Note: These characters are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
*****
It was a cool morning in Montreal when Stephanie Moureaux ran out on to the practice pitch. Her form was lithe and agile with lightly tanned skin. It was covered by the distinctive French football uniform, navy blue shorts and a matching shirt with white collar and miniature rooster emblem at the chest. Her blue socks were pulled high over her shin guards, and her white cleats gleamed in the morning dew. Stephanie's hair, normally long and flowing locks of light brown and blonde highlights, was pulled high into a ponytail that bounced side to side as she ran.
Stephanie looked up at the sky and smiled. It always seemed pure in the morning. Pink and white wisps swirled about the Sun over a bright blue backdrop that spread across the horizon. The Sun was just peaking its head out from under those clouds, welcoming her with a bath of soft light rays. Beneath her, the grass was wet and crisp from heavy dew, crunching under Stephanie's cleats with each step she took. Around her, a soft breeze blew, soothing Stephanie's nerves as it rippled her neatly washed uniform and fluttered her pony tail even more.
There was no one else to greet Stephanie but the playful chirp of the birds and the squirrel skittering out of her path. That was how she liked it. At the tender age of 22, Stephanie may have been one of the youngest members of her powerful French football squad, but she was determined to be the best. What better way to be the best in the world than to get up earlier and practice more than her competition?
Stephanie was already well on her way if the papers were any judge. She was small and quick with an explosive first step, wreaking havoc on opposing back lines by sneaking by for scoring runs or simply dribbling by with her superior ball skills. The up and coming starlet lit up the headlines with her goals and the magazines with her winning smile and soft feminine form. Stephanie had already graced the covers of most of France's most famous magazines, and was quickly becoming a favorite of men and women alike from Paris to the countryside. Stephanie wanted to be remembered for her football skills, however, and she intended to ensure her place in French history by leading 'Les Bleues' to their first ever World Cup victory.
As she dribbled her way to the penalty box, Stephanie was already imagining the scene just as she had done a thousand times before. She bent to place the ball perfectly at the center of the rectangle and closed her eyes as she straightened up to get ready. Stephanie heard the cheers of her fans in her mind. "Allez Les Bleues! Allez Les Bleues! Allez Les Bleues!" They chanted over and over, wildly waving about the blue, white, and red flag of their country. They cheered Stephanie on, the striker for the final penalty shot. If she scored, they would win the game. France would win its first World Cup. She would be a hero.
A small smile curled at the corner of Stephanie's lips as she stepped back to prepare her shot. The young French forward opened her soft brown eyes and looked around the pitch. It was empty and serene, but in her mind, it was full of life, full of tension. Stephanie imagined the goalkeeper staring her down and the hush of the crowd as she raised her arm to prepare her shot, an epic slice to the right after a faint to the left. She sensed it when the crowd sucked in their breath, waited one more moment to let the tension build when suddenly...
SMACK!
"Ow!" Stephanie yelped and jumped straight up in the air, covering her sweet behind with her hands as she whirled around to see who dared to her slap her butt out of the blue.
Tanja Wagner, the world class striker of the German squad, was standing there with her hands clasped behind her back and a huge grin smeared all over her face. Tanja was a blonde and blue eyed beauty with playfully messy, short blonde hair and creamy pale skin. She wore the signature white shirt and black shorts of the German team with black and red trim along the edge of her sleeves and along the v of her neck. Tanja was a finger's length taller than Stephanie and a few years older, with a more powerful frame.
The German striker was widely regarded as one of the best goal scorers in Europe. She was known for her aggressive play, her powerful kick, and her otherworldly accuracy with her headers. Tanja was one of the main reasons why Germany was considered the best team in the world and possibly the biggest obstacle standing between Stephanie and her dreams of glory. She had already carried 'Die Nationalelf' to dozens of victories in her short career. Now, apparently, Tanja could also add 'sneaky spank ninja' to her resume.
"What the hell?" Stephanie asked, bewildered. The French woman looked completely flustered. A million thoughts raced through her mind but none of them found their way out of her mouth. She rubbed her sore butt gingerly while staring daggers at the playful German.
"Aww, does it hurt Frenchy?" Tanja asked, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she took a step closer to Stephanie. She reached out, maybe thinking to rub it better, only for the French woman to swat her hand away in horror.
"Of course it hurts!" Stephanie shot back with an affronted look on her pretty face. She took a step back from the aggressive German and blushed. "You cannot just... spank people... without warning!"
"Would you prefer a warning next time?" Tanja asked playfully, allowing Stephanie to maintain her space this time. "Sorry, but you just looked so sexy thrusting out your butt for me like that. Besides, you were telegraphing your shot."
