
- - -
“Oh, you are kidding me!”
Elora slapped the railing in fury, sending a jolt of pain through her hand that went unnoticed. She was in enough pain already watching the Crystal Glacier players hug one another as the Colossos goaltender sullenly dragged the puck out of the net.
At her side Spyro watched her bemused. Elora was always calm, collected and patient, as she should be for a faun of her stature, but not when it came to ice hockey. If she wasn't on the ice herself, crushing the opposition against the boards, then she was in the stand screaming until her hair stood on end. Deep down he wondered if this was some kind of medically-prescribed therapy for her, but he didn't dare ask, not now that she had the referee in her sights.
“Referee, are you watching this damn game?” she roared as he skated by. He paid her no heed. “He tripped him! How did you not see that? You're spoiling the game, man, open your eyes!”
She grabbed her eyelids and stretched them open for emphasis. Spyro stifled a laugh, which unfortunately she heard.
“I'm glad you find this funny!” she hissed at him, sitting back down in her seat, “Our season hinges on this game. If we lose this the only way we'll make the playoffs is a win at Frozen Altars, and that ain't happening, and at this rate we sure as hell won't win this either!”
She slapped the rail again, Spyro dutifully nodding along. She had a point, the scoreboard didn't make good reading. 4-1 down with seventeen minutes left to play, and on the rink that certainly didn't look like changing. Four of the team switched out at once and on scrambled four sets of fresh limbs, but they carried with them the same defeatist look as the skaters they'd replaced. The game felt lost, and judging by the people Elora could see sneaking out the exit the crowd felt the same way. She scowled contemptuously at them.
“Come on!” she roared at her team, more fire in her blood now. Her scream stung Spyro's eardrums. He placed a claw to his throbbing lug just in time to dampen another roar of fury as a Colossos player was dispossessed by a rough bodycheck.
“Referee!” she shrieked, but he wasn't interested.
The Glacierman claimed the puck and passed it to the centre in front of him, and unmarked he charged towards the Colossos net. The defenceman came out to meet him and deflected the puck behind the goal. One on one they charged for it, and with a slam into the boards Crystal Glacier claimed it. The centre charged back in front of goal. He deftly tapped his stick either side of the puck, and the goaltender lowered himself, ready for the strike, but his concentration was so intense that he could do nothing when the puck was laid off to a wing skating in from nowhere and struck it firmly past him and into the net.
The crowd somehow shrivelled smaller as the scoreboard ticked over to five. All except Elora, whose chest swelled with venom.
“Are you kidding me?!” she roared, banging the railing to try and get someone's attention. Coincidentally the referee skated by, and she took her chance. She leaned into his face and roared, “That was a foul back there, referee! It shouldn't be a goal. You're a disgrace!”
“Be quiet,” he mumbled, and skated off.
“Hey, I'm not done speaking to you!”
She reached over the rail to grab his shirt, but Spyro quickly leapt and pulled her back.
“Woah!” he said, “Let's calm it down.”
“That ref's a joke!”
“He is, but you can't grab him!”
“We are losing because of him!”
“Calm down, it's just a game...”
“Oh, it's just a game!” she flapped her arms, “Spyro, hockey isn't a matter of life and death. It is much, much more important than that!”
“Elora, people are staring. Could you just tone it down a little?”
“No, I can't,” she said aggressively, “You don't get it, do you? We lose this it's over; we go another year without a trophy. 33 years goes up to 34. This isn't like your stupid skateboarding, this is actual sport with actual consequences.”
“Hey, leave skateboarding out of this,” he said, half-jokingly, but Elora took it as genuine. She leaned into his face.
“No, because skateboarding is stupid. It's a bunch of dorks wearing oversized pants falling off a board with wheels glued to it. And they all call each other 'bro', and make out like it's the most manly thing in the world, but what is it? Doing spins and twirls and stuff. It's identical to the damn figure skating they do in Icy Peak!”
“Elora...”
“And sometimes you're just like that,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “You're all cocky and arrogant and 'don't sweat it', just generally a downright jerk.”
“Wha...”
“I mean it. You can be a real, colossal jerk at times, Spyro. You treat everything as a competition and you brag about it when you win; when people tell you to do things you'll often drop it in an instant to go and pursue some little trinket that's caught your eye, no mtter how important the task is, and your first reaction to any problem is to attack something, and you're always distraught when you can't. So yeah, Spyro, I don't appreciate taking lectures about being calm and respectful from you, because you're twice the jerk that I will ever be!”
Spyro's face tightened. His lips stretched into neutrality, but he couldn't so effectively disguise the hurt in his eyes. Elora didn't notice it through her rage.
“Look,” Spyro said, “I think I'd better leave you to calm down. I'm going to go get something to eat. If you need me I'll be somewhere up there, but I doubt you will.”
He slunk off up the stairs and disappeared onto the concourse. Elora nodded approvingly as he went, then turned her attention back to the game.