heard it.”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“Probably fittin’ that I sound like a ghost, considerin—”[/COLOR] They waved at themselves like a gameshow host showing off the prizes. Except they were far from a prize.

Their dad stopped unpacking the food at about that time. Trace could tell he was about to go into Sad Dad mode,  and they felt bad about initiating it. [color=#48746E]“I get it. You had four wankers for older brothers, a dad that was only here half the time—”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“Ah no, you were there—”[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“Trace,”[/COLOR]  he said, firmly. [color=#48746E]“I’ll get to the point. You never had a chance to really meet your mum, and I hate that you couldn’t. You’ve always had to be tough. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You gotta be tough sometimes, but sometimes you—”[/COLOR] he trailed off. [color=#48746E]“Don’t get me wrong, your mum was terrifying when she had to be. I watched her scream a fellow nearly deaf one time. It was like watching the nature channel during the big cat hour. But she didn’t let anyone put her down. She was confident in who she was. And you look so much like her—it makes me sad that you don’t have that much confidence. Because, you’re a spectacular kid, and I’m glad I did a good job on at least one of you.”[/COLOR] He reached back into the bags and finished setting everything out. [color=#48746E]“I know it’s easy to say that considering that I’ve never gone through what you have. Just know that journey –”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“I get it, Dad, I need to stop being hard on myself."[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“Right. Don’t put yourself down. Put other people down.”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“That sounds like a bloody fuckin’ motto to put on a cat poster. If the cat was covered in the blood and guts of anotha cat.”[/COLOR]

[color=#48746E]“There’s a reason I’m not a licensed counselor.”[/COLOR]

[color=#D90037]“No… really?”[/COLOR] Trace’s words dripped with sarcasm.

[color=#48746E]“Now shut up and eat your dinner.”[/COLOR] He leaned over and kissed the top of their head. [/INDENT][hr][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/4TsfIrH.png[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=#D90037][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#D90037][b]The Homecoming Trials #1.37:[/b][/COLOR] [I]The "Tea" in Team Spirit[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=#D90037][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Haleigh, [@Kuro]; Rory [@webboysurf]; Trevor [@Jarl Coolgruuf] [/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#D90037][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Icy Starfish[/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT]The bus ride over was anything but quiet, but Trace got lost in their thoughts long enough to not let it bother them. It was easier to daydream about a different time than it was to live in this one—this one which was admittedly easier than home was. There were a few things Trace missed, and it was mostly their dad. Who knew they could be homesick for a cramped flat and chicken that tasted a little off?

When Jim, their illustrious leader, remarked about the cliffs wailing like banshees—Trace snorted. [color=#D90037]“Must Ireland haunt me forevah?”[/COLOR] They would have slithered back to daydreaming if they hadn’t come up to the campsite quickly. 

As they got off the bus, Trace stretched, the dull pop of their bones only audible to those within a short proximity. [color=#D90037]“Is now a bad time to mention that I was fuckin’ too poor to camp? Not that you bloody went campin’ in London. If you wanted to piss and shit in the wilderness and get mauled by a bear, you’d just have to find the nearest Eurotrash Disco.”[/COLOR] They realized that joke was probably lost on the lot of them, so they just sighed and continued their stretches.

They had seen “Team Eclipse,” and they paid them no mind. If football had taught them anything, it was that acknowledging competition would allow them to get under their skin. Sure, they could benefit from learning about their rivals, but they could also benefit from not getting psyched out by thinking about it. And this little trip was more about getting sorted into their corresponding house anyway. They just had to be the shiniest bitch in the dog show. Though they couldn’t help but feel some relief that there were a couple of hyper humans on the other team with physical abnormalities. They hadn’t seen a lot.

Everyone pairing off made Trace nervous. They truly didn’t want to share an enclosed space with anyone that tended to snore and fart. The dainty girls teamed up, the bougie rich girl asked Banjo, and then there was Katja who approached a dainty boy. What was left was a hodgepodge of testosterone and the girl in the wheelchair. There was no way Trace wanted to team up with her. Not due to any social stigma, but because they wouldn’t be of help to her. She’d probably end up having to carry around the small Brit. Trace approached her and patted her on the shoulder. [color=#D90037]“I’ll get you sorted.”[/COLOR] They winked.

It was then that they made a beeline for Trevor and Rory. About that time Rory looked them square in the eye as he mentioned a football. They were aware of what the American football looked like, and they would have no part in it. Why was the ball that shape? Was it because American male footballers were grossly homophobic? They couldn’t cup anything ball-shaped and hold it close to their chest? Ugh.

They’d regret this next action. But they were two strapping young lads and they were a better fit for making sure that the girl in the wheelchair didn’t feel weird or left out. [color=#D90037]“Oye, you two.”[/COLOR] They then pointed to the wheelchair bound girl. [color=#D90037]“One of you needs to go ovah and team up with her. The other one can stay behind and be my partnah. I don’t care which one it is, just leave your shared braincell with the one that’s stayin’ with me. Okay?”[/COLOR]
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