Hello Mate, Nice to meet you...

[memorylost]

Gael wasn't sure this had been his best idea since the moment he'd boarded the plane in London. His manager had tried to keep him from reading the news, but it was just a matter of time before someone said something. His blissful ignorance had lasted until he stood up to board and someone screamed out 'wanker!' at him. When he'd turned to look back, the man was wearing a Chelsea jersey and pointing at him aggressively before straight out flipping him the bird.

Things hadn't gotten any better by the time he'd landed. British Airways had Sky News on as their default entertainment, and forty minutes into the flight Gael had the chance to relive the worst game of his career at Chelsea followed by a break down of the 'American' being called up for the USMNT. That was followed by what seemed endless speculation about just why he wasn't playing for England. 'Sure, he was born there. But lets be honest, The Americans have offered him something to get him to play for them,' the man had said. Followed by endless talk about the World Cup qualifiers that detailed how he'd probably made the worst choice in going to play for the US. England was on a bloody tear.

The US...not so much.

Still, with the plane headed straight on to California there was no turning back. He'd agreed to play for the US, and even if he could go back to London and sign up for the Lions- they wouldn't take him.

Getting off the plane, he immediately felt out of place. Sure he'd been back to the US across the years, but the sun was high and bright in the California sky. It was almost alien to him, as he couldn't even recall Chicago being that bright and sunny. Or maybe it was that he spent most of his time indoors, or surrounded by buildings as tall as mountains.

Pushing it back, he grabbed his bags and headed out into the heat of the west coast summer. It only took him a moment to find the car waiting on him, and 2 hours later- he was walking into the newest USMNT training facility.

"Alright, your gear is stored in there, we'll have shuttles pick you up from the hotel and take you back every night. But you're the last one here, so get changed and get out to the field. They've been waiting for you." The trainer said, before leaving him alone and looking more than a little out of place.

"Great, not a problem." He muttered to himself.

Getting changed, he made his way to the field, and looked about. It only took him a few moments to make his introductions, get his marching orders, and again wonder if he'd just made the worst decision ever. So far, no one seemed overly pleased to see him. And to make things better, his first task was apparently to help the keepers warm up.

"'Ello," he said as he came up to the group, "was told to head over here. Shaw, Gael Shaw." He held out his hand as he looked at the other men- all looking at him oddly. Right.

Comments

[memorylost]

"Chelsea isn't knocking on anyone's door right now," Gael said with a sigh, leaning back on his hands as he looked at the stadium seats. "They're paying too much for the stars they have now. Conte says they are pulling for the Academy, setting people up to make big transfers- so hell, I could be playing for Arsenal next season. I didn't cost them anything to sign, but they'll play me up to get big money in return."

Conte had prepped him for it before the Champions League final, actually. Mentioning Madrid, Bayern, and even Liverpool were interested. None of that made for him being overly excited about things- and he'd needed to play well for him to have any power in trying to stay. Not that someone he just met needed to here him whining about how his life was over, or whatever nonsense he was bemoaning.

As for Keegan, Gael just sort of kept quiet. Every team had someone like him, someone who had problems off the pitch and somehow managed to drag them onto the pitch without really knowing they were doing so. It was tiresome.

"Is there Mexican near this hotel?" He asked suddenly, looking over at Carlos. "Because, fuck me...I miss having a fucking taco that isn't, that isn't whatever it is they make in London. Actually, I just miss food that doesn't make me think a dog barfed it back up."

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"Mm, well, Arsenal's always got money." That was what his agent said, and what Carlos read seemed to indicate it wasn't just sports agent bravado. Of course, he wasn't the flashiest recruit - not unless he made it onto the field during the Cup and did some spectacular saves - but Emery was trying to build a solid squad behind his flashy strikers. "Doesn't mean even if I go if I'll stay for long. Only if I'm not more valuable on the market."

He listened, because if this was going to be his career, he needed to play that game as well as soccer.

"It's SoCal, there's Mexican everywhere," he said, and then laughed. "Dude, you're supposed to convince us all that the continental lifestyle and cuisine is beyond anything America has," he said. "It's really that bad? I assumed it was a myth." Not that the tacos were bad - that was a given, there were so, so many ways to fuck up a taco - but that all the food looked a little like his mama's cat's post breakfast hork.

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"It isn't all bad, but it is all kinda sad. Just, sad. Possibly because my Grandmother's a terrible cook, but she's French- so she thinks she's amazing." He said, laughing as he pushed himself up out of the grass. "Honestly, I don't go out eating that much. Have to mind the figure, you know...but the Mexican is pretty sad. Which is to be expected, they don't have many Mexicans."

Gael grabbed his bag off the ground before offering Carlos a hand up off the grass too. It was an easy sort of feeling, chatting up the big stopped. He was a lot easier to get on with than some of the guys back home, but that might have been a cultural thing. It was more or less all business at home.

"And you're right- you won't cost a lot of money. Won't even probably make much until you get a good season under you. Keeper's got it brutal, man. Hard to shine." He said, shrugging a little. "My goal is just to convince everyone that I benefit Chelsea with staying. I'm just starting to get my groove, and honestly- the man who is costing them the most is always fucking injured. Better deal to keep me around, eh?"

Maybe. It was a strategy, at least. "Besides, I don't speak Spanish or German, and I would be devastated to move to Liverpool." So clearly, he needed to stay in London. At least one more season.

[fistandbone]

"I'm sure your dads remind you that Chicago has a club as much as mine remind me of clubs that are a little closer than Europe," Carlos said. He didn't know, obviously, about the rabid Chelsea fan who raised Gael, or that his other dad usually headed to a bar to watch the Chicago Bulls instead.

"When your job is preventing flashy strikers from making cool-looking shots, you aren't the most popular player on the pitch." For the fans, at least, although it was a bit different on the national team. Then, there was no one more beloved than a keeper that keeps, oh, a Brazilian from scoring on penalties. For example. "I don't expect I'll make much. But I should do okay."

He stretched his arms over his head and the led the way out of the training center and around a few maze like corners. "So tell me why Liverpool is the end of the earth," he said.

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"Sister." He said, smirking a little as they headed through the building. "My sister is the one to remind me there are clubs in the states. One father does care much for football, unless I'm playing. And the other? Lets just say it is practically written in blood that all Shaws are Chelsea fans- no matter the country they were born in." But that was the life of a boy who had a foot in two different countries.

"And it isn't that you aren't the favorite, man. You stoppers are just ridiculous in how long you can keep going. I'll be lucky if I can run like I do now at 33, you? You'll be hitting your peak then. God, it is enviable. Though, Arsenal's keeper looks like he might be on his way out." That was player hear-say though. It was a small world, and people talked- a lot.

"As for Liverpool? You've clearly never been to Liverpool. I don't even...it isn't the club, it's just the city. I don't think they speak English there. They speak something else entirely." He teased, but it still wasn't where he wanted to end up. "Honestly, it probably has more to do with me, than them. I do like the color blue. It matches my eyes, and red just...clashes with everything."

[fistandbone]

"It's because we aren't spending our career getting our knees kicked out," Carlos said. "I can practically read a book back there." That is, of course, pure bullshit. Keeping hasn't been that level of boring since he graduated from little league. But it was true that it wasn't quite as injury prone as the forwards. It gave him a longer career, as long s he could be patient for it.

"Stanford did a tournament in Edinburgh last year," he said instead. "And I've done a few USMNT matches, once in London, once in Manchester." And several across Europe - though he'd liked Seoul best. "But no, can't say Liverpool and I have had the pleasure." He waved Gael into a tiny storefront. "Hola, Paulina," he says. "Te traje un hambriento."

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There was something...sexy about Spanish, no matter who was speaking it. It made Gael slow a step as he watched Carlos speak to Paulina, and she in turn looked him over with smiles and greetings. She even glanced between him and Carlos for a moment, before Gael waved and stepped closer to counter.

"Uh, hi." He said, "Um..." He looked over the menu with glazed eyes for a moment, quickly trying to adjust to the Spanish before settling on a particular sort of taco. Al Pastor. And a soda. God, when was the last time he had a big soda? And chips....and queso. Carlos only seemed to find it amusing before he ordered.

He was going to get fat at this camp.

They sat as they waited, Gael listening to Carlos as he spoke to Paulina in Spanish, memorized. It was only after the tacos arrived, and he thanked her that he looked up at Carlos again.

"So- you are graduating Stanford soon, looking to sign in Europe. What's the girl....friend think?" He asked, curious as to what the answer was going to be. Gay footballers were not common, no more so than Bi ones. And they all tended to get the piss taken out of them for it.

[fistandbone]

Carlos skipped the queso for the verde salsa and chips, and a carne asada tostada and a Topo Chico water. He raised his brows a bit, though, at Gael's comment. He supposed it was fair, though; probably if he scoured the internet he could pretty quickly find out if Gael Shaw was dating. The press was reliable that way. Ty had some kind of occasional thing with an actor and it seemed like they were always dodging rumors of whatever.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said. "Or a boyfriend, which is a bit more likely. Either way, makes it pretty easy to just pick up and go."

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Accurate. Not having attachments did make it easier to go. It was going to make whatever possible transfer Gael was going to be asked about go....easier. or something to that degree. But he could wait to ask more as he started to eat. It was easy to pack away the amount of food he'd ordered.

After a while, though, he was finished, and staring at the wall as Carlos spoke with Paulina more, very nearly falling asleep in his chair, head against the wall. He didn't even move really until she asked him if he was alright.

"No, no I'm fine." He said, smiling as he sat up in the chair and looked at Carlos. "Do think my day has caught up to me."