Eames doesn't know what to think about this shit. He's only been in America for a few weeks and while it's not his first time at a boarding school, it's his first one outside of England so there's no rugby and no cricket and there's just footie.

Soccer. Ugh, just thinking of it in those terms bugs the hell out of him, but per his father's orders - so much more ugh on his part - he is there for practice and try outs that they're having for the team.

He's bigger than most of the traditional footie players there, bulked up for rugby, and he knows this is going to be ugly.

"Fucking footie shite," he sighs. "Soccer," he mutters as well, twisting the word in a bad fake American accent. "I'm going to break somebody."