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Thom had never actually made it to the beach bar the previous night. As unsettling as his meeting with Alec had been, his newly gained knowledge of what lurked in the village and beyond was even more intimidating. With the fading light, a walk through unfamiliar jungles, even on a path, had been more than a tad frightening even to the normally careless individual. At ever snap of a twig or rustle in the leaves, he had expected an assault by the 'tiger man' Alec had mentioned.

Nerves eventually won over and, rationalizing his retreat with the knowledge that Sabin had ordered her rest for a few days, he escaped back to relative safety of his duplex. But the following morning, well rested and determined to best the previous night's fears, he had punted his soccer ball out the door and started back through the jungle once more, lazily juggling the ball from foot to foot.

Just a few short days, and already he missed the game. It was unusual going without the daily morning practices--not speaking to a fellow team mate for three days was an accomplishment indeed. It was a relief to be playing again, even if it meant simply bouncing a ball off trees during his walk. It passed the time. It was relaxing.

He heard the ocean before he saw it, and scooped up his ball rather than continue with his 'game' when it landed in an early sand dune. Sand was miserable for football. But beaches... Beaches he liked. However, he momentary excitement faded as he stepped from the tree and immediately caught sight of the form fencing with itself a bit further down the beach. The reality of his situation flooded back and, sighing, he started over, ball tucked under one arm. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well meet everyone...

As the stranger turned towards him, he stumbled back a pace, very nearly dropping his soccer ball. Admittedly, he had noticed the changes from behind--fur covered the man's backside, and the tail was all too conspicious--but he hadn't expected..anything this complex. This was the farthest along he had seen any islander. This man was truely recognizable as a wolf.

Realizing he was staring, he pulled his eyes away, glancing out towards the water for a moment before returning his gaze to the wolf man and forcing a grin. "Ah, hello. Sorry about that. New 'ere, y' know... Takes some gettin' used to." He paused, searching for something to discuss aside from the changes, and finally nodded to the epee. "You fence?"

He shook his head, waving away the apology with a dry laugh. "I should've expected it after seein' th' tail. You're the...farthest I've seen," he explained, grin slipping despite himself. "I hadn't realized it went so far."

However, as the conversation turned towards sports, he genuinely brightened up. "Professionally," he countered, smirking faintly. Nevermind that this man had called it soccer. He had already met two Americans, what was the harm in one more? Switching the ball to his left arm, he offered a hand in greeting. "Thom Brinley."

Ahh, well that was...reassuring? At least they weren't turning completely into animals. Fur could maybe, maybe be tolerable. ...Who was he kidding? The prospect of changing was utterly terrifying, not to mention the thought of being stuck on an island for the rest of his life. But why was he worrying? He was a well known figure to sports fans across Europe. Surely there would be an investigation of his disappearance. It was only a matter of time until he was home again.

"It was my life for...a good number of years," he replied offhandedly, shrugging. In truth, the verbal acknowledgement of his loss made it that much more real, and he was hard pressed not to sink back into 'sulk in disbelief' mode. "I 'aven't fenced in years, on the other 'and," he admitted, distracting himself by admiring the blade. "And I wasn't very good at it when I did. Not that I'd 'ad much time for it."

Fencing took much more practice than Thom was willing to permit it. Football was the soul focus of his athletic career. Everything else was done in spare time whenever he needed a refreshing change. Fencing didn't exactly work that way. "Certainly good t' know I'm not the only sports fan 'ere. Makes things a bit more bearable." Grinning, he lifted the ball in one hand and quirked a brow. "Up for a quick match?"

"It was." Oh, it was. His dream, his life from high school on out. He wouldn't have had it any other way. Laughing, he shook his head. "Ah, money was nice, but I could've done without. Playin' th' game made it worthwhile, everythin' else was just benefits." Benefits that supported his more extreme interests, mind, but benefits nonetheless. "And it's not always perfect. Fans're annoyin' as hell at times," he added knowingly.

As the wolf man took up the challenge, Thom grinned, glancing along the beach in search of some landmark to use for goals. "Ahh, lesse.. Those two tallish sand dunes'll be mine, th' grass topped ones. Annnd, let's 'ave that log and dune as yours." He pointed out said landmarks, dropping the ball to the ground. It was a pity about the sand... But they would make due.

"Oh, it is," Thom quickly assured him, not wanting to appear ungrateful. "Very flatterin'. But sometimes it's nice t' just sit down t' supper without someone walkin' up and ravin' about your last game--or throwin' a brick through y' window when y' lose one." He seemed more amused than upset by the latter. England certainly had some die-hard fans...

He dropped the conversation, and the 'game' began. Thom lazily positioned the ball, slowly juggling it in place for the moment while sizing up his opponent. While Thom had the advantage with his knowledge of the game, the sand was sure to slow him down a good deal--Ambrose's feet would help him on this terrain. Nonetheless, after only a moment he took off, breaking into a run and sending the ball ahead of him with his first step, easily catching up and juggling the ball around the wolf man, keeping it carefully protected only a short distance ahead of his feet.

Back home, football was the sport. European soccer fans were a step up even from the eccentric American football followers. The outcomes of games often led to arguments, bar fights, and even the occasional mob outside of a stadium. When you were one of few representing your nation in such a competitive sport, people recognized you.

Towards the beginning of their game, Thom went easy on his opponent, taking his time due to his recent injury, Ambrose's lack of experience, and as a chance for the man to get used to his changed feet. But as the game progressed, he gradually upped his skills, allowing Ambrose to steal the ball here and there only to swipe it back with a quick move moments later. Finally, to give them both a brief respite, he ducked around Ambrose's side and, with a powerful kick, sent the ball spinning between the chosen goal markers.

"Annnd it's good!" he laughed, slowing to a walk and wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hand. "You're better than I expected. Well done."

Grinning, he led the way across the sands to retrieve the ball, speaking between heavy breaths. "One on one's always more excitin'. An' full teams makes f' good games only when everyone really knows each other. Anticipate each other's movements an' the like." He shrugged, sighing cheerfully. "High school pales in comparison. Though it's fun t'challenge th' uppity brats on off days."

He laughed at the thought, clearly reflecting on some past game, and scooped up the soccer ball, tucking it under an arm once more. "'M glad. I'll be huntin' y' down at least once a week to play, y' realize." He quirked a brow, glancing up at the wolf. "Prob'ly more often. Doesn't seem like there's much else t'do, an' can't let my game fall just b'cause I'm stuck on some island."