Introductions (Part 1)

[Speradon]

The scene was no more than semi-organized chaos, as if a tribe of ants were rushing to find, consume, and carry bits of food back to the hive. Except there was no hive, thankfully, because the Queen Ant would have died long ago from starvation while her selfish army of children engorged themselves.

There were, however, entirely too many doughnuts, bagels (for the more health-conscious), soy bagels (for the even more health conscious) and coffee brewed from organic beans (because, after all, you have to splurge somewhere). Etiquette thrown out the window along with the use of napkins instead of sleeves to wipe one’s face, there were mad scrambles for remnants of soy-bagel and, ironically, the last of the whole cream. Half and half was so passé, after all.

Those who had thought ahead were sipping from plastic bottles of mineral water to wash down the acidic coffee remains from their teeth. Others spoke in earnest conversation with nobody really wanting to tell anyone else just what awful things soy-bagel and coffee could do to one’s breath. Just about the time the natives were beginning to become restless and the bottles of bubbly water lower to dangerous levels, they were all called to order (though nobody could say just who called them) and rapidly took their seats.

Wires crisscrossed the floor; the floodgates were open and data ready to burst forth down the rivers of fiber-optic cable. To the sides of the chair-rows were remote hover cameras and photographers, fingers twitching, ready to take rapid-fire pictures. While some of those in the chairs fumbled for pencils in their purses (the smart ones had their trusty No. 2’s at the ready long ago), and others whipped out arcane tape recorders, those with larger budgets at their disposal flicked shiny silver switches on the latest direct-feed digital uplinks, sat back, and let the machine do the work for them.

Soon, all eyes were trained forward at the stage’s backdrop. Logos of various size and presumably importance were emblazoned on long banners. The emblem of the IFL dotted the background of the banners while, at the forefront of the one in the middle, a large insignia with a balled fist threatening to burst forth and rocket into the sky, was most prominent. The banner on its right displayed a wooden keg with the words Red Orc Brewery (if only they were serving beer!, thought more than one of the chairbound, without thinking of the potential deadly breath-consequences of soy-bagel, coffee, and fermented grains) while the one to the left held two more logos, insignias for The Munro Deli and the Rhydin Public Library.

A young lady, clearly uncomfortable and completely self-conscious of the badge on her chest that spelled INTERN in bold black letters (which meant that her importance level was zero, and if she did her job well the credit would go to someone 5 rungs higher on the ladder) tried to gather everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the microphone squeaked just as an overeager photographer depressed the button on his camera. The quickfire flash nearly triggered an onslaught of photos and only the cool calm collective brought about by training and the cost of processing one’s own film prevented a rash of overzealous photographs littering the processing room floor.

“we’re about to get started.” There. That wasn’t so bad. Even if she was nearly blinded by the too-eager photographer.

“I…I’ve just been told that the Commissioner won’t be making an appearan…”

The rest of the sentence was lost in the loud murmuring and shaking of heads from the crowd. Some of them shot glares her way. Surely, this INTERN (some of them could hardly say the word…they’d blocked out the horrid memories of their own days in the thankless world of coffee-fetching and mindless Xeroxing) was at fault for this outrage. Blame the girl! Storm the stage!, said their looks and their eye-rolls.

The girl tried to regain control of the mob.

“But…BUT!”

They all looked up when her voice raised. Only a few noticed her wince while her cheeks turned crimson.

“But,” in a more normal tone, “he does want to speak with you all soon”. The girl said it as if she believed it, and she probably did. “Anyway…there’s, well, you all know why you’re here,” (the girl clearly wasn’t used to re-iterating the obvious for the press corps even though that’s what the press did best and what they were paid to do) “so without further delay, I…we” (INTERNS, she quickly remembered, correcting herself, could take credit for nothing) want to welcome you and introduce one of the inaugural members of the Iron Fists League, also a charter member of the Team Dueling League, Team Fist!”

The last few words she said with genuine excitement; she’d been a fan of the team for several seasons and, despite their mediocrity, was completely happy to be this close, even if most of the roster had been overhauled for this latest endeavor. She’d even caught a glimpse of that Tarl. Word had it, she knew, Tarl was a real ladies’ man. And he looked younger in person than on TV, too.

Realizing she was still standing on stage when, really, nobody out there in the audience cared if she ever breathed again, the girl scooted away so the stars of the show could make their entrance.

((Thread cross-posted at RoH))

[Speradon]

Moments after the girl disappeared offstage, a more official and important looking individual, dressed in a suit, replaced her. He stood to the side of the long table at the front of the stage and motioned with his hand.

“Yes, yes! In no particular order, I present you with Team Fist! First up, longtime dueler and Assistant Captain, Tarl Cabot!”

The man waited until Tarl, with his red disheveled hair and bleary green eyes, stumbled onto the stage and nearly fell into one of the chairs. Flashbulbs popped at an incredible pace while hovercams zipped to and fro, some getting entirely too close for that “in your face” shot that the masses love to see. Somewhere, behind the man and offstage, the squealing of a girl could be heard once Tarl became visible.

“Hailing from Gor, Tarl’s 5’10” and 190lb frame has taken and given many a beating in his time! Critics wonder just how he can stay in shape with all the alcohol poured down his throat, but he’s passed the league’s mandatory substance screening with flying colors!”

Furious notes are scribbled so that everyone can recall this moment if and when Tarl’s urine and DNA send up warning signals in the near or far future.

“Tarl brings incredible leadership and skill to the team,” the man states in a loud booming voice that was guaranteed to impress and excite. “He has served as both Assistant Captain and Captain of this team in the Team Dueling League, and has a vast amount of unarmed dueling experience.”

Most of the information the man was spouting could be found in the media guides located under everyone’s seat, but media guides and words scrawled on pages, even glossy ones, would hold absolutely nobody’s interest on the newscasts or sports feeds. They needed live shots, dramatic closeups, juicy quotes, and little-known tidbits of information.

“As the twenty-fourth person to hold the Emerald rank in unarmed dueling’s most popular venue, The Outback, Tarl has also held the champion rank of Diamond two times! He’s also won the title of Opal once, and for many years held the record of consecutive title defenses. Though recently broken, the streak of six is still very very impressive!”

The man was doing his best, and succeeding, at keeping the excitement level high, even as the look on Tarl’s face scrunched into a “where in the nine hells am I?” expression that worsened every time a bulb popped.

While Tarl’s hung-over countenance was splayed on countless vidscreens and recorded for infinite posterity, the man who’d taken over as the event MC introduced TMF’s next member.