fandomhighdorms | Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

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Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

He had it all. Bags of crisps? Check. The right channel and time? Check. The bright red shawl to clearly display that he was rooting for the only decent team in this match? Check.

It was time for the Eurocup finals. Germany against Spain.

Jeff might have been a little bit overexcited. You could tell by the fact his shirt, pants, and headgear currently managed to coordinate, in that way where different shades of the same colour entirely didn't coordinate, with his shawl.

"No Villa," he muttered, "That's not good. Kick Ballack really hard!"

He always had a habit of getting carried away.

[ open! have some crisps. ]

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Turtle also sat on the couch, frowning deeply at the screen as she watched. Half of her was wondering if she should pretend to not know Jeff for all the colors, half of her was trying to honestly get into the game (which she found difficult, since there were no Russians), and half of her was just hoping that the limb she went out on to put money on Spain for this game had been a wise choice.

Yes, that was three halves. Turtle Wexler could do 150%.

"What do you think?" Jeff asked, squinting at the screen, "The Spanish are playing rubbish, aren't they? They could be doing better. Maybe they just need to score first. You know, get all the running to work a bit."

Any confusion on Turtle's part was, for the most part, passing by completely unnoticed.

"They are doing poorly," Turtle agreed, with no small amount of bitterness in her voice. She had a fifty dollar bet riding on this, and she hated losing, especially when money was involved. In her opinion, any team she supported should already be ahead by...a lot...at this point in the game. She shook her head. "If that other team" -- yes, she had already forgotten who the other team was -- "starts scoring, I'm not sure I can stay and watch..."

"They're Germans," Jeff scoffed, sounding incredibly offended, "They always make it to the finals, but they're not going to win. Not on my watch!"

He might have been taking it a little personally. "And look! Ballack's bleeding. That's an omen, it is. Like in the movie."

"...An omen of what, exactly?" Turtle asked, not even sure which movie Jeff was supposedly referencing. She figured it was probably just easier to ask, anyway.

"You know," Jeff said, gesturing heavily at the screen, "An omen of Spanish."

Turtle just eyed Jeff for a long moment before shaking her head slightly. "Just hand me that bag of chips over there," she decided, moving back toward safer territory as she reached out a little for them.

Jeff fussed around until he found a bag of what he was pretty sure was paprika, and helpfully offered them. "It's the Germans," he said, conspiratorally, "They always score in the last minute."

Turtle stuck her hand in the bag to pull out a handful of chips as she warily eyed the screen. "Really? Is that how they manage to get this far, then?"

"That," Jeff said, wisely, and munched on a couple of his own chips, "And the fact they've got a player named Schweinsteiger. I mean, it just makes you sort of want to leap off things, doesn't it? And with Spain playing without Villa and everything..."

"It kind of makes me want to eat bacon," Turtle admitted with a small wrinkle of her nose, shifting a little. "But it is a pretty good strategy, you have to admit. Holding out all your guns until the last minute and then BAM! Taking the victory."

"It's bad footie," Jeff muttered, swallowing a bite, "They're playing really really badly most of the time and-- oh my god, did you just see Torres run?!"

Turtle, suddenly, looked a bit startled as she tried to figure out what Jeff was talking about.

"Err, um. Which one's Torres again? That's Spain, right?"

It certainly didn't sound a German name, so...

"Yes, yes, Spain," Jeff said, distractedly, "Score, score, sco-- oh, well, that's rubbish, isn't it?"

He glared at the television for emphasis.

"...It's rubbish strategy," he continued, as the excitement faded, "But it seems to work."

"Yeah, but..." Turtle tentatively took in a breath; she knew Jeff really got into his football, and that he really disliked the Germans, so she wasn't sure if this was one of those moments in a relationship where you just kept quiet or not, "it works. Is it really rubbish if it works? And it might be bad footie, okay, sure, but if they've been doing it, it's the other teams' fault for not picking up on it and being all, 'whoa, okay, we can't let these guys do that anymore.' It's just like capitalism, you know."

"It's not like capitalism," Jeff said, with verve, "'Cos it's all about, you know, playing really ugly football and then winning anyway--" Jeff might have been missing the point, "And that's bad."

"But what makes it ugly?" Turtle challenged stubbornly. "I mean, just because it means they win and you lose? That's not ugly, Jeff, that's being a sore loser."

Jeff gave her a look that truly spelled disturbed. "Look at that," he gestured, "You call that a pass? It's not a pass, it's a--" he struggled for the word, "--fail, and I think OH MY GOD TORRES JUST SCORED!"

Distraction, thy name was Footie.

Turtle palm met her face and she lightly shook her head. She was, though, okay with the distraction. Jeff, she was sure, would have forgotten about the start of an argument that she felt they were building on, and she'd just let it go like it didn't happen.

But, really, they were only doing what worked, and Turtle kind of liked them for that. But she knew better than to go against a man and his football team.

"Who's winning?" was all Jenny wanted to know as she leaned around the door frame into the common room.

"Um," Turtle said, giving Jeff a slight frown as ~~his mun went to bed~~ he seemed way too into the game to seem to have noticed someone else at the moment. "Spain's up by one. I think."

"And do we think that's good or horrible?" Jenny wanted to know, because it was always a good idea to ask before cheering for the wrong side and starting a brawl.

"In the event that it stays that way," Turtle said, "good."

"Then up Spain!"

Turtle grinned a little at that. "I take it you're for Spain, too, then," she observed.

"I'm actually not picky, but I've known some real tw--er, twits from Germany," Jenny said.

Turtle shook her head slightly. "Leave it to a few," she said, "to give the many a bad rep. I'm kind of impartial myself, but I've got fifty bucks riding on Spain, so..."

Not so much the few as, "I was in World War Two."

"...Oh."

Blink.

"Uh, well...the sins of the fathers are not necessarily the sins of the sons," she tried.

Jenny looked supremely unconvinced. "Let's just go with 'up Spain,' shall we?"

Turtle shrugged. "Hey, you brought up the war," she pointed out. "Have a seat; grab some chips. Throw things at the TV if the Germans score."

Somewhere into the proceedings, Jeff managed a distracted kind of wave.

Considering Jenny was female, it was probably a good thing he'd been too absorbed in the game to look at her properly.

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Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

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