(A/N) Hey guys, it's time for the latest update in Grifball: Running Rampant! Another quick little reminder that applications for Agent Texas in Phase Two: Betrayal are still open, and so is the voting for our nominated RvB Fics. If you're interested, you know where to find us!
As always, enjoy the chapter! :)
Chapter Thirty-Six - Ricochet
Desmond Danhar
Written by Baldore
"Knowledge is reached (mostly) by removing junk from peoples' heads." - Nassim Nicholas Taleb
"What do you mean, that you're changing the name?" Desmond said into his phone. "No, Bossman, you didn't stutter...Yeah, I do have a complaint...oh, that was rhetorical? Well, I'm on it...yup, a spawn update or something...yeah, it's bound to come up after that announcement ...yup, bye, Bossman."
"And whut wuz that 'bout, Dez?" Sam asked as Desmond flipped his phone shut.
"Yeah, apparently Bossman is changing our network's name ''to appeal to a bigger audience," Desmond said with a worried glance to his partner, whose eyes were red and had an irritated look on her face. "You okay there, Sam?"
"Jus' dandy," She muttered. "Thut culd from earlier huz," spastic coughing, "huz come back."
"You gonna be okay for the press conference? It's queued to start any second now," he asked.
The blonde just groaned and gave him a thumbs up, burrowing her face in her elbow. "Jus stop bein' so loud, it's givun me a headache."
He decided it might be better to cut his losses, seeing as the photographer wasn't in the best of moods. Especially since he wasn't speaking any louder than he normally would. "Just hang in there, then."
"Ezay fur yu tu say."
Just then, the Commishenar walked out and took his place in front of the podium, purple and yellow armor standing out against the blue sky. It made Desmond wonder if that was why he held all these meetings outside, just so he'd stick out more. The reporter certainly wouldn't put it past him. The guy was a conceited glory hound.
"Hello, Grifball followers!" he announced. "Today there's been some changes to our spawning system before this season gets into full swing! Now, before we get started, does anybody have any pressing questions?"
"Ah, yes," a reporter who was seated just a few rows over from Desmond said. Desmond reckognized the guy as Whunce, though he didn't remember his first name. Whunce was a good enough guy, from what he remembered, but tended to walk the fine line onto becoming paparazzi. "Tim Whunce, Sports Insider. Have you heard of the new Ricochet league that's been formed?"
"No comment." The Commish was probably frowning underneath that purple helmet if his.
"George Reed, Best Thing Since Grifball, so what do you think of this new sport?" another asked, the assembled crew of press, paparazzi and photographers suddenly closely resembling a hungry pack of bloodthirsty piranhas. "Are you worried about Grifball's popularity?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" the purple clad man exclaimed. "Grifball is a fast paced, high stakes, one-of-a-kind sport! It's better than sliced bread!"
"So, you aren't worried that Ricochet really is the best thing since Grifball? Or better?"
"That's preposterous! Grifball is the best thing since itself! Ricochet doesn't come close."
"Yet it's already grown massively in popularity among the outer rim planets, challenging Grifball for viewers," someone else brought up.
The Commissioner just said something unintelligible into the mike, then stormed off the stage with his arms thrown up in the air. Cameras clicked, and a few of the more determined reporters and paparazzi continued to shoot questions at his retreating form.
"Well." Desmond stared at the empty podium, packing up his notes (even though there weren't many). Most of the assembled press and assorted other crews had already packed up and shipped out in record time. "That has had to be the shortest conference ever. Of all time."
"Gud, then I'm goin' back to my apartment." Sam mumbled as she packed up her stuff, shoving it into her carrying bag without the usual care she normally used with her stuff.
"Okay, I'll check up on you since you look like... well, I'm not going to say, because then you'll hit me," Desmond whined with a chuckle.
"Oh, hilarious. Make fun of duh sick."
"Seriously though, don't die. I'll check up on you soon, but I'm going to see if I can get an exclusive with the Commissioner of Ricochet, then I'll stop by."
Exactly two hours, three favors called in, one impatient receptionist and one cheap coffee later, Desmond was finally buzzed into the Commissioner's office. Apparently, the Commish really was the man of the hour.
The Commissioner himself was wearing armor identical to his Grifball counterpart, the only major difference being the color scheme. Where the other's was purple and orange, his was red and fluorescent blue. "So, Mr. Dander was it?"
"Er, no. Danhar actually." The reporter took a seat across from the Commissioner.
"Of course it is, Dander!"
Desmond just sighed, it was obvious that the man didn't actually care. So, he might as well not waste time correcting him. "Sure, let's go with that. Now, may we get the interview underway?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Dander! What do you want to know?" the Commissioner answered chipperly, leaning back in his swivel chair.
"Well, I'm not real clear on the rules of Ricochet. Could you possibly explain it to me?" Desmond had only seen a promotional video that hadn't explained anything on the sport.
"Of course!" The Commissioner straightened a little at the prospect. "To start with, there are two teams. One Red, and one Blue. There is also an explosive ball in the middle of the court."
"So, a lot like Grifball?"
"No! It's not like Grifball!" The red armored man nearly leapt out of his seat, but then seemed to reconsider. Instead, he relaxed and propped his feet up on the desk, pushing aside one of his photos. "Ricochet is a fast paced, high stakes, one-of-a-kind sport! It's better than sliced bread!"
'Well, that sounds familiar,' Desmond thought with a smirk, pencil scratching down notes as his interviewee continued.
"Each team is also armed with battle rifles - three shot bursts, by the way - to combat the enemy with. Each team's goal is to capture the explosive ball, or boomball, and take it to the opposing team's base!" The Commish mimicked carrying a ball, which looked odd considering he still had his feet propped up. He kinda resembled an old lady trying play Grifball. "Different points are awarded according to whether the player flings the ball into the goal area, or if they run across. Then, to add some flare, the ball explodes!"
"So, it's like Grifball with guns?" Desmond was honestly curious, as this new sport contained some major similarities to the sport he reported for.
"Of course not! Ricochet is much better! It even has guns!"
"Um, okay then. How do you think that Ricochet's popularity is going to hold up and spread?" Desmond checked his notes. "I see it's already gained a lot of fans in the outer planets."
"Well, the sport is faster paced and grittier than Grifball. We also have several different maps to battle on, so it's not always in a stadium. Did I mention we have guns?"
"Yes, you did," the reporter commented dryly. "So, how'd this sport start? What group began the first games?"
"It started mostly with veterans of the Great War, and the pure awesomeness of the sport attracted fans and such until we got to this point - where we've gained a large following, and expanding every day!" The Ricochet Commish was really starting to remind Desmond of another Commissioner. "And I get a fourth of all profits!"
Desmond stopped taking notes and just stared. "What was that last part?" Maybe the Commish that every Grifball player, coach, and agent knew all too well had discovered a way to be in two places at once. The Ricochet Commissioner seemed just a little too familiar. He shuddered at the thought.
"I said, that I get a fourth of all profits! Why, do you think that's not enough? After all, I have to delegate all the responsibility around." The man trailed off, mumbling to himself about profits and counting on his fingers.
"Are you sure you're not everybody's least favorite Grifball Commissioner?"
"How dare you! I'm nothing like that pompous purple person!" The Commissioner angrily sputtered out, "Dander, that was uncalled for."
"My name's not-" Danhar blew out a puff of air to calm himself down. Well, he had promised to kept the interview short, when he was on the phone with the Ricochet Commish. "Okay, last question, since I'm sure you're a busy man."
"Go ahead, Dander! I've just got to visit my favorite teams after this. Then I have to make sure I don't get blamed for one of the player's death."
"Was it really your fault?"
"Well," Commish started. "Cutting the spawn system from the budget seemed like a good idea at the time."
"You cut the spawn system?!"
"A penny saved is another penny in my pocket!"
"That is seriously messed up, Commish."
"Please, Dander. 'Commish' makes me sound like grimy Grifball goofball. Call me Rico! Like in 'Ricochet'!"
Desmond let out another calming breath. This is the oddest interview he had ever done. Not to mention kinda messed up and stressful. That calming yoga class crap the Sam had been spouting started looking better each day. C'mon, who even hired these people? "Of course, Commissioner. I'll be quick. So what's the one thing about Ricochet that really sets it apart and makes it 'the best'?"
"Well," Rico began, "the diversity of the game keeps everybody interested, fans and players alike. The sport also requires more skill and reflexives than its barbaric Grifball counterpart. It also allows for the players to customize their play style more with the variety of weapons. Did I mention that-"
"Yes, you mentioned that it has guns."
"Wonderful!" Rico beamed and appeared to check his nails...on his armored hand. "Now if there's nothing else you need, I've got urgent business to attend to!"
"No, that's it for now." Desmond shook the red-clad man's hand. "Thanks for the exclusive, Rico."
"Sure thing, Dander!" the man replied cheerily, shaking Desmond's hand. "I'm looking forward to watching your article."
"Er, don't you mean reading?" the confused reporter asked, stopping at the door.
"Of course not! Reading is for poor people! I'll be watching it in 4D on my platinum-ray player!"
Deciding that pondering whatever 4D was wasn't worth the effort - he didn't want to know - and after a simple 'have a good day', Desmond was walking out of the Ricochet building even more confused than he had started out. Rico was certainly a wack job; enough to give the Commish a run for his money.
What was the galaxy coming to?