"Ohhh Peter you shouldn't have. They're lovely. I'll just put them in water if that's okay."
"Sure," he replied, following her through to the kitchen where he was assaulted by a variety of familiar aromas, one after the other, all equally delicious. If the way to a man's affection is through great food, then it's doubly true of dragons. Even in human form, there's very little better than a really fantastic tasting and smelling meal. This dragon was becoming well and truly smitten.
As she topped up a vase with water, adding the tiny sachet that came with the flowers, Janice told Peter that they were having steak fajitas, 'à la Janice,' to eat. Something of a surprise, what with it being almost his preference in the staff canteen at work, all became clear when she revealed that she'd secretly asked Richie what his favourite food was.
'Wow,' he thought, 'she's gone to some lengths to put on something special.' Before he had time to dwell on it, Janice held out a bottle of wine in one hand and a much smaller bottle of beer in the other.
"Which would you prefer?" she asked meekly.
Silently wondering if his next words were somehow going to impact on the rest of the evening and their relationship as a whole, he reluctantly took the plunge.
"I... uhhh... don't drink, I'm afraid," he managed to stutter.
"OH!" Janice replied. "I don't think I've ever dated anyone who doesn't drink alcohol before."
'Oh... here we go,' thought Peter, fearing that he'd blown what he thought of as one of the best things to ever happen to him. Fortunately, he needn't have worried.
"Well... I'm very proud of you. It must take quite a lot to play hockey like you do and not drink. I bet there are times when it must be almost easier to bow to peer pressure and have a beer?"
He nodded.
"Good for you," she said approvingly, beaming and putting both bottles down next to the flowers. "I see so many people, men and women, acting like idiots every night, week in, week out... all because of alcohol. And it's not just because they've had too much. Sometimes it's because we've run out of their preferred tipple... that's been known to produce the odd violent reaction or two. Oh, and the other good one is when they've not had enough... such as when we're trying to close the bar and they need another drink. And I can't stress 'NEED' enough! I'm sorry I hadn't realised before that you don't drink. I thought it was just because you were driving home all the time... sometimes even that's not enough to dissuade people."
"I... I... don't mind other people drinking... honest," Peter managed to spout, his mouth by now drier than a grain of sand on a beach, competing in a cracker eating contest.
Just when he thought Janice's smile couldn't get any bigger or brighter... it did!
"Actually, I hardly touch the stuff. And I'm pretty sure I'd be much happier just staying sober, if that's okay with you," she whispered, putting one hand around the back of his neck and giving him the biggest kiss in the world.
"That's fine by me," he spluttered, on finally surfacing for air.
After that, the two of them stayed in the kitchen, Peter helping with the plates and the dips, while Janice tended to the steak and the fajitas, first talking about work, which then naturally progressed onto everything happening at the sports club.
With the food cooked, they moved into the living room, sharing the sofa. For his part, Peter tried hard not to wolf down his food, something he had a bit of a tendency to do, as they continued to talk during the meal. After having finished eating, they stacked the plates neatly in the kitchen before returning to the sofa to watch the film Janice had chosen. Taking a swig of his soft drink at exactly the wrong time, he nearly spat it halfway across the room when she told him what she'd picked.
"How To Train Your Dragon," she announced sweetly. At first, he thought she'd somehow discovered his secret. But as she sat delicately down next to him, he realised it was just a happy coincidence. In fact, it was all he could do to keep the tears of laughter from coming out.
'How ironic,' he thought to himself. ''How To Train Your Dragon' indeed. If only you knew the truth. If only you knew that here and now you're cuddled up with a real one, about to watch a film depicting a stereotypical dragon.' In a way, part of him was aching to tell her, so that she could... accept him for what he really was. But deep down, he knew better. Despite the fact that he was indeed hooked on her, he understood the consequences of those sorts of actions and knew that she could never, ever know. So with that, he sat, arm around her... content, more so than in a long time, and just watched the film, happy that for the here and now all he had to do was be himself... well, almost.
24
Spoil Sport... Stars!
Normally this bit wouldn't bother him. I mean really, why would it? Anything that he wanted... WOULD be provided for him. The only thing that came to mind which wasn't allowed was that under no circumstances could he go to the surface, but other than that pretty much anything he dreamed of would either be brought to him here in these spectacular rooms, or arranged for him. But today... something just wasn't quite right. It was a little under twenty-four hours until the start of the match, and as usual he was being ridiculously pampered, simply spoiled beyond belief. Of course, it was his life, and all that he'd known for almost as long as he could remember. Most of the other players didn't really have a problem with this, in fact for most, this was part of the reason that they'd trained so hard to become professional laminium ball players. The fame, the adulation, never having to work again, female dragons quite literally hurling themselves at you... just a few of the attractions for most who follow this particular path. But for some time now he'd found the whole thing nothing more than a burden.
Quite a while ago he'd become disillusioned by it all, and thought that only he alone could think like that. Until quite by accident, he'd discovered that one of the few laminium ball players he actually revered, and the only one in his team that he looked up to, felt exactly the same way. In the build up to one of the endless games, some years ago, he'd stupidly taken a wrong turn in the maze of hospitality rooms provided for the players. It was only when he'd stumbled upon Silverbonce angrily ushering away one of the many dragons whose job it was to carry out the player's every wish and command, that he had any inkling things were not quite what they seemed. Hunched over in the shadows of the corridor, he watched his teammate admonish the dragon for trying to bring him the finest food and drink. As the serving dragon sprinted past him, he wandered very casually into Silverbonce's allocated room to see if the old mouth guard was alright. To his astonishment, his teammate's room was practically bare. There was of course a bed, but other than that... very little. It was then that his teammate shared his very passionate view about exactly how he felt with regard to all the luxuries afforded to the laminium ball players... and he did it in quite a vivid way, laced, in fact, with more than a little rage. As he'd stood there taking the heat (in more ways than one) from Silverbonce's anger, he felt more respect for, and a common bond with, the oldest current laminium ball player on the planet. Their views were almost identical, albeit reached by rather different journeys, and were most definitely kept secret from the rest of the team.
Normally he'd be fine, keep himself to himself in the allocated room before the game, meditate, eat very basic meals (plain charcoal, a lightly roasted hog, a dozen or so chickens... that kind of thing) and of course... REST! But for the hour or so that he'd been here, he just couldn't settle. Something was... well, not exactly wrong, but just not right. And more bothersome was the fact that he just didn't know what was needling him. It wasn't anything he could see, hear, or smell. It was just an underlying feeling... a strong one! Having tried everything he could think of, he'd checked in on the rest of the team; being captain afforded him the opportunity to do that without causing suspicion. All of them were fine, with most partying like only dragons could, with the exception of Silverbonce, who was deep in meditation. Having wandered a little further into the underground complex (he, for very obvious reasons, wasn't permitted anywhere near the opposition's rest and relaxation area) he could sense nothing definitively amiss there, either. Lying back on his very large and comfortable bed (one of the few luxuries he did insist on having) he'd stretched out with all his telepathic senses, up through the mile thick layer of rock above, scanning for any sort of danger or threat. But still... NOTHING!! Nothing out of the ordinary. Currently situated in New Zealand, on the South Island beneath part of Mount Aspiring National Park, he knew that almost directly above him, magnificent blue pools and rivers flowed throughout the magnificent landscape, just north east of Makarora, in a valley that feeds down into Lake Wanaka. And the main laminium ball stadium there, the one that he would be taking to in less than twenty-four hours, sits directly below the surface of the lake, famously separated from it by a very precarious and thin layer of rock. Everything above ground, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be fine. Still... he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that, somewhere close by, danger bubbled away unchecked.