Sk8 City 

The great thing about working together was they saw each other quite a bit. Maybe not like... every hour of ever day. But it was certainly a lot more than the passing contact they'd had via text for months of Wallace being the quintessential hermit and Abraham being busy with Prince Jaguar things that Wallace was most certainly not jealous of. Hobbes longed for others of their sort all the time, but Wallace couldn't begin to fathom ever trying to be the one to make that happen.

Tonight, he was thinking about none of that. And with any luck, neither was Abraham! Because after they closed up at Thyme, they headed eastward instead of homeward. Much easier to arrange an outing with the aforementioned increasingly frequent contact, and Wallace had actually taken to the task of figuring out where they were going--at Abraham's usual grumpy insistence--with enthusiasm he hadn't expected of himself.

It was a weird risk, not going straight home, but one he was more and more willing to make, it seemed. And so with the promise of the best cheese fries this side of the Rockies--a massive exaggeration to be sure, but an intriguing one--Wallace had decided dinner tonight was at the Sk8 City cafe, and while they were there they may as well make fools of themselves.

"Look, if either of us break our necks tonight, we need to promise to come up with a very heroic story for our loved ones," Wallace remarked as they headed inside. Not that anything immediately sprang to mind, but the adrenaline of having to face Asha after such a demise might very well spark something very inventive.

This was the worst idea ever, and Abraham was pretty excited about it. Privately. (He tried to keep it hidden behind his beard.)

Wallace was eleven feet taller, so in the end, he'd fall a lot harder than Abraham would. And they probably were going to fall because Abraham hadn't strapped roller skates on his feet since he was in his twenties, and if he was going to eat shit, he planned to make sure Wallace did too.

The music as they headed in was... a little... discoier? Disco-y-er? Than he expected. And the lights were lower. And maybe... like...

Was that a fucking disco ball?

"Did you sign us up for '70s night, dude?" he asked as they headed toward the counter.

Wallace was experiencing a similar sense of

"Oh god," which he said out loud.

This was pure accident. Wallace hadn't really considered looking up the event calendar for Sk8 City, and he was paying for it now as he was slightly dazzled by a disco ball that scattered iridescent lights across the rink and into the carpeted areas as well. It also meant that the place was a fair bit more crowded than he had anticipated...


"Well, fuck, we're dressed all sorts of wrong, aren't we?" He'd pay for his sins by paying for their entrance and rental fees.

Things Abraham still wasn't rich enough to do: argue against Wallace paying for things. So he was happy to let that happen, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

"I could probably give myself an afro with a little work," he said, looking at various skates and wondering if werejaguars could get foot fungus. Hopefully not. "When's the last time you roller skated?"

He'd rattle off his shoe size when requested, which wasn't as large as Wallace's but don't fucking look into that, alright.

The shoe size thing was probably a myth.

"Do it," Wallace insisted about the afro, teasing with a grin, then reached to take up the offered roller skates which... didn't smell awful, but did smell a good bit like someone had sprayed the insides with an aerosol cleaner, which was for the best but also not attractive to a sensitive nose. The question made him pause to think. He would have been... "I dunno, I was maybe 18, 19? Fifteen years, give or take."

Which, suddenly, seemed like a lot.

He passed Abraham the rolling shoes he'd probably die wearing.

"Fifteen, twenty-five. Thirty-five," he said, which didn't even make sense because it wasn't like Wallace was that old. (Though Abraham was one hundred thousand percent sure that Purple Eyes dyed his beard.)

He spotted some table to go sit at in shame to make the footwear transition. This was going to be so dumb. So tremendously dumb. Abraham stared down at scuffed blue roller skates as he sat, spinning one of the wheels with a hand.

"You think I'll get beat up if I just cling to the edge of the rink and go in a big circle?"

Wallace grinned even as he was busy working his shoe off. "There's probably some 14-year-old having a birthday party with his buddies that's going to mob you. Sorry in advance that I won't be able to protect you."

The disco was weirdly catchy, at least. It worked for the roller rink vibe.

Picking up his skate to start putting things on, he tapped his against Abraham's. "Hey look, matching. Awww." And blue, which was a perfectly acceptable shoe color choice.

"Fourteen-year-olds love disco," he huffed back.

The only way to make this all lamer was that their skates matched, and Abraham shook his head, jamming his foot into one and starting on the laces. Even just with a few wiggles of the wheels on the carpet, he knew he was in trouble here.

"Imagine shifting in these," he said quietly. "Horrible. But for like... a second, fucking hilarious."

Maybe because he was also picturing them on his hands, as if shifting would promptly provide him with four skates.

Everything was supremely lame and Wallace would willingly admit that he was rather loving it. Would he still love it by night's end? He wasn't sure, but in the meantime he was going to enjoy himself. Abraham's general attitude was a thing of beauty, if only for people who liked Abrahams.

"Bright side, everyone would stay out of our way while we careened around with our fur on end."

The tiger was not at all interested in this activity, pretty sure, but that didn't stop Wallace from entertaining the idea. Truthfully, he doubted they had a size that would allow cats of either of their sizes to really get their paws in there.

"Cats doing the splits," was the further thought he offered after a second, then gasped to himself, "That's something to avoid on two legs, too. Fuck." But he laughed and started pulling on the second skate.

God. Splits. Abraham was going to die. He laughed and also wondered if he had a will. The last thing he needed was his mom getting all his confusing belongings.

Lacing up both skates, he took a deep breath and rose with great care onto his new kicks.

And... on the carpet, he felt okay? Maybe not like be would immediately fall and break every bone. But this was probably hubris.

"Ready to roll, Master Chief?"

"Roll out, autobot," Wallace agreed, already feeling like he'd laced these too tight as he stood up, but figuring too tight was better than rolling an ankle? Maybe? How long would that take to heal up... Hm. Hopefully he wouldn't find out because he really did not fancy limping out of here.

"Tell me if you need a hand to hold," he teased, then began to half-clomp, tentatively roll on across the unforgiving carpet to the opening of the rink that would set them out on disco ball dazzled, polish wooden floors. The danger zone.

Autobot. Pfft. Maybe when he eventually fell he'd just explode into pyrotechnics.

As they reached the entrance to the rink, a swirling maelstrom of glimmering light and slippery hate, he felt a very real sense of fear. Honestly, if he fell and broke a wrist, he'd have to lie about it to Asha. Except she'd be able to magic feel his pain. THE STRUGGLE.

Gripping the side of the rink, he put a first foot out, and immediately bust into nervous, high pitched laughter.

"Oh my God this is gunna suck dick," he said, one arm wrapping around the edge as he found his feet and rolled, legs perfectly straight, about four feet along the wall.

Abraham's nervous laughter put an anxious grin on Wallace's face--mercifully mostly hidden behind beard. The lights were somewhat disorienting? Not helpful, really, and neither was the guy who was jiving so hard that he flew past on his skates going backwards and dancing. What was this, a professional?!

Wallace put his own hand to the rink wall, not quite hugging it but not quite... not. He decided against laughing at his best bud mostly because he could feel his own impending doom lurking at the heels of his unsteady footwear, even as things... seemed to be going good? It was awkward, and slow, but he didn't feel like his feet were about to fly out from under him just yet.

After a moment he tentatively removed his hand from the wall.

"This is deeply unnatural," he decided out loud. This somehow felt worse than the last time he recalled ever doing this. But the last time he'd done this he also hadn't had a giant tundra cat in his head.

"Deeply unnatural" was about right, and the jaguar in Abraham's head was giving off every cat alarm it knew how. Were it present, the cat would probably be clinging to his back, nails dug deep for "safety."

It left Abraham momentarily pretty tense, trying to calm what he recognized as an irrational fear. Abraham had fought vampires. This would be okay.

Sliding one foot forward, then the next, he kept a hand tightly on the wall, though eventually used it less as a crutch. He glanced back to Wallace who looked stupid and tall on his skates, and that helped a little.

"How do these people not just crash into each other?" he asked of someone who absolutely went fucking airborne on purpose across the rink. "I'm thinking another... ten feet and I'll let go of the wall."

Wallace tried to angle to where he was near Abraham without threatening the crashing that he spoke of. Situational awareness. That's all this was. Wallace had great situational awareness. All he had to do was not be too close to anyone and there just wouldn't be any crashing! A simplified version of events, but for the moment it seemed okay.

Pushing a little more boldly into a slightly longer stride, he felt a bit like a dumbass penguin with his hands flared out from either side of his body.

"It's not so bad?" Wallace said, trying to sound encouraging. "Just..." Another person zoomed past with confidence, "How are they so fast??"

It was so bad, the jaguar insisted, a reluctant passenger on this ride from hell. Abraham slowly released his grip on the side, hands out. Anyone taking a photo of him from the waist up might think he was walking on a tight rope.

Wallace's encouragement was wordlessly appreciation and his question answered after a moment of pondering.

"Vampires," he decided decidedly, feet shuffling, picking up... distance but not necessarily speed.

Was this enough skating? Could he go eat five hotdogs now?

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