"Wait...someone's actually there this time?" That, is a voice; older teenage male, faint New York accent. Echoing back, before the newcomer turns the corner.

Interesting silhouette, and more clear when Casey comes actually closer into what light there is. Blocker's pad on one hand, hockey mitt on the other, light padding, and the goalie-stick and baseball bat sticking up behind him from the gear on his back. Fortunately, the mask is up, under the hood, so easily seen it's a human teenager. On roller-blades.

"Huh, last few times I was this way no one was here." Skating closer easily, then stepping carefully; somehow the roller-blades flipped back on a mechanism, to rest behind his shins. "Didn't hit ya with the puck, did I?"