Scene #7906: Killadelphia Calls for Aid

Owner	Pose
Darren	THE CITY OF KILLADELPHIA ...is a wasteland that didn't get the memo. The sky is a sickly orange, sunlight filtered through thick sheets of smog. The streets are spiderwebbed with cracks. Buses with spiked wheels and armored plating plow through crowds of mischievous, snickering skeletons attempting to halt them with land mines or other traps. Some of the buildings in town look blown out, and of these, some have been patched back up with a slapdash collection of whatever was on hand. There's not a patch of green in town--neglected medians are full of dead shrubs, skeletal trees and brown grass. Your destination is no less dire--the meeting place is a crumbling 'casual dining' style restaurant known as Ogleby's. Dusty tchotchkes are tacked to the wall as haphazardly as the 'pieces of flair' upon the polo shirts of the staff. Cuisine in a place like this would have been microwaved and overpriced even before whatever calamity befell this world. Hurt Badderly, star cornerback of the Killadelphia Evils, is a skeleton with eyeballs, dressed in a loosely hanging ensemble: khaki slacks, a button-up, and a sports jacket. Sharing a large booth meant for parties with Darren, the skeleton waves you down. There's a TV near the booth, and a remote on the table, but Hurt hasn't turned it on. Catching sight of you, Darren flags you down. "Yo! This way." "Hey, guys," Hurt says, standing up as you approach to give a bony, but firm handshake. "I'm Hurt. Wasn't sure where to have the meeting, so I thought, 'someplace nice but not expensive.'" Behind you, a robot (cyborg?) that looks straight out of a 70s sci-fi show, with a polo shirt impaled by the steel spikes on their armor, vaporizes a beligerrent customer. Unfazed, Hurt continues, steeling himself to deliver grave news. "Listen," he begins. "We're in a lot of trouble. The MFL is as violent and chaotic as football can get, and that's great." "They fill the field up with booby traps like landmines and buzzsaws, which is a lot of fun," says Hurt honestly. "Makes for some great games. But they charge you for reanimation! Lots of talented mutants give the best years of their lives to the League and put their bodies on the line--and by the time they retire, there's hardly anything left to show for it." Hurt's bony fingers steeple. "So we're looking for pensions and better health coverage. The League's changed a lot in the past ten years, but this strike is... different." He glances worriedly at the TV remote, but doesn't reach for it. "League's pushing back really hard, and the Players Association is starting to cave. If four-person picket lines weren't bad enough, they're hiring scabs, and the courts said we're not allowed to kill 'em."
Chains Knight	Chains Knight examines the food served carefully. As long as it doesn't look like it'll actually cause a status effect, he partakes - which means that he still doesn't actually 'eat' it, but instead takes the entirety of what he's served, plate and all, and sticks it into his belt pouch. As far as the rest of the brief trip into Killadelphia, Chains looks concerned - albeit more professionally concerned than actually afraid. "Goodness," he says, blandly, on seeing a customer get vaporized. "I was not expecting a sports team hometown to have this high of a difficulty rating." On the topic of the game, Chains nods along. "I see, I see..." He has a couple followup questions on the finer points of play, and asks where he can get his hands on a League rulebook to look over. "... And so, when you attempted to petition your game masters for better treatment, they retaliated by changing the rules to make it harder on you," he says, summing things up in his own terms. "A tale as old as time." He drums his gauntleted fingers on the table in front of him. "Party size limitations, and giving invulnerability to the enemy's fighters. Cowardly moves, really. If I was not already on your side by Darren's request, I'd be on your side now after hearing that." -=NEW QUEST: Bleed the Scabs=- "It occurs to me - that while we cannot kill off the scabs, there may be other avenues? Kidnapping them and expelling them through a series of randomly selected warpgates, at speed, is not necessarily killing them, but should prevent them from returning any time soon," he says, drumming his fingers on the table again.
Strawberry Princess	Strawberry, mercifully, walks in just a little too late to see the customer get vaporized. She's out of costume today: open green canvas jacket, high-waisted jeans, white t-shirt, well-worn sneakers. The dark carrying case for her wand is still slung over her back, though. On closer inspection, the shirt says MFLPA. Some fundraising thing? "It's great to meet you, Mr. Badderly," she says with a genuine smile and equally-firm handshake. Staring into the eyeballs of a skeleton up close unsettles her a fair bit, but she tries not to let it show. "And Mr. Spears." Her voice has been sounding a bit less awful after Kamar-Taj, but it's still got that rough fry around its edges. She slides into the booth, trying to settle her gangly legs under the table comfortably, and listens attentively with folded hands. A sympathetic grimace rests on her face. "And what's your role in all this, Mr. Badderly? Are you general membership, executive board? Former player or active?" Strawberry toys with the remote, but then sets it back down, deciding not to switch it on just yet. A few moments later, she pipes up again, her expression slightly clouded: "'Reanimation' means that- you know, it means dying is taken a little lighter here, right? Then that's a pretty bad restriction to be under." "How's the strike fund looking? When- how long can you keep making them whole for missing wages?" Another little pause; she glances over the menu, trying to see if anything's at least recognizably edible. "And, I guess, the most important thing: what do you want us to do about it, Mr. Badderly? You'd know the situation better than us, right?"
Lilian Rook	It takes all of five seconds for Lilian to realize she's made a terrible mistake. "Oh. I see. American football." About twenty more to realize the lesser horrible mistake she's made, when an armoured bus rolls over a landmine. "Christ we're even in Texas, how did I not put two and two together?" Lilian spends the next little while complaining vociferously about 'Texas' being even worse than she'd heard, mourning the heat, the dirt and dust, the loss of the colour green, and somehow forgetting to say anything about the people on the street. She even groans dramatically at the 'family restaurant' ahead of her, implying she'll do something awful if forced to eat 'chicken fingers and freedom fries', and then fails to react to a shouty customer getting atomized at all. Is . . . is this a bit? Like, it's genuinely not clear. Why did she pick this job up, out of all the choices potentially available on Paladins bbs centcom? "Oh, that's your name." is her third, less terrible realization of the day. She sort of brain-off responds to Chains not asking a question. "Well, I'm here now, so the difficulty rating just shot up either way." she says, possibly meaning several different kinds of difficulty. "Wait, hold the phone a moment. Beg pardon? Scabs? As in, replacement players? I was under the impression that football is at least an alleged talent industry. Are they really willing to settle for awful hired help rather than professional players?" She only finally lets up and smiles (and sort of unconsciously folds her hands together to hide her nails) when Strawberry arrives, though the way she looks at her with weak relief implies she might have expected her. "As far as handegg goes, it just seems an exaggeration of the usual, really." she replies to Strawberry on the subject of reanimation.
Chains Knight	"Oh, wait, it's American football?" asks Chains, endeavouring to affect a raised eyebrow through the full-head helmet. "Isn't that already violent and permanently debilitating enough already? I thought this was something unique."
Tamamo	This place is terrible. Actually awful. And the circumstances surrounding the strike are only a tiny part of it. And yet, Tamamo walks with serene poise, visibly affected by no more than curiosity. "Oh, are those animate skeletons? Are they like a clay army, do you suppose...? Ah, no, that one appears to be laughing. Are the people here of such an appearance...? Perhaps that is why they favor trees of this kind, though I wonder if that was by design. Oh, perhaps one should ask, 'which of these came first,' whether the people became skeletons, and so did the trees, or in the opposite order. For not even weeds to grow, however, is quite impressive, in its own way. One would normally require great effort to put forth to such an end, though here, it seems to have been accomplished with ease. Ah, perhaps that is related to the coloring of the sky, do you think? The Sun feels more distant, here, though it is still within the hours of daylight, as if this place has sought to obscure itself." She is simply too polite to mention the smell. ...implying she'll do something awful if forced to eat 'chicken fingers and freedom fries'... Tamamo traps Lilian's arm firmly between hers and her chest, and presses a round, white pastry to her lips mid-complaint. It's filled with an appropriately sugar-enriched paste of some kind, as mysterious as the reason she should immediately have such a thing on hand. "There, now. You 'have already eaten.'" Darren flags you down. "Oh, I do recall meeting you. Your pardon, please, for not having placed the name against this place. They are, I expect, unrelated matters." This and Pharsei. 'Hey, guys, I'm Hurt.' "Oh! My sympathies. Would you like a health charm?" 'So we're looking for pensions and better health coverage.' "I am not well-versed in this subject, though I might say, as one uneducated, that it does rather sound as if it is their responsibility that your work has been so dangerous. I do not, of course, know the extent to which it is truly possible for them to better the terms of your employment and, I imagine, they would not wish anyone to know such an important detail. Perhaps, however, their negotiator would let something slip, should I ask, if that is the sort of aid you imagined we might give."
Darren	This isn't Deathless, Darren's voice telepathically projects to Lilian. It's Sinsylvania. Be careful with that--touchy subject around here, you feel me? "Oh, it's all related," says Darren to Tamamo, eyebrows raised. He twirls a finger around. "Psychic vampires are everywhere," he solemnly warns. Beside him, Hurt turns over Tamamo's proffered charm with interest. "Wow, you can get people to do that? You're like... the Wham Neutron of talking to people," says Hurt to Tamamo. "Sure! Look, -anything- would help." "As for what they can do, well..." Hurt rubs his cranium. "Our employment with the league is based on a contract that's written up. We play for however long, for however much the contract says. The Hellboys were with us, at first. But then their owner started threatening to terminate contracts..." Lilian's bewilderment at the notion of scabs in gridiron football is validated by Darren and Hurt both. The former frowns and looks away. The skeleton is moved to tears and sorrowful weeping. He reaches over to the remote, skeletal hand on his face, and turns the TV on, unable to look at it. The Killadelphia Evils are down by three scores, Darren explains, and the game hasn't even finished its first quarter. This is a terrible place to be in, this early. The mutants on their team are uncoordinated, like a high school team that hasn't had time to practice, running the same two or three plays and getting pounded into the dirt for their predictability. And that's when they've -got- the ball. When they don't, they give up huge yardage to a team that clearly has all of its players remaining. "The coach is on the Evils' side," sighs Darren. "But the owner ain't. He'd rather have -that- than an empty stadium. The League's got no problem fining players for stuff they do outside of the game. All these people want is for them to take care of stuff that, yeah, Tamamo--hundred percent--is their responsibility." The stadium on the TV isn't even much better than empty. The commentators, Power Killsaw and Bomb Scaredith, have become so bored that they're taking turns telling sophomoric jokes to each other. Killsaw is really bad at it. There's a cut to the studio, the two commentators behind a desk with the station's logo. They appear to be red and blue horned demons. "A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel shoved into his pants, and when somebody finally asks about it, he says, ARGH! It's steerin' me dick!" Scaredith sighs. "It's 'drivin' me nuts.'" Hurt heaves a shuddering sigh that leaves many unanswered questions about skeleton biology. "I wanna be playing again, Strawberry. I want revenge for that. If we can make it to the playoffs, then the Evils--the real ones--can have that chance. But it's not just about me, yanno? There are guys on the team that really, really need this. And lots of guys on -other- teams that need this." Chains finds, perusing through a rulebook provided by Darren, that the MFL's version of gridiron football is even more violent. Rather than begrudgingly accepting the need for safety in glacial increments, this league has embraced violence in leaps and bounds. The shotgun passes may involve actual shotguns. The penalty for jumping off-sides to beat the shit out of a player is so paltry that it's tacitly an encouragement. Referees are given an inordinate amount of leeway in calling penalties, and one clause seems to imply that they can even make them up on the spot. This, plus the ruling on landmines, is enough to suggest that bribing the referees has become an emergent part of the game. "Me," says Hurt, after giving Strawberry's question some further thought. "I think that Chains guy has the right idea. If we could take the scabs, and put 'em somewhere else, then the League just wasted a load of time!"
Darren	Your table is served by the cyborg that vaporized that one guy. "WAITER DESIGNATION: CHAD." In a completely different tone, "What can I get for you, folks?" All of the menu items are about what you'd expect, which makes the whole experience that much more cursed. There's also a mixed drink section, for people at office parties looking to get absolutely sloshed.
Chains Knight	As earlier indicated, Chains just takes his order when it arrives and stashes it, plate and all. "Regarding the strike fund..." Chains goes still for a bit. For those with the right senses, it's as if he's casting something, building up and releasing a bit of power - not a lot, but there's a definite expenditure, with an accompanying display - a large yellow ! appears above his head for a few seconds. \|-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=NEW QUEST=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=\| \| Keep holding firm with the strike \| \| REWARD: Lost + Ongoing Wages \| \| ACCEPT >Y N \| \|-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-\| "There we are. That should take care of things, financially, while helping somewhat with solidarity." "My other thought is... if there's some way to get the referees to throw the scabs out of the game, to red card them, if they're so easily bought..."
Lilian Rook	Outside: "You really can go just about anywhere with this spirit, can't you?" Lilian says to Tamamo. "It feels a little more like missing a train stop on vacation now. You're really amazing." A teeny tiny smile despite herself. "I love that about you." she whispers, and leans over to kiss her. Remembering where she seems to believe she is, Lilian stage whispers louder "Fuck you Texas." just a moment later. She isn't unsurprised to get a little pastry pushed into her mouth outside the diner, but she seems capable of chomping it with casually silent cheek all the same, smugly basking in the process. Inside: §Those aren't states. I'm Gen R not an idiot; I know what the old states are.§ A minute. §Oh. Oh, I get it.§ Lilian breathes in through clenched teeth when the television turns on. The way she watches it is the way one watches a 'SATISFYING: SURGEON REMOVES BOTFLY LARVAE FROM FAMILY DOG' video on the internet. She physically winces at the state of the commentary. "Alright, I knew the sport had a reputation, but that is just beyond pathetic." Lilian grimaces. "I feel as if I need to get revenge just from being made to watch that." The sever comes up. Lilian blinks. "That's a rather forwardly high self-assessment, isn't it? Well, I don't strictly mind bold men. I'll have--" She takes all of two seconds to look at the menu before just ordering the quantity of drinks she thinks she's going to need to tolerate this. Getting back to the topic, "Will removing the scabs even work? Apparently they'll settle for any gaggle of idiots to fumble balls and make out with the turf." Lilian shrugs. "As men do. And even if I simply bankrolled the striking players, they'd never get anywhere; this is a time-sensitive issue. Isn't the obvious strategy to approach the managers directly?" A heavy pause follows. "Or take out every non-striking team, but, well, you know."
Tamamo	'Psychic vampires are everywhere,' Tamamo responds to Darren, "Oh, truly? It is the way of such predators to hide themselves, of course, but one may say that a place may be suffering a greater or lesser infestation. I would suggest looking for their ancestor, but I suppose not all worlds may have their vampires operate in the same manner. Still, I would imagine the eldest to be the most trouble, should yours be a coordinated sort." The health charm is a bit of oddly carved wood and herbs in a little cloth bag. Its mild, pleasant smell will last a handful of months, during which the bearer will find that the most optimistic medical diagnosis is always correct. 'Sure! Look, -anything- would help.' "Oh, I can merely make an attempt, though I believe myself to be somewhat more capable than most. At the least, I do rarely find any who are unwilling to hear me out, should I have first found something meaningful to say. To that end..." 'But then their owner started threatening to terminate contracts...' "...I do know something of contracts, and it may be useful to be provided with such information as you have on these, both theirs and your own, as well as the form of what you would most like of their amendment. I do not seek to replace you in negotiating for these terms, however, it will make it easier to understand what the... 'team owner,' is it? It shall ease my understanding of that other side's position, I imagine." Noticing a NEW QUEST somewhere in the scope of her attention, Tamamo considers it. Firstly, she doesn't consider herself part of the strike, and she isn't losing any wages. It's not really meant for her, but it did still appear. More importantly... oh, so that was it. But she files away that information for later. "Oh, hello, Chad. Would you kindly... let us see, would you bring me one of that of which the chef is most proud? I am not certain as to how long we shall be here, and so, a bag 'to-go' would be appreciated, as well." Tamamo comments on the crushing defeat on-screen. "Oh, my. That looked painful." A little while later, "Those numbers in the corner are the scores, yes?"
Amaranthe	Amaranthe is trying out a comparably early punk look this time around due to the location, braid left undone and hair poofed up a bit combined with worn jeans and a cutoff tee. Walking in, she waves to those present and sits down. "Heard about some trouble, someone's giving you grief about your game you're p-" she says while giving a quick glance at the screen... Then does a double-take and slowly looks back to the others gathered there with a, "/What the fuck/" look on her face. "I've seen actual warfare that's less brutal." she says, simply. "We can discuss a better way of getting things done in the long-term later, though." she adds. "So what did you want from us exactly?" she asks.
Strawberry Princess	"Oh hey," Strawberry says, her eyes on the menu. "They've got that thing." "I'd like the mayo and jam sandwich, please," she says, looking up at the waiter with her finger on the paper. "With the- uh, the whipped cream and sprinkles, no crust. Thanks, Chad!" Despite her strong protests that she's definitely a "collective bargaining enthusiast" and not a sports fan, Strawberry grimaces involuntarily when the TV comes on, and it's not just from the wanton violence. "Oh... Mr. Badderly, I'm sorry. That's hard to watch," she murmurs, rubbing her face. Something on the TV sparks her into abrupt frustration. "Why would they punt from there?! That's-" She clears her throat, abruptly self-conscious, and settles back into her seat. "Well, putting pressure on the scabs is one option," she says. "The other options are to put pressure on management directly, or... on the fans. There's still some people in those seats. But that's- harder, you know, if they make more money off the broadcasts. Tough to stop people from tuning in." "I don't think just anyone's willing to do that, even badly," she answers Lilian, gesturing up at the TV. "So it's... yeah, I think getting the scabs out could do something. Especially if they don't have notice." "But the higher-ups are people with faces and street addresses, too. There's no reason not to do both, as long as you're ready for a- reprisal, I guess."
Darren	"Whoa, what?" Clearly, Badderly wasn't expecting someone to just up and fund the strike. "Okay, well... that's one major problem down!" Hurt wipes a tear from his eye socket with his sleeve, and puts the TV on mute. "Oh, ejections? The League hasn't done those since reanimation was invented." The rulebook backs Hurt up--not even killing another player or even a referee will get a player ejected. That there's a penalty for jumping off sides, but not for killing, should say something about the game. That being said, the refs could certainly be bribed into setting up the predetermined mines 'randomly,' into taking yards away, or even into reversing plays. With dwindling attendance and their money already spent on signing bonuses for the scabs, the owners may not be as willing to do the same. While they don't eject players any longer, the clauses that give referees so much power make it at least a little plausible that they could do so again, for a price.
Darren	"Lilian's got a point," Darren affirms. "The scabs are just one part. We need pressure coming from different directions all at once. Speaking straight with several managers at once could do a lot. I imagine at least a few of 'em are gonna take any ejector seat you can give 'em. A choice between a little money and the money they -were- making, you feel me?" He continues, working on a subpar alfredo and sad breadsticks. "The good thing is, we do have a -little- time. The Evils have a bye-week after this game--meaning there's no game next Monday. At least, not for the Evils." Then, Darren nods over to Chains. "Some of the team isn't okay with killing. But I think aside from that, you're on the right track. If you got the money to take care of the refs, then between ejecting players and all the other ish they can do--I want you influencing the game that -is- happening next week. Hellboys're up against the Karcass City Creeps, another team that got scabbed. Make it even more of a blowout than it'd usually be. An insult to the sport," he says firmly. Hurt can't believe his lack of ears. "HELP the HELLBOYS?! But those guys are beating the snot out of us in effigy!" "Multi-directional attack, my man. If it's not even bad in a funny way, nobody's gonna watch it. Strawberry's right--it can be tough to reach the fans." Turning back to Chains, "But someone with your understanding of games should be able to understand exactly what makes a bad one. I should be able to get you in touch with an officiator, and y'all can work something out." He pauses, grinning. "Unless you wanna be -at- the game the whole time, on and off the field with ya wallet." Hurt then answers Tamamo's question about the contracts. "Sure! Pay's based on how much the owner is willing to bid to have you aboard. And he makes that decision based on how you played in college or high school, how high impact your position is, that kind of thing." Darren, sensing that this might get pretty complex, steps in. "There's a draft every year for free agents, rookies and players whose contracts are expiring. The owners make picks, one player at a time, during that draft, based on how well their team did, with the worse guys going first to try and keep it competitive. At minimum, a year's salary is, let's say, a really really expensive house. The average player lasts about three years, before reanimation starts putting you back a little worse each time. There's not really a... date printed on the box, like with cereal or whatever, for when that's supposed to happen." Further elaborating, Hurt adds, "So, what we want out of this is for the league to include a clause in every contract that says they--not the owners--will pay for reanimation, any treatment that's necessary 'cause of side effects, and establish a pension. That way, no matter what, we're taken care of. They make a killing off of ads and merchandising, so it's not like they can't afford it."
Darren	"MENU ASSESSMENT REQUESTED. I know just the thing!" says Chad to Tamamo. "The cheese curd burger is, like, super delish." Strawberry's order is taken with that same mechanical precision of pen on notepad. "Mayo and jam. For sure!" Tamamo is assured that the numbers she's referring to are indeed the scores. "What the owners want," Darren continues, "Is a player that's worth that investment, who's gonna put numbers on the board and butts in seats." Hurt nods, then answers Amaranthe. "This has been going on for weeks," he explains. "And every day we're losing a little more steam. I'm way over my head with stuff like this, and I guess I'm just asking for whatever help you can give us. However we can get back on that field and start looking at a future, I want to get on it. We've got a great start so far, with the funds taken care of, but I don't wanna take that beating lying down," he says gesturing to the TV. "Shoot, even if you could help us picket, those goons they've got with the scabs now would think twice about starting trouble."
Chains Knight	Chains nods to Badderly. "Keep in mind that the payment is only forthcoming as long as the quest terms are fulfilled. Which is - that all involved continue to fight. This is to fill in the gaps, not a long term substitution." "... That said, while I like your suggestion and I think it has merit..." He drums his fingers on the table. "... The suggestion of leading another team to a decidedly unentertaining victory... that, I think I have some concerns over." "I take my games seriously. I would not permit cheating - albeit bribing the referees is part of the standard play - and unfair play is nearly as bad..." He looks troubled (somehow, despite the helmet). "Ordinarily, I would refuse - but - given that the other team has effectively handicapped themselves by choice by hiring scabs, I... think the line there has been crossed already." "Still. It gives me no pleasure."
Tamamo	At Lilian's vampire-related objection, Tamamo gives Darren a sidelong look, but that's not the topic being pursued. After listening to the talk of how the contracts are drawn, she says, "I had wondered about the penalties of 'terminating' these contracts, however, it does sound to me as if, perhaps, you would be the first placed in the wrong, in refusing to enter the field, and so, they would face no such punishment, in refusing to allow you to remain. Is this somewhat close? It would not be difficult to create so one-sided a contract as functioned otherwise, but to acquire agreement of all parties is another matter. let us put this aside, then." Tamamo pauses to say, "Oh, cheese curds, is it? I do not believe I have had these. I shall look forward to trying something new, then." She doesn't have to reach far to touch Lilian's arm. "Even if wholly unexpected -- no, it is because it is wholly unexpected that one can most enjoy a sight far from home, no?" Even if the place really is just absolutely dreadful, good company and attitude makes a meaningful difference. Back to Darren's explanation. "I begin to see. There are the players, the team managers, the team owners, and then 'the league,' referring to those coordinators and administrators that handle matters of business between towns, and decide upon those things as must affect all teams in equal measure, yes? There is some sharing of risk and profit between the league and team owners, then, I shall expect. Between the two, as those deciding upon the rules of the game, it does seem reasonable to place the onus of healing care upon the league, in principal part. And yet, oh, it is the team owners who perform this hiring, yes? Do they not write the contracts they offer? This does make it seem unclear as to which party should be best approached. Perhaps we shall need both, after all. As for the team managers, can they be counted upon as allies, or should we, as well, consider that they must be convinced?"
Lilian Rook	Lilian makes a little bit of a face at Hurt Badderly latching onto her offhanded mention of hypothetical funding. The kind where she knows she can't back out at this point, but wishes she could. "For a short while." she says. "I'm not having someone simply settle all their debts and quit out on my credits." Because this is totally a real thing that normal working class people do. She makes a very different face (pale, slightly queasy) at Strawberry's order; even though she knows what it's about, this setting somehow makes it about forty times worse. She tries to focus on the subject instead, even after prodding her suspiciously about being 'a collective bargaining enthusiast' and expressing great but gentle disappointment at Strawberry knowing handegg plays. "Do you think so? I'd like to believe there's a far more limited supply of people here willing to, as I said, drop balls and kiss a turf, if they're being properly stabbed and blown up for it like they should be." It's unclear how she accidentally added a word in there. Her hand wanders over to lay on Tamamo's in quiet return. "The broadcast . . . I sort of like that idea. Of course, I'm calling some 'Watch pirate radio' solution out of the question, but the televising outfit probably isn't a very difficult platform to hit; there's no way they could be paying them all that much to keep it on the air while also not bleeding money to the strike." She mutters something unintelligible about 'faces and street addresses', following it with, "Well, you know me. I've always been better than most at dealing with upper level types." Even if 'friend of the proles' is an incredibly recent, thin sketchy graphite addition tenuously clinging to her metaphorical card, left unsaid. Suddenly, Lilian slides a Look at Darren. "I can find the ridiculous names and addresses of management myself. But, as an inquiring mind, how does one become a 'football' team owner? How many can there be? What are the protocols for replacing one? Several?"
Strawberry Princess	"Thanks, Mr. Chad! You're the best. You know how to crimp the edges so it doesn't leak, right?" Strawberry sees the waiter off with a cheery little wave. "It's a bad play in the small game, but a good play in the big one," she says to Chains. Her hands, now idle, have started fidgeting with her hair. "I know it's... it tastes bitter to you, to do something like that. But you're doing our side a big favor. So thank you." She's doing a very good job of not looking in Lilian's direction, about either her order or the fotoball game. Her cheeks are just a tiny bit redder than usual, and today that can't be chalked up to the wand. Her attention shifts back to Darren and Hurt soon enough. She fishes around in her pocket for a tiny notebook and stubby pencil, then starts jotting down notes to herself in a cute heart-dotted-i's script. "Bribing the managers... that could work. But I meant, going to the League owners- the people who decide whether or not to give in- and making life hard for them directly. Twist their arms about it. This is- it's almost as bad for them as it is for your players, right? They're just... trying to be more stubborn than you are. Doesn't take much, I think, to push that one way or the other." "... I would like to be out on the picket line when there's games, though. If it'll help even a tiny bit. The kinds of people who'll be out there doing that... are the kinds of people I'd like to spend time with, I think."
Darren	Darren puts a hand onto Chains' shoulder comfortingly. "Proud of you, blood. It's ugly--but it's necessary for the spiritual health of the game, in the long run." "Yeah," says Darren to Tamamo, smiling. "You got it. With the time we got, and the resources... I'd start with the league, and only move to the owners if we can't get anywhere with them." Darren's face lights up, at Lilian's idea. "Well, you'd need to get the League to agree to an entirely new team. But there's 30 teams right now, and as far as replacing one..." "You'd need a majority stake in the team, and then a three-quarters vote from the League to approve the transfer of leadership. The Leaveland Burns are actually up for sale right now. They're uh... not in a good place right now, so there's a good chance the league would vote yes." The silence from Chad's absence is filled with the menacing robot's return, expertly balancing a wide platter. "BEGIN NUTRIENT INTAKE. Okay, guys, here we go!" Strawberry's sandwich is indeed crimped, and Tamamo's cheese curd burger is okay, though in both cases there is the clear sense that each of them could make it better at home. On his way back to another table, a zombie patron slaps Chad on the rear chassis. The robot picks him up, defenestrates him, and keeps walking without losing his stride. "Yeah... yeah, you're right," says Hurt to Strawberry. "The league's making -money- but it's not making near what it was even last month. I'll talk to Coach soon as I get home and see how we can do that. And how we can help with these other great ideas. Here--Carvin and his wife made these." Strawberry and Amaranthe are passed little pins that say 'SCAB BUSTER.'
Chains Knight	Chains brightens up a bit at Darren's and Strawberry's encouragements. "Yes - the long game. It will be worth it in the end." "Thank you both." "I will reach out to the team - and I will start putting my plans into play..."
Tamamo	Having basically finished their conversation, Tamamo decides to take the whole burger back, so she can have the full experience at once, rather than do more than just give it a curious sniff and look-over, right now. First, she removes some perfectly generic not-tupperware from the inside of her sleeve. Burger goes in tupperware. Tupperware is carefully tamped down. Tupperware goes in the paper bag she'd asked for. Then she slides that bag back up her sleeve, where it disappears without a bulge.