Characters: Sam Emerson, Edgar Frog
Synopsis: Sam and Edgar go ice skating
Disclaimer: I don't own the Lost Boys
A/N: Pure sillyness. In honour of Corey Feldman's short lived stint on Dancing on Ice. It had to be done.
“No,” said Edgar.
“No.” The vampire hunter folder his arms defiantly across his chest and stared Sam down with an expression that said, in no uncertain terms, that his decision was final.
Sam turned to glance at the large building behind him. He'd got Edgar this far; talked him out of the comic shop, onto a bus to the other side of town, he wasn't going to back down that easily now. “Come on,” he tried. “We're here now and the bus home isn't for another hour. We might as well just go inside.”
Edgar dug his heels in harder, glowering at his friend as though he could quite cheerfully kill him given half a chance. “Sam, you know we have to pay if we go inside, and if we've paid you'll say we might as well have a go, and the argument starts all over.” He shook his head and turned away. “If there's no bus, I'll just walk. It's not that far.
As Edgar took his first step away from him, Sam felt the first drops of rain begin to fall. He held out a hand, palm up to catch them, and smiled triumphantly. Around then, the sky darkened from light to deep gray, and fat, heavy raindrops began hit the concrete sidewalk.
Sam waited, watching as Edgar slowed, stopped and finally turned around. He looked at Sam, frustrated but resigned. His thin t-shirt was already starting to stick to his skin. If he stayed out, he would be soaked through within minutes. “Fine,” he said, waving an arm as though conceding a point. “Lets go inside.” He began to move quickly toward the door.
Sam's triumphant smile widened to a grin, and he followed him.
The bored looking girl on reception took Sam's money and waved them through. Edgar hung back sulkily for a moment, looking out of the window as though he could will the rain away. If he was trying, he was failing miserably. It was actually getting faster. Already, puddles were beginning to form on ground that had been dry a few moments earlier.
Sam left him behind and walked through into the next room, confident that Edgar would follow. Seconds later, the squeak of army boots on the strange, rubbery floor fell into a rhythm with that of his sneakers.
The locker room looked much like any other. Wooden benches were placed in the center and around the edge, and the walls lined with coin-operated lockers. Small pools of water had formed in places on the floor, and in others were tiny piles of ice that would soon begin to melt. To the left of the room, was a hatch where an older gentleman sat tapping the end of his pencil on a newspaper crossword thoughtfully. As Sam entered, he looked up and smiled.
Edgar walked slowly into the room, and sat down on the bench in the center of the room. He tapped his heel onto one of the pieces of ice, and it immediately squashed into sludge.
“I'm not skating,” he said.
“But we're in here now,” Sam protested.
Edgar shook his head in disbelief. “Didn't I just tell you you were going to say that?”
“And I guess you were right.” Sam sat down next to him, waving to the guy in the hatch in a way that he hoped communicated that they would both be there in a minute. The man nodded and turned back to his puzzle. “So, maybe I'm predictable,” he said. “Doesn't mean I don't make a lot of sense. Give me one good reason not to give it a try.”
“Ice,” said Edgar, “is cold.”
It was true he wasn't exactly dressed for skating, Sam had to concede that point. He shrugged, “I'd have told you to dress warm, but you'd have gotten suspicious.
Edgar nodded. “Which brings us to reason two. You brought me here under false pretenses. And I only came in to keep dry. I'll wait out the rain, but I'm not getting on the ice.”
“Okay, first,” Sam said, holding up a finger to indicate that this was one of many points. “You're right. My pretenses were false, but if you seriously couldn't tell I was lying, I'm concerned about your ability to function in the world.”
The story about finding a werewolf den had so obviously been a fabrication that he'd been sure Edgar was going to call him on it. Instead, he had rolled his eyes, left Alan in charge of the shop and told Sam to lead the way.
“Second,” said Sam, straightening another finger, “you could have walked home in the rain if you'd wanted. It's pretty warm out there.”
“It's still wet,” Edgar grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah, boo hoo. And third,” Sam held up a last finger, “I've only done this a few times myself, so you don't have to worry about looking stupid. Anyway, we've come at the quietest time of the day, no one's going to see you if you fall over.”
Edgar looked at him, frowning. “You think I'm worried about falling over?” he said.
“Well...” Sam fingered his earlobe, gently rotating the stud piercing it. “I guess you probably do know how to fall...”
Edgar rolled his eyes. He lifted a foot onto the bench, unlaced his boot and kicked it off, then repeated the action with the other one. He was wearing odd socks, one black, one blue with a hole in the heel. He padded over to the hatch, avoiding the puddles of melted ice on the floor, and exchanged his footwear for skates.
Sam watched, almost unable to believe that he had done it. He still wasn't quite sure how he had done it. As Edgar tightened the laces on his skates, Sam kicked off his own shoes and handed them to the man behind the hatch. He received a pair of skates and fastened them onto his feet.
“Are you sure about this?” he said to Edgar. “I mean, if you really don't want to...” He wobbled slightly, getting re-used to the feeling of balancing on the two blades.
“Yeah,” Edgar told him. “Come on, lets get it over with.” He stomped off in the direction of the ice, leaving Sam with no choice but to follow.
When he caught him up, Edgar was standing at the gap in the barrier, looking out onto the ice. Around the rink were several scattered people, all thoroughly involved in what they and their friends were doing. Edgar appeared to be hesitating, deciding whether to step forward.
He stepped past him, onto the ice. He gripped the side barrier as he did, steadying himself until he grew accustomed to being on a surface with such low friction. “It's easy,” he said to Edgar, who was still watching. “Honestly.”
Edgar made an irritated sound low in his throat and glared at Sam, then stepped unhesitatingly out and immediately began to skate.
He moved with power and precision. He sped across the ice at a sprint, spun around and came back, stopping not by catching the rail with his arms, as Sam did, but with a scrape of skates on ice that brought him to a complete stop jut inches from where Sam was still standing.
Sam's mouth dropped open. “Holy shit,” he said.
“Come on then, you wanted to skate,” Edgar said, and sped away again.
Sam let go of the side and began to move, haltingly at first, but more freely once he became accustomed to the way he needed to move. Edgar slowed to skate next to him then, with a smirk, flipped around and began to skate backwards. Sam watched in fascination as his friend proceeded to, quite literally, skate rings around him, leaving patterns of scraped ice in his wake.
“Okay, okay!” Sam said finally. “Seriously, Edgar, what the hell? When did you learn to do that?”
“A hunter needs to be prepared for anything,” Edgar told him. “You never know where you might need to fight.”
Sam frowned, coming to a stop against the barrier close to where they had entered the ice. “So, let me get this straight,” he said. “You learned to skate in case you ever need to fight a vampire on ice?”
“In Santa Carla, where the temperature hasn't gotten below freezing since my grandpa was a kid?”
“Or if I ever travel north. There are vampires everywhere.”
Sam nodded, that was the name of the comic book, after all.
Edgar had come to a stop next to him, he set off again at dizzying speed, performing a series of showy but impressive tricks. “Or, who knows, what if I have to fight here?”
“At the ice rink?”
“Prepared for anything,” Edgar repeated. “How much trouble would I be in if I did end up fighting here and I just wobbled around and fell flat on my face?” He paused, and looked at Sam. “Like you thought I was going to do,” he added.
Sam thought he should be embarrassed, Edgar had quite effectively managed to make a fool of him, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it. All he felt was impressed, and maybe a little jealous.
“So,” said Edgar, “a few more times around and then home? Don't want to miss the bus.”
Sam indicated his agreement by skating away, trying to mimic Edgar's fluid movements. Edgar followed him, skating at his side now.
“By the way,” said Sam as they skated. “I hope you don't think this is the end of it. You're teaching me how to do all that stuff. And don't you dare say no, Edgar. I want to be prepared for figure skating vampires too.”
Edgar said nothing and increased his speed slightly, moving away from Sam.
“I hope you know silence means yes!” Sam called after him. “That means you just agreed to be my skating teacher!”
Edgar continued to skate away, and Sam watched him go.