Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Chapter 110: How To Woo A Tomboy?

"BRO, I NEED YOU TELL ME EVERYTHING you know about Basketball—" Rafel entered his dorm room with this as greeting. Percival stood on the other end, already dressed for dinner with the girls in the canteen, in sparkling black and a gold tunic matching his Arc's colors.

A sigil of a Griffin was clipped to his front, on his breast pocket. Percival fastened on gold cuffs.

"Well, good evening to you too, bro. It's nice to see you too. I missed you after [Warlock Practice]. Dude!—everyone's talking about Olivar and what you did to him. They say he might have to miss a whole moon of studies, and—"

"PERCIVAL!" Rafel grated to get the boy's attention.

"Right!" The golden-haired royal clipped. He fully made his cuffs and stood tall in the lavish room area. "What do I know about basketball? Basically, it was invented by some Druid who claimed to be a time traveler—said he'd visited the future, and that the game was 'lit' over there—whatever that means."

Rafel interrupted. "Percy, I'm not asking about the sport's fucking history. I don't give a donkey's arse about that. I want to know about the game. How the fuck do I dominate it?"

"Well, first; you can start by not TRYING TO DOMINATE as you call it," Percival laughed. "It isn't a battle, bro. It's a lovely sport. But for the sake of helping your war-inclined mind, I'll stoop to battle metaphors. The ball is quite large; you'll have better accuracy at shooting with both hands into the hoop. You have to evade a couple of guys; think of them as—"

"Orcs on the battlefield!" said Rafel stoutly.

"—that's really not what I was going to say, but yeah; orcs on the battlefield, if that helps. The hoop is high up but you're tall, so that helps. You'd want to consider the ball as an extension of yourself, like your sword.

It really helps as you bounce it around, because when you move the way you do, and you take the ball with you, I'll bet fifteen Romanov heads no one stands a chance in front of you."

Rafel nodded. He offered quietly, "Thanks man."

"So I guess you're not coming to dinner then?"

Rafel looked to Percival at his question. His reply was clear written in his eyes.

Percival continued, "Ravenna and Rosa miss you, JUST SAYING. Plus Mikhail acts stupidly like the big, swinging dick when you're not around. Aya won't be happy about this. We haven't seen you since the detention yesterday. How was it by the way? I'm guessing this sporting rendezvous has something to do with it, yeah?"

Rafel gave no reply.

Cora's smile softly filtered into his head.

'Tomorrow, 4pm. Don't be late.'

'Tomorrow' had come like a blur. His eyes shifted to the ornate wall clock with the antique needles.

The hour hand pointed east. Shit, almost four, Rafel thought. He turned back to Percival. "Please send my [Bond] succubus my best. Placate her with flowers and chocolates if you must. Order her a Florentine delicacy!

I have to go." Rafel grabbed a handy bag on his bed and swiped his key card at the screen door. It swished open and he pounded down the long, wan corridor, ignoring Erika Burgess who had suddenly appeared in his way.

'Thank Lucifer my system isn't strong enough to renew our telepathic connection,' mused Rafel inwardly, thinking of Aya Naamah, 'else, she'll be screaming in my ears right now.'

Rafel focused on the present, jogging in his shorts and immaculate Jordans round the few blocks to Brightburn Hall, Cora's coed dormitory. He had on a red headband with the leaping Phoenix symbol of his Arc. He'd made his hair into a tight knot so it didn't flip in the wind.

The evening air was cold and dry, a fall weather, eerily funereal; and made more so by the students in sleek black and chiffon mink strolling the cobbled sidewalks for balmy restaurants and cafe's opening for the evening.

Rafel reached Brightburn Hall in six minutes. He ensured to be strict one. His magic watch, which told both the time and mana rating—gotten on his previous visit to the institute's large clinic for a routine checkup on his healing—glinted 3:58pm as he pulled in a slide through a bright hallway to an open basketball arena.

The walls of Brightburn Hall held the grey of cut marble and stone. It was the most gothic of all the dorms—and that was saying something!

Players were already on the lit grounds. It was a small stadium, but spacious and decored enough to have bleachers and a gleaming, gray playing field that squeaked under Rafel's white Jordans. He spotted Cora almost immediately. She stood next to a terrifyingly tall brunette.

'Sheesh, and I thought I was tall!' Rafel wondered.

Cora and the girl smiled at his approach. "Nice kicks!" Cora complimented.

Rafel didn't want to say something cheeky, so he only nodded and smiled back. He was just glad he'd made the time. He knew Cora made it seem like she didn't notice, but he knew her: she did. There were just some things even memory wipes so brutal couldn't erase. Rafel noticed the 7ft brunette was still staring down at him.

"Please tell me you're on my team?" He made his amber eyes plead.

The girl giggled. It was such a cute sound from someone so imposing. She had a nice laugh.

"Nah!" she said. "Sorry!"

"Ouch!" Rafel faked a wince, making both Cora and the brunette smile more. Enjoy stories on m_v lem|p-yr

"—but Cora is," the girl added, "and she's our NovelFireP. You're so lucky!"

The teams separated, several Arcs and genders missing. Rafel noticed he was one of the three boys in his female-dominated, niner team. The game began. Cora was phenomenal. But in Rafel's case, it was safe to say that he preferred his sword to a bouncing a ball around. He could hack Nephilim heads for hours, but all the swiveling and jumping of the sport made his eyes hurt.

"Fuck!" He growled, losing the ball to a male opponent. "This is like swimming."

The opponent went on to perfect a miraculous slam dunk. Rafel groaned and Cora came near. He was lucky her brightness overshadowed his flops.

"Not it's not. Why would you say that?" Cora gave him a preppy smile in encouragement.

"Uh, because I'm not good at it?" Rafel returned.

"I don't think so," Cora winked.

The game ended in a tie. Cora was put in the fourth yard to execute a free throw. But she maneuvered to Rafel and handed him the ball.

"Take the shot, champ!" she smiled at him.

The faith in her ocean eyes was so potent Rafel had to look away. Many months ago, he too had called this beautiful, dark angelic tomboy; champ. She was trusting him with the entire team's win. The MVP's faith in him spurred the others to believe too. Rafel took the ball.

In the brief second before he shot the ball, he was tempted to call on his system for help, but he didn't.

Grimly, he imagined it was a foe's decapitated head he was tossing into a death pit. He had seen Mauler heads that weighed heavier than the fat ball in his hands. Talking aim, knocking his knees, lifting both hands, Rafel leaped slightly off the squeaky tiling. He let the ball loose, concentrating only on the high bucket net.

WHOOSH!

The ball went straight in. The hoop danced as it fell through.

"YEAH!!!" Victory pats and applause from his team went up as they hugged each other. Rafel's winning shot broke the tie. Friends and fans on the bleachers entered the game area, embracing and chuckling under the full beam Lumos lights.

Rafel watched the invigorating scene unfold for a while; the unity of all Arcs and magical factions for the love of the game—it was a sight. He then made his way to a low bench on the bleacher stand and pulled off his Jordans. He was rubbing down his toes in his white socks when a shadow fell on his from above. The person smelled like rainflowers and mist—but also, feminine essence.

He looked up the silhouette.

"Corazón," he said aloud.

[? I Don't Care – Ed Sheeran ft. Justin Bieber.]

Smiling down at him with her dimples popping, she handed him a bottle of water. And took a seaf beside him on the bench.

Rafel popped the bottle, searching his brain for what to say. He was never tongue-tied with any woman before. Never. But Cora wasn't your typical flowers and pink girl. She played basketball, got sweaty and wore shorts, and topped high-fives with jocks twice her size. She was indomitable.

'How the fuck am I supposed to woo a tomboy?'

Rafel gulped his water down hard.

"So. . .nice game," he started.

"Yeah!" Cora crossed her long legs beside him. Rafel tried not to dwell on the shift and dip of her short baller shorts. Or the upthrust of it between her legs. He could smell the salt on her shiny skin. Rafel crossed his legs too—but for an entirely different and wanton reason.

...to hide a stiff one.

He cleared his throat.

"Thank you for letting me come."

Cora nodded. They watched people leaving the under the bright lights. It was full night now, but the whole stadium was well illuminated under white lights, like the stage of an opera house.

"You played well for someone who has never dabbled before," said Cora.

Rafel met her eyes in shock.

"Oh," Cora laughed, "I knew from the moment I stared at your hands that you handle weapons, not game balls. I admire that you were on time too."

Rafel knew that he didn't imagine it when her blue eyes dipped to his crotch. Was she flirting?

"—I like you," her vision twinkled like the stars. Her admission wasn't sexual or anything. It just was.

"I like you too." Rafel admitted.

Under the white lights of the basketball arena, she stared at him and he watched her too. Rafel wished he could grab her and make her remember; but until it happened, he had to go slow and give it time. He was the one who broke eye contact.

"Come on, let's get some food in you," he rubbed shoulders with her, pulling on his Jordans again, "I heard your stomach growling on the pitch."

Cora's blue eyes went wide and her smile stretched into forever. "I DID NOT!"

Rafel cracked into laughter, rising as she chased him out the stadium through the exit door. He'd never forget those dimples.