Storytelling for Week 13: Sing Me A Healing Song

Author's Note

Another week, another storytelling with hockey players!  This story takes Väinämöinen from the Kalevala unit and will feature Olli Määttä, #3 for the Pittsburgh Penguins, as Väinämöinen hanging out in the modern day.  I wrote a mini-primer on Olli which will probably be helpful in order to understand some of the things he does and the voice I give him.  Pictures of the cast will be at the end.

I was writing this during last night's game, when this happened... it's just insane how many bad things have happened to this kid.

Anyway, here's a picture of him when things were still good :'(

Olli Maatta

-z-

Väinämöinen’s not saying that he’s bored with being alive – he’s just saying that he’s running out of things to do.

Then he stumbles on a new game from across the ocean – a game called hockey.

-

He shortens his name to Väin and plays in Finland for years and years, learning the game and figuring out which position suited him best.

And when he finally settles on one, he changes his name to Olli and sings a song about youth – watching in the mirror as the lines of age smooth away.  Then he plays his way back up the leagues, and pretends to be surprised when he’s taken in the first round of the NHL draft by the Pittsburgh Penguins.

-

“I think I like it here,” Olli tells his manager, a young African American with just the barest touches of magic around her eyes in sparks of red; she probably didn’t even know she had it.

Her name is Katrina and her eyes flick up to him from her phone for just the barest moment, a quirk to her lips letting him know she didn’t quite believe him.  “I’m glad,” she says, returning to her phone, her thumb flicking and swiping the screen quickly.  “The Penguins have a good contract ready for you to sign – just let them know when you’re ready.”

Olli looks over to her, smile wide on his face, when he says, “I am ready.”

-

He loves his teammates and he's accepted almost immediately.

And when Jussi – a fellow Finn – joins the team, Olli can barely contain his excitement.  That excitement doubles when he finally gets to meet him and Jussi says, “Oh, you have magic!”

Olli laughs, sees the way Jussi’s own magic dances around his head and his hands – little teal ribbons sliding between his fingers.  Jussi’s magic is diluted to Olli’s eyes, but he know it’s still strong for the modern world.  It gives him just a little more endurance during a game, just a little extra speed when he needs it.

“So do you,” Olli says.

-

Sometimes, Olli and Jussi sing the old ballads to the locker room.  Olli doesn’t even flinch when Jussi starts the Väinämöinen ballads – a name he feels he hasn’t heard in decades.  (A part of him wonders if young Joukahainen was still around, he ever grew into his magic.)

And sometimes, when the team is tired and they’re deep into the season, when all those little bumps and bruises have accumulated and they’re all just sore and hurt down to their bones – Olli sings a healing song. 

He closes his eyes against slumped shoulders and tight faces, and sings – soft and slow, his voice deepening with his comfort in his native tongue.  He wraps his magic into each of the words, tying in the names of his teammates.

(No one talks once he starts singing, he’s been here long enough that they’ve all just taken to just listening, even if they’re not sure what he says or why they feel lighter after he’s stopped.)

And when he opens his eyes – the room always seems just a little bit brighter.

-z-

End.

"Katrina" by Zoë Kravitz

Jussi Jokinen; unfortunately, he doesn't play for the Pens
any more, he now plays for the Panthers.

Storytelling for Week 12: Changeling Rookies

Author's Note

Yay for more weird magical stuff happening in sports!

This is a retelling of "Brewery of Eggshells" in the Celtic Fairy Tails unit.  And it's yet another storytelling with a hockey twist, this time featuring rookie changelings.  I'm going to bring back characters from Week 6's storytelling; most notably Sasha.  If you don't feel like clicking on the link, all you really need to know is that Sasha is the captain (but not real life captain) of the Wilkes-Barre Penguins (the AHL affiliate of the Pittsburgh Penguins).

Prior to the events in "The Boy in the Hockey Helmet."  So, if you're in a shippy mood, you can read this as pre-slash.  (If you don't know what this means, nevermind.)

This story has multiple POVs and multiple timelines which will both be divided by "-x-"; "-" will indicate a change in scenery/setting but still within the established POV/timeline.  Cast of characters at the bottom.

Fun Facts (because that sounds better than Terminology):

1. Sophomore Year: a player who is in their second year in a league; still a rookie
2. Sasha is the Russian diminutive for Alexander; Zhenya is the diminutive of Evgeni which is in turn the Russian equivalent of Eugene; Seryozha is the diminutive for Sergei.  Links will take you to the pronunciations (Sasha is pronounced just like it's written).
3. The Superleague is the prior incarnation of the KHL (Kontinental Hockey League, formed in 2006) which is made up of various European leagues, most notably filled with Russians, Finns, and Swedes who couldn't make it in the NHL; along those same lines, not as prestigious as the NHL.  A lot of KHL players are paid higher salaries than NHLers, though they may not be as highly skilled - a lot of times, it comes down to patriotism.  Or blackmail. Just ask Evgeni Malkin.
4. Prior to the events in "The Boy in the Hockey Helmet."  So, if you're in a shippy mood, you can read this as pre-slash.  (If you don't know what this means, ignore it and don't ask questions.)
5. This is Mike Johnston - he's the head coach of the Pittsburgh Penguins.  And this is Jim Rutherford, the GM.
6. When someone in hockey has "soft hands" it means they're great at controlling the puck - a useful thing in a game of inches and bounces.

"Sasha" - Alexander Mogilny

-z-

Once, back when Sasha was still young, still only having just broken into the Superleague, he had watched his captain, Seryozha, sputter and curse low under his breath, glaring at a rookie, Zhenya, next to Sasha’s stall.

It had taken only a few minutes into practice before Sasha had seen the changes in Zhenya that his captain had seen.

But Sasha didn’t ask questions, he just kept his head down – keeping one eye on Zhenya and the other on Seryozha.

-x-

Little Nicky is wonderful in practice until he isn’t.  Until he’s fumbling around, talking in a language no one on the team has ever heard – effectively ruling out Russian, Czech, German, Swedish, and Canadian French – muttering as he pulls his gear on.

“What do you think?” Archie asks, leaning deep into his stall, projecting as much nonchalance as he was able to.

“I don’t know,” Sasha answers truthfully, pretending – just as Archie was – that he wasn’t as bothered by the goings on as he actually was.  It’s hockey, he tries to tell himself at first, magical shit happens all the time.

-x-

It had started off with a simple voice change – Zhenya’s voice was always light, bordering on squeaky.  So when it suddenly deepened, sounding like a he’d spent the night screaming, Sasha had just assumed that puberty had finally settled in (Zhenya had been all of 17 when he’d been swallowed into the Superleague, a fast skater with soft hands and a hard shot wasn't about to be allowed to slip off to North America).

On the ice, Sasha watched as Seryozha circled Zhenya occasionally, his sharp eyes that saw every open (or about to open) passing lane during a game turned on Zhenya as if he were a particularly tough defenseman to figure out.

Sometimes Zhenya ignored him; sometimes Zhenya snarled out a curse that was quickly followed by a rough shove.  Sasha tried once to step between them, but Seryozha had carefully corralled him away.

-x-

Despite what Sasha often tells him, Nicky is not little.  He’s long and lanky, all stringy muscle that he probably won’t grow into.

So when he takes to looming over Sasha, Sasha finds it harder to pretend that nothing’s wrong.

-

“What is it, little Nicky?” Sasha asks.

Not-Nicky doesn’t answer, just stares at him with blank eyes that only occasionally flicker with something like rage.  Sasha tries to control the feeling of indignation welling in his chest – this creature had no business messing with his teammates, much less one of his favorite rookies.

“I know what you are,” he says.

“I doubt it,” Not-Nicky says, then slowly and deliberately, he moves away.

A breath Sasha hadn’t realized he’d been holding whooshes out of him, leaving him to slump against the wall of his stall.  He waits until the rest of the locker room is empty before he pulls out his cell phone – dialing a number he hasn’t called in a long time.

-x-

Whatever happened between them happened off-ice and away from the arena.  All Sasha knew was that Zhenya’s deep voice was high again, that his quick temper had been soothed.

Zhenya was also loathe to wander too far from Seryozha except during a game, the coaches figuring out they had to physically shove Zhenya into position during practice – Seryozha chuckling all the while.

-x-

Sasha hangs up with a promise to call Seryozha once it was over (and more often than once a month).  He leans forward, puts his head in his hands, and thinks about what he has to do.

-

It’s easier than he’d thought it’d be to get Not-Nicky willingly into his truck.  He sits quiet in the passenger seat, doesn’t even look at Sasha as Sasha drives.

It takes two hours to get to Pennsylvania’s Grand Canyon.

Pine Creek Gorge, a.k.a. The Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, in autumn

“Do you know why we’re here?” Sasha asks, walking Not-Nicky to the edge and praying that security wouldn’t find them until this was over.

“You can’t kill me,” Not-Nicky says.

“No,” Sasha whispers – but then his hand lashes out, grabs Nicky by the collar and swings him around so that Not-Nicky’s feet were slipping at the edge.  “But I can make it look close.”

His words are chased away by a shriek on a sudden gust of wind.

“Don’t you hurt that boy,” screams an old woman – her face was twisted, her fingers gnarled as she scrambled up the steep sides of the gorge.

“Give me back my boy,” Sasha yells, pushing Not-Nicky still further backwards – the changeling’s arms windmilling as he tries to keep his balance.

“He’s right behind you,” the old woman screams again as she reaches them – taking Not-Nicky into her arms and pressing him against her chest, cooing softly.

Sasha whirls around – sees his Nicky standing there, his eyes wide and his face pale.

“God,” Sasha whispers, but then he’s rushing forward and wrapping Nicky into a hug.  And Nicky hugs him back just as tightly.

-z-

End.

-z-

"Nicky" and "Not-Nicky" - Marc-Andre Fleury

"Seryozha" - Sergei Federov

"Zhenya" - Evgeni Malkin

Story source: Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs with illustrations by John D. Batten (1892).

Storytelling for Week 11: when we've forever (we've too much seen)

Author's Note

This story is retelling of "The Adventure of Sir Percivale" - but I added a Black Sails and Merlin twist to it.  Basically, I used the Merlin version of Percival (without the "e" at the end) and crossed that over with Black Sails.

Why?

Because Tom Hopper, who played Percival in Merlin, plays Billy Bones in Black Sails.  So, for the purposes of this storytelling, he's an Immortal (this is explained at the end of my story) who has outlived Arthur and all the Knights of the Round Table, and he's just kinda drifting and then he becomes a pirate, because hey? Why not?  You'll also see in the story a mix of him calling himself Percival and Billy, this is intentional and is supposed to demonstrate the sort of identity crisis (which is probably too strong a word, more like minor turmoil) he's going through.

If you're not familiar with Black Sails, just imagine Sir Percival as a pirate and there you go.  Or, you could just look at the picture at the end of this note.

Billy's captain from Black Sails, Captain Flint, is featured, but you don't really need to know much beyond him using Billy to squash a mutiny (this is all in the very first episode).  The name of Flint's ship is The Walrus.

Sidebar: I recommend Black Sails if you like pirates and such, but trigger warning for sexual assault in the 2nd (maybe 3rd?) episode.

Anyway!  A summation of "The Adventure of Sir Percivale" is featured here if you want to know ahead of time.  I feature some of it in the story through flashbacks.

Percival (Tom Hopper) is now Billy Bones

-z-

Sometimes, Percival dreams of drowning and a lion’s roar in the distance.

-

“Oh, Sir Percival,” a woman's voice, soft and light as air, warm as the sun, whispers.

-x-

Billy wakes up in a cold sweat, heart thudding in his chest as he struggles to remember the year, which language he was supposed to be speaking, and which faces around him he was supposed to know.

“Nightmares?”

Billy looks up from where he’s been staring at the ocean sliding smooth around the bow of The Walrus and sees Flint.  Flint who is strong and steady in the secrets he keeps tucked in close.

“Yeah,” Billy answers.

Flint stares, as if he were waiting for Billy to continue.  (Maybe he was waiting for Billy to ask if Flint had had his own nightmares.)

But Billy turns away, looks back at the ocean.  It’s still dark – the full moon sitting low on the horizon, setting; they’re still a while from sunrise, but Billy knows he’ll get no more sleep tonight.

-x-

(Sometimes, Percival dreams of drowning and a lion’s roar in the distance.)

“What are you doing here?”

Percival can’t see her face, but her voice still wraps around him like a thick blanket – soothing.

“Nothing,” he answers.  He thinks he adds something else, but he’s can’t remember.

“If you promise me a favor,” the voice says, “I’ll lend you a horse from my own stable – and he’ll take you where you wish you to go.”

“Yes,” Percival says.

-x-

“We have no kings here,” Billy says, holding his knife to Flint’s neck.

“I am you king,” Flint snaps.

Billy wants to laugh in his face – wants to tell Flint that even if he had been of royal blood, that Billy’d never serve him.  He wants to tell him that he’s served a true king (once, a long, long time ago) and that he was something that Flint could never hope to achieve.  But there’s a whistle from The Walrus – calling them back in from the dingy, to see to the unrest aboard.

-

Flint’s covered in a dying man’s (traitor’s) blood and he’s holding his hand out to Billy, a slip of paper between his fingers.

Flint and Billy

For a sharp, split second – Billy remembers Arthur, now long dead and gone, bloody and wounded holding a hand out and Billy is suddenly Percival again and he sways forward, Latin words of allegiance and devotion on his lips – before he remembers himself.

Because Arthur never lied to him – never told him they were chasing after one thing, when they were actually after another.  Arthur, the greatest of Kings, who had wept when the Knights of the Round Table had planned to go after the Grail because he had known it would mean their deaths.

Billy feels his stomach turn as he unfolds the paper – sees that it’s blank but for blood.  Flint wasn’t Arthur.  Could never hope to be. 

Flint’s watching him, careful and assessing, and for one more second, Billy thinks about telling the truth.

“It’s the missing page,” he says instead.

Flint, still dripping in blood not his own, smirks.

And Billy thinks to himself, I’m getting too old for these games.

-x-

(Sometimes, Percival dreams of drowning and a lion’s roar in the distance.)

He dreams of a voice, warm and soft and gentle as a breeze, and a stallion, black and beautiful and fast as a gale.

Sometimes, when Percival isn’t Percival he thinks the dreams are memories – but, honestly, he’s been on this earth too long to tell the difference.  Just old dreams mixing with new nightmares.

When he dreams of that voice and that stallion – sometimes the stallion drowns him, sometimes he doesn’t.  But, every time, a lion – mane huge and frightful – comes to him.

The lion curls around Percival, growling deep in his throat.  And a warmth spreads through him – seeps from his skin down to his muscles and to his bones – filling him.

And, after that night, Percival does not die.

-x-

“I’m going to make you the princes of the new world!” Flint shouts.  Then he looks over at Billy and, for the first in a long, long time, Billy longs for his chainmail and helm – wanting to hide his regret and his shame behind something metal.

(But his armor has long since been hidden, sequestered away in a tomb half a world away.)

And not for the first time he wonders what Arthur and the others would think about the men he’s killed – of all the ships and all the gold he’s taken in the name of his captain and his shipmates.

Billy turns away from Flint and the roar of the crew, clutching the blank-but-for-the-blood scrap of paper.

That night, when Billy dreams of drowning and a lion’s roar in the distance, he knows that it’s time to move on, to leave Flint to his secrets and his plots.  And when that opportunity comes, he takes it – lets himself jump into the ocean and be swept away, chasing after that roar.

-

When Percival washes up on a beach, the roar in his head is quiet.

“Hello, old friend.”

Percival opens his eyes, blinking against the sun – and sees Merlin.

-z-

End.

-z-

Bibliography: King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1902).

Storytelling for Week 10: Of Bulls and Bears

Author's note

This story is a retelling of The Buffalo and the Grizzly Bear from the Great Plains unit.  A buffalo is standing around, minding his own business, when a grizzly attacks him claiming that the buffalo has been talking trash.  The buffalo denies this and the bear starts to walk away.  The buffalo wonders why the bear would think such a thing, the bear hears this thought, and comes back and attacks the buffalo again.  The buffalo then starts to back up and the grizzly says "Don't run away!"  And then the buffalo charged and gored the grizzly.

For this storytelling, I added a hockey twist.  This story essentially became an extended metaphor.  So there are descriptions of the players from the Buffalo Sabres and the Boston Bruins as their respective mascots.  I featured Jack Eichel, an American player who went 2nd overall in the 2015 draft, and his teammate Evander Kane.  

This also jumps around a bit in the timeline and are divided with "-x-" while sections divided by "-" take place within the same time period.

The Sabres haven't actually played the Bruins yet this season, so we'll see how it goes.  They're a pretty brutal team to play against.  If you have any questions about hockey terminology, just ask!

Evander Kane (#9) and Jack Eichel (#15)

-z-


Jack Eichel snorts and shakes his head.

Let the bears out on the ice roar all they like.

He’s ready for them.


-x-


Jack’s first trip out onto NHL ice had been on unsteady legs – the same as any young bison. And just as the same as any young bison.

Not living up to the hype, he’d heard the old dogs whisper. What a waste.

He stumbled, he slipped and slid as he battled along the boards.

At first.

But then he found his legs – pushing out the roar of the crowd and the bellow of their expectations. He remembered to just play the game; he remembered to deke and dance with the puck – and then the puck was in the back of the net and his herd was surrounding him. They pull him in for a crushing hug as they shout in congratulations.


-x-


The grizzly tries to stare him down.

Jack just smirks.


-x-


His legs are young, but he’s growing into them. Around him, his herd is assured and confident – protective.

They keep him tucked in close until it’s time for him to take to the ice again. And even then, they hardly allow anyone too close.

Highly touted rookies were too often on the receiving end of illegal hits meant to injure. Evander, a bull in the middle of his prime, takes to shadowing Jack’s every move – knocking away any of the opposition he saw getting too close.


-x-


Jack doesn’t see the bear coming up behind him – just feels his head snap first against the glass and then against the ice, the air knocked from his lungs.

There’s a flurry of motion and he turns his head just enough to see that Evander has a bear in a headlock. But the linesmen are quick to separate them and the bear skates away with a smile and a wink at Jack.

Jack snorts and shakes his head, lets Evander pull him back up to his feet.

“See you in two,” Evander says to Jack before he’s skating over to the penalty box.


-


The second hit comes when Jack’s got the puck on his stick. He’s sizing up the goalie, picking his spot, and just when he’s about to release – Jack’s vision suddenly swings wide and he’s staring up the bright rafter lights.

He doesn’t stare long.

Jack’s still sliding along the ice as he rolls over, gets his legs underneath him, and charges. He ignores the coach calling him back to the bench – ignores the way his muscles are screaming at him for taking this extra shift on the ice.

But there’s a young grizzly cub, a fellow rookie, who has the puck and it’s just too easy to strip it from him – and head back down to the other end of the ice.

He pumps his legs, puts his head down, and charges – he dances around the first defenseman and then a second, and then he’s facing down the hulk of their goalie. He fakes Rask out, gets him to drop to a knee – and then with a quick flick of his wrist, the puck is in the back of the net.


-


Jack is on the bench, the bears on the ice circling and snarling. He snorts and shakes his head.

Let them roar all they like.

He’s ready for them.


-z-


End.


-z-


Bibliography: Myths and Legends of the Great Plains by Katharine Berry Judson (1913).

Storytelling for Week 9: Siri, my captain's been turned into a coyote - please send help!

Author's Notes
This one kinda got away from me.  Again.  This is another folktale with a hockey spin, but instead of coming up with new names, I just used the players' actual names because I used more characters this time around.

This storytelling is a revamp of "Coyote and the Mesquite Beans" from the California and the Old Southwest unit.  In the story, Coyote knows that it is bad luck to eat anything that survived the flood - this includes Mesquite beans and black bugs.  Well, he eats both and then dies.

Since this legend is one from the Pima people of Arizona, and Arizona has a hockey team called the Coyotes - I couldn't resist.  I tried.  I failed.  I'm so (kinda) sorry.  What I changed is that Shane Doan eats some mesquite beans and then turns into a coyote.  Three of his teammates then scramble to try to find out what's going on and how to fix Doan by using the NHL phone tree.  Pictures of those featured on the phone tree are at the bottom.

Shane Doan, captain of the Arizona Coyotes, and a coyote

Siri, my captain's been turned into a coyote - please send help!


“This isn’t normal, right?” Mikkel Boedker asks, his eyes immediately darting to Oliver Ekman-Larsson – who was staring wide-eyed at Shane.

“What makes you think I know?” Oliver snaps, finally looking away from Shane to glare at Mikkel. Then he turns to Steve Downie and asks, “Is this normal?”

Steve shifts in his stall, looking around the rest of the locker room and obviously wishing that he hadn’t decided to stay behind after practice. It was just Steve, the two Scandinavians, and their captain.

Who was currently a coyote. A very angry looking coyote.

“My, what big teeth you have,” Steve says, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Coyote Shane’s ears flattened against the back of his skull and he lowered his head closer to the floor – looking about ready to lunge at Steve.

“Personally, I’ve never seen this,” Steve says, ignoring Shane with faked nonchalance, “but I can make some calls.”

“Who can you even call about this?” Mikkel asks.

“The one person who has connections to every single player in the League,” Steve answers easily, putting his phone to his ear. He listens for a beat, before he smiles and says, “Hey, Sidney. You’re not going to believe this shit.”


-


“He’s what?” Sidney Crosby, captain of the Penguins, asks, eyebrows furrowing as he stops in his tracks, making Pens goalie Marc-Andre Fleury collide into his back. Fleury, also called Flower, began to protest – but Sidney quickly shushed him. “Say that again, Downs, because—just, what?”

Flower leans in closer, trying to listen to what was being said – it must be interesting if Steve Downie had reached out for the first time since his signing with Arizona. He hears Steve’s voice, lisp worsened slightly by his excitement: “Shane Doan just turned into a fuckin’ coyote and I’ve got two rookies panicking over here.”

Flower immediately pulls back and shares a look with Sidney. “He should call Carey Price,” Flower suggests.

Sidney raises an eyebrow even as Steve’s loud guffaw comes through the phone’s speaker. It was well known that Steve Downie and the goalies of the NHL were not on good terms. Not because he had done anything to them, but because he was prone to taking out their defensemen – opening the way up for his own forwards to score.

“Okay,” Flower amends, “then you can call Carey Price.”

“I’ll call you back, Steve,” Sidney says, then after goodbyes are shared, he hangs up and goes to his contacts list.


-


Carey Price, goalie extraordinaire for the Montreal Canadiens, absolutely does not laugh Sidney Crosby off the phone.

But that's only because PK Subban, defensemen extraordinaire for the Canadiens, takes the phone away from Carey. “Steve Downie turned who into a what?” he asks.

(In Pittsburgh, Sidney rolls his eyes.)

“No,” Sidney says, his voice suddenly booming as PK puts him on speaker phone, setting the phone between himself and Carey on Carey’s dining room table where they had been eating their post-practice meal. “Shane Doan has somehow been turned into a coyote. Downs is the one who called me.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Carey says, taking a swig of water. “But you should call Lu – he got turned into an orca once because he violated one of the First Nation’s laws. I’m not sure which one, though.”

“How does that even happen?” Sidney asks, dumbfounded.

“He did some shit he wasn’t supposed to, obviously,” Carey answers.

“Okay, but what—” Sidney voice is abruptly cut off when Carey disconnects the call.


-


“I don’t what Price is talking about,” Roberto Luongo snarls in a way that Sidney knows means that he’s lying. “Talk to Eddie.”

And then Luongo disconnects the call.


-


“Clearly this is magic,” Eddie Lack says after he’s listened to Sidney’s entire story. “Just like Carey has said.”

“We know that,” Sidney says. “What we don’t know is how to fix it.”

“It will probably fix itself,” Eddie says. “Lu swam around in the ocean for a few hours before he turned back into himself. Luckily, he stayed close to shore, so he didn’t have to swim very far.”

“So they should just keep an eye on him?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, sounding exasperated.


-


“I don’t know if I’d trust anything Eddie Lack says, he’s always had a few screws loose,” Steve says. He and the two rookies had managed to secret their transformed captain out of the arena and into Steve’s truck (Shane had claimed the front seat and bared his fangs at Oliver and Mikkel until they had climbed into the backseats).

“Well, he’s the best lead you have right now,” Sidney says.


-


Later that night, after they’ve all settled in at Oliver and Mikkel’s house, it’s Oliver who puts everything together.

“Hey, Shane,” Oliver starts, waiting until he has Shane’s attention. “Have you eaten any mesquite beans recently?” After getting looks from his teammates, he elaborates: “According to the Pima people, eating mesquite beans is bad luck. Actually, eating anything that survived the great flood is bad luck and can kill you. There’s a legend that Coyote did it once and he died.”

Coyote Shane’s ears swivel from being forward, to being flat – his features tinged with panic.

Oliver is quick to backtrack. “I’m not saying you’ll die,” he says.

“Okay, but how do we fix him?” Steve asks.

Before Oliver could answer, there was a yelp and a ripping sound – and then Shane is standing there – fully human.

“That answers that question,” Shane says.

Mikkel and Oliver whoop, while Steve picks up his phone and shoots Sidney a text: He’s back :)


-z-


End.

Mikkel Boedker and Oliver Ekman-Larsson

Steve Downie

Marc-Andre "Flower" Fluery and Sidney Crosby

Carey Price and PK Subban

Eddie Lack and Roberto Luongo

Bibliography: Myths and Legends of California and the Old Southwest by Katharine Berry Judson (1912).

Storytelling for Week 7: when we are the last (these are the days)

Author's Note
Hey, so I did my storytelling based on two animals from the Nigeria Unit: Dog and Leopard.  It was mostly inspired by "Why Dead People Are Buried" where the Creator sends Dog to tell people that, because it saddens Him whenever humans die, that if they sprinkle wood ashes on their dead loved ones, they will live again.  Dog gets distracted and fails to deliver the message.

I love to play with different storytelling styles, so this story is told in a non-linear narrative.  There are two timelines that are being told at the same time here, and each "-x-" marks the switch between the timelines; a "-" is a scene break within the same time period.

I also changed the setting: modern times and Dog and Leopard are now playing hockey.  I based them off of Seth Jones, an American defenseman for the Nashville Predators, and Evander Kane, a Canadian winger for the Winnipeg Jets.

Dog (Seth Jones) [x]

Leopard (Evander Kane)  [x]

-z-

Dog and Leopard were the last remnants of the Creator’s First Spirits, His first Messengers; they had had been created long before the humans in the luscious forests of Nigeria.  The other First Spirits had died – casualties of wars fought amongst themselves, and of the first waves of European armies.

The Creator had created other spirits to replace His lost ones, but His sadness in their had been imbued in them and they were weaker than their predecessors.  Dog and Leopard, frustrated by this weakness, would leave Nigeria for long periods of time – venturing to surrounding countries before leaving Africa.

-x-

“Hey,” Leopard starts, skating up to Dog, “remember that time you forgot to tell everyone that the Creator would bring their loved ones back?”

"Make one mistake," Dog grumbles to himself, rolling his eyes before he turns and snarls at Leopard.  Leopard only ever brought up what happened hundreds of years ago when he knew that his team was going to lose.

(Which is exactly what happens – the Predators win the game easily and the Jets are chased off the ice of the booing of their home crowd.)

-x-

Europe held nothing but bitter memories for them.  So they traveled east – to Russia, and then to China and then down to Thailand and Vietnam.  Then they headed still further east, eventually finding themselves in California, which was caught in the chaos of the gold rush.

-x-

After the game, Dog is walking out of the locker room when he sees Leopard standing there, waiting for him.

“What do you want?” Dog asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Come on, old friend,” Leopard says, pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against and jerking his head towards the entrance, “let me show you around town.  It’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to catch up.”

“Everything okay out here?” asks Shea Weber, the captain of Dog’s team, as he narrows his eyes at Leopard. 

Shea doesn’t know what they are, doesn’t know their long history of fighting to outdo each other; he doesn’t know how, despite their differences, they could never really venture too far from each other. 

“Fine,” Dog says, looking from Leopard to Shea, “I’ll meet you guys back at the hotel.”

Shea’s lips purse, but he doesn’t say anything else, just nods and hesitantly walks away.

-x-

But California during the 1840s and 50s wasn’t the safest place for two young (or least, young looking) black men.  And Dog and Leopard soon learned that it was safest in northern California, to avoid the southern areas where people from the Deep South states had moved to mine for gold.

So they moved north – and then kept going until they found themselves in Canada.

-x-

“How are you liking Winnipeg?” Dog asks, taking a sip of beer.

“Cold,” Leopard answers with a huff of laughter, “but nothing I can't handle.  When the team isn’t losing and the fans like us, I enjoy it here.”

Dog smiles and nods.  “I feel the same about Nashville.  And it's warmer, which is always a plus.”

A moment of quiet passes between them – it’s a hesitant quiet.  As if there was a question that they both felt needed to be asked; but neither of them can quite bring themselves to ask it.

-x-

In Canada, they lope through the expansive forests and flat, seemingly unending prairie, allowing the decades to slowly pass them by, avoiding the humans when they can.  That all changes when they stumble across a game of pond hockey and fall in love with the sport. 


-

Once the sounds of war have faded from the United States, Dog finds himself compelled to travel south once again.  Leopard stays behind in Canada, no matter how much Dog tries to persuade him.

-

“I’m thinking of trying out for a team,” Dog tells Leopard in a letter.  There are better ways of communication these days, but the feeling of sitting down and putting his thoughts to paper – with the sweet smell of ink in the air – is something that Dog never tires of.

“Tell me which one it is,” Leopards sends back, “and I’ll make sure to be on another.”

-x-

“Do you miss home?” Dog asks Leopard, just before he’s about to climb out of Leopard’s car to go into the hotel.

“All the time,” Leopard answers without hesitation.  He tells Dog that he still dreams of the old days, when all the First Spirits squabbled over things that seem so petty now, when humans were only just discovering fire and just learning how to build huts.

“Me, too,” Dog says, looking down at his hands.  “This summer, after this season, I think it’ll be time to go back.”

“Yeah,” Leopard says, shoving at Dog’s shoulder, “I think it’ll do us some good.”

-z-

End.


-z-


P.S. - as far as I know, the Jets have never booed their own team.  However, it happened to the Oilers last season.  It was very sad.

P.P.S. - During the Civil War, northern California was pro-Union, while southern California contained a lot of transplants from Confederate states and were loudly advocating secession from the Union. [source]

Bibliography: Folk Stories From Southern Nigeria by Elphinstone Dayrell (1910).

Storytelling for Week 6: The Boy in the Hockey Helmet

Author's note:  For this storytelling, I decided to do a remix of The Maiden in the Wooden Helmet from the Japanese Fairy Tales by Andrew Lang.  My story will also take place in a universe where people don't bat an eye at weird magical stuff happening on sports teams.  Because sports.

The story is about a young woman who, at the behest of her dying mother, wears a wooden helmet low on her face - hiding away her beautiful hair and face.  She continues to wear the helmet, even as she works or washes her face.  She is taken in by the lord of the land she works after he notices how industrious she is and gives her the task of tending to his wife.

Not long after, the eldest son comes home from a business trip and, seeing the young woman's face after the helmet had tipped to the side, resolves to marry her.  His parents don't approve right away, but eventually consent.  While getting ready for the wedding, the young woman tries to remove the helmet but it doesn't come off - not until she and the son have been fully committed to each other and drank a glass of wine together - does the helmet break apart and fall in front of them - bursting into a bunch of precious jewels.

For my story - I changed the story to an AHL (American Hockey League) goalie who can't take his mask off until he makes it to the NHL (National Hockey League) and wins a Stanley Cup; names used are the names from the rabbits I work with over at Heartland Rabbit Rescue.  The teams are the Pittsburgh Penguins, because they're my favorite, and their AHL affiliate, the Wilkes-Barre Penguins (called colloquially: the Baby Pens).  (Expect a lot of hockey twists coming to my storytelling since preseason is here and the regular season is just around the corner.)

Names note: Sasha is the Russian diminutive for Alexander (like how Bill is the diminutive of William).

If you have any questions about phrases or hockey terms I used here, just ask!  I know that there aren't many hockey fans here in Oklahoma, but this intro is already A LOT longer than I meant it to be, so on with the story!


***


"What do you mean you can't take it off?" Sasha asks; he's trying to stay calm - because he's a good captain like that - but there wasn't much calming about the situation and Sasha's Russian accent was thickened with his worry.

"I mean it's stuck," Nicky replies, panic edging into his voice as he tries once again to lift his goalie helmet off of his head.  And, once again, only the face mask lifts up - but the whole helmet can't be moved from his head.

"Don't worry," Archie says, walking by as he threw his jersey into the bin in the center of the room for washing, "this happened to a friend of mine in juniors - you'll be fine.  It should wear off in a day or two."


*


It did not wear off in a day or two.

"Nicky" (Marc-Andre Fluery, #29 Pittsburgh Penguins) [x]

*

"Nick, do you think this will affect your chances for a call-up?" asks one of the beat reporters.

"I'm not--" Nicky starts.

"With the Pens getting closer and closer to a playoff run," interrupts another reporter, "how worried are you about this?"

"Well, I--" Nicky starts again.

"How do you feel about--"

But Nick doesn't hear the rest; the reporters are pressing in too close and Nick's suddenly bent over, trying to take deep gulping breaths.

Then, as if from on high, Nicky hears Sasha yell, "Get out of the way!"  Sasha's hands are on either side of Nick's helmet as he kneels down and, lowering his voice, says to Nicky, "Easy, little goalie, easy.  Deep breaths, Nick.  Just concentrate on my voice."

After a moment, after the world seems to steady itself under Nicky's feet, he says to Sasha, "I'm not little."  It’s an old argument, something Sasha has been saying to Nicky since he’d first walked into the Wilkes-Barre barn.

"You're little for a goalie," Sasha says, smirking.

"Yeah," Nicky says, pulling away from Sasha and leaning into his stall, "little for a goalie."  He closes his eyes and pretends that everything is okay.  (When he opens his eyes again, Sasha is still kneeling in front of him, concern and sadness in his gaze.  Nicky forces himself to smile.)

*

Sparky, the Penguins leading goaltender, goes down in the middle of the third period against the Flyers and coach comes up to him the next day, says, "Pack your bags, Nicky, you're needed in Pittsburgh."

*

Nicky dresses for the rest of the season, but he's still the back up to Hershel - who was Sparky's backup - and only plays one game.

His helmet still isn't coming off.

*

"I wouldn't worry about it much," says Walter, the captain of the Penguins and a legend on the cusp of retirement; his voice is kind and his Canadian maritime accent thick around the word "about" so that it sounded like "a-boot."  "Really," he continues, "it happens to Sparky every once in a while."

"Do you know why?" Nicky asks.

"No," Walter says, “he says that there's no real rhyme or reason."

"So I could be stuck like this?!" Nicky asks, jumping to his feet as panic hits him.

Walter holds his hands up, says, "Don't jump to any conclusions.  I'm just saying that everything will be okay.  Eventually."

"Look, I don't mean to interrupt," says Buckley, his tone anything but apologetic as he turns towards Nicky, "but I have to ask.  Have you been able to wash your hair, like, at all, dude?"

"My goalie mask is magically stuck to my head and you're worried about my hair?" Nicky asks, deadpan.

Buckley shrugs.

"Go away, Buck," Walter says, chuckling as he shoves Buckley away.

"The people have a right to know!" Buckley exclaims, feigning indignation even as he let his (much smaller) captain shove him towards his own stall on the far side of the locker room.

And just like that, the tension between Nicky's shoulders seems to loosen; and, for the first time in a month, he laughs.  It's a laugh that not faked or forced from him; it’s raspy and halting - as if he had forgotten how.

(It's also the first time in a month that his helmet doesn't seem quite so tight around his head.)

(It still doesn't come off.)

*

They're two games into the Stanley Cup finals when Hershel goes down with a concussion after being run over by one of the opposition's forwards.  Levi, the Penguins's resident goon, had immediately dropped his gloves.

The ensuing fight had been long and bloody and the penalty minutes, coach later screamed at them, hadn't been worth it.

Except that they had been.  There's a significant change in the momentum of the game and suddenly it's as if the Penguins were unstoppable - they win each foot race, each battle along the boards; every power play is capitalized on and no penalty kill sways the game towards the opposition's favor.

After the brawl, Nicky wins his team one victory, and then two, and then three.

*

One more, little goalie, Sasha texts him the evening of the sixth game of the Finals series.

If Nicky could win this one for his team - they would win the Cup.

Still not little, Nicky texts back.

*

The first two periods of that final game are a blur of sweat and heavy bodies slamming into him, of too fast pucks that he's only just able to keep out of his net.

By the third period, the game is still scoreless - until Walter jumps out of the penalty box and is off on the breakaway and the opposing goalie can't stop him - he drops and it's a beautiful goal as Walter slams home a goal, going top shelf.

The goal horn sounds just as the clock drops to zero.  Nicky’s teammates rush him, jumping on him and screaming his name and, sometime during that - Nicky’s helmet falls to the ground.

***


End.

"Nicky" lifting the Stanley Cup

Bibliography: The Violet Fairy Book by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1901).

Storytelling for Week 3: Of Mothers and Sons

Author's Note:  What I did with this story was I wrote it in drabbles, in 100-word snippets, in different point of views.  Two of them are from Aible's POV and two of them are in Wolf-Mother's POV. The story I used is The Wolf Mother of Saint Aible, the story of an infant who is abandoned in the woods before being adopted by a wolf. The boy spends a few years with the wolf and her cubs, but he is soon chanced upon by a hunter who scoops him up, "rescuing" him, and bring the boy home to his wife - the wolf and her cubs (who are mostly grown) chase after the rider, but can't quite catch him.  The boy, named Aible, grows up to become a holy man.  One day, he hears hunting dogs barking and runs outside - and immediately recognizes his now old wolf mother as the dogs' prey.  She recognizes him, too, and runs into his arms.

Of Mothers and Sons

-

Wolf-Mother

-

The moment the hunter scoops up her fur-less son, Wolf-Mother feels rage spreading through chest like winter ice – unforgiving, deadly.

Mama! Aible cries, screaming and reaching over the hunter’s shoulder.

She stretches her long body over the earth – praying to Wolf Moon for speed and endurance.  For if she and her sons could take down the mighty stags of the forest, surely this horse and its wicked rider would be easy enough to pull to ground.

But then one of her wolf sons begins to slow. And then the others.  And then herself.

And then her fur-less cub is gone.

-

Aible

-

Aible dreams of the woods sometimes. 

He dreams of sunlight dappling the forest floor and fresh flowers beginning to bud.

He dreams of the wolves he called elder brother, big brother, small brother, and young brother.  He dreams of playing their games and learning bird songs.

He dreams of cuddling into warmth and softness, of whispering mama with a low growl as an answer.  He dreams of big golden eyes and long fangs that always offered protection and the rare rebuke.

Aible dreams of the woods sometimes – and, when he wakes up, wishes only to return there.  To return home.

-

“What did you say, sir?” asks a priest.

“Nothing,” Aible says, turning away pointedly to stare out of the window.  The people around him were harder to deal with than usual today – Aible’s patience was already nearing its end despite the earliness of the day.

Aible turns and walks down to the gardens – the only place in the town that made any sense to him.  The birds would often come to see him, to laugh at his stories and give him encouragements.

He knows it frightens some when they find him talking in the language of animals – he doesn’t care. 

-

Wolf-Mother

-

It is only because of her old age that she didn’t hear the hounds before they were nearly upon her.  She snarls viciously at the dogs, and runs – she twists and winds her way through the forest, but she’s cut off.

Then a crow screams, Head for the town – there is someone there who will protect you.

She doesn’t know why she listens, but she does.  And it’s not until she is near, when she sees a man much like the others, that she feels her heart sing.  Her fur-less cub falls to his knees and opens his arms wide.

This is who I pictured as Wolf-Mother. [x]

Bibliography:

The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts by Abbie Farwell Brown (1900).

Storytelling for Week 2: The Jackdaw who would be an Eagle

Author’s note: This is my storytelling project for The Eagle and the Jackdaw from Aesop's Winter Fables and I’m putting an Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag twist to it (well, it kinda turned out to be a Black Flag  retelling with the fable twist to it).  My reading diary post may help you understand more what is going on if you’re not familiar with the Assassin’s Creed mythos.  Another thing to note is that I’m treating Edward as a jackdaw and Duncan Walpole, the Assassin, as the eagle.

The Jackdaw who would be an Eagle

Edward was a jackdaw with eagle’s eyes – for he lusted after gold and infamy, yet had the ability to see the intentions of those around him (those colored red were enemies, blue were allies, and gold – well, gold was the target, they were the one who had what he wanted).  But, even with the skill, a jackdaw is still a jackdaw.

Cape Bonavista, 1715

The eagle waits. [x]

Cannon blasts ring around him, men were screaming and most were dying, and the pre-dawn thunderstorm does nothing to drown out the sounds of battle.

There’s a fire burning at Edward’s back and his captain shouting out orders, but Edward can’t look away when, as if in slow motion, an eagle dressed as a man descends from the sky and sinks his talons into Edward’s captain.  His cold, dark eyes, shadowed by night and a hood, look up at him – then he’s stepping towards Edward.

They stare at each other, the eagle, with the white hood glowing a brilliant red in the night fog, and the jackdaw.  And just as Edward goes to fly forward, the fire reaches the magazine, the gunpowder stores – and the ship beneath his feet explodes and sends him into the water.

The jackdaw faces down the eagle. [x]

Moonlight dances in the water above him, reflecting and mixing with the orange glow of fires.  He comes back to himself, just as his back hits the sea floor, and panic and adrenaline sends him swimming desperately towards the surface.

Edward makes it to shore, swimming through the wreckage of his still burning ship, as the sun begins to rise.

Then the eagle, too, is crawling ashore.  A glance at him and Edward can’t help but smile – the eagle’s wings had been damaged in the explosion and the red about him was slowly beginning to fade.  The eagle had an hour, maybe two.

“Havana,” the eagle says, “I must get to Havana.”

“I don’t think you have that long,” Edward says, standing and walking over to the injured eagle. 

But he gets too close and the eagle lashes out, kicking Edward’s legs out from under him and pulling a pistol.  Edward sneers when, after pulling the trigger, there’s nothing a click.

Edward doesn’t hesitate as he draws the swords that had managed to stay with him through the explosion.  The eagle fights hard at first, but he’s losing blood quickly and his movements become slower and slower.

The killing blow is quick.

"Mr. Walpole... let's collect your Reward." [screenshot from x]

In the eagle’s clothing Edward finds a letter and a cubed vial.  The words “If you truly possess the information we desire, we have the means to reward you handsomely” and “Though I will not know your face by sight, I believe I can recognize the costume made infamous by your secret order.”

Reward, is the word that Edward focuses on.  So he takes the eagle’s robes, who the letter had identified as Duncan Walpole, and puts them on.

Edward feels a rush of power – feels himself becoming an eagle.

It’s not until later, when he’s on his knees surrounded by the men who call themselves Templars, that he realizes that he wasn’t an eagle – simply a jackdaw dressed as one.

Just a jackdaw after all. [screenshot from x]

Bibliography

Aesop. 2006. The Aesop for Children. Chicago: Rand McNally & Co.

IZUNIY. 2014. Assassin's Creed 4 Black Flag All Cutscenes Movie.

Keane, Mark. n.d. Tumblr. Accessed September 02, 2015.