Scene #7930: Hurt Badderly and the Scab Busters

Owner	Pose
Darren	The MFL strike didn't happen for just one reason. The easiest solution has been rejected by the League in favor of attrition. During the meeting with Evils cornerback Hurt Badderly, a number of tactics were devised to shift their decision towards one more favorable for the players. Hurt's ideal situation is one where the players' demands are met, in time for the Evils to take revenge on the Hellboys for their beating-in-effigy. It's a tight timeframe--one week. That would also minimize expenses, for those who've pledged temporary assistance for the strike funds. In no particular order, the angles of attack, as discussed: -HELLBOYS at CREEPS Karcass City happens to be a major city, and there is, fortunately, a warpgate which leads there. The Malice Hellboys are playing the Karcass City Creeps here, in name only. The Creeps have been replaced near-completely with scabs, while the Hellboys, thanks to an owner with a reputation for underhanded tactics, retain most of their original roster. The game is expected to be a blowout, but it could be even more of one. Bribe the referees to amplify the Hellboys' lead, and the game won't even be entertainingly bad. An empty stadium and plummeting viewership do send a message. -BUYING A TEAM Of course, you could always become part of the League too, if you presented it attractively enough. There are two ways to do it--either getting talent together and then getting the league to approve a new team, or buying an existing team. There's a good chance those with the means to do so would be able to buy the Leaveland Burns, but there's a reason for that, and that reason is the team was awful even before the strike. It would be faster than assembling a new team, at least. Hurt can get you a meeting with the owner, who's in town for an old Burns player's induction into the hall of fame. Apparently, Hurt's father played for the Burns. - HELP WITH THE PICKET The picket lines at MFL games have been limited to 4 people by court mandate, and that same mandate forbids physical force against scabs. But there are still, potentially, ways to help with the picket lines. There's no rule against talking to scabs. Hurt's even come up with a few ways to use it to put direct pressure on the owners--ticket booths at this stadium are about four people wide. If they can convince enough fans not to buy tickets, then the game will be blacked out on TV, presenting huge losses for the owners of both teams. And even if they can't, what fan isn't going to talk about meeting a famous athlete on the way to buy tickets? Not every stadium is designed this way, but for today, it could be a very effective tactic.
Chains Knight	\|-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-NEW REPEATABLE QUEST=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=\| \| Favor the Hellboys Over the Kreeps \| \| REWARD: $10000 \| \| ACCEPT >Y N \| \|-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-\| "Is ten thousand a suitable bribe?" asks Chains to the others present, showing off the prompt. (It's held in his hands like a solid hologram.) "As far as proactive help for the Hellboys, in addition to the bribe, I have found an old deck from when Reshuffled was in a sports game iteration," he says, pulling a more-scuffed-than-usual deck of cards from his belt pouch, and placing it face down on the table. "It should apply... enough," he adds, vaguely. "I can apply its effects even if the Hellboys don't choose to accept my help - not that I imagine they won't." "... All of that said, a blowout of this magnitude... does trouble me," he adds, glumly. "I'd like to do it swiftly and decisively, and get it over with so that the League can return to more normal matches of skill and regular feats of bribery."
Darren	Regardless of initial intent, your initial meeting place is two blocks away from the stadium, in the parking lot of a ritzy hotel. Hurt's parked his car there--having apparently paid an amount just short of outrageous to do it. The two-door coupe doesn't have a lot of room for the tent and cooler he's stuffed into it. "That's a great bribe," Hurt says, . "Enough to get one in your pocket the whole game. The trick is to use 'em wisely. Lean on 'em too much, and the other team might kill your guy and eat the penalty, just to get rid of 'em." "Replacements happen," Darren further elaborates. "But you might be looking at more money spent if you count on that."
Lilian Rook	Lilian is already very tired of these meeting places. The diner was revolting enough to her ridiculously over-expectant and out-of-touch sensibilities, and now a hotel she wouldn't even book for a quick-- Well anyways, she's here. Slightly oddly dressed too. She's never been one for over-knee stockings. The one time anyone asked, she said they were a little too childish for her immensely mature twenty-two year old self, and something insincere about cultural appropriation. She has clearly bent over backwards to make the rest work with it, but now she's rather regretting not wearing some tall thick-soled boots to this place. She feels as if she's about to step on broken glass at any minute. For reasons unknown, she keeps fussing with feeling the outside of her bag, as if she'd lost her keys in her pocket. "If only I could be everywhere at once." Lilian sighs, reviewing the timetable from her smart device. "Actually, if only I could not be here at all." she interjects a little more sourly. "Tamamo . . . I think we may actually have to split up for this. Too many people need 'convincing' in such a short window. The fans, the scabs, the referee--" Chains has already got that covered apparently. "Well, at least those two large groups. You do understand, don't you?" Her fingers are drumming on the outside of her bag like a nicotine addict craving a smoke, but she does seem to be focused.
Strawberry Princess	Lacking a proper ride of her own, Strawberry Princess disembarks from a terrifyingly haphazard bus, waves amiably to the driver on her way out, and strolls into the parking lot with one hand in her pocket and one on the strap of her carrying case. "If only I could be everywhere at once." "It's overrated," Strawberry replies with a straight face. "Actually, Lilian... you know how you've set up- 'magical circles', sorry, I don't know the name- to power my wand before? Is that something you could do here? Maybe near the ticket booth. Like you said, I'm just one person, right? And even if we can't kill scabs, well..." She holds her hand out to Hurt, smiling a characteristically shaky smile. "And it's good to see you again, Mr. Badderly, Mr. Spears. What are the tent and cooler for? Did you have some ideas of your own?" Back to Lilian: "It's cute, you know. The outfit. I've never seen you wear something like that before." Her own is pretty Strawberry-typical: green canvas jacket, skinny jeans, white button-up, sneakers.
Tamamo	Tamamo looks remarkably more comfortable than Lilian, in the moment, and strives to make that as infectious as possible (though part of that effort is the tact of not appearing to putting in any such effort). Of course, she's also wearing stockings that reach her thighs, but that's been true from day one, the occasional, local 'disguise' excepted. "Oh, yes. This may be taken from multiple angles, I think. Rather, it would best be done in such a way, given the desire to reach a swift conclusion. I have not in mind a means to quickly end the strike under favorable terms, but as I had mentioned, perhaps it would be best that I speak with the organizers, and discover the truth of their position." She taps her chin. "To ask directly would be least effective. How shall I approach this...? I would rather they consider me a friendly face. Ah, but there is no use in taking the time to worry, in this case. I shall go and see as to what they might wish to hear." 'Actually, Lilian... you know how you've set up- 'magical circles', sorry, I don't know the name- to power my wand before?' "Oh, yes," Tamamo says, "you may use the 'sunburst' talismans, in this case." Though it's a reaction to Strawberry's request, Tamamo says this to Lilian. She'd already handled a resupply to that extent, and Tamamo doesn't need to be there for her to use them. "Now, be good! I shall not be long, I hope." Tamamo squeezes Lilian's arm before disengaging, and heads in the direction of the stadium. There are probably some organizers, somewhere there. Along the way, she just has to find someone (who doesn't look like a fan) to direct her up the chain, while radiating enough of a VIP aura, in her fancy robes and faintly fiery tails, to be fast-tracked in dignified fashion.
Darren	The bus driver, a zombie in a spiked uniform with a dislocated jaw, tips his hat at Strawberry. Then the bus peels out and nearly causes an accident hauling ass across three lanes. The passengers are into it, judging by the fading doppler of excited cheers. Hurt's handshake is firm, for a skeleton. Darren offers one too, his usual from-the-side--but owing to the heigh difference, does not elect for the chestbump that often follows. "Glad you asked," says the skeleton excitedly, opening the door of his car. A tent leg takes the path of least resistance and juts out immediately, striking the skeleton's head so hard that it spins. "Jeez." Hands held to his temples to stop his skull spinning, he explains. "I talked to coach, and he said if we've got funding taken care of for right this minute, we should start going on the offensive. "Say hello to Evil Eats!" He pulls the tent out to get his real prize--a sign with the aforementioned name, and below it, 'All proceeds go to plane tickets for scabs.' "Me, Slayton Damning and Bomb Shady are gonna cook and sell street food! If nothing else, we can count on people coming to see us." "Shady's a little weird," asides Darren. "Yeah, I know, I've read his book," Hurt replies. "But he's got star power, yanno? Anyway--that puts us under four for our thing, which means we can definitely set up at the stadium while you guys are doing yours! Maybe even get an extra person there with us." It's then that he notices Lilian awkwardly pawing at her bag. "Oh, if you're carrying, it's cool. Nobody cares. Watch!" The skeleton procures a snub-nose revolver from the pocket of his khakis and fires it off into the air. To his dubious credit, no one in the surrounding area seems to mind. In fact, some kind of overly muscled, mutated human in an 'Insane Cults' jersey rounds the corner and cries, "Hell yeah, brother," his southern accent easily distinguished. The mutated human, strolling down the street in search of someone, pulls a compact machine pistol from the waistband of his jeans and feathers the trigger. "Wait, Hurt? Oh, hey, man!" When he recognizes the skeleton, the mutant stows his piece and strides up. "Slayton! Hi! We're just about ready." "Good," says Damning. "Shady was trying to sell me on drinking motor oil." This close, one can easily see the augmentations--the chemical feed system built into his back, complete with actual exhaust pipes pointed upwards. "Yeah," says Hurt. "I read his book. But anyways--Lilian! If you're looking to convince the scabs, at least for today, I'd say locker room. Fans, well... the three of us are probably gonna attract a lot, and not just the people going to the game. Maybe we'll even get the news out here." Now there's an idea.
Chains Knight	Chains heads towards the stadium, bringing up his QUEST TRACKER as he does so, and tuning it to the quest LANDSLIDE VICTORY. \|-=-=-=-=-=-=-QUEST TRACKER=-=-=-=-=-=-=-\| \| >LANDSLIDE VICTORY< \| \| * Meet with Hurt Badderly \| \| * Head to the stadium \| \| * Enter the field \| \| * Defeat Security \| \| * Head to the Hellboys Sideline \| \| * Speak with Coach Doom Landing \| \|-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-\| "Let's see... spoke with him, went to the location... gotta beat up the security next," he says, unholstering his chain and gripping onto it as he walks. "It's a shame that the quest designers these days tell you exactly where to go," he says to himself as he starts swinging it. "It used to be you had to read NPC quest text and actually pay attention, instead of the game spelling out each step for you."
Lilian Rook	Lilian waves at Strawberry, first in relieved greeting, then in 'psh don't worry about it' style. "Magic circle is fine. It's a circle for doing magic. Just don't start calling them pentacles or summoning circles or whatever." She barely has to think about the suggestion. "Certainly. That shouldn't be too difficult. The ambient energy in this area is atrocious, but converging enough shouldn't be too difficult with . . ." She smiles distantly at Tamamo's suggestion. "I suppose I'm in acting capacity as a miko today. That's fine by me, but it feels as if I should have worn red and white." Producing a stack of talismans from her bag, sliding one free with her fingernails, and quickly threading braided string through a tiny silk bag to seal it in folded around a runestone with the sun on one face and sky on the other, Lilian sighs wistfully as she works. "You say that, but being everywhere at once would save me a dreadful amount of time and--" A soft laugh at herself interrupts it. "Well, I suppose I'm the one who gets to least complain about it." A little wince plays across her face. 'She gave years to be special, and you're stealing them, you gross fuck.' "H-hm?" It takes Lilian a second to remember what she's doing. She glances down at herself, and hands Strawberry the completed talisman. The slightest attempt to run magic causes the elegant calligraphy to shine gold through the silk. "Ah it's . . . Not usually my style." she says. Indeed, many fancy conservative layers of expensive clothing has been up until recently. "It's a bit juvenile, isn't it? Like a teenager trying to show off that they're a pretty young adult now. But, well, it was this or jeans." She shudders. "I can't quite manage those like you can." Lilian turns to Tamamo with visible relief (really, a surprising number of her emotions have been at least 'visible' lately). "I'm glad. This is technically a sort of civilized area, so I anticipate you shouldn't be in any danger. But, still, be careful." she says, her smile just a tiny bit forced as Tamamo leaves. "Carrying?" Lilian blinks at Hurt. Nobody says that in Britain, and also nobody is, because the country had long slid past the comedy threshold of the 'get a life, bin that knife' campaign before it got even shittier. She claps her hands over her ears at the gunshots, even though she's never done that when firing her own. "Oh. No. Well. Yes. But--" Sighing in exasperation, Lilian pinches up the side of her skirt just high enough above the knee to reveal the thigh holster and magnetized hardpoint, then drops it again. "It's nothing like that. I left something at home. On purpose. But it's just-- you know how sometimes that makes you feel 'naked'?" When the funds are discussed, she brings up a holographic window, showing the pending fund exchange (and the cheeky rich person tactic of writing it off as a charitable donation) for a nice cool six hundred and fifty thousand credits. "Of course it's handled." she says. "Though the scabs likely won't be accepting a one-time payment to quit playing from me of all people, so use that 'star power' as you call it as much as you like." Implicitly, raising money with street food is more likely to work if there are football superstar faces on it. "What godforsaken book has this character written anyways?" she dares ask. And then at Darren's suggestion, Lilian actually interrupts him before he finishes his last sentence. It's usually pretty unlike her, but she shouts over him in reflex. "No. No no, absolutely not. I'm not going anywhere near a locker room. Not in a million years." Her fingernails scrape against the outside of her bag. "We're doing something else."
Strawberry Princess	"Oh, um, thanks, Tamamo," Strawberry murmurs awkwardly. "You're a big help." She can't make eye contact because Tamamo isn't looking at her, so instead she just smiles, awkwardly holds her own arm, and looks off to the side at the pavement. She seems to sense the missing beat in Darren's greeting, and slouches down self-consciously while flashing him a sympathetic smile. "Coach is your, uh- liason, with the union? I'm glad he's on your side." Her brow furrows when the sign's revealed. "Buying plane tickets for scabs. Wouldn't that be- oh, so they can leave, right. That's perfect, Mr. Badderly. I might be able to help you cook, too." Strawberry holds out her hand to receive the talisman, but her grateful expression shifts to concern as she notices the wince. "Lilian... are you sure everything is okay? You've seemed..." But the conversation flows to clothes, instead, and she laughs. "I couldn't manage the things you wear either. It's not like I'm brave or anything." Strawberry just about jumps out of her skin when the first gunshot is fired; her eyes are almost bugging out of her head, and somewhere in the initial jolt of panic her right hand found its way to the slender carrying case on her back. Even though she's now expecting them, the following spray from Slayton still makes her jolt a second time. "Oh." She swallows. "Okay." Her hand unclenches. "It's- good to meet you, Mr. Damning. Are you on- with, the Killadelphia Evils too?" A little breath escapes her, and with it, most of her remaining tension. She still looks a little jittery, though. She unslings the case from her back, and is almost about to head out with the two star players when Lilian snags her attention one more time. "Huh? What's wrong, Lilian?" Her concern is oblivious for a second; then she seems to remember something, and takes on a pained, sympathetic tone. "Would it help if I went with you? ... No, probably not. Well, I can be in two places at once. I could do it on your behalf, if you want?"
Darren	"Yeah, totally," says Hurt to Lilian. "And you keep feeling that little voice, telling you to go back and get it, even when you know it's better off at home." The stadium itself is a block away, which means that Hurt doesn't have long to carry the tent and sign. Darren levitates the cooler alongside on the approach. Lurking Dead Stadium, home of the Karcass City Creeps, looks as though it's had renovations in fits and starts over the years. The silhouette is imposing and majestic and the size impressive. That said, the patchwork of different repair jobs spread across it (and the giant spikes ringing the edge) make it look decidedly unsafe. It is surrounded on all sides by a parking lot, which is assuredly less packed than it ought to be. Still, crowds of mutants and monsters steadily stream towards the ticket booth, or else to one of the stadium's four entrances for the general public. Hurt and Slayton get the tent set up on the entrance facing the busiest road, while Bomb Shady, a needle-tailed chitinous creature in an MFLPA tee and jorts, installs a propane tank for the grill. "...it's called the VD method," explains Shady to an increasingly exhausted Damning. "As in, 'damn, this stuff burns worse than VD!' A glass of motor oil a day helps manage your appetite." Lilian can probably guess what other sage advice is present in Shady's book, based on that chestnut. Conversation from literally anyone other than Bomb Shady is welcome by Damning, who answers Strawberry: "Insane Cults, actually. Shady over there plays for the Nuked London Hatriots. There's other guys around, too, but that damn court ruling..." Darren doesn't seem to bedgrudge Lilian her fierce objection, and switches tracks immediately. "Well... depends on how 'direct' you wanna be. If you wanna reach all the scabs, I know for a fact the sports networks got anchors out there. Even for this. They gotta get that money, too, you feel me? And you saw that broadcast. They don't like this, either. Maybe Strawberry does her thing to reach these guys, and then you get down there, talk to 'em on a commercial break and 'convince' 'em to sway away from 'neutral,' just this once." Chains can get onto the field, but it takes work. He's one of two parties present that attract attention from security. A yellow-jacketed, ballcap wearing vampire holding an umbrella to shade himself, and a towering ogre, holding a board with a nail in it, attempt to stop him from exiting the south end zone gate. They're tough, but by no means impossible for him to deal with--and contrary to what may be expected, dispatching them doesn't draw more attention. It seems to be opinion that whatever he's going to do on the field is at least going to be more interesting than the game about to happen. The pre-game is going on right now, and it's a very sad pregame. The announcer is talking about past Creeps greats, to a stadium of bored superfans and season ticket holders, as walk-ins slowly filter in from outside. Both teams are warming up on the field, under supervision from their respective coaches. The Hellboys are easily distinguished by their theme of white and blue, versus the Creeps' primarily red uniforms. Even in warm-up, none of the scabs on the Creeps seem particularly thrilled for this game. Tamamo is the other cause for attention from security, but for a decidedly less confrontational reason. Entering in, she is taken for some kind of VIP and asked who it is she intends to see. After an explanation, it's decided that she needs to see the commissioner himself, who is in attendance today, seated in the skybox. The two zombies are nothing but cordial as they escort her to the air-conditioned, private seating arrangements. They do, however, cough 'subtly' and extend their palms after the escort. The commissioner, Goddard Chokeslam, is a rotund, graying werewolf with spectacles, stuffed into a three piece suit and surveying the game with a frown. He doesn't have much company, in this lounge, aside from the bartender.
Chains Knight	"I do feel bad about this," says Chains as he lashes out with his chain at the security. "No, not about you," he adds as he brings the chain down at the ogre's head. "The other thing." "Maybe I'll get the Creeps' coaches something nice to make up for how hard I'll have to beat them down..." he muses, as he swings the chain around to wrap around the vampire's umbrella. "Wine? Gift baskets?" He pulls his arm back, yanking the umbrella away. "Oh - gift baskets with wine. There we go." With all of that taken care of, he heads on in to find someone who looks like Coach Doom Landing. "Hello there," he says, wiping blood and vampire dust off of his chain. "I'm your new assistant coach."
Lilian Rook	'Are you sure everything is okay?' "Of course it is. I'd . . . never . . ." Lilian can't look Strawberry in the eye and say that. Her airily unconcerned tone deflates out of her in an irritated heave. "No, not particularly. It's been . . . a rougher week than usual." She rocks her weight on one leg, favouring the other. "I'll be fine. I can handle it." she says. "I'm happy if we can still keep talking to each other like this, after everything that's happened." A forced little laugh follows. "From my point of view, I'd need to be braver to wear what you do. But I'm so glad it's not that worn out old hooded jumper anymore." Her expression is a little strained. "Actually, I'd appreciate it. I need to be the one to speak to them either way. It's just been . . ." Her jaw works silently for a few seconds. "Quite a long time since I've played football. The real sort, obviously. Hence my fantastic legs." Trying to keep on topic, Lilian inclines her head affirmatively to Hurt. "Yes. Exactly. Better off at home." She's back to drumming. She may be trying to convince herself. "The anchors would be nice too, but I need to talk to them in-person. A . . . 'halftime break' is it? Would be an ideal time. It's not as if I need to care about getting onto the field. It's just not possible to stop me from going where I want to, you know. Strawberry?" Either way, once they're to the stadium, Lilian is doing exactly as Strawberry originally asked, setting up a concentric circle of stellar convergence to create a properly energized hotspot in the back of the grill site, which should resonate with the Sun (creation/fusion) talisman and provide Strawberry with ample magical energy to work with. Lilian clearly needs the distraction, because beyond that, up until the commercial break, she ends up pacing around like a maniac, only taking little breaks to fiddle with imperceptible imperfections in her outfit. Very occasionally, she'll conjure up a little crackle of black-gold distortion and stare at it intently, but she doesn't get much done until it's time to hit the field. Then, well, she just sort of appears as close to 'the way into the locker rooms' as she dares (which depends considerably on having Strawberry on hand) and attempts to hold up the Creeps while remaining largely beneath notice from the stands.
Tamamo	Tamamo does look at Strawberry as she's leaving, leaning more toward the latter while straddling that line between serenity and cheer, "Of course, Strawberry-Princess. It was no trouble." She can't wave as she leaves, because she's doing that thing with her hands disappearing together into her overly large sleeves. Tamamo doesn't come from a tipping culture, but she understands the signs. To one of the two zombies, with the innocent expectation that they know how to share, she surreptitiously passes a couple of square-holed gold coins. Their purity will stand up to the standard pirate's test, if given. Without another word, into the skybox she goes. "May I presume that you are Mr. Chokeslam? I am," this would be a refuge in audacity tactic if it weren't the simple truth, "Tamamo-no-mae, bunrei of Amaterasu-omikami, she of the White-Gold Face, Goddess of the Sun. I must admit, if you will pardon the bluntness, that I did not come here to see the match below. Rather, a growing disinterest in the games is precisely what has caused me concern." That's a lie, but it's causally chained to the truth tightly enough to be difficult to call, even if she weren't an extremely convincing fibber. "Might I have some of your time, to discuss the matter? There may be aid that I can offer." She doesn't mention why a goddess would be interested in ticket sales or TV ratings, nor what a bunrei even is, but she says it like it's natural and doesn't require investigation. The look in her eyes is of one confidence in their purpose, approach, and that everything they say will be taken as truth. One could easily suppose that she shares the same concerns the league organizers must be facing, considering the tolls the strike must be taking on them. In a test of endurance, both parties resign themselves to being hurt. Surely, outside help, from a party interested in a return to normalcy, and the profits that entails, could only be good for finding a quicker solution. And she does wear quite a bit of solid gold.
Strawberry Princess	Strawberry follows the superstars towards where they're setting up their booth, anxiously clutching her wand in her hand. Once they arrive and Lilian has the circle set up, a small pink flash of light serves as her understated transformation sequence into costume. Afterwards, ethereal grasping hands push themselves out of the surface of her body as if emerging from a lake. Duplicates- no, not quite duplicates; they look like younger versions of herself, with one injured arm- step out of her like a portal, gradually dispersing. A dense crowd of duplicates begins to form in a circle around the stadium, permitting no-one entrance unless she allows them. "This should be fine, right?" she asks Hurt. "They can't really say I'm more than one person, I think." The ticket booth, once they get there, is similarly totally occluded by four pink, crystal-smooth Strawberries, standing silently arm-in-mangled-arm. The original Strawberry herself seems just a little uncomfortable, and keeps her eyes averted from them. "What were you guys gonna be making, exactly? I mean, you said 'street food', but that's pretty broad. I might be able to help. Or, um, one of me might be able to help." "I'll be leaving this to them, though. I mean, to me. The other mes. Lilian... I should be there with her in person." Before they leave for the locker room, she digs a cell phone out of her pocket and throws it to one of her clones. It doesn't have the stickers or keychain bits of her normal phone; must be a way for her to tele-conference if needed. "Take care, okay, everyone?" Lilian can get them there. Strawberry, enigmatically, knows exactly the detailed directions to get to anywhere, and dutifully recites them for Lilian's benefit. "If it's not teleportation after all," she says with a little smile, "then you could get lost. We don't want that, right?" Before they enter the locker room, Strawberry extends her hand for Lilian to hold. "It'll be alright. I promise."
Lilian Rook	When Tamamo leaves, Lilian chuckles softly with more genuine awkwardness. "I'm a little jealous." she says to Strawberry. "I wish I had the prescience to trick her into a little '-hime' here and there. Maybe I'll bully Satsuki into using 'ohime-sama'. You know, a little workplace power harassment." On the way there. "Ahaha. Did I really never spell it out to you in specific? Or was that notice a little too convoluted? You're right, of course. I can sort of find my own way, though I'm not as good as Blueberry at it, but it's much quicker and easier if you help. So . . ." Lilian squeezes Strawberry's hand. "Thank you."
Darren	SIDELINE Doom is easy to spot--dressed in a suit and tie in this heat, and apparently a relatively nonmutated human, to boot. While the Creeps' coach is dressed more sensibly, his headset, his pacing with a playbook and his ability to quickly get all his players' attention all pretty solidly mark him as the coach. He blinks at his new assistant coach. "Oh. Well, why didn't you say so? Wouldn't have had security come after you. Thought you were a streaker." "Not that they did much," he notes, eyeballing the dispatched guards for a moment. "Well, sorry your first game happened in the middle of all this mess, but we gotta play whoever they put in front of us." Landing sighs. "Even one of these scab teams." He says the last two words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth. "Resume said this was your first pro coaching gig. Get your--" He glances down. "They didn't give you the one I set aside. Great. Here." He hands over a thick binder with laminated pages. "Playbook. Headset. I'll go get replacements. Ordinarily I'd have you scoping out the other team's talent before we even got here, but... unusual times, I guess." Warmups are over, and the players are returning to their locker rooms to prepare for what's sure to be a very one-sided run-out. There's no time like the present for getting a ref in the pocket. EVIL EATS "Hey, if it's not fine, then we're that much harder to catch," says Hurt to Strawberry amiably, producing a little box of food safety gloves for everyone. "Take a look," he invites, as he opens up the cooler. Inside the large cooler, there's several different types and of cuts of meat, following the general trend of 'things that could make a sub sandwich.' Bomb's brought along vegetables and hoagie rolls. "Killy cheesesteaks," says Hurt. "Meatball hoagies, any kind of hoagie, really--I think Damning even brought stuff to make au jus for those little sandwiches you dip. Help would be great!" Strawberry's picketing of the ticket booth does begin to draw complaints--but most of the fans don't seem to 'get it,' so to speak. Some accuse the players of being entitled. Some believe Strawberry's eidolons to be ghosts, and ask her to go haunt someplace else. Some don't even appear to know that a strike is going on, much less what it's for.
Darren	LOCKER ROOM Strawberry's clone arrives with Lilian in the locker room to find a bunch of sullen players quietly contemplating the floor, while their coach gives a less than inspiring speech. "I barely know you guys, but these past three weeks I feel we're definitely maybe work friends. We're absolutely gonna get creamed. But--history remembers people who get creamed. Lots of people get creamed and go on to have really successful careers! But, uh, probably not you guys, if I'm honest. I miss my old team. No offense." Whatever Strawberry and Lilian have to say, it probably can't be much worse. THE SKYBOX It seems nothing but natural to the commissioner. "Of course. I can spare time for the goddess of the sun. Lots of our games are during daylight hours, after all." He sighs, gesturing with a claw to the field. "I'm not blind. I know that this sucks. But I was kind of hoping the owners would..." He pauses, stops, and starts again, a different line of thought. "I don't want this to be my problem," he bemoans. "If the League pays for resurrection now, then the players get the idea they can just strike whenever they have some new ridiculous demand," he frustratedly says. "And maybe even if the owners pay for it. I don't know. At least then, it wouldn't be my decision to make." "So what kind of help are we talking about, Ms. Tamamo? I'll take anything at this point."
Chains Knight	"I did not say so because I was too busy beating up the security first," says Chains, as if that question actually needs an answer. He takes the headset and the playbook. He dumps both into his belt pouch, and then a moment later they appear over his helmet and in his hands as he equips them from his menu. "Alright..." He starts speed-reading it a bit, just to familiarize himself, but then sets it down and pulls out his deck, quietly drawing from it and then picking out a card. "Let's see... Dugout Pep Talk, he says, looking at the 'football' themed cards he drew. "I'll play that first, for a stat boost, and then... why not. Bases Loaded. That means that the team starts with runners on first, second, and third, which are about over..." He picks out some of his non-starting-lineup players at random and waves them onto the field. "There, there, and there. Just go on out there, I played the card, so it's fine."
Strawberry Princess	A MOMENT EARLIER: "Oh, subs! I love subs," Strawberry says on inspecting the cooler. "Here- they'll help." On her way out, two of her clones step in and glove up in synchrony. One of them tilts her head quizzically in response to 'au jus'- it seems they're not much for talking. Despite her abysmal tastes, Strawberry (in her various embodiments) proves to be a competent assistant cook, snappy at slicing the meats and attentive to when the cheese is just melty enough to take off the grill. NOW: "Huh? I didn't take you for someone who'd want to be called 'princess'," Strawberry says as they walk. Her tone is casual, but her expression is a little embarrassed. "That's what that means, right?" A beat of silence passes. Her lips press together in thought. "No, maybe. I could see it?" "Oh, hang on." Her eidolons are being harangued by people trying to get into the ticket booth. They pass the phone from one to another seamlessly. Strawberry pulls her actual, sticker-smothered phone out of her other pocket and calls it while still walking with Lilian; they pick up instantly, hold it out towards the crowd, and toggle to speakerphone. "Hi! This is Strawberry Princess, Paladins Chevalier. The Karcass City Creeps are striking because they're being mistreated by the League. If you love your home team, please turn around and go home. Your favorite players are not on the field today. The best way to demonstrate your love for the real players is not to accept these awful substitutes." "There. That should help," she says, stowing the phone again. "Sorry, I still haven't- you know, figured out how to make them talk. Like Blueberry does." "And I read the report. I understood it! I guess it's just... hard to wrap my head around? It always looked effortless, but when time was stopped, you were working really hard, weren't you?" She gives Lilian a knowing little smile. "That's the trouble with being everywhere at once too, you know. It doesn't make anything easy. It just means you have more chances to work hard. When they actually reach the locker room, Strawberry's smile wobbles unsteadily. It's clear she's fighting back the urge to comfort these poor scabs. A helpless glance to Lilian communicates: 'how are we gonna put these guys in their place? This is rock bottom already.' With difficulty, she reminds herself that a reassuring approach would be counterproductive. Instead, she gently says: "Hey. You don't have to do this, you know. I can tell your hearts aren't in it. You can just... not go on, can't you?"
Lilian Rook	"It's a rough comparison." Lilian says offhandedly to Strawberry. "It's an honourific for young ladies of high status. Since you can use it informally or sarcastically, it translates well enough to 'princess', but the English 'princess' can be used as a dimunitatively as well, and princess is specifically a royal title, which is usually something else like oujo by comparison. It's-- languages are complex." she goes on. "Obviously I started learning Japanese once it became relevant, you know. I use it a lot more than the rest of the languages I learned besides English." Lilian smiles with a teeny bit of adoring sympathy for Strawberry's earnest efforts to talk the crowd. "Oh were it so easy." she sighs. A harsh little laugh follows it. "You're not wrong. The problematic part of being perfect is that if you really were perfect you wouldn't need to try. It's not as if I totally begrudge it. I enjoy showing off, you know. The psychological aspect of it is . . . well it's interesting. But I think if it was really effortless, I wouldn't feel the same. I wouldn't be the same. Is it unfair I get to have all that time? Perhaps. But it feels more fair that I'm still working hard you know." Her smile is more genuine holding Strawberry's hand. "I've always rather admired how hard you work, so it wouldn't do to go taking shortcuts." She takes in a deep, deep breath, and holds it until her heartbeat steadies. Strawberry can feel Lilian's every muscle tense at once, hold, and relax, through her hand. She enters the locker room. "Beg pardon. I know this is precisely the place we shouldn't be, but I feel that things have gone on long enough that the intrusion has become necessary." Lilian says. From the very first word, her professionally aloof, imperiously self-important attitude is right back as if it'd never left, brisk and businesslike as if she expects a listening to hang on every word as a matter of course, because she is the one saying them. Despite most or all of the room being taller than her, she gives off the sense of looking down her nose at them anyways. Furthermore, from the words 'Beg pardon', her presence absolutely commands attention. It is not a suggestion. It is not a polite request. Lilian is the main character and she is fucking talking right now. Camera pan in. 'And then everyone listened'. Demoralized scabs do not have the willpower to make this roll. "By which I mean to say: Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? If you're here to play, clearly you must have some love of the sport. I pray that you aren't so cynical and opportunistic that you'd get on the field of a sport you hate just for quick cash. But come on now. Did you really think this was your chance to make it big? By skipping straight to the very end? Did you think you could replace those players who dedicated their lives, put their blood and sweat into this sport, with aspirations alone? Why should you get to go right to the big stadium? Do you think you alone are special? That it'll work out if you skip all the tough parts along the way?" "All you're succeeding at doing is harming the people who tried their very best. Dragging the team's honourable name through the mud. Working this poor coach here into the most miserable of circumstances. All you've accomplished is propping up the bloated ego and fat purse of executives who couldn't care less about the sport, and care even less about you. Why in God's name is this still going on? Look at you. You hate being here. The atmosphere is miserable. You're not having fun getting demolished out there. I certainly hope you feel good about letting everyone down. Nobody wants to be here. So why be here?"
Lilian Rook	"And for what? Driving the players you admire into a lifetime of irrelevancy and poverty? Can't you see what a ridiculously corner you've backed everyone into, including yourselves? Please, I'm asking you politely. This is beyond silly. This can't even be called a sunk cost or machismo or whatever, it's just keeping your head down because you're afraid to back out now. Is it because you fear you've already earned everyone's enmity? Well, for good reason, but there are no shortage of people outside, right now, working to help you get out of this mess." "Walk out. Show the association you have a backbone. Join the professionals at least in spirit and backbone, even if not skill yet. Work hard and work your way up; you've had the exposure already, so find somewhere in a smaller league to gain experience. Then come back with your heads held high, because you stood for something, and the professionals and fans both know it. Defend the team's name before expecting it to do anything for you."
Tamamo	There's a bartender, which means there's something of a bar. In a foreign world, this means that there are things Tamamo's never tried. Without seeming to take her attention away from Goddard at any point, she makes a request for "something sweet, if you please." Her traditional tastes aren't really what could be called 'fruity,' but she knows at least enough about trying drinks in strange places that the drinks least likely to be made for no purpose but to quickly knock you out are the girly ones. Listening with focus and a professionally reserved flavor of concern, Tamamo first says, "Yes, I see the issue. Should you yield too quickly, and make concessions without gaining anything in return, you would lose face, even should those things given be both reasonable and affordable. To show weakness might lead others, of tastes increasingly expensive and decreasingly reasonable, to take advantage. If only the decision had been quietly made beforehand, there would be no need to deal with the problem now, in this rather troublesomely public and--" with a meaningful glance toward the field and sparsely populated seats "--costly fashion, no? But, ah, we must deal with the world as it is presented." Though she will pause, for a moment, to try whatever the bartender finds for her, Tamamo presently continues, a bit more positivity working into her manner. "Now, as to that which I might accomplish for you, beyond my ability to answer prayers with blessings," like any goddess would, obviously, "I hold some expertise in the handling and enforcement of contracts. So long as a plan may be drawn, taking proper consideration of the wishes of those present, it seems not so impossible to find something as would allow all involved to reach an acceptance, minimally begrudged, and from there, a return to better days." While true, saying this hasn't actually promised him anything. That fact is intentionally difficult to notice, to let her move on to focusing on 'a plan.' "On the one hand, one may not rely upon the owners to handle this matter on their own. On the other hand, there are all manner of tolls that might be levied, such that they pay their share, in the end. It would only be sensible to share a cost that is to the good of the entirety of the League, no?" She pauses, to let that truly very sensible idea sink in for a bit, before getting to the next topic, "Now, as to what might be done such that the players not think too lightly of those who employ them, I may suggest that it is not so important that they pay a cost from their salaries, but that the appearance of some concession has been made, that should, likewise, be good for the League. One might consider such things as additional duties, not to intefere with their games and training, as publicity work, purely by example. I am certain you would, being an expert in this matter, be more capable than myself, in finding something that might be done to even this exchange. Recall, only, that it is the spirit of fairness that shall be most important to onlookers, rather than the details beneath it."
Darren	LOCKER ROOM "My heart's in it," comes a single voice from the scabs. "This is the last chance I'm ever gonna get, and I'm lucky I even got this one." It's the kicker. "You don't come back from missing field goals. It's this, or working at an electronics store." There are a few more players who echo his sentiment. One, a zombie who's always wanted to share the field with his brother, and is hoping he'll do well enough to justify keeping after the strike. Another, a demon that played well in college but got passed over in the draft, and is looking to prove himself. But there are walkouts. The scabs aren't oblivious--they know that they're not well liked, that they're not so much a team as they are a group of people loosely focused on the same goal. Seven players take off their jerseys and pads, filtering out one after the other. Moreover, the harsh reality that Lilian paints is enough to see even the zombie and the kicker leave. The demon probably won't budge, but nine players is a sizeable impact. The coach, a squat cyborg, tugs at his collar. "Nnnnobody else wants to leave?" It's enough to get one more to leave, but it looks like the rest of these guys either really want the paycheck or believe that they'll somehow overcome everything stacked against them. "Okay... well, we're gonna run onto the field soon, so..." FIELD When the teams take the field, Chains has the reins, by word of Coach Landing. The Hellboys win the coin toss, and end up returning the kickoff. The knight could call virtually any formation for the return and earn yards. The cards he's played will be more than enough to start with a bang. But this isn't just supposed to be a blowout, it's supposed to be humiliating. There's a ref within earshot, a skeleton in striped armor. He's come over to move the chains (the football kind, not the knight's) and get a precise reading on where the ball landed. Hurt had said that Chains' suggested amount would make for a fantastic bribe, and the rulebook never got rid of the rulings on ejecting players. The trick will be to eject enough to make a difference, but not so many that the scabs get frustrated and take those frustrations out on the ref. Unless Chains just wants to blow through refs as quickly as he does players--this may also be an option. SKYBOX Tamamo is right in her estimation of the drinks on offer. The bartender, a robot with a classic back-and-forth red optic, beeps its understanding. She's given a screwdriver--orange juice and vodka. Simple, but as potent as it is sweet. "Well..." the werewolf ponders Tamamo's suggestion, scratching his chin. "I never thought of it like that. We could split it, 50-50; the League pays half and then the owners collectively pay the other half. Then..." "We could mandate appearances in PSAs, yeah. And to help recoup what we're putting into reanimation... maybe take a cut from sponsorship deals players make, too. Something that's small, but adds up. Okay..." "I'll get the owners together and pitch it, but I'd like you there to be the neutral voice of reason. Um... some of them are a little scary. If you can help that way, I'll make sure you're taken care of. Maybe buy a plot of land in the center of town and plop down a shrine there, right?"
Darren	THE PICKET To their credit, many of the fans leave, when Strawberry actually explains what's going on. Hurt, Bomb and Slayton are drawing a lot of fans, too, to the point that some are trying to get through Strawberry's interlocked line of eidolons just to see the pros. Her clones' presence helping cook proves invaluable, as the little tent is making a visible dent in the ticket booth's business. The money is coming in as fast as Hurt can get it into the strongbox. Better yet, some of the scabs that walked out early happen to see the sign. There's enough money to send a few of them home right this instant. The cherry on top is that the kicker from earlier is giving the booth free advertising and echoing what Strawberry had said earlier. It's working--piece by piece, but it's working.
Tamamo	Tamamo has no idea where they'll find a priest, and doesn't really need a shrine, but decides immediately that it wouldn't hurt, and knows well enough that it's easier to do business with someone when you can see what you're giving them. Nothing's more suspicious than expensive goods given for free. Without any of that showing on her face, she incrementally brightens her smile, and nods. "Yes, that sounds like a fine compromise, and I shall accept your gratitude. Oh, but see that they do a bit of planting on the plot, would you? I understand the area's intended aesthetic, but I have such a fondness for growing things. As to the meeting, I would be happy to assist. I have some fine help upon which I may call, if there are such concerns, as well. Among them, some who are accustomed to..." Thoughtfully, knowingly, "Frightening things." Draining nearly all but the ice, Tamamo desposits the glass with a clink, says, "My thanks, Mr. Chokeslam. I shall be in touch," and makes her exit.