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if susie has gathered anything by watching kris like this, it’s that they’re a complete weirdo.
not that she’s watching them on purpose, or because she has any particular interest in what they get up to. much the opposite, really. they’re just always in the fucking way. every time she shows up here to practice drills against the boards, they’re already here, gliding along the ice like they were born with a pair of skates on their feet.
she never changes the time she arrives at the rink to avoid them, because why should she? the rink never belonged to them, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. every time her eyes land on them, her entire body fills with the primal urge to slam their pitiful little frame into the nearest wall, to get all up in their face and feel their pulse quicken under the thumb resting against their throat, like a piece of prey that knows it’s been caught. it wouldn’t take much. they’re short and lithe, and she could probably throw them around like a ragdoll if she wanted to. it might get the message through their thick skull that she doesn’t want them here.
she’s in the stands right now, slumped over in one of the crusty plastic chairs, chin resting against the lip underneath the plexiglass windows. kris is practicing some intricate spinny maneuver, and they’re slowly getting more and more frustrated with themself. they never show their emotions in an obvious way, she’s found, and it’s only when you pay very close attention that you can pick up on their little tells. right now, susie can see that they’re getting on their own nerves by the way that they throw their head around to flick their hair out of their face. really, they could just tie it back, and once or twice she’s even been tempted to storm over and hand them the spare hair tie she keeps on her wrist, just so she doesn’t have to watch them do it anymore. honestly, the way they choose to mask their own emotions infuriates her. it’s as if they feel like they’re too good to feel anything. like anyone who dares to have any kind of outburst is far beneath them.
they give up on perfecting the move eventually, and fall into the routine she’s seen them replicating over the past few weeks. she can just barely hear the bass of the song thumping in their headphones as they skirt past where she’s seated. show off. she’s never been bothered to actually attend one of their…recitals? whatever they’re called. she doesn’t care about it, for one. she has better things to do than watch a bunch of wimps play ice ballerina to the same few classical music tracks for a few hours. just the thought of it alone makes her want to tear her hair out. she probably couldn’t afford to, either. if she had anything to spare, it would be sitting in the lone vending machine in the lobby, or saved up to get new laces for her skates that aren’t so frayed that duct tape is the only thing giving them structural integrity. not that she cares, of course.
kris used to skate in pairs, she recalls. a few times, in her early days of hockey practice, she would accidentally arrive a little too early and instead stumble upon them practicing routines alongside the holiday girl. they were all smaller back then, and lacking the kind of precision that gets beaten into you with age and discipline. kris would trudge onto the ice, strung along by deer girl’s grip on their sleeve, and they would fumble around for a while until eventually falling into rhythm. she’s not saying they were bad, because they weren’t. for a while, they were hometown’s golden duo. asriel dreemurr would always be the crowning star, but the two of them together seemed to charm every bozo who showed up to watch them. kris was probably dragged into all of this by their older brother, she realises, but they seem to enjoy it more than they used to. at least, they don’t act like it’s a chore as much as they once did.
eventually, the pair split off, and it was just kris left to grace the ice. she doesn’t actually know why the girl doesn’t show up anymore, but who would she even ask? if she had to make a guess, it’s probably got to do with the disappearance of december holiday. that’s a name that’s always stuck in her head. how would it not, after the entire town was made to search for the poor girl for weeks on end? most people stopped after a while, including susie, because it became increasingly more obvious that she wasn’t going to be found, wether that was by her own choice or not. susie doesn’t really blame her if it’s the former. out of every place that she’s lived over the last sixteen or so years, hometown is the most mind numbing of them all. a whole town based on the idea of community, unless you’re so broke that you’re living in the shitty apartment building on the other, bad, side. unless you’re taller than all of your classmates and teachers, with teeth that don’t all fit in your mouth.
unless you’re susie.
kris is missing one of their hands. that’s another thing she can think about.
she knows that they weren’t always like that, because she remembers watching them use both to brace against the boards before slamming into them after bad turns. they still do sometimes, through some fucked up kind of muscle memory, and they grimace to themself each and every time. she doesn’t remember how they lost it in the first place, though, only the few weeks where the rink was available to her whenever she wanted, with no pretentious human swarming it. they came back, because they always do, but wrapped in gauze and under the watchful eye of their mother, toriel. she stopped showing up to watch them after she deemed them well enough to continue alone, leaving only susie and the empty stands as their audience. it’s strange to think that this has been their routine for years now, even if only by kris’ sheer audacity and arrogance.
the familiar swish of thick sweater in manmade breeze faintly echoes through her section of the stands. how the hell do you even lose a hand? freak accident involving an ice skate? that seems fairly plausible, at least. they’re pretty damn sharp, enough for her to have nicked through scale and callus a few times while pinching the ice off of her own, and kris probably thinks they’re above the safety protocols their coaches drill into their heads every so often. if she focuses for a few seconds, she can really picture it. kris on the ice, clumsily slipping around in their own filth, a stupid look of desperation plastered on their face as they try to place susie in the sea of abandoned chairs. they frantically call out to her, strained and pathetic, and she stands statue still and silent, watching them spasm and cry and slowly fade because of their own carelessness.
someone tugs on her hockey stick, and it startles her out of her imagination. her head instantly whips towards them.
it’s kris.
it’s kris, but with sweaty strands of hair clinging to their face, flushed and bone tired. their chest is heaving ever so slightly, and their breathing sounds a little ragged.
something disgusting and ticklish pools inside of susie’s chest as she pulls her eyes away from them, snatching back her stick. she goes to speak, but doesn’t find the words fast enough amongst her slight confusion, and kris ends up beating her to it.
“ice is all yours.”
their voice isn’t something she hears often. it’s got a weird kind of quality to it. it’s too soft and monotone to be considered harsh, but has a unique ruggedness that sits on the very surface.
she blinks and shakes her head, but by the time she rises to her feet, ready to give kris the beating of their life for fucking with her shit, the door behind her half-slams shut, and they’re gone, leaving her alone with the ice.