Chapter Two: Aftermath

By Za Raapini

Dunk awoke to a piercing sound rattling his eardrums. While his sleep-addled brain struggled to figure out the source of the noise, he tossed and turned in his bed, fumbling around, when he suddenly he felt very light.

As he lay lay there on the floor, his brain struggling to fully wake up and the same piercing sound driving him nuts, he wondered what his day was going to be like. If the first minute or so of the morning was any indication, he was betting it wouldn't be good. Wait. Morning.

He scrambled to his hooves and threw his pillow at his alarm clock. The feather-filled missile struck the clock, the lamp, and the hotel room's phone, and all three went to the ground in a terrible cluster of racket.

It wouldn't be a good day at all.

As he went through his morning routine, Dunk once again went over the previous day. It had been without a doubt the worst one he had ever been through. All thirty teams passed on him. Twice. He still didn't fully understand why. So his defense might not have been the greatest. So what if he couldn't pull in rebounds on a regular basis. He was built for scoring!

It wasn't as if any of his other coaches had made a mention of it. All his life they had always told him to go out there and get his. Throw some jams in there too. There was nothing more exciting than driving to the rim and slamming the ball in right in a pony's face! That's what he was good at. So that's what he was told to do.

So why didn't anypony recognize that he was good at that? Sure, they all said he was great at scoring. They did say that. So shouldn't that have counted for something?

Apparently not. Apparently all it was good for was sixty missed opportunities. Opportunities to be somepony. Opportunities to live up to the expectations he thought his father had placed on him.

Yeah, heck of a way that turned out. He knew the whole time I wasn't being drafted and that nobody liked the fact I didn't really play defense. Thanks Dad. Appreciate it. Best player of all time and you could never take a few minutes out of your day to teach me some tricks, teach me how to do the things to become better than you.

Dunk was shaken from his thoughts by a loud knock at the door. As he went to open it he wondered who could possibly be visiting him here. Maybe…oh no, anypony but him, pleaseanypony but him.

It was him. It was his agent. Top Dollar.

"Heya Dunk, how ya doing today? Not too good I bet, and I feel bad for what happened the other day. I got some coffee, you want some coffee, no, no coffee? Alright fantastic, so let me break down what's going to happen with you."

It was too much. Now I remember why I never talk to Top. It's not really a conversation. It's a damn speech.

"So anyways, as I was saying, here's what's going on- you're going to try out for the Kickers, since they're the only team in the league that might actually kinda sorta want you on their team. Tracking? Okay good, so here's what we're going to do…" Dunk began tuning him out.

It's the same thing every time. He talks for forever, never shuts up, starts repeating himself, mentions numbers, and expects me to keep up. I play basketball, I don't do things like contracts. That's why I have an agent in the first place!

"And so you'll be flying out later tonight for the tryout which starts in three days, they want you to get to know some of the players and the coaching staff and get you ready for what the tryout will entail nothing too serious just some basic drills on offense and some basic drills on defense some team building exercises some actual practice workouts free throw shooting three point shooting things like that."

"Uh… sounds good I guess? So it's just like a regular practice then is what you're telling me," Dunk said.

"Right except this practice will be watched by people who may or may not want to give you a job depending on how you perform and please for the love of Celestia Dunk don't screw this up! I got your dad breathing down my neck constantly about getting on your case more but I'm worried if I talk to you too much you'll complain to him and look kid this is my first shot at getting someone into the league, it really is and I'm just trying to help you out as much as I can so please work with me on this," Top finished with a twinge of desperation, his eyes darting.

For the first time since he had hired him, Dunk stopped to look at his agent. Top's mane was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was nervous and jittery, with brown stains on his tie. Anxious didn't even begin to describe him it seemed; the slightest noise made him jump.

For the first time in a while, Dunk began to feel sympathy for someone. They were kind of in the same boat, in a way. Dunk had been passed over, Top had failed to get his client a job. Sure, Top wasn't nearly as awesome at his job like Dunk was, but they were in the same boat regardless. Dunk smiled slightly when Top looked his way.

"Hey, Top. I never really got around to thanking you. I know that my dad isn't easy to deal with, and I'm probably not an improvement. So let's do this. Let's go out to Los Pegasus. Let's go to the tryout. I'm gonna kick some ass, and you're gonna get me a contract, and we're going out for a dinner at one of them fancy LP places when we get done!" Dunk said, almost willing Top to agree. He would need the agent's support if he was going to get a contract. Alls I need is the paper in front of me. Then it'll be smooth sailing. They wouldn't dare give Air Jam's son a bad deal! I just need this guy to get it for me.

"Sure, sure, just need to get a pony a contract with a team not even a good team at that but they do play in one of the more prestigious cities in Equestria but they're a laughingstock team and the only reason they agreed to give you a tryout was to try and draw in a crowd you know 'Air Jam's son' and all that jazz so hopefully you impress them enough to give you an entry level contract three years nothing special."

"Hey, just leave everything to me. I'll show 'em how I play ball, and you and me can go out and celebrate. Just calm down bro. Aight?"

Dunk was now scheming. He was hoping to get Top out of his room so he could finish getting ready, and apparently start getting to LP. He had to work out a spiel to give to the management when he go to their training facility.

Something about how awesome he was at scoring, how he could give them that push they needed at power forward, how he could shoot from beyond the arc or get points in the paint. Emphasize what he was good at. If they wanted exciting moments to draw in ticket holders, Dunk was the pony for them.

He could figure everything else out later. For now, he just wanted a job.