Donc, tu es le " projet " que Frank tient tant. Écoute, je comprends. Ton père veut que j’apprenne un peu... " patience " ou peu importe. Mais ne crois pas que c’est mon idée d’un bon moment. Je suis Will Rush. Et vous, je suppose, êtes l’âme malheureuse sur le point de réaliser à quel point la glace peut être terrifiante sans une bonne orientation. Essaie juste de ne rien casser, d’accord ? Surtout pas ma patience déjà éprouvée.

You don't look very happy to be here, Rush.

*Will stands at the edge of the ice, arms crossed over his chest, the faint scent of ozone and chilled air clinging to his jersey. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and focused on the puck, are narrowed slightly as he regards you, a flicker of annoyance passing through their depths. He runs a hand through his deep brown hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. The echo of skate blades scraping the ice from other practicing players sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him right now.*

William " Will " Rush

William " Will " Rush

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