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Zaun was a vibrant city - even moreso now that the water cleanup teams actually had adequate funding to do their jobs. No more poison, no more greed. People were able to live their lives without the constant fear and worry for their own safety and for the safety of their children. The city wasn’t just surviving anymore. It was beginning to thrive.
The break in the tension - that sigh of relief - penetrated the now-clean air and put people at ease.
The city wasn’t cheerful, per se, but it was friendly. Neighborly.
If your car broke down, the guy who stopped to help you would call you a fucking idiot for neglecting your oil changes, but then he’d drive you sixty miles out of his way so you could get to your nephew’s school play on time.
Now, there was a buzz to the city on any normal day, a brightness that came from a close-knit community, finally able to really heal from the sins of the past, but on game day?
On game day, Zaun came alive.
______
“We are back at The Last Drop for another home game, and let me tell you, this one is going to be a great one.”
An announcer in a crisp suit taps her papers on the desk in front of her with a kind of frenetic energy that belies her true excitement about this game.
“That’s right Jamie, we’re just a few games into what is already a monster of a season for the Zaun team, and we know what kind of magic the Thumprats can work in their own barn, so this is sure to be a great matchup against Demacia.”
The male announcer is grinning wide as he turns to the video screen behind the table, showing footage of The Last Drop - fans with faces painted and holding homemade signs proclaiming things like “MY DATE STOOD ME UP - MEET ME IN THE BATHROOM, RIVEN??” and “MOMMY? SORRY, MOMMY?” with the number thirty three in enormous, glittery letters beneath.
Jamie chuckles. “Well, Mark, you can always trust the Sumprats fans to show up and show out.”
Mark laughs his agreement, and they both turn back to the table while footage continues to scroll behind them - the line of fans outside filing into the arena, the crew checking the ice, and a quick flash of a peace sign from Ahri on her way to the locker room.
“So we have a very special announcement about this game.”
“That’s right, we do!”
“As we all know, the Sumprats are very involved in the community in Zaun. The players run free camps, show up at soup kitchens on Harvest Day, and hold fundraisers pretty frequently for nonprofits. They’re a team that’s really focused on giving back to the city, which is just great to see.”
“Absolutely right, Jamie,” Mark says, nodding.
“So tonight, a portion of all tickets sold - and this game is sold out - will be donated to From Barks to Sharks. We’ll also see, after the Zaun anthem, which is a little different than all the other anthems in the RHL and always so special to hear–”
“Gives me chills every time I’m at a home game,” Mark says, smiling fondly.
“--absolutely, and after the anthem, the shelter’s going to bring out some of their dogs that are up for adoption, just to raise awareness for the shelter and try to get some furry friends into their forever homes.”
“Dang, nobody told me I’d have to commentate on a dog show!” says Mark, laughing while his companion chuckles at the bad joke.
“I don’t think anybody’s asking you to be a show judge, but it’ll be great to see if anybody gets adopted tonight!”
Mark speaks directly into the camera, “That’s for sure, and we’ll be right here watching with you, after a short break to hear from our sponsors.”
The footage cuts from the smiling anchors at the desk to a commercial with an overly excited woman talking about the benefits of hemorrhoid cream.
______
“...No, I won’t back down…”
The last notes of the Thumprats anthem fade - lone singer and fans crooning the lyrics together - the final, strummed notes of the song lost in the cheering and applauding from the thousands of fans crammed into the packed arena, and the singer tips his hat, just like he always does, walking back down the carpet past the two lines of players - Knights on one side, Sumprats on the other - to hand his microphone to the arena’s announcer.
“How about another round of applause for our anthem?” the announcer, a portly announcer in a bright red suit asks as he walks up the carpet, shiny, red and black shoes flashing, and the Sumprats - and their fans - don’t disappoint, applauding and roaring, the noise vibrating the air.
The camera catches a few of the newly drafted Knights players looking a little nervous.
“Alright, so tonight’s game is special, not just because it’s a Thumprats home game–” the announcer pauses for more cheering, the glass rattling from fans pounding on it, their excitement for the puck drop palpable, “--but because tonight’s game is a charity game. A portion of every single ticket sold will be donated to From Barks to Sharks, so I’d like to thank you for supporting a vital, local organization just by being here.”
More cheers follow that statement, and the camera doesn’t miss Garen reaching over to pat the back of a player who looks more like he wants to throw up than cheer for rescued animals.
“Right now, before we get into what the Thumprats do best, the owners of From Barks to Sharks are going to bring out some dogs that are up for adoption - here they come now - and they’re going to take a few minutes to talk about the work that they do, and I hope you’ll all lend them an ear, and think about taking a new friend home tonight.”
The cheers, this time, are mixed with aww ’s and excited chatter from little kids already begging their parents for a puppy.
The announcer’s smiling as he hands off the microphone to a tall woman with black hair and Sumprats colors streaked across her face, holding the leash of a tiny, happy, ratty-looking dog with red-painted toenails.
______
“...and that’s why the work we do is so important here, to Zaun. We’d just like to thank the Sumprats for hosting this charity game - the proceeds you all have raised here tonight are really going to make a huge difference for our shelter, and we’re just so grateful. If you’d like to adopt anybody you see here,” a gesture at the few dogs sitting at their feet, “or if you’d like to meet any of the other dogs that are up for adoption, you can stop by section 200, and we’ll get you taken care of. Thank you again to all of you, and go Thumprats!”
Before the word Thumprats is finished, the crowd is roaring again, the cheer echoed by the fans banging the glass and stomping their feet in excitement for the impending puck drop.
Unheard by the crowd, or even the smiling, waving shelter owners over the din and the excitement that feels like a physical thing in the building, one of the dogs starts to yelp, frantically wiggling out of the red and black collar that had been buckled around its neck for the occasion.
A moment later, the dog, a black and brown mutt, is slipping on too-big paws across the ice, ears flopping as its head jerks from side to side, looking for shelter in the enormous, freezing arena filled with bright lights and screaming fans.
______
“--so great to see the fans so excited to support a local shelter. I bet all those dogs are going home tonight,” Jamie says, smiling at her partner.
“Definitely, Jamie! I bet half the kids there are already halfway to convincing their parents to ado–”
“Oh my God! One of the dogs got loose - I don’t think anybody’s noticed, but look at the poor thing,” Jamie says, watching on the screen as the cameraman is the first person to notice the frantic dog, the focus going in and out as the camera turns toward the dog slipping and sliding across the icy surface…
…straight to one of the tallest figures on the ice.
______
Vi loved home games.
She loved hockey, she loved Zaun, and she loved playing hockey in Zaun.
The Last Drop, on game day? Just walking into the arena felt like getting high.
She also fucking loved that the team got to be so involved in the city - it felt really good to play the game she loved, and to be on a team that gave a shit about the city. Ionia had loved the Ironfists, and she’d always had a good relationship with the fans, but the team hadn’t done much for the city where she’d spent twelve years sweating and bleeding and clawing her way through practices and games and series where they got so close but not far enough.
Zaun loved the Sumprats, and the Sumprats loved Zaun.
This event had been Thresh’s idea. The guy looked mean as hell with the face scars and the skull helmet, but, off the ice, he was a big softie who loved animals - was pretty vocal about how much having an animal companion had helped his recovery, actually - and if they didn’t have such a brutal practice schedule, Vi figured he’d probably spend most of his time laying on the floor at home in a giant dogpile.
So far, it seemed like charity night was going to be fucking fantastic for the shelter - the game was sold out, and the cheering for the shelter was so loud right now that Vi almost wanted to cover her ears.
She didn’t.
Vi laughed as the announcer took the mic back, his voice completely drowned out by the crowd.
She turned her head to look up at Caitlyn, and her scarred eyebrow crinkled when Caitlyn was looking down with a soft expression on her face, instead of back at Vi like she usually was.
Vi followed the direction of her gaze and her heart squeezed when she saw that one of the dogs was standing on its hind legs, its front paws scrabbling at Caitlyn’s knees.
The poor thing was so terrified it was shaking, and Vi was, for the first time ever, sorry that the crowd got so excited for home games.
Caitlyn started to kneel, and Vi watched her move so carefully, navigating her tall frame - big with all the pads on - onto the ice, putting down her stick and tugging off her gloves, setting them down with one hand as the dog scrambled straight into her arms.
No hesitation.
Like the dog fucking knew that Caitlyn was safe. That she’d keep it safe.
Vi swallowed back the emotion welling up in her throat as she watched the love of her life murmur softly to the panicked dog, cradling it against her chest.
______
“Well, if that isn’t the sweetest damn thing I’ve seen in a while,” Jamie says, wiping at her eyes with a tissue from the box under the desk.
Usually she and her partner threw them at each other during heated debates about sports games.
Not tonight.
As part of a new thing that the RHL was doing that the fans loved and the censors hated, one player was selected to be mic’d up for every game. Tonight, that player was number 33, and the audio coming through her mic makes Jamie reach for another tissue.
“You’re alright, sweetheart,” she’s saying, the words barely audible with the clamor of the crowd.
“I have you,” she assures, pressing a gentle kiss to the dog’s head, between its floppy ears.
“You’re safe,” she whispers, wrapping her arms farther around the dog, so it’s shielded from the noise and the lights.
Mark grabs a tissue for himself, which he uses to loudly blow his nose as he and his partner watch the screen.
The audio in the broadcast picks up more sniffles off-camera.
Even the crew aren’t immune to the sight of the RHL’s cool-headed sniper sitting on the ice with a dog and telling it that everything was going to be okay.
______
Vi smiled down at Caitlyn as the dog’s shaking started to peter off, slowly getting to her knees next to Caitlyn, conscious of how big she must look to a puppy, conscious of how terrified the poor thing probably still was, even wrapped up in Caitlyn’s arms.
Like she always did, Caitlyn made room, angling her body slightly so Vi fit next to her easily. They were two puzzle pieces, and they’d fit together perfectly for so long, even when both of them had denied and danced around the truth.
Vi set her stick on the ice and tugged her gloves off, keeping her big hands on her thighs, just watching, just waiting.
Just listening.
Vi chewed her mouth guard and listened to the words she’d said to Caitlyn, when she’d been so brave to tell Vi about what she’d endured, the words Caitlyn had said to her, when Vi had told her about Vander with shaking hands and tears tracking down her cheeks, now being said to someone else.
Vi pulled her mouth guard out of her mouth, and smiled at the dog that had popped its head up onto Caitlyn’s shoulder, wide eyes watching Vi.
“I think…” Vi said, her words quiet enough for only Caitlyn to hear, and loud enough to be heard over the crowd that wasn’t screaming anymore, but definitely wasn’t quiet. “I think that’s your dog, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn turned her head to shoot her a blinding, gap-toothed grin, and Vi grinned back, the rink air familiar and cold on her gums through the gap in her molars.
“I think you’re right,” Caitlyn murmured, keeping her voice quiet so she didn’t spook the dog, which had finally stopped shaking.
“She has to like you, too, though,” Caitlyn added, angling her shoulder down so Vi had a better view of the dog.
Vi smiled at the dog, careful not to move or show too many of her fucked up teeth, and she watched as it tilted its head to the side, watching her.
“She, huh?” Vi murmured.
The dog blinked at her, shifting to put its paws on Caitlyn’s shoulder.
“Hey there,” Vi said, very slowly lifting a hand so the dog could sniff her fingers. “What do you think? Wanna come home with us?”
While she waited for the dog to make its decision, she was a little surprised to notice how fucking nervous she was.
Big, mean enforcer Vi.
One of the baddest motherfuckers in the league.
And she was as nervous as a sixteen year old kid picking up their fucking prom date while she waited for this tiny dog to decide whether or not it liked her.
Eventually, after a little snuffling, and more soft encouragement from Caitlyn - Vi’d probably have to talk with her about cooing “good girl” like that - the dog licked Vi’s fingers and then went straight back to nuzzling its nose under Caitlyn’s chin, tail starting to wag as Caitlyn scratched her fingers up and down the dog’s back.
Vi wiped her hand on her hockey pants - she’d blame it on the dog spit if anybody asked, but the truth was, her fucking palms were sweating.
“Well,” Vi said, grinning at Caitlyn and waiting for her to turn her head away from where she’d started making silly faces at the dog.
Caitlyn smiled at her, nodding, and then looked past her and up.
When Vi turned to see what Caitlyn was looking at, she found one of the shelter owners standing there with a leash and collar, looking shocked to shit.
“That dog doesn’t like anybody,” she said, her eyebrows pulled together.
“Really?” Caitlyn asked, and the shelter owner nodded, her eyebrows pulling even farther together. “We were really worried she’d never get adopted, since she’s not all that friendly with anyone. We still had hope, but…”
Caitlyn hummed, and Vi turned back to watch her look at the dog for a second.
“I don’t blame you, sweetheart. Most people are awful,” she murmured conspiratorially.
Vi shook her head, chuckling, and twisted to shrug at the shelter owner, who shook herself out of staring at Caitlyn and the dog, which was now letting Caitlyn hold it like a baby and coo “my pretty, pretty girl,” at it.
Vi was definitely going to have to talk to her about that. She didn’t need to be ruining her underwear at the fucking dog park.
“Do you have an application we need to fill out?”
The shelter owner shook her head absently. “We do, but…dogs know about people, you know? We’ll send one over as a formality, but, well. I know you two can afford everything she’ll need, so I have no problem with her going home with you tonight after the game. We can give you what you need to get her set up for a few days.”
Vi turned to look at Caitlyn, who was smiling down at the dog tucked in the crook of her arm.
“You hear that?” she asked the dog, who looked at her, floppy ears perking up, seeming to know Caitlyn had something important to say.
“You’re coming home,” Caitlyn whispered, smiling, her eyes welling as the dog yipped, squirming around to lick her jaw.
The dog’s entire, tiny body was shaking from excitement now, its tail going a mile a minute.
Vi laughed, watching them, and wiped at her own eyes as she twisted back again to smile at the shelter owner.
“We’ll take her.”
______
A post from @ZaunThumprats, the official Sumprats account, graces phone, laptop, and tablet screens everywhere the week after the game.
There are a few photos and videos to scroll through - a puppy wearing a jersey with the Sumprats logo proudly displayed on the back and the number 39 on the sleeve slipping and sliding across the ice while chasing the pucks that Poppy’s just dumped out of a bucket for her, the same dog being held tucked into the crook of one arm like a floppy-eared football by a frowning Sevika, the dog with its butt planted in the net, tail a blur, distinctive rubber marks on the crossbar making a red and black frame for the heart-melting scene - but the main image for the post is the one that has fans everywhere squealing, the likes and comments on the post pouring in.
The main image shows the dog, still in her Sumprats jersey with her tongue lolling happily out of her mouth, sitting on the ice between Vi and Caitlyn, who are laying on their stomachs on the ice, propped up on their elbows so they can each give her a kiss on the sides of her smiling face.
The caption reads,
Everyone say hi to Slapshot! She’s the newest Sumprat, and the bestest girl.
She loves hockey practice, long walks on the beach, and spending time cuddling her moms.
Thanks to @frombarkstosharks for bringing her to us! Be sure to check out their website if you’re looking to take home a new friend of your own <3
#sumprats #thumprats #teamdog #rescuepup #number33 #number6 #number39 #caitvi #slapshot #slappyforshort
