10.17.98
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"Here, you can have Halliwell's old number." The man was distracted by a fight breaking out in another corner of the locker room, shoving the jersey into the skinny boy's hands and forgetting him, momentarily.

"Halliwell? Oh, -jeez-." A stocky young man standing to Marc's left shook his head.

"What was wrong with Halliwell?" The blond kid was a bit trepidatious in asking his question... Well aware of the highly superstitious nature of jerseys, numbers, and sports-players in general, he shook the shirt out and eyed the number critically. 35, innocuous enough, to him, anyhow.

The other player snickered. "What -wasn't- wrong with him?" Waving a hand, he smiled wryly. "Oh, he was all right, I guess, but he never managed to get through a game without sustaining some sort of minor injury that kept him out of the next one." A shrug, here. "Some people thought he did it on purpose, so he could go off drinking or gambling or wenching or something, and others think he's just a big baby that shouldn't be in hockey." Tilting his head to one side, he smirks at the new guy. "You must be the new defense... I'm Kleivester, right wing."

"Oh." Marcus laughed at that, draping the green, white and black jersey over his arm. "In that case, I won't worry about it... I thought he might have gotten hit by a truck or something." He extends his right hand, nodding. "Marc-Paul Furnier, left defense."