12-08-2018, 07:09 PM
The following takes place during the game between Gnejs and Laeral at Stade International Laeralien:
After many trips up and down and back and forth, the two men had finally found their seats on one of the upper balconies of the Stade International Laeralien. The younger of the two was relieved. Guiding his father through an unknown urban surrounding, and then through the maze that was the football stadium, had been taxing. Settling down allowed them both to withdraw from one another. A blessed relief it was, for the both of them. Torgeir looked at his father. The old man was huddled in his seat. Weary, but intently focused on the pitch. When Torgeir was offered the tickets to Gnejs-Laeral from his boss, it had been his partner's idea to bring his father along to Laeral and the IDU Cup. It had seemed a deranged idea at the time, and experience showed it remained a deranged idea.
The old man had lived with him and Mikaela for about three months now, ever since the great wildfires had ravaged the western parts of the Interior and completely incinerated his father's homestead deep in the Hellawiik Valley. In Port Kejm, he had been miserable from day one. And who could blame him, really? He had spent the better part of the last 25 years building and perfecting his stead, living mostly in isolation. In the time he had spent with them, he had hardly left the makeshift hut that he'd set up in their backyard, and Torgeir could count the number of words they'd exchanged on one hand. "It'll be good for him, and you." Mikaela had said. "Laeral is beautiful, and the people are lovely. It'll be a great opportunity for you two to reconnect. And besides, you always said he loves football." She had continued. It was true, Torgeir remembered Hieronymus as a keen football fan in his childhood. But that was a long time ago, and the last thing he had heard his father say about sports was that it didn’t count if it didn’t involve the risk of being mauled to death by a bear.
The trip had been awful. Even though Hieronymus had reluctantly agreed to join him, he had refused to travel by plane. "It's unnatural." He had said. So off by train it was. The trip to the Domnonian border took more than twice the time it should have, due to the wildfire damages sustained to the Cross-Country Railway. The train ride through Domnonia, while efficient, had still involved the two of them cramped together in a small space for days on end. Hieronymus hardly speaking, just staring out of the window, accompanied by the occasional grunt about "the sickness of civilization." On the boat over to Laeral, they had both been sick. When they finally arrived in Laeralsford, Hieronymus had refused to stay in the hotel Torgeir had arranged for them. It was a nice hotel, in a nice part of town, and it was right by stadium. Perfect, Torgeir, had figured. But no. It was too urban, too many peoples, too many lights, too many sounds, machines, smells. You name it, it was too much of it. In the end, Torgeir managed to find a suitable alternative. It was a rundown place on the outskirts of the poorer parts of town south of the river. It was less city, more shrubberies and a few trees. Hieronymus had reluctantly approved.
Before going to the stadium on game day, they had a light meal at what Torgeir guessed was a traditional Ren establishment. He struggled with the eating sticks, but the food was wonderful. To his joy, he could see that Hieronymus also appreciated the food. He ate it with his hands though. He had pocketed the sticks after smelling them and mumbling "decent wood". The proprietor had looked at them funny, although they were polite enough not to say anything. Torgeir wondered if Hieronymus had broken some terrible taboo by eating with his hands, or if it was just his wild and grizzled appearance that drew the looks and disapproval.
Sitting in their spots in the stadium, while the famous Larealian singer Leo Su was serenading the crowd before the Laeralite team entered, Torgeir looked at his father. He had fond childhood memories of Hieronymus. He had been a grizzly of a man back then as well, but there had always been a smile lurking in there between the tangled beard and moustache. He remembered them hiking, his father teaching him to trap game and tucking him in before the two of them went to sleep in that old moldy sleeping bag. Hieronymus had always preferred the Interior way of life, and he had tried to make sure Torgeir knew what that meant, even though they lived their everyday life in a Port Kejm suburb. Trips to the deep woods on the outskirts of the Interior with his mother and father had been plentiful. The death of his mother had changed that, and at the age of 12 Torgeir had been sent to live with his aunt in Briskeby, while Hieronymus had entered the Interior on his own.
As the game between the 'dandelions' of Gnejs and the Laeralians commenced, Torgeir felt overwhelmed by a sadness that increasingly morphed into anger. He looked at the old man at his side. The formidable man of his memories had become a frail bundle of wool and tangled hair. As he was about to grab his father by the shoulder to ask him the question that had been burning inside him for years, Jack Wiijk of the 'dandelions' put one in the net behind the Laeralian keeper. He only noticed because the entire stadium fell silent. All, it seemed, but his father. Hieronymus was on his feet, and with his hands in the air and his full body stretched out, he seemed to have regained his posture and energy of old. He was jumping up and down, shouting olden chants from his native north coast. His dreaded hair and beard was swinging in the wind and he was smiling and laughing. Torgeir was stunned. All of a sudden Hieronymus turned to this son, his face still smiling and his arms out as if he was looking to embrace him. The look in Torgeir's eyes when the meet his made him stop dead in his tracks, and his body again became huddled. There was sadness in Hieronymus' eyes, and as if he had read Torgeir's look, he mumbled "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
As the game commenced the two men looked at each other in silence for a long time. Hieronymus broke the silence and embraced his son. As they were both crying on each other shoulders, Didrik Solstad scored and took the game to 2-0 for Gnejs. Torgeir and Hieronymus looked at each other and started laughing. They got to their feet, started singing the old chants and removed their trousers and started swinging them above their heads (a traditional fan move in Gnejs). As the game continued, and Nicolai Lennartson in the end made it an impressive 3-0 victory for the 'dandelions', Torgeir and Hieronymus had been laughing and singing so much that they both had aching muscles and sore throats. While the surrounding Laeralian's obviously weren’t happy about the results, most of them couldn’t help but smile at the look of the two ecstatic Gnejsians. While leaving the stadium, Hieronymus looked at Torgeir and told him "I really do appreciate what you and Mikaela are doing for me, I want you to know that. And she was right, Laeral really is beautiful and the people really are lovely."
After many trips up and down and back and forth, the two men had finally found their seats on one of the upper balconies of the Stade International Laeralien. The younger of the two was relieved. Guiding his father through an unknown urban surrounding, and then through the maze that was the football stadium, had been taxing. Settling down allowed them both to withdraw from one another. A blessed relief it was, for the both of them. Torgeir looked at his father. The old man was huddled in his seat. Weary, but intently focused on the pitch. When Torgeir was offered the tickets to Gnejs-Laeral from his boss, it had been his partner's idea to bring his father along to Laeral and the IDU Cup. It had seemed a deranged idea at the time, and experience showed it remained a deranged idea.
The old man had lived with him and Mikaela for about three months now, ever since the great wildfires had ravaged the western parts of the Interior and completely incinerated his father's homestead deep in the Hellawiik Valley. In Port Kejm, he had been miserable from day one. And who could blame him, really? He had spent the better part of the last 25 years building and perfecting his stead, living mostly in isolation. In the time he had spent with them, he had hardly left the makeshift hut that he'd set up in their backyard, and Torgeir could count the number of words they'd exchanged on one hand. "It'll be good for him, and you." Mikaela had said. "Laeral is beautiful, and the people are lovely. It'll be a great opportunity for you two to reconnect. And besides, you always said he loves football." She had continued. It was true, Torgeir remembered Hieronymus as a keen football fan in his childhood. But that was a long time ago, and the last thing he had heard his father say about sports was that it didn’t count if it didn’t involve the risk of being mauled to death by a bear.
The trip had been awful. Even though Hieronymus had reluctantly agreed to join him, he had refused to travel by plane. "It's unnatural." He had said. So off by train it was. The trip to the Domnonian border took more than twice the time it should have, due to the wildfire damages sustained to the Cross-Country Railway. The train ride through Domnonia, while efficient, had still involved the two of them cramped together in a small space for days on end. Hieronymus hardly speaking, just staring out of the window, accompanied by the occasional grunt about "the sickness of civilization." On the boat over to Laeral, they had both been sick. When they finally arrived in Laeralsford, Hieronymus had refused to stay in the hotel Torgeir had arranged for them. It was a nice hotel, in a nice part of town, and it was right by stadium. Perfect, Torgeir, had figured. But no. It was too urban, too many peoples, too many lights, too many sounds, machines, smells. You name it, it was too much of it. In the end, Torgeir managed to find a suitable alternative. It was a rundown place on the outskirts of the poorer parts of town south of the river. It was less city, more shrubberies and a few trees. Hieronymus had reluctantly approved.
Before going to the stadium on game day, they had a light meal at what Torgeir guessed was a traditional Ren establishment. He struggled with the eating sticks, but the food was wonderful. To his joy, he could see that Hieronymus also appreciated the food. He ate it with his hands though. He had pocketed the sticks after smelling them and mumbling "decent wood". The proprietor had looked at them funny, although they were polite enough not to say anything. Torgeir wondered if Hieronymus had broken some terrible taboo by eating with his hands, or if it was just his wild and grizzled appearance that drew the looks and disapproval.
Sitting in their spots in the stadium, while the famous Larealian singer Leo Su was serenading the crowd before the Laeralite team entered, Torgeir looked at his father. He had fond childhood memories of Hieronymus. He had been a grizzly of a man back then as well, but there had always been a smile lurking in there between the tangled beard and moustache. He remembered them hiking, his father teaching him to trap game and tucking him in before the two of them went to sleep in that old moldy sleeping bag. Hieronymus had always preferred the Interior way of life, and he had tried to make sure Torgeir knew what that meant, even though they lived their everyday life in a Port Kejm suburb. Trips to the deep woods on the outskirts of the Interior with his mother and father had been plentiful. The death of his mother had changed that, and at the age of 12 Torgeir had been sent to live with his aunt in Briskeby, while Hieronymus had entered the Interior on his own.
As the game between the 'dandelions' of Gnejs and the Laeralians commenced, Torgeir felt overwhelmed by a sadness that increasingly morphed into anger. He looked at the old man at his side. The formidable man of his memories had become a frail bundle of wool and tangled hair. As he was about to grab his father by the shoulder to ask him the question that had been burning inside him for years, Jack Wiijk of the 'dandelions' put one in the net behind the Laeralian keeper. He only noticed because the entire stadium fell silent. All, it seemed, but his father. Hieronymus was on his feet, and with his hands in the air and his full body stretched out, he seemed to have regained his posture and energy of old. He was jumping up and down, shouting olden chants from his native north coast. His dreaded hair and beard was swinging in the wind and he was smiling and laughing. Torgeir was stunned. All of a sudden Hieronymus turned to this son, his face still smiling and his arms out as if he was looking to embrace him. The look in Torgeir's eyes when the meet his made him stop dead in his tracks, and his body again became huddled. There was sadness in Hieronymus' eyes, and as if he had read Torgeir's look, he mumbled "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
As the game commenced the two men looked at each other in silence for a long time. Hieronymus broke the silence and embraced his son. As they were both crying on each other shoulders, Didrik Solstad scored and took the game to 2-0 for Gnejs. Torgeir and Hieronymus looked at each other and started laughing. They got to their feet, started singing the old chants and removed their trousers and started swinging them above their heads (a traditional fan move in Gnejs). As the game continued, and Nicolai Lennartson in the end made it an impressive 3-0 victory for the 'dandelions', Torgeir and Hieronymus had been laughing and singing so much that they both had aching muscles and sore throats. While the surrounding Laeralian's obviously weren’t happy about the results, most of them couldn’t help but smile at the look of the two ecstatic Gnejsians. While leaving the stadium, Hieronymus looked at Torgeir and told him "I really do appreciate what you and Mikaela are doing for me, I want you to know that. And she was right, Laeral really is beautiful and the people really are lovely."