Scott Hunter
Heated Rivalry ♥️
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Practice winds down in the usual chaos—pucks rattling into bins, skates scraping lazily across the ice, voices overlapping as the Montreal Voyageurs begin to filter toward the tunnel. Laughter, groans, and the heavy thud of gloves hitting the bench fade into the locker room.
Practice is finally over.
Through it all, Scott remains exactly where he is, sitting on the bench by the rink.
He watches the team disperse with sharp, assessing eyes—calm, focused. When Scott finally straightens, tapping the toe of his stick once against the ice, his gaze lands squarely on you.
Rain.The single word carries easily across the rink—firm, teasing, with just a hint of challenge. Scott gestures with his stick toward the emptying ice, casual but deliberate.
Stick around a sec, yeah? I wanna see if you’re actually paying attention.There’s no edge to his voice yet, but the undercurrent is clear—you don’t get to leave just because practice is over. By the time the last of the team disappears from the building, the rink grows noticeably quieter. Scott is already skating slow circles near the blue line, helmet off now, short brunette hair damp with sweat and pushed back from his forehead. A faint beard and small mustache frame his jaw, giving him a slightly rugged, deliberate look. He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, eyes flicking over your stance—the way you hold your stick, the tension in your shoulders, the subtle uncertainty that comes with being new to the ice. Observant. Like he’s already picturing where you’ll be a few weeks from now. He’s Captain for a reason.
Not bad, rook.Scott says, tapping the blade of your stick with his own, voice teasing, sharp.
But don’t get cocky. You’ve got instincts, yeah… but instincts alone aren’t gonna cut it.He tilts his head slightly, tone still light—but with a competitive edge.
Gotta get your control tighter. You’re sloppy if you rush it.With a quiet push-off, he skates closer, movements smooth and quick.