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Weretarantula · 10-26-2018, 04:06 PM

The plane touched down in Alaska and Maxime felt a slight shiver of relief wash over him. Draft 44 was done, and he was officially a SMJHL player. No busted ass free agency would be required for him to sparkle amongst the coal. He gazed out of his window and looked upon the the mountains that were scattered in the distance. Gatineau may have had a bulk load of pretty trees in fall but it sure as hell didn't have this kind of skyline. He grabbed his bag from the overhead lockers and headed to the carousel. He was sweating the work clearance to enter into the States from Canada, but the Armada had been great in submitting his work permits to the authorities in advance. They were fully prepared to select him, and it spoke volumes to Maxime's confidence (maybe even a little too much..)

After setting up his regional Tinder profile at the rental desk using the free airport wifi, and thoroughly infuriating everyone standing in line behind him, he checked through his messages and found his reservation for his hotel and car. It was good he hadn't forgotten his phone charger because his Canadian dollars weren't worth anything around these parts. The concierge looked at him kinda funny when he pulled up the booking. How on earth could this kid afford a week long hire of their most expensive Merc? "Instagram kids..." he muttered under his breath, as he flung the keys over the counter. He jumped in and sped off to the hotel, blasting technical death metal the whole way, and getting some appropriately funny looks at red traffic lights.

After getting acquainted with his hotel room, he began reading through all the negative hype trains in the local media. He scoffed heartily. Sure, he wasn't putting in much of an effort. Sure, other players deserved to be drafted way higher. Hell, even he thought his back check was garbage! But can the boy snipe? Can the boy dangle with the rest of his draft class? Can he celly harder than a bachelor party when a set of ping pong balls are pulled out of the strippers suitcase? You better god damn believe it.

Everything that had been said was more recycled garbage that he had heard all through peewee. Don't just shoot all the time, don't just skate fast, don't this, don't that. Every coach he had ever had just wanted to 'correct' his play and tell him what he wasn't supposed to do, 'reaffirming' that he would never make it full time. Never be a real player. And then he smashed goal after goal, and their mouths would shut faster than his puck going top cheddar. That's why Maxime had formed such an affinity for his new team, the Anchorage Armada. Not only had they taken a shot on him in the third round, but they had selected him as the fourth RW out of all 8 possibilities. That spoke volumes, and resonated with his spirit and work ethic. He now wanted to prove more than ever to all the other SMJHL teams that skipped over him that they were wrong. Maybe he should have shown this initiative sooner and got drafted higher, but you know what? It just wasn't there.

He didn't care back then. He thought it was all just a waste and he would get there eventually anyway. And sure, he did, but being passed over hurt. It hurt his ego hard. How dare they not look at him and see the next Chernika Banananov, arguably the greatest right winger to ever grace the league. Max had watched his games religiously, studying every move he made. Every effortless glide, spin and turn. He mimicked them as best he could, and it paid off when it mattered. You don't need to defend if you can dance around your opposition.

Tossing his phone into the couch, he grabbed his laptop and loaded up his youtube training playlist. "Banana rocking and goalie knocking vol 3." would form his workout for the rest of the day, and if he didn't have it he couldn't get focused. 50 minutes of drags, dangles and saucer passes later, he headed to the rink with his gear. He hadn't signed his contract with Anchorage yet, so he was anxious to get to meet his new employers.

Upon arrival to the Sullivan Center, the intimidation set in. The sheer size of the arena made him feel like an ant. The boisterous exuberance he had been feeling faded almost instantly. "Maybe I'm not ready to play for such a big team" he thought to himself. His brain begun to spiral into a state of disillusion and despair. He put his hands against his head, desperately trying to collect his thoughts and not become a complete emotional wreck.

*dink dink dink*
The sudden sound of tapping glass snapped him from his state, and he gazed up to see @spooked and @ml002 peering through his window. "Mate, you haven't even set foot in the arena yet! You sure you're cut out for this?" spooked's muffled voice called through the window.
The world came crashing back as fast as Kool-aid man through a brick wall. He wound down the glass, and mustered his confidence.

"Hell yeah I'm ready boss." Armada