The Lives We Lead | tmr/tw • tw/tmr |

(19) A Brief Interlude With Different Perspectives

(A/N: they are a lot of little moments I've wanted to write but haven't fit them in. This is one of them... It's short, but enjoy!)

While Abigail Simon spent her Monday night in a much different way than she had previously intended (majorly due to the fact that she had to keep her only friend from bleeding out on her front porch), Beacon Hills, oddly enough, had a calm night.

Or, as calm of a night as Beacon Hills could have, with Bobby Finstock coaching Cross Country.

The evening air was full with shrill whistle blows and and horrendous shouts of agony as Coach Finstock sat in a swivel office chair in the middle of the lacrosse field, spinning around as he followed the movements of his runners, trying their best to please their coach as they ran along the farthest perimeter of the field. However, pleasing the coach had always been a fruitless endeavor.

"Pathetic!"

"My grandma can run faster than that, Holloway! And she's dead!"

"I should feel like I'm on those terrible teacups in Disney Land! This doesn't feel like the happiest place on earth!"

"Dunbar, I thought you were one of my best runners! Pick up the pace ladies!"

"This isn't a retirement home!"

It was safe to say, no one was really enjoying practice.

Before he could insult the poor students again, his phone rang. He pulled it out and took note of the time. 6:45 pm--he should probably head home soon. Checking the caller ID, Coach unceremoniously spit out the whistle from his mouth and answered.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm finishing up an awful practice. What's up?"

"Hey, Dad," Ramahilla chirped from the other line. "I'm actually finally heading home from work for the night."

"Rough day?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "You could say that."

"Things are pretty quiet here," he stared off to where his runners were. "Maybe you'll get a break soon."

"I hope so," she responded casually, never quite sure how much he actually knew regarding the supernatural. "But I'm glad I'm coming to visit this weekend! We're still on for dinner, right?"

"Yep, I've got the steaks waiting in the fridge," he grinned.

"Ooh, steak," she teased. "What's up with you? I thought steak was only for big wins?"

"It is," he chuckled deviously. "We've made it to nationals this year for Cross Country. By the time you arrive Friday night, we'll already be champions!"

"I thought you said practice was going terribly."

"Oh, it is," he nodded vigorously, a look of hunger in his eyes, like he could see the trophies already. Before explaining further, he blew his whistle and yelled again at his team, causing Ramahilla to pull her phone away from her ear with a grimace.

"Dad, maybe a little warning, next time?"

"Sorry, pumpkin. But I've got one runner, Bilinski--he's bringing home the gold for us, I know it!"

"Isn't he one of your lacrosse players? The one that's friends with your lacrosse captain?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"I thought he sucked?"

"He did! That's what's crazy because now he's my fastest runner!"

"Cool, Dad," Ramahilla tried to sound enthusiastic, but she didn't like her father being around him too much.