===============
The corridors seemed empty as Cliff finally put his phone down. Hour-long conversations with his mother were few and far between, but they demanded his full attention. Of all the things he couldn’t multitask with, it was with her phone calls. He took a long breath, reeling from the breadth and depth of every single conversation topic she could throw at him. As he did, he took in the general calm of the hallway. The Icebox’s back rooms generally held a content chill to them, but the lynx considered it a welcoming feeling. It sunk afterwards however, when there was that nagging thought at the back of his mind of whether or not he belonged. Shoving it out, he pressed on. His conversation with Bobby the prior week was still fresh.

“Oh, you fucking fuck!” came a gruff, growling voice from one of the rooms. The sudden outburst in the silence surprised Cliff, causing him to jump in place. He turned to the offending door – the video room. Whoever was in there, he could tell he was angry, and he was cursing profanely, muffled behind the door. Already knowing who this person might be, Cliff pocketed his phone and pushed down on the doorhandle.

There was the sound of cheering and booing – a familiar sound to his ears. His nose caught the smell of prohibited cigarettes and drinks in the room. Sure enough, in the room standing arched with his hackles raised was Ambrose Slade. The younger lynx saw that he was watching a video of a basketball game, but then he noticed the jerseys and the faces were unlike any others he’s seen in the FBA. He stepped inside, looking to the teams playing. The scores highlighted their names; the London Jets and the Legion Romana. The Jets, Cliff recalled was Slade’s team from the EFBL, and they were losing big. The scores didn’t even need to be read, the Eurasian lynx’s expression said it all. Cliff was well into the room before the older feline took notice.

“Hey, kid,” he managed to say through grit teeth, eyes affixed to the vid. He threw his arms up in exasperation when the Italian team managed to dunk over the English center, a fox. He took deep breaths, pausing the video while he took a long drag of his cigarette. His fur flattened as the cigarette calmed him down.

“Rough game?” the Canadian lynx skirted around the array of chairs to get closer to his teammate. He looked at the score, and he could barely contain a wince.

“Fucking wimps, all of them.” He snorted, snuffing out the light by pressing it against a bottle. “They keep slipping on their feet and flippers without me to set them right.” He growled indignantly. “Missed so many chances to shoot. What the hell is their coach doing?”

Cliff shifted uncomfortably. He recalled the previous year with the Arctics shortly after Umaechi and Tabanov had left the team. It was an absolute disaster for them. He then wondered if any of his old teammates had felt the same way.

“Lyons is supposed to be able to take charge better than that. Kid’s turned into a kitten again. And Daniels – for crying out loud, his plays were awful.” He pressed play again, resuming the video.

While the younger feline watched, he couldn’t help but feel a stroke of admiration for the animated edge to the veteran’s movements and words. His words and criticisms were sharp, but there was genuine care he had for his old team. “Seems to me you knew that team like the back of your hand,” he said, amused. “You were their point, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re right on that.” Slade set down the remote. “I was their star. Better than Stoat ever was.” His muzzle lined up in a grin. It quickly faded when one of the Jets players failed to grab the rebound. “Bloody fucking hell, that was atrocious!” he gestured angrily at the screen, snarling.

Cliff refrained from laughing out of respect. The accent was somewhat foreign around in Alaska, and Noddy’s sheer frustration at a team he no longer played for was respectable. The lynx also knew he referred to John Stoat –the stoat that was now the pride of Huntsville. “You’ve mentioned him a few times, he was part of the Jets once too, right?”

“Right again, kiddo.” He nodded, rolling the snuffed cigarette between two digits. In fact, it almost got crushed while Slade continued watching the bad trainwreck. “But then he left for the FBA and we won the championships twice in the next four years. You’ve seen the rings.” Speaking about the past kind of resulted in sort of conflicted look; pride was definitely one of them, marked by his big grin. The other was likely disappointment at the team he was watching.

“Heh, I remember seeing them.” The younger lynx recounted the time Slade told the story of him winning the EFBL championships. He took his rings out to show the rest of the team, looking at them with a swelling chest full of pride. “Big, bulky. Expensive looking, too.” Cliff always envied that position – the position of being a superstar. He remembered when he drove to become the best point guard in the team, to have people cheer and chant his name. The few times he was at the top, he remembered the thrill of being needed. Slade had left that position to start over in a new league.

The buzzer hit, signaling the end of the game. The younger lynx didn’t even dare mention the score out loud; the two felines saw the gap and it was almost enough to make Cliff cringe. Noddy just growled quietly, letting his frustrations out with a deep, long rumble.

“I keep ‘em in a safe.” He finally said, taking a deep breath. “Too fucking hard to wear ‘em all the time.” he held his digits out, dropping the cigarette into one of the beer bottles. He shut off the video player and grabbed a small bag sitting ontop of the chair. “I’m gonna go grab something to eat.”

The younger lynx stood, looking at the empty bottles, one of them containing the snuffed cigarette. “It’s a good thing none of the smoke detectors picked up on that.” He smirked, helping him clean up. He tossed the ash into a bin. “Speakin’ of, you usually smoke outside, don’t you?” he handed the tray back to Slade, who grunted a thanks.

“Watching the Jets always gets me frustrated. Helps me calm down a bit.”

“So’s getting drunk, then?” he picked up the bottles by the floor. He did his hardest to not inhale too much, but he could still taste the smell of yeast inside his mouth, prompting him to screw up his muzzle.

“This American piss ain’t enough to give me a buzz.” He half-joked, grinning. “Thanks for helping clean up, by the way.”

“No problem.” He flicked an ear dismissively. Moving out of the room as Slade closed it up, he thought of what his plans were for the rest of the day. Training was over, their game with Montana was tomorrow, and afterwards was the All-Star Week. He’d be going to support the teammates that were headed over. “You said you were flying back? For the break?”

“Yeah, looking forward to it. After the game, I’ll be heading back.”

They made their way out of the stadium, where Cliff promptly disposed of the bottles in the garbage bin. He wondered if anyone would peg and fine them for breaking the rules, but he shoved the thoughts away. “Meeting mum,” he tried to feign an accent, which lead to a chortle from the older veteran. “And the old team?”

“Firstly, don’t even try that again,” he held a digit out, humoured. “Secondly, that’s about right. The team, couple of friends. Visiting our old haunts in London. Cheap Indian food, and maybe mum if she’s sober, but I guarantee she’s probably not.”

The outward confident mention and image of a drunk mom made Cliff chuckle weakly. “I get to go home to a mostly-drunk Uncle. So I know the feeling.”

Slade regarded his junior for a moment as they approached the carpark. “You mentioned that once or twice.”

The mutual understanding made the lynx feel comfortable talking about Andrew. “He’s gotten better at it, but I just got tired of the I-don’t-know-how-many nights I get back and he chews my ear off when he’s just slurring all his words.”

“What’s he harpin’ you for?”

“Usually it’s my game.” He admits. “Bit of truth to that…” He trails off as they arrive at Slade’s unmistakably arctic white Range Rover. “Say, where’re you getting lunch at?” It was a bit late for lunch, admittedly. They took some time after practice, but on the other hand it was too early for dinner.

“Speakin’ of London makes me crave for some Indian curries, but there’s absolute fuck-all of that here.” He says with contempt leaking into his words. “There’s a Thai place I’ve been meaning to try at 5th Avenue.”

“Mind if I came along?” He didn’t exactly have much in the way of plans for the rest of the day, and spending some time to get to know a teammate – let alone a fellow lynx – seemed like a good idea. “I think I know which one you’re talking about.”

“That’ll be nice.” Slade replied, throwing his bag into the back seat. “Hop on, I’ll take you.”

---
The ride to the restaurant was filled with their exchange on team matters, quickly easing to them talking about their personal experiences back at their home countries. The older lynx would share about his youth, and his time in London with his team, recalling his old activities. Cliff told Slade stories about Aceh’s neighbouring villages and how he started working with poor children and charity. He’d recount the weird looks other kids’ parents would give him, knowing that he was a ‘foreign rich kid’ who came to play with the other kids as the adults were busy arranging events, deals and installations of essential systems in the villages such as water pumps and generators.

Lynxes or other northern and western species were definitely a rare sight in the tropics. There was always that feeling of division between local and foreign furs, especially in a lesser developed village, in a developing nation. While the town of Aceh was better off being the province’s capital, its villages were mostly poor. With naturally thick fur and big paws suited for snow or firm ground, tropical foliage and mud proved to be a bit of a trouble for convenience and safety in villages by the jungles and mountains. As a younger cub, there were often risks of infections or damage to developing pawpads, and overheating from all the heat, which was why he normally used shoes and very thin clothes. As he grew up and adapted, his fur had shortened and thinned. His pawpads had hardened and firmed, so it was safer to walk on mud. His fur, however, stuck with him to present day, which is why he still – as much as he hated to admit it – feels cold in most winters that most lynxes don’t. Lynxes often pride themselves on having thick, lush and long coats, trying to distance themselves from their Bobcat relatives. Slade couldn’t help but grin, poking a joke at his expense playfully, and reminded Cliff that he would ‘keep it in mind’.

They arrived at the restaurant, hopping off the white Range Rover. “Just make sure we don’t lose it in a snowstorm this time, Slade.” He jested as the other lynx locked it up.

“Hey, that night was –very- snowy.” He emphasized. “And there were drinks – good ones – involved.”

Cliff smirked, entering the restaurant. A few patrons and staff expressed some share of delight at seeing the two felines, and they were promptly seated. Cliff’s humble order of a two-course meal was dwarfed by the array of things Slade had ordered. “We’ll share,” he explained at Cliff’s surprised look.

“You really like to indulge,” The younger lynx gave Slade a grin. “Either that or my stomach shrank too.” He was curious about the older lynx’s spending habit – or any other player who was supposedly earning top pay on their contracts. They’ve worked their way to the top, and some of them share in Cliff’s philanthropy, while others like to enjoy themselves with that money.

Slade snorted. “And you like to donate your money.” He replied, as if he knew Cliff’s intentions. “Either that or food here just doesn’t fill me up, even though they’re bigger.”

“True.” Cliff picked idly away at their menu, careful to not unsheathe his claws, chuckling. Slade was at the top back in London, that much he knew. He must’ve been paid less for his contract in the FBA. “Still, maybe it’s not my business, but you must’ve had it big in the EFBL. Probably better off than starting over coming to this side of the world.”

“It’s got its up and downs. I got a few reasons why I came here, though.”

“Yeah?”

Slade held out his digits, counting them off. “First, I wanted to play with the best. Europe didn’t have anything else to offer me with two championships under my belt. The best is right here.” Cliff would nod at that. The FBA was reserved for the finest and most promising of basketball athletes – a high privilege in sports. Slade leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I know you’ve been kicking yourself in the dirt lately, son. You say as much when the Ol’ Birdy starts pecking at you.”

The Canadian lynx’s ears tapered. He knew eventually they’d be talking about his performance – in fact, Cliff wanted him to, and it brought him relief. There was something about having another of the same species and the same profession, same team that he could relate with – he searched in the veteran for some direction, inspiration to rekindle what he lost two years ago.

“Coach is right though. I’ve just been terrible lately.” He growled lowly. “I don’t want to end up on reserve and just sit around every game – I’d feel like when they first picked me up, only a lot worse.” Cliff massaged his face, grumbling.

“Work on your techniques – go back to the basics, Cliff.” Slade pointed out. His tone was to the point, but he made sure his voice stayed low. “Your form’s been pretty weak, so your aim’s been terrible, and your jumps don’t go high enough.”

“I know, I know.” He supported his head on his arms, his eyes fixed on the plastic table’s surface. “I really appreciate the advice, Slade. I’ve heard all that before, but I just need to find the same drive I had before, you know? Something drove me here, and it’s been gone for awhile, now. I need to find it back. The game’s just…been hollow.”

Slade pursed his lips and let out a short hum. “Keep in mind, son, you’re among the best of the best.” He echoed Cliff’s earlier thoughts. “You’re also one of them, and that says something about how good you really are. The big bear told me you were really driven and won player of the game once. Why do you think that is?” he asked, rhetorically.

Cliff was left to his thoughts as the drinks arrived. He recalled the drive, that feeling of seeing fans excited to seeing him. He remembered the moments where he felt needed by others – his team, the audience - and the thrill of overcoming the obstacles coming from the other team. He remembers equating it to when the kids cheered him in the kampung courts. Those were the moments he felt genuinely encouraged.

“Ever tried a punching bag?”

“Huh?” he looked back at Slade. “A punching bag?”

“It’s good to throw out your frustrations with. Ever threw a punch in your life, kid?” he grinned, joking.

“Hrmph.” He flattened his ears, unable to answer. Truthfully, he hadn’t, but Slade only cackled as he picked up on his body language. “I can start. Sounds like an idea.” He offered. The prospect was tempting, and he hadn’t found a good enough outlet for his frustrations.

“I’m pretty good with my punches, you know.”

“But you didn’t go for boxing?” Cliff asked in return, finding a chance to ask Slade further about his inspiration. “And went for basketball instead? Why’s that?”

“Four reasons for that one,” he pointed, then held out his four digits. “Money, fame, women, and respect.”

The young lynx genuinely wasn’t too surprised. There were many athletes like that, simple and straightforward, but the last one intrigued him. “Respect, eh? Why’s that?”

“Where I came from, others used to push me around.” He began, taking a drink of his beer. “It’s only when I learned how to fight back and beat the shit out of those fuckers I could stand up for myself.”

Cliff could only feel sympathy. The stories of bullying were common worldwide; even when he was in Aceh he remembered stories of kids being pushed around. He was able to dodge the bullet just because he was popular due to being a rich foreigner’s kid. Many girls have tried to get close to him for that reason.

“Though you got to realize,” he continued. “Using violence? That comes with problems. Bullies got friends, and so you’re never really safe. Unless you got friends of your own. But respect? That’ll avoid most of the problems. If people like you because of what you do for them, nobody’s going to mess with you.” Cliff took this in and nodded, accepting the answer. He could relate with that; he wanted to prove to everyone that he was more than just a foreigner trying to appear mighty; he wanted to belong. And he could do that by getting their respect. Cliff was the same – he wanted to not be seen as a foreign rich cat, but be respected for what he could give them. Giving children who barely had anything laughter, inspiration, fun, a role model.

Slade took another drink before he continued. “I wasn’t rich growing up in Wolverhampton, and if you heard anything about Wolverhampton is that every guy needs to carry a blackjack or something. I know fuck-all about my dad, and my mum’s a seamstress but she’s drunk most of the time. So I had to take care of myself with a bunch of other kids. When you get good at something the neighbourhood can respect, you finally get somewhere in that sort of a place.”

The younger lynx flicked an ear in agreement, watching one of the waitresses load up a tray with presumably their food. “Thanks for sharing that, Slade. Appreciate it.” The veteran’s experiences and his reasons were all analogous in part to his own source of drive – that respect, that fulfilment to a cause, that sense of belonging. That was what he craved and sought for two years ago. And he wanted to get it back.

“Hey, hey. You know what, Matthiews. One of these days, you’re gonna have to call me Noddy. You have –never- called me anything but Slade in the entire time I knew you. Except for that time you called me Ambrose, but since that was our first meeting I let it slide.” He grinned, one eye looking off to their food finally arriving.

“Dunno if I could, Slade.” Cliff grinned sheepishly back. Try as he might, part of the reason why was because Slade was older and he grew up taught to respect those older highly. It was different in Aceh than it would be in the west; it was something he still had trouble trying to get used to. Most of his professors never understood his formality in college.

“Oh, you bloody smartass.” He chuckled. “If I got you drunk, maybe then.”

“If you get me drunk.”

“You barely drink anyway, wuss.”

“Yeah? Well…” he gestured to his food. “Food’s here and I’m starving, so save the sass for later.” They laughed and they dug into their meal. Cliff’s mind was set at ease, and he felt like he had started to reconnect with his old self.

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Story written by  rainwhisker and  mongooseink
FBA ©  buckhopper
Cliff Matthiews ©  rainwhisker
Ambrose Slade ©  mongooseink