Now, Let's Make a Deal! (CLOSED, Attn Rennidan, Non-Event)

[The Fanboyists]

January 16th, 2009

"And so, effective as of the campaign year for the tenth World Bowl Championship, it will be a requirement for all prospective players for the national team to abandon all domestic league and club committments prior to being fully accepted for the national team. Thereafter, any attempt to re-sign with a club or domestic league team will result in dismissal from the team," Staphan Vaalburger read from the podium.

A little bit of stage setting is probably good, about here. The aging coach had been named the Head Coach of the Fanboyist national gridiron team for the tenth World Bowl, and had been given a blank check on how to run the program, so that, as Federal Sporting Commission Chairman Hadley Thornburger had put it "we can make it to those damn playoffs."

Vaalburger, being rather advanced in age, had some old-fashioned ideas on how the team should be run. With no outside commitments for the players was tantamount to success, to him. Which, of course, he explained.

"Any member of the national gridiron team will be retained year-round at a comparable salary to what they might be paid as a member of a domestic club. One year's grace period, effective now, will be given to players who wish to have more time to come to a decision after their past time on the team. The purpose of these measures are to ensure year-round loyalty by the players to the national team, to facilitate team-building, and to ensure a smooth transition to this new 'Volunteer' team."

The move had made many players angry. Some hadn't batted an eye. But it had signaled a change. It meant that from now on, the national team would have to recruit its players, just like everyone else.

=======================================================================================

March 3rd, 2009

The coach in red called across the practice field. "Honorius!" he bellowed. He repeated the shout, and turned back to the man standing before him.

"Now then, Coach Hopewell, I do know our Honorius, and I'm fairly sure he's not real big on the Titans. He's never really liked 'em, I'm afraid," the coach in red said sympathetically, shrugging.

"Pity." Coach Hopewell was well-known as the defensive coordinator of the Antioch Titans domestic gridiron club.

"Well, it would be," Hopewell continued. "'Cept I don' represent the Titans these days."

The other coach looked a little confused at that statement. "Then who are you working with."

"Staphan Vaalburger. Didn'tcha hear?" the stocky Hopewell said with a wry smile. "I'm in the big leagues, now."

That got the college coach's attention. "You're with the national now?!" he nearly yelped. "Why didn't you say so before?!"

At this point, a large, well-muscled, solidly-built, clearly strong, almost-graceful young man walked over. He moved assuredly, stood at a few inches over six feet, was probably close to three hundred pounds, and looked like he could pull a truck with him if he so desired.

The college coach turned to him. "Honorius, this is Frank Hopewell, here to see you. Coach Hopewell, this is Honorius Waalturs, quite possibly the best defensive player to step onto our field."

Honorius was somewhat modest by nature, and it seemed his confidence slipped a little on hearing such praise. Or he might have simply been embarassed. "Not the best, Coach. Maybe third best," he said with a small, amused smile. "Let's not mis-represent the facts to Coach Hopewell."

Honorius raised an eyebrow, fixing Hopewell with that same, amused grin and a raised eyebrow. "So what can I do for the city of Antioch today, Coach?"

"Not the city, son. I'm gonna ask what you can do for the country."

Honorius' eyes widened. "You mean..."

"I'm gonna ask you to join the Volunteers, Honorius. Coach Vaalburger himself said he'd like to see you wearing the orange, blue and grey."

Honorius' jaw dropped. "When can I try out?"

Hopewell reached into his pocket, rummaged for a moment, and pulled out a small card and an airplane ticket. "You can meet us in Thomasburg for training camp. And I think Coach Vaalburger wants to interview you specifically."

Holding the ticket and the note like holy relics, Honorius nodded, looked at the papers, back at both coaches, and nodded again, now looking back towards the practice field. "Well, then, sir, can I get back to practice? An' I'll see you in a week?"

Frank nodded. "Sounds fair, Mister Waalturs. Congratulations."

=======================================================================================

Present

The meeting was in Thomasburg. That much, Vaalburger had insisted on. True to that coach's words four years previously, Honorius had turned out to be one of the best defensive ends anywhere. Even in the world, as the last two World Bowls had shown. He'd outdone an already stellar performance in World Bowl 10 with an even better one in World Bowl 11. And the people of Rennidan, watching their Brutes fall once again, had noticed.

More to the point, the scouts from a newly-forming Rennidanian league had noticed. Which was why now Frank Hopewell, Honorius Waalturs (Defensive End), Andy Latimer (Quarterback), Kiel Duskarr (Wide Receiver), and Theodur Laansur (Defensive Tackle) were all standing in the clubhouse in the Federal Steel Field Stadium Complex, preparing to meet with Rennidanian domestic gridiron league representatives. And why Staphan Vaalburger was about to do the unthinkable. He was about to eat his own words.

In retrospect, the Volunteers system had worked rather well. But the team's loyalty to the country and each other had been more than cemented over the course of two runs to the playoffs. And the restrictive rules were starting to cause internal conflict among some of the players. So he would relax them, in order to give the needed flexibility to continue attracting talent to the team. He didn't like it, but that had little to do with it. Sometimes, Coaches didn't like what they had to do. But it needed to be done.

So they waited for their Rennidanian counterparts to arrive.

[Rennidan]

"I had a friend one time, at least I thought I did/Taken that man in my house, give him my food/Over my table, that I couldn't afford."

Blues. Something about the depressive nature of the music soothed Owen Powis.

"He come to me, he said "Johnny, ain't got no place to stay"/I said "Yes man, come to my house"/I get you a place to stay, and a bed to sleep in/That I couldn't afford."

Lyrics detailing struggle, being a member of the downtrodden. It was like listening to his biography.

"When I found out, you with my wife/Now I'm mad, like Al Capone/Well I warned you one time/Next time I warn you/I'm gonna use my gun on you/cause I'm mad with you/hahaha."

And right now, against his will, and somewhat out of a sense of curiosity, Owen Powis was arriving with six other Rennidanians into the heart of Thomasburg, the soul of the Allemannic States, a city bustling with a little over 2 million hard working citizens, to an arranged meeting involving foreign trades.

"Take this man, right down by, the riverside/I might drown you/I might shoot you/I don't know."

Foreign trades involving the new sleek and shiny Rennidanian Gridiron League. Something that stood for everything Powis stood against.

"Gonna tie your hands/Gonna tie your feet/Gag you so you can't talk to nobody."

Capitalism, order, rules, regulations, profit. But, Owen Powis knew it was already out of his hands. The idea of playing abroad for a wage had perked the interest of his star players. Sure, they had looked elsewhere to start with (and when Secristan was found on one players internet auto-fill, he received a quick slap upside the head), but in the end a reluctant Powis offered them advice as to where they should test the waters. He had sensed a turning point in the sporting traditions of the Allemannic States. Starting with hockey and lacrosse, the sports organizations here were loosening up. The next logical step was the Fanboyist's greatest sport; gridiron.

"I'm mad/I'm mad with you/You're sinkin', I'm mad."

"Mister Powis, we're here sir."

_______________________

The Federal Steel Field Stadium Complex had a certain beauty to it. It was well designed. Simple, but it showed the hard graft its builders had put into it. The six Rennidanians, four of which had never been this side of a field in a stadium, admired the handiwork as they were escorted swiftly through the metallic halls. Brandt Fox and Baxter Dwight, the two fresh faced defensive linemen who had already made a status for themselves on the world stage both came from a long line of metal workers and builders. Friends since childhood, they'd often spent weeks at a time with their fathers on building sites.

The elevator up towards the clubhouse wasn't exactly the most comfortable of journeys. Once all six Rennidanians plus their Fanboyist escort were on board and the top button pressed, there was a moment of lurching, juddering and groaning. It wasn't a fault on the elevators behalf, merely a fault on the escorts for choosing to cram three linemen (two active, one retired) into the elevator at once. A look of dread set upon his face, and during the thirty second vertical journey it's entirely possible his life may have flashed before his eyes. When the elevator reached its destination and its doors slid open, both it and the escort seemed to let out a sigh of relief as the Rennidanians piled out.

First to exit was Brandt Fox. The largest lineman on the Brutes defence, Fox was Powis' protégé, his name was already being uttered in hushed tones by quarterbacks world wide. Closely behind him was Baxter Dwight, not quite of the same physical stature, but still a force to be reckoned with. His verbal callouts and insults installed The Fear into most backfield players he encountered, meaning his mind games were almost as good as his footwork.

Out like a flash afterwards was Ceadda Kir. The boy from nowhere who grew up in a crack den, making runs from one side of the city to the other in record time as a child to appease his horrific father, was the best scorer in Rennidan's short history of gridiron. In his fresh Nike Airs, his £300 jeans and a tank top to show off his muscle-bound body and his carefully crafted tattoos, Kir was your typical Cinderella story of a boy with a bad past growing up into a man with a good future.

Then followed Dana Graw. The troublesome lad was only twenty-one, making him the baby of the Brutes, but the years in juvie and prison meant that Graw had had to grow up, fast. He wasn't shy to take a hard hit for the good of the team, nor was he scared to make one. There was nothing refined about this boys playing style, he was raw power and raw talent.

Next came the only two there to not be affiliated with the Brutes. Atilio Julio was the new head coach of the Arcorsis Blitz, a team already gearing up a stellar roster of athletic talent. Raised in Sarzonia after losing his parents to an automobile accident, Julio had a good eye for "gridball", and played quite successfully as a MLB in Sarzonia's high school leagues. Now though, at the age of 53, he's hung up the shoulderpads and is looking to guide a new generation of defence along. His fierce eyes instantly met with Honorius Waalturs', and a warm smile appeared on his worn face. Next to him walked Gavin Leo, a native to Inia and the first choice to coach the Inia Guards. Leo was the son of a wealthy politician who had chosen to take it upon himself to earn a way in life. He was instrumental in the development of the
RGL, and was happy to be out of his office and in a new country. His interests lay in acquiring both a new quarterback and a wide receiver who already had a successful partnership dynamic. He believed Andy Latimer and Kiel Duskarr were exactly what he needed.

And last, but certainly not least, came the biggest of the six gentlemen. In a well tailored suit, almost failing to make it through the double doored elevator, and with a slight rumble to his step, came the Iron Brute himself, the defensive lineman who had made Rennidans one and only World Bowl victory entirely possible...

Owen Powis.

"Gentlemen. It's a pleasure."

[The Fanboyists]

[OoC: I just realized how text-dense this post is. I can trim it down if you'd like, for ease of reading.]

He'd been a lineman himself, all those years ago. Staphan Vaalburger still remembered it fondly. He'd played as well as any lineman in the Fanboyist league. And that said a lot. Fanboyist linemen were good. It was a point of pride. They weren't always the biggest, fastest, or strongest, but they were usually the best overall. Pit a Fanboyist lineman against, say, a Secristani one, or maybe a Dagan one, a Sarzonian one, and most certainly Qazian ones, and they'd come out on top. Sure, they might get beaten every now and then on a play. But it didn't happen often, and it wasn't something that happened twice in a row.

Vaalburger had been one of the best. You wouldn't think so now, since fourty-odd years had passed since then, and the entire world he'd played in was gone. Democracy was here now, the nation was (largely) at peace. Wages had increased. And that goddamn offensive 'spread' had spread like a pandemic.

Which, he figured, was partially why someone wanted Kiel Duskarr. Duskarr had, over the last two World Bowls, proven as reliable a receiver as any. And in Fanboyist circles, that meant a lot. The fans in general respected a reliable player over a flashy superstar. Hence why on the national team, Haanryk Stahlburg, with his consistant 4-yard runs (except when getting more) and ability to break tackles had proven to be a fan favorite. It was why the QB Dane Zacks hadn't really been respected until an elbow and shoulder injury took him down a few pegs, only for him to bounce back.

Reliability? Highly valued. Playmakers? Also highly valued. Reliable Playmakers? Adored. Arrogant superstars? Mocked.

Powis had been quite right that the Fanboyist league was different from other nations'. Some other nations (and the world, much to the Allamunnae's dismay) protected quarterbacks. Here, though, linemen were protected. All but the most blatant unnecessary roughness penalties (including, alas for some of the Brutes' styles, blatant attempts at injury as 'blatant') were ignored. Holding calls were an oddity. There practically was no such thing as 'block-in-the-back'. And delayed hits were something that, within a second or so of the QB releasing the ball, you could get away with.

Naturally, the Brutes were one of a handful of World Bowl teams that were genuinely respected here. Dancougar had pulled it off, Cassadaigua had earned it as well. Qazox, in a loose sense, had earned it. Secristan, much as it was in the case for the Brutes, had utterly failed to earn that respect. Their defensive line was mocked ("ONE sack? Is that the best you can do?" gleeful fans had shouted). Their offensive line looked at as paper (allowing eight sacks will do that for your reputation). Their quarterback was viewed as a rich prick who'd been handed everything in life. And so on.

The very build of the stadium would tell them a lot about the nation they had entered. No frills. The Federation was probably one of a very few where an entire people took that view. They cared far more about the fact that the stadium had been well-constructed, and would likely stand the test of time, barring human intervention. That was what mattered to them. Their approach to the gridiron was more or less the same.

Honorius stood behind him, along with Duskarr, a receiver who'd come from the lower middle class. As a Skraeling, one of that large minority, things hadn't been as easy as they could have been. Because his family hadn't been improvished, things hadn't been as hard as they could have been either, but he'd taken the right lessons from life. You dealt with what was handed to you, and you did the best you could with it. And you could always, always improve yourself. He'd taken it to heart. And if he wasn't a flashy receiver, he was a workman-like one who got the job completed as well as you could ask for, and occasionally reminded the odd cornerback exactly why they were supposed to try to get interceptions instead of make tackles after the catch. He played physically, like every Allamunnic player.

Honorius, everyone knew about. Another Skraeling, his was a (sadly) pretty typical story for his background in the seedier areas of Skarrsboro; his mother had been an alcoholic, his father had been killed when he was young (during one of the many insurgencies by Communist forces), and he'd basically been raised by his uncle, Fraansik. The gridiron had been his ticket out of a crappy life, and he'd made good on it, helping to fund his mother as she recovered, and to help his uncle get out of an area of the city where diseases and such were rampant. And, more to the point, made generous donations to help clean up that block of the city, helping to run one of the soup kitchens in his spare time. Which was why, up until the offer came from the Blitz, he'd been considering going home to join the Skarrsboro Rebels, so he'd be close to home and could continue the activity. But the Blitz offered more money, and so he knew he'd be able to send more back home. More to help clean up his home, one block at a time. For all that he was a destructive menace on the field, Honorius was practically a puppy off it, for all the violence he displayed.

Andy Latimer came from a lower middle-class family like Kiel, but the distinction in Andy's case was that his family had moved up in the time since he'd been born, and partially because of him; Andy had worked multiple jobs in high school, and had only been able to play gridiron his junior and senior years. He had helped his family pay off the crippling debt it had aquired in two generations of bad financial choices, and they were able to start looking ahead to a good future. It helped that he was able to then earn himself a scholarship to a well-regarded school. Andy's first thought had always been at getting a normal job; gridiron was what he loved, but he never thought he would be able to contineu it past the college level. It was up for debate as to why he had been recruited. He was a lot like the Volunteers' starting quarterback, only with less experience and with slightly more gun-slinger tendencies. But he wasn't flashy, he wasn't a late-game hero. He was reliable, and he did his job. Did it well, often enough, but nothing to really distinguish himself from dozens of other quarterbacks.

And then there was Theo Laansur. Oh yes, there was Laansur.

Laansur was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the largest Fanboyist defensive lineman out there. That was a lineman still playing in college, Johan Holmstrom. That guy was 6'8" and over 380 lbs. Theo was smaller than that. But not by much. At 6'8" and almost 370lbs, one had to wonder how he still ran. But the fact of the matter was, he was actually quite fast for a guy his size, and his immense height meant that he was actually surprisingly trim for a man that weighed close to 370 pounds. Not thin by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn't look like a barrel. He just looked like a huge guy.

His story was also a pretty typical one for the Skraeling lower or lower-middle class. The way he had narrated it once "Dad was a soldier in Syria. Mum was a nurse. Three guesses how they met," he had snarked. The fact was, his family was actually well-respected in his community; his father and mother had both given distinguished enough service in the military that they'd been given the General's Commendation from Generalissimo Grimmeberger himself. Given that Grimmeberger had officially restored the Skraelings' 'till-then repressed rights in 1981 as his first act after taking power, this was tantamount to getting an award from the King or Queen themself in other countries. Theo had then grown up trying to emulate his parents, aiming to enroll in the military academy. As well as he did in school, and given his physical prowess, he had succeeded, and he had played gridiron there. And in his spare time, he had run a program to help the less-fit cadets get into shape, with the Academy's blessing.

The fact was, he'd done such a good job of that, and had brought in so much revenue, that he was offered an honorable discharge from his obligation to go play gridiron professionally. He agreed, including to the stipulation that he would help with recruitment drives by the Army for three years. He carried this out quite well, naturally. He had also formed a deep friendship with Honorius in their two World Bowls working together, and they'd agreed when they got offers from Rennidanian teams, that they would try to get onto the same team.

The Brutes were the polar opposites, and for that, they were much admired. So, with a smile and small salute (Allamunnic customary greeting, of course) Vaalburger preceded to extend his hand to Powis.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mister Powis," he said with a small smile. "I'm afraid we've never had the privelage of playing against y'all in the World Bowl." He turned to the six Brutes that had accompanied him. He nodded to each of them, extended his hand to shake theirs, and added "And it's an honor to meet each of you as well. We've always watched y'all play in the World Bowl, and liked what we saw. Y'all have made as good a team as there's ever been anywhere." He gave a wry smile, because that's just the sort of person he was. "Though, if I may let my nationalist sympathies shine through a little, I think we might just be a little better."

He gestured to some of the representatives with him. "This is Frank Hopewell, our defensive coordinator on the national team, and the man who recruited Honorius to us. There's the players, who you may already know, and, if I'm not mistaken, there are representatives from a few of the domestic league teams here, along with a few of their players. Over there," (he pointed to his left) "is Coach O'Donnel from the Wilsonville Monitors, and with him is Shawn Roday, their best current runningback, and Charlie Ulfson, their quarterback. Then there" he pointed further inwards in the line now "is John Cole, the head coach from the Antioch Titans. And with him there is Joe Daniels, the hero of two Federal Bowls, and Ryan Brennan, one of the linebackers on the Titans." He gestured behind him to his right. "There's the representative of the Tripoli Pirates, John Olson. And..." He was dissapointed, and a little saddened to see no players from the Pirates. Evidently, Olson had thought none were good enough representatives to help in this venture. And that made Vaalburger sad. The Pirates were the most perennially-tormented team besides the Saints, and the Saints it was as much a symptom of their central role in the community as anything. The Pirates didn't even have the same community support. Good luck, Mister Graw. You'll need it if you're going to throw in with them, he thought.

He then gestured farther to his right. "And then there's the representative of the Ironmongers. And yes, we kept him far from Mr. O'Donnel for a reason. I don't want any fights here." He gave another of his wry smiles at that. The Monitors-Ironmongers rivalry was famous, quite possibly internationally. It was what happened when you got two of the most consistantly strong gridiron powers together and told them to duke it out, with two of the most rabid fan bases in existence. "The Slug-Out" as it was called, was practically a national event.

And, seeing this Rennidanian talent standing before them, they were all very pleased. And, in the case of all of them, because they were experienced coaches that knew a good unit when they saw it, impressed.

[Rennidan]

(OoC: I think with so many characters involved, these things are bound to get text heavy, unless we just take it one or two offers at a time.)

Powis grinned widely, showcasing the golden tooth he had found on the floor at a Dancougar game. It seemed that the Allamunnics had accumulated a great wealth of talent and power. And this Vaalburger, well, he was a man Powis once looked up to as an example, and now stood alongside as an equal. "Who knows what the next World Bowl will bring though. The Brutes may face the Volunteers soon enough." With another grin he gripped Vaalburger's hand firmly. "If you wouldn't mind Mister Vaalburger, I'd like to have a quiet word with you briefly. It may seem rude to leave the party so soon, but I think it's fair to say there's things both of us need to get off our chests. And they're things I'd rather discuss away from the players and representatives." The Brute players barely batted an eyelid to their coach's wishes of privacy. The two visiting domestic coaches, however, shared a look of worry. Atilio Julio, however, shared a worried look with Leo, and stepped towards Powis.

"Owen, I think it wisest to--"

"Atilio, please." The hulking mass of Powis turned gently towards the ageing coach. "You've already talked my players into signing over their mind, body and soul, at least offer me the decency to talk with my counterpart on the matter in private." The Blitz coach went to open his mouth again, but Powis merely rose his hand. His skin was rough, as you'd expect a man of graft's to be. Not a single finger was set straight, each had various kinks and twists to them, and dull scars ran down the length of each and every one. Truly the hand of a Brute. It was enough to silence the commanding aura of Julio, allowing Powis to turn back to Vaalburger. "Shall we?"

___________

The dispute between his international manager (and idol) and the top coach of an up-and-coming league held little intrigue for Ceadda Kir. The boy from a broken home had already spotted his target. Coach O'Donnel, head coach of a team with perhaps one of the best rushing systems in the world. The grindhouse mentality, the emphasis on utilizing your linemen, it was everything Kir wanted from a team, and more. The experience to work alongside the Thomas O'Donnel was something he couldn't pass up on. Unfortunately for Kir, it would seem his main competition had tagged along; Shawn Roday. Kir knew Roday was one of the finest running backs in the business, Coach O'Donnel wouldn't hire any less. He was a man who knew a gain of four yards was the best thing you could get for a team consistently. Kir shared the same view point, but what he brought to the table was the brutally physical play that made him the world-class athlete and the key member of the Brutes he was. And of course, alongside Roday stood the talented Charlie Ulfson. A quarterback on a running team may seem useless to some, but on a team like the Monitors, everyone had their part to play. Faked hand offs, reverse pivots, screen dumps, and a frantic scramble for that third and two. A quarterback on a team like this was just as important as the running back. It was important for Kir to get Ulfson on his side here today.

Walking up to the Monitor representatives, Ceadda Kir grinned boyishly and held out his hand to O'Donnel. For a man aiming to land his contract of a lifetime, Kir wasn't exactly dressed to impress. Then again, Brutes weren't ones for dressing up their appearances.

"Coach Thomas O'Donnel. It is an honour, man."

[The Fanboyists]

Vaalburger nodded, with a grin. "That'll be the match to watch, I'll reckon." On hearing Powis' request to speak privately, he nodded again, now somber. "Absolutely. I do think there are a few things we need to talk about." He gave a pointed look to the Rennidanian coaches; he knew the Allamunnic ones wouldn't even bother; he'd established a working relationship, that basically amounted to "you don't bother us during our turf, I won't bother you on yours." It worked out quite well, actually, and he'd actually made friends with a number of the coaches, and there was plenty of mutual respect. If he made it a point to say "Don't bother us, this is private," well then they damn-well wouldn't bother them.

So he did turn back and looked to O'Donnel, and, more to the point, O'Neal, who had insisted on the Ironmongers, Boilermakers and Steelers being represented, even if they had little stake in the whole thing. It was their facility to use, after all, held in common by the city of Thomasburg.

He mouthed to the Ironmongers' representative "Private," to which O'Neal nodded, indicating his understanding. They wouldn't be bothered.

Turning back to Powis, Vaalburger walked with him over to the room where they could speak completely freely.

On entering the room, Staphan assumed an at-ease position, not unlike the military one. Not unlike many Allamunnae and Skraelings, Vaalburger defaulted to certain habits he'd picked up during his stint in the military (which most had, seeing as it was heavily encouraged). Certain postures were among those.

After a moment's pause, he spoke.

"You're worried about them, aren't you?" It was as much a statement as it was a question.

=======================================================================================

O'Donnel, for his part, had done his share of film-watching. He'd heard that Ceadda Kir was a fan of his, and that he was interested in joining the team. Smiling warmly, O'Donnel extended his own hand and shook firmly. "Mr. Kir, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot of great things about you, both about your on-field skill and your commitment to your team. Here with me are our quarterback, Charlie Ulfson" --here he gestured to Ulfson, who was himself a rather large quarterback. The Federation had a number of those-- "and our current main running-back, Shawn Roday." Roday, by contrast, was smaller, lighter, and had the look of someone who had a good degree of strength behind them, but was primarily a jack-of-all-trades. Both the players extended hands, and shook Ceadda's hand firmly.

He had been impressed, in point of fact. There was very little that anyone could not be impressed with on that long set of game-film. Sheer power...there was very little of that left on the team's actual running-back corps; the original three backs that had been there when he'd taken over the team had been replaced by one (Roday had replaced a retiring Sam Rolfe), and he had watched it gradually decrease, until Roday was the only one left. Oh, to be sure other backs had stepped up into the places: the Monitors ran by committee, always, but none of them had the same power that James Phillips had. Shawn had filled in well as an every-down back, but the wear on him might start showing at any time, because of the work load.

So, he began explaining things to the prospective player. He had caught some of the glances at Roday.

"I presume, Mr. Kir, that you are at least somewhat familiar with how we run things in Wilsonville? [i]We run by committee. Going on the assumption you make the team, and I think that is a pretty fair assumption to make, you and Shawn, and Charlie, will share carries and time on the field. The point, you probably know, is to make sure none of you takes more wear than strictly necessary, so that you are all able to play at peak capacity. We aim for a championship every year, and so it's critical that everyone is as healthy as humanly possible. You are completely aware of all this?" he said, simply to confirm. Ceadda was, he could tell, by no stretch of the imagination unintelligent, but he'd had the unfortunate cases every now and then of having to discipline an arrogant running-back who thought they would be taking all the carries, so he saw no reason not to play it safe here. Risk taking was good, sometimes, but there were cases when it was just a dumb thing to do.

[Rennidan]

Upon entering the room, the hulking mass of Owen Powis fell to lean against one of the (hopefully) sturdy walls. The military nature of Vaalburger's natural stance was somewhat disconcerting for the anti-establishment Rennidanian Brute, but he wasn't about to let his social philosophies ruin a chance to converse with one of his old icons.

His fierce features drifted into a frown for a moment after the Fanboyist spoke, but his pokerface fell back into place soon after.

"You mean to say you're not?" Powis' eyes met with Vaalburger's and he shook his head. "These are my boys. I've seen them grow up, and I've tried to raise them to be the Brute ideal. I'm sure you saw the conflict I had with that pigheaded Secristani scumbag last World Bowl. You know what the Brutes are supposed to stand for. And yet here we are. Gearing up to dot the t's and cross the i's so my boys can play for a wage."

The ex-lineman let out a long sigh and bowed his head. It was clear he was uncomfortable in this setting, in that suit. His head shook once more.

"Still, my problems lie with the Rennidanian government, suddenly splurging their money on good ol' football after all these years of ignoring us. They weren't there for us when I lifted that trophy in the second World Bowl, but they figure there's a profit to be turned now, after all these years." His scarred hands anxiously twisted the World Bowl ring on his finger. Who would have thought it, the great Owen Powis, nervous?

"I'm just happy I could steer them towards playing hear, Vaalburger. I'm just happy they'll be playing in a nation I can respect."

________________________

Ceadda sucked the wind through his teeth after Coach O'Donnel laid down the groundwork. He'd had a small gap between his two front teeth for as long as he could remember, and that gentle hissing sound was something of a comforter for the powerful runningback.

"I won't deny that it'll be hard not being the only runningback, Coach. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some hotshot, ol' big-headed, arrogance personified style superstar, it just the fact that the last two years I've been the only runningback the Brutes have had. I'm sure I can get down with the whole sharing-the-load thing, heck it'll probably be nice knowing I've got some good men watchin' my back, but it'll just take some gettin' used to, y'know?"

The young RB then turned his attention to the two player reps of the Monitors.

"And how 'bouts you two? Honest opinions of you guys possibly takin' me on board?"

[The Fanboyists]

"Oh, I'm not sure 'worried' is quite the best word for how I feel about this...you need to understand that I haven't been involved with the National team here for as long as you've been one of the Brutes. Am I concerned for these young, and, in some cases, not-so-young men and women who've been given into my care, to lead to the field of battle against other nations, so to speak? Absolutely. Worried? I know the coaches that they're choosing to affiliate with, Owen. They're good people. They're coaches who's concern is not the bottom line, but on making sure that the game is played in the way that it deserves to be played: well. So I've made my peace with it; I'll keep watch, to be sure, to make sure that their well-being is being looked after, but I trust these coaches to do what I've done the last five years. Thomas O'Donnel's father was an old friend of mine, and I've watched him grow up, and I know that Thomas is someone who looks after the players in the Monitor's organization."

He paused for a moment. "I think it's also important to realize that the teams here aren't privately owned. They're civic organizations, literally; the city governments are responsible for their operation, meaning they're run in a lot of ways like a non-profit organization; the players are looked after, as well as every member of the team's organization, down to the waterboys. And while I've seen the Federal government in days where I wouldn't trust it to throw a barbicue, much less run a team, those days have been gone for the better part of three decades. I watched the last corrupt leader we had being deposed. So, quite simply, I trust the men and women into whose care the players step into. They trust me, as well, and they all know that if anything happens to them in the way of exploitation, being left out to dry, or being cheated in any way, I will personally come after them. And just because I'm a crochety old man doesn't mean I can't still lay a whipping on someone."

He cracked a small smile. "And if I get wind that any of your boys are receiving that same treatment, I'll lay a whipping on the managers, too. I'll be on the watch. Things ain' perfect here, but they're a lot more fair than other places. Secristan comes readily to mind, actually. And those coaches know it. No funny business. I give you my word."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

O'Donnel nodded, smiling. "That's great to hear, actually. I'd be a little worried if you'd said otherwise. All we expect from you is that you do your best to adjust to that. I'm sure you know it already, but I'll just say that it really is a team effort here; the ball doesn't move an inch unless everyone's on the same page."

Shawn, for his part, grinned. "Ah, sure. It'll be great to have someone else helping carry the load. An' I've seen you play, before. The 'Mongers are gonna be screwed this year, if I've got your back and you've got mine. So, personally? Can't wait 'till you suit up with us."

Charlie, for his part, shrugged and gave similar wry grin. "Assuming you can take a handoff well, we'll get along just fine," he said with a chuckle. "All kidding aside, though, exactly what Shawn said. You'll be a very good addition to the team. Fuck the Ironmongers. They're screwed next time we play 'em."

[Rennidan]

A sly smile cracked a glimpse of the golden canine tooth under the Brute's dark and beaten lips.

"Man, if I hear that your managers are mistreating my boys, I think you'll end up being the least of their concern when they hear 'bout some crazy ol' Rennidanian coot hijacking a boat just to get over here to show them what's what."

The cheeky smile turned into a sincere one, and after a moments consideration, Powis nodded.

"Okay, Vaalburger. I can accept your word. You're a good man, and I know you know lying to me is more trouble than it's worth. I'm just basing my opinions off of my past experience with the government. I still think this league in Rennidan is too good to be true, but if it's going to bring gridiron to the people... I can throw my weight behind it. And if my boys are gonna' be setting up a more permanent residence out here, I might just hafta' look into getting myself a nice holiday house over this way, y'know? I could get used to the potato beer and the meat hash pies or whatever it was we got served at the airport."

With a slow and steady shift of his weight, Powis rocked forwards off of the wall, an event similar to watching a boulder slowly edge its way towards the precipice you're stood beneath. He offered his hand to the Fanboyist legend. A sign of respect, and a mark of a mutual understanding. Before Vaalburger could shake though, the trademarked cheeky grin highlighted Powis' features yet again.

"Hell, I might even look into picking myself up a coaching position if it's possible. I hear the Tripoli Pirates need all the help they can get."

__________________________

Ceadda Kir grinned and bounced slightly from foot to foot. He slapped his palm into Shawn's and pulled him in close before releasing.

"Ahaaa, yeah man, that's what I'm talkin' about! Fuck the 'Mongers, man. As soon as I see me some paperwork, I'm gonna' put my mark on it and we're gonna' get it done." The exuberant runningback then caught Coach O'Donnel's hand and pulled him in close too. "Coach O'Donnel, it's an honour man, a real honour."

__________________________

Atilio Julio, the Rennidanian/Sarzonian crossbreed coach, pocketed his scraps of paper after quickly going back over the offers his board of management were willing to lay down to get Honorius and Theo Laansur on board for the Arcorsis Blitz. The well-aged 53 year old eyed up his prospective players and, with a confident smile, moved to engage them.

Julio himself was a large man. Six feet, four inches when he played in the Sarzonian high school league, he now stood at a sturdier six foot two, the result of having two discs in his back removed following a clash with a group of muggers (needless to say he still walked away better off than his attackers). The "gridball" expert hadn't had an easy upbringing. With his parents very much wiped out of existence via an articulated truck, Julio was 'exported' at the age of four to Sarzonia to live with his uncle, a small-time business man and part-time linebacker for a weekend league. Some kind of talent obviously ran throughout the Julio family line, as before his uncle could blink, Atilio was stood next to him in the defensive backfield playing MLB. It wasn't long before the boy from Rennidan grew into the man from Sarzonia. He made a name for himself amongst the high school teams as something of a prodigy. Unfortunately (for Sarzonia), Julio left before the international team could snap him up, wanting to live a simpler life back in the land of his ancestors. But simple is never an option in Rennidan. Almost thirty years after arriving back to his home nation, the ex-linebacker was at the head of what could soon become the most successful domestic team in the country. Julio had put on some pounds in his later years, the once solid body had grown slightly podgy around the waist, but from his handshake alone you could tell the man still had the fire inside of him. His counterpart for the day, however, was a different beast altogether.

Gavin Leo. Millionaire, playboy, part animal. Words that, five years ago, would have described this immaculately dressed individual. However, half a decade ago, Leo's life hit a crossroads. He was presented with two options; continue living on 'daddy's' expenses and cause havoc amongst the nations tabloids, or cut himself away from his family completely and make it on his own.

If you can't tell which he chose, then let me point out that the 5,000GK suit he's wearing was purchased with his own money.

Slipping his uPhone SG6 into his pocket after making sure he'd memorized his final offers, the pretty boy who'd started to show a more rugged quality to his looks stepped forwards alongside Atilio towards the four Fanboyist athletes.

Honorius and Laansur were the main concern of the Arcorsis Blitz, Andy Latimer and Kiel Duskarr were the concern of Leo's team, the Inia Guards. Leo and Julio had agreed that, to start with, they'd address the gathered Fanboyist players together, before moving on with their own individual agendas.

"Gentlemen," Atilio called as he stepped up to the plate, his voice a soothing blend of the somewhat Spanish/Australian sounding Rennidanian accent with a hint of his old Sarzonian dropped into the mix. "Gentlemen... My name is Atilio Julio. I am here to represent the Arcorsis Blitz, a team gearing towards being the dominant defensive force in the Rennidan Gridbal--," he caught himself quickly and wiped his colloquial error away with a smile. "Forgive me, a team gearing towards being the dominant defensive force in the Rennidan Gridiron League. And this here--"

"And this here is Gavin Leo." The Inia Guards coach thundered with a Cheshire grin as he gestured to himself. His accent was thicker than most, but was about right for the area of Rennidan he represented. "Andy Latimer, Kiel Duskarr, Theodur Laansur and Honorius Waalturs. You gentlemen are the first four athletes of the Federal Republic of Allemannic States to have caught the eye of the Rennidan Gridiron League. And rightly so..."

Atilio Julio nodded. "You four are the top football players in the country according to our scouts. And after watching the game footage, I'm inclined to agree." His eyes locked onto Laansur and Waalturs. "Mister Laansur and Mister Waalturs, you have obviously heard the Blitz's initial offer. I'm hear to assure you that the offer is perfectly negotiable still, as well as to answer any queries you have about the team or the city that you will, hopefully, be living in soon enough."

Leo smiled at the two offensive players before him. "Andy and Kiel, I'm here for you. I'm here to talk numbers, but more importantly I'm here to help you guys out. If you have any concerns, don't be afraid to throw them at me. Yes, I'm here to recruit you, but at the end of the day I want what's best for you guys."

[The Fanboyists]

Vaalburger cracked a grin. "You don't know what kind of meat it was? Usually at the airport it's either beef or pork, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were deer, as many of the damn things as we've got around here. And I'm glad you like the potatoes, because that's pretty much what you'll be eatin' around here, at least for however long you stay. You'll be amazed at what can be done with a shit-load o' potatoes."

"I think you should take that up with Coach Cole. He's the Pirates' head coach, and I'm sure he wouldn't say no to any help they can get. The Pirates and the Saints are two of the most perpetually either mocked or pitied teams in the country. The Saints, I'm afraid, are a little more insular than the Pirates, but I'm sure that Cole and the organization in Tripoli wouldn't say no to a bit of help you can give them, particularly on defense," he stated, as he reached out to shake Powis' hand.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

O'Donnel obliged, and allowed himself to be pulled in.

"Amen to that. I can't say enough on how much I don't want to listen to Coach O'Neal bragging for another year." He looked at Charlie, then.

"Charlie, Ceadda, I'd watch what you say here, if I were you. This is the Ironmongers' stadium, technically. Well, as it is the Steelers and the Boilermakers, but it's principally the 'Mongers. Let's not piss off our hosts. We can talk trash about them later."

"Now, as for a deal..." he paused. "What would you say is fair compensation, Ceadda?" He was pondering what Ceadda would probably earn as an Allamunnic running-back; the figure was somewhere around F$750,000. The pay was, on average, higher in the Federal Republic than elsewhere for runningbacks and linemen. Maybe not for quarterbacks and receivers or safeties or their kin, but linebackers, linemen on both sides of the ball, and runningbacks usually had earned sufficient coin in a five or six year career (the shortest possible career) to retire fairly comfortably.

He did add his thoughts aloud. "The normal entry-level pay for a running-back in this league, for a highly-touted prospect or a skilled player is usually somewhere in the neighborhood of seven-hundred-fifty-thousand federal dollars. I'm not sure what that is exactly in Golden Krowns, but I think that's pretty solid. Consider that an entry-level salary, and then based on your performance, we can renegotiate over the next year. Does that sound fair to you?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Andy started cracking up at hearing "after watching the game footage." What game footage? he thought, amused. The amount of playing time I got at the last World Bowl could be counted in minutes, not quarters, and you hardly want to use college film at this level, he thought with amusement. And, in point of fact, he really wasn't the best Allamunnic quarterback out there. There were others (domestically, of course) with a lot more flash and pizzazz than him, and for sheer, determined reliability, Maarkus Daalhulm and some of the others in the league were far better. Leo would be taking him on a guess of his potential, in effect.

So, when Leo started speaking to him and Kiel specifically, he raised a hand, silly smile still on his face.

"I'm sorry, Coach, but are you sure you didn't mean some other quarterback? I mean, when exactly was the film you saw of me from? I could count on my hands the number of downs I played at the last World Bowl. I can understand Kiel, there, since he's as close to a bad-ass receiver as you get, but I'm sorry, but I'm still sort of in disbelief." The only other person they might have meant, he thought, was Maarkus Daalhulm, but Maarkus had opted not to sign a domestic league contract anywhere, and, along with Haanryk Stahlburg and the entire set of offensive linemen, had opted to work on their timing and smoothness in the interim period between Bowls, as had one or two of the other receivers.

Kiel, for his part, shrugged to Andy, and stated: "I think he meant you, Andy. There's plenty of potential there, just because you went DII in college and weren't exactly distinguished doesn't mean you aren't plenty good."

Andy looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "But Coach Leo here needs to know that if I'm the guy they're looking for, it's gonna be gamble." He looked at Gavin and said as much. "Coach, if you go with me, you'll be taking a gamble purely on whatever potential I've got. I'm not experienced, and I'm not the most talented individual, insofar as I'm any judge, so I'm just warning you."

[Rennidan]

After a quick bout of mental maths, the young Rennidanian powerhouse shook his head, grinning like a child being told he'd won a candy factory. "Coach, that's about six hundred and eighty thousand GeeKay, man. That's probably more than my family's earned in the last three generations. I'm not gonna' argue with a price like that, y'know?"

____________

Gavin laughed. He couldn't blame the young Allamunnic player for being a sceptic, but if there were going to be trust issues from the get go then perhaps this wasn't going to work out as the Inia coach had hoped.

"Andy. I've travelled almost half way across the world to be here, to meet with you in person. Do you honestly think I'd come this far to only wind up in the room with the wrong quarterback?" Gavin's teeth gleamed as he let loose an endearing grin.

"You're a good quarterback, Andy. Okay, you're not the best, but you're still young. You're certainly not Daalhulm, but he's not who I called this meeting with. I've seen many quarterbacks like you. They have a raw talent. They'll get picked up by a team, start at second string, which is fine by them because, hey, it means they'll get some rotation. They'll play a few drives over the next season or two, and then they'll go no further. They burn out before they had a chance to ignite. That's not what I want from you Andy. We're offering you the starting position because I know, with the right coaching, we can turn you into something more than a freshfaced QB. I've been gearing to set up the RGL for a long time now, I was sent out and about during the last World Bowl to see what talent there was we could pool. I saw two of your games; the 40-7 win over Orange-and-Blue and the less successful 33-3 loss to the Dagans. So I've certainly seen you in action, at your worst and your best. You've already got a good feel for controlling the rushing game, and we've lined up Salvador McKenzie to start at running back. He's not a well known name, but he's on plenty of BruTube videos doing his thing in the parking lots of Rennidan, and rumour has it he may even be coming in over Kir for the Brutes this year."

The smartly dressed Rennidanian then motioned to Kiel.

"And if we get Kiel on board at receiver you'll be well within your depth range. I am taking a gamble bringing you on, but I have faith in the decisions you'll make, and I'm hoping you'll have the same faith in my plans. Short passes and devastating runs, as well as some calm play calling from you, and I think we might just be able to build one of the best offensive franchises for a few years to come around you guys."

Gavin smiled and threw a look at Atilio. "Certainly good enough to take on anything Arcorsis Blitz have to throw at us."

[The Fanboyists]

O'Donnel looked a little surprised. While the wage for running-backs and linemen and linebackers was a little higher than it was elsewhere...the entry level wage was supposed to be fair and negotiable, not something to strive for. He realized at this point that even the most abjectly poor of the Allamunnic players probably were, on any given day, better off than the average member of the Rennidanian working poor.

"Understood, then, Ceadda. But all the same, after your first year, it's negotiable, and it's usually negotiable in the upward direction, in most cases. I'm afraid it's not as much as you'd get in Secristan" -- and here Charlie and Shawn burst out laughing, saying things like "Secristan" and snorting with laughter -- "but it's been calculated out as a fair starting point if you're putting your body out there on the line. Our safety rules are a little laxer than some other leagues, but then, I guess you're probably used to that," he added with a smile.

"So," he said, pulling a piece of paper in an envelope out of his coat pocket, "I've got a contract here. Feel free to read it through, it's the whole page, front an' back. Yeah, our contracts aren't real text-dense here. The basic gist is that you agree to play for us for the next two years, the first year at F$750,000's wage, with the second year's salary negotiable based on performance, but starting at F$750,000. It also states that you are not required to abide by this contract's terms if a coaching change, a team-move, or if your contract is bought out, with your permission. It also notes that any health-insurance or medical care that you require because of an injury incurred on the job or while in our employ will be covered by the organization."

"And our contracts are a little less text-dense because of the fact that a large part of agreements are still made face-to-face, here, and certain understandings are usually not written down. As such, they are not legally binding, but you're name's not worth shit if you violate them. And so, I will make the following stipulations to you: on joining the team, you will be up for a spot in the starting rotation. Second, you'll be permitted to join the AGL's Player's Union, and I'd encourage your membership. There's not a whole lot the union and the league tend to disagree with, but I'd say it's better to be under that umbrella. It's totally voluntary, and you are permitted to leave at any time if you so desire," he added. With an inclination of his head, he then asked:

"Do you agree to these terms, Mister Ceadda Kir?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andy shrugged and grinned at that point. "Say no more, then, Coach. If I'm the guy you're lookin' for, I'll be the best damn quarterback you ever saw. I'm just not one to lead people astray, so I wanted to be sure you knew what you were getting with me. That said, if you're willing to take that gamble, I'm in." On hearing he could take anything the Blitz could dish out... He snorted again, this time almost derisively.

"Please. I've been taking Honorius and Theo's hits in practice for the last three years. If I can survive that, I'm as sturdy a QB as you'll find anywhere."

Kiel shrugged. "An' if you don't have a pass for me, I'll just HMF. Not like I don' have practice." He cocked an eyebrow at Leo. "If you wanted a combination...well, you got one, an' no endzone's gonna be safe with us around, sir."

[Rennidan]

"Hell, it'll be interesting to enter a league that actually has safety rules, sir." Ceadda smiled and a drew a (somewhat chewed) pen from his pocket. He took the envelope from O'Donnel, and set about reading the contract within. Coach wasn't lying when he said there was little to it, in fact the contractual agreement with the Brutes was probably a paragraph or two longer. The young runningback nodded his approval, and using the nearest wall as a writing desk, quickly made his mark upon the dotted line.

He waved the paper back to his new HC.

"Coach O'Donnel, I whole heartedly agree to those terms." He grinned wider than a bobcat could muster. "When do I start?"

__________________________________

"Well then, in which case, allow me to lay down the bare minimum offers. Originally, they stood at 460,000GC a year for two years for Andy, and 420,000GC a year for two years for Kiel. You'll be happy to know that the head honchos at the Inia Guards are willing to raise these minimum offers to 500,000GC a year for two years for you, Andy, and 480,000GC a year for two years for you, Kiel. That's F$550,000 and F$528,000 respectively. Now, I want you to know these offers are completely negotiable, that's why they seem so low. We're also permitted to talk about the bonuses that the RGL has allowed us to implement, such as a bonus amount per first down, per touchdown, per win. I believe the Eranias Stallions are even offering their quarterback fifteen Golden Crowns per yard made." Leo quirked a smile from the corner of his lips. "But that's the Stallions. They're an inbred, money hogging team of, excuse my colloquial usage, douchebags. They're the closest thing to a domestic version of Secristan we have, and they're not very popular amongst other teams."

__________________________________

Atilio Julio rounded himself to talk to his prospective players, his face blank apart from a slight curl to his lips.

"Theodur Laansur and Honorius Waalturs. Come, let's walk and talk. I wouldn't mind seeing some more of this fine stadium."

[The Fanboyists]

"Depends on what your definition for 'start' is. As of the moment that you signed that contract, you are a member of the Wilsonville Monitor's organization. As for when practice and the first minicamps, and by this I mean the first optional ones, not the first mandatory ones, you've got four weeks until then. We prefer all our players to at least have temporary lodgings in Wilsonville, so there's time for you to find a place to stay, wherever that might be, and to get yourself acquainted with the city."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, and added: "A couple members of the team's offense, Charlie and Shawn here included, run a couple sessions to get new recruits, both free-agents and draftees adjusted to our offense, which is uniquely run-driven, even by Allamunnic standards. And I mean that; a lot of teams here run the ball; they're practically the rule, not the exception, unlike in other places where airing it out seems to be the norm. I think you'll flourish here with us."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andy shrugged. "I've got no particular preference for payment; those are both around the league averages here, so whatever gets me on that field sooner is good with me."

Kiel laughed, and echoed the same sentiment. "Exactly. We'd just like to hit the pads ASAP. The big reason we're both doing this is because we're frankly sick of spending the two years between World Bowls just practicing and scrimmaging all the time. I'm pretty sure Andy feels the same way, but I wanna play."

They both laughed at the comments about the Stallions.

"Well, the Chargers here are sorta like that. There's one in every league, I guess," Andy said, laughing.

Kiel nodded. "Bloody rich bastards. Can we take 'em out first?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Honorius and Theo both nodded in agreement, and gestured towards a hallway to begin walking towards. When they saw Atilio following them, the began speaking.

"So, I hear you want us to play for your team?" Honorius asked, although it was as much a statement as a question.

Theo just looked, like a friendly, if impassive, giant.

[Rennidan]

Leo grinned, his teeth a brilliant white under the rooms lights.

"I have a feeling both of you will fit in just fine back home. The Guards are a Western Central team, The Stallions are a Western Outlying team, so we'll face them once every season. They play a show boating offensive style, as their head coach seems more interested in selling out their home games than actually getting points. Unfortunately their O-Line and their QB are shaping up to be the best in the league in terms of raw talent, for now anyway, so their laissez-faire coaching style isn't as much as a hindrance as the rest of us were hoping it to be. But I'm more than certain that if you decide to sign on we'll put them in their place. We play a hard-knocks, no-nonsense game of gridiron in Inia. We expect everything to be laid down on the line, and if you can't step up and give your fellow players the same amount of dedication and heart they're putting in, then you will be benched and, eventually, released. Both of you will be starting first string, and one hundred percent is expected. Mandatory practice starts in five weeks, although the training facilities are already open to the team. Most days you'll find some kind of scrimmage kicking off down there, so it'll be the perfect opportunity to get to know your peers. The Guards will also give you six months accommodation in a city centre apartment, giving you enough time to sort out a place of your own."

Leo opened his well-tailored jacket, pulling two thick envelopes from his inside pocket.

"Now, don't let the bulk of these contracts scare you. Rennidan has a strong artistic community, most of the pages are just pretty pictures extolling the beauty of our country. The actual contract itself is on the final five pages. There's nothing sneaky or counter-productive hidden in there, but I do advise you study them before you sign them. The jist of it is that you agree to a two year contract with us at the Inia Guards. That you understand the risks involved in playing in the Rennidanian Gridiron League and that you are either willing or unwilling to sign into the Union of Professional Rennidanian Gridiron Players of Domestic and International Stature. It's, uh, early days for the U.P.R.G... something something. We're hoping they'll change the name to something a bit less catchy."

_______________________

Atilio soon caught up with the lumbering giants before him. They certainly were faster off the line than he'd expected. As the Arcorsis Blitz headcoach moved to walk between the two, he began to take off his jacket.

"I do hope you'll excuse me. I've never been comfortable dressing up like this."

The jacket itself was a well-pressed Miretul button affair, something most of the upper-class in Rennidan would live in, taking it off only to bathe. Not Atilio though, he wasn't one for dressing the part. A pair of slacks and a baggy t-shirt would do him just fine. Today though he'd been surrounded by loud-mouthed, over-priced and under-educated PR people from the RGL. They'd told him what to wear and why he had to wear it, with him disagreeing at every step. He caved in eventually though when his wife, an elementary school teacher, caught him via video call as he stepped out of the changing room and declared that he looked "utterly charming". He could never disappoint the woman he loved, just as he could never disappoint the team he loved, so he stayed true to his word and wore the attire until he reached the meeting.

On the removal of his jacket, he revealed the short sleeved shirt and waistcoat that lay beneath it. Long sleeved shirts were unheard of during the Rennidan summer.

"Yes, Honorius, I would like you to play for my team. There's not a doubt in my mind that you two are the players I want and that the team needs. But that's all too specific for me to be talking about just yet. No point in raising walls if we haven't laid a sufficient grounding."

Atilio smiled. It was a kind smile that'd remind anyone of an aged lion. The grey was starting to move in to Atilio's hair, giving him the look of a distinguished professor, but the way he spoke and the way he moved told the clearer story of a far more brutal past.

"So yes, I would very much like you gentlemen to play for my team. But the burning question for me right now is this; do you gentlemen want to play in Rennidan?"

[The Fanboyists]

Andy and Kiel looked at each other and grinned.

"Commitment is our middle name." Kiel said with a grin. "Our mothers gave us the same middle name, how 'bout that?"

Andy then added: "Don't worry about us giving a hundred percent, coach; worry about how much more than that we'll give ya. You've got us there, running all the way. So we'll get things on that offense into high gear for ya." They were both extremely glad to hear about the opportunities to meed their teamates early on and to get used to the new surroundings and the systems.

Kiel made a great show of hefting the envelope. "Bloody huge compared to contracts here. You shoulda seen the one Coach O'Donnel was waving at Ceadda Kir over there. A page, front an' back. And I thought we were bureaucratic." He paused, opened the contract envelope up, and then read briefly. "Well, we'll wanna read through it completely, but I think those are terms we can agree to. Should we shake on it now? We'll have these signed within a few hours, just enough time to read through the whole thing and make sure there's nothing any bureaucrats or lawyers might have slipped in there without your knowledge."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theo shrugged. "I just wanna stick with Honnor, here. We've been like brothers, the last four years, so we'd rather not split up. But I can't speak for him, so..."

Honorius looked pensive. "You do know what I've been doing with my paychecks over the last four years, right, Coach?" He waited for a moment, and began to explain. "I've deducted living expenses to live fairly comfortably; probably F$80,000, so I can live pretty comfortably and get more or less whatever I want, much less what I need. The rest, the other F$400,000 that I'm given as compensation each year for playing with the National team, I donate to urban renewal of my home city of Skarrsboro; operating soup kitchens, shelters, rec centers, and the like. I'm real big on fixing up my home. So I want to know: will you all help me to that end? All I need to do is say, and I'd get a dozen offers from other teams back home that would let me stay close to home. Is there something you can do to help Skarrsboro? If you can help that city in some way, sir, you'll have me. I'll play anywhere. If it helps my people out. They've been dumped on enough by life. I'd like to end that for them."

[Rennidan]

Leo nodded, his trademarked smile engraved on his face.

"Gentlemen, I'd be more than happy to shake on it now. And if you do find anything in there you think I should know about, feel free to let me know and I'll make sure the person responsible goes through a world of pain for it."

He offered both hands at once to the Allamunnic players, his shake was firm and his purpose in the foreign country was nearly complete.

______________________________

The Sarzonia-raised Rennidanian stopped as Honorius finished his explanation. The three had been wandering down one of the long corridors on the outer-edge of the stadium, which meant there was a large panoramic view of the city to their side. Julio turned to look out through the window, resting his hands on the small, cold handrail that ran along the edge. His eyes followed the skyline, the eyes that were still so full of passion taking in all they could of this foreign land. He exhaled loudly and turned his head to look at the two hulking D-Linemen.

"I was told to raise our offers to 475,000GC a year for four years. That amount is roughly F$522,500 a year, and is upwardly negotiable after every year. If the price is unreasonable, say so. If the time is unreasonable, say so. As for Skarrsboro, Honorius, I know what it's like to send money back home. My uncle back in Sarzonia has Alzheimer's, and I'm currently donating enough to keep his carehome in the black. We'll see what we can do. We'll start by trying to get Arcorsis 'twinned' with Skarrsboro, that will make it easier to get Rennidanian contractors out to develop community outreach programs and build houses. Annual donations a little over 350,000GC should be possible, and that might even rise depending on how well you play for us." Julio's eyes caught Honorius'. "Think of it as incentive. The better you play, the better we can help your hometown. It might seem cheeky but I'm willing to put that offer there if it'll fire you up on the field a bit more."

[The Fanboyists]

Honorius smiled. "Actually, I think I might be able to do you one better. Do you think it would be possible to speak with the offices of the Skarrsboro Rebels to see if, maybe, a game for charity fundraising could be held? Perhaps something of an exhibition or post-season game between the Blitz and the Rebs, with proceeds going towards charity for the city?" As Julio made his proposition and offer, Honorius smiled. "Nonsense. That's a great idea. You find another means of giving me motivation, and I have a reason to do well on the field and help the city. I think that's quite fine. The pay itself doesn't even matter that much." He shrugged. "Them's conditions are fine for me. Theo's got his own terms, I'd imagine." He looked over to Theo, as he said so. As they stopped and looked out the window at the city, the immensity of Thomasburg was on display.

Thomasburg, in this part of the city, was largely commercial and light industrial. The soot that clouded parts of the areas of the city that had more heavy industry was vaguely visible, but wasn't particularly thick. Even then, the city had a certain haze to it, making it seem lightly overcast. The buildings themselves, if a little unpolished in many cases, were often adorned with murals, posters, graffiti (often of a more artful nature), and were clearly well-constructed. The roads were well-finished, and fairly wide, and a statue of Andrew Spivey, Sr., a famous gridiron player from the Federation who had played for the Thomasburg Ironmongers, was visible in front of the stadium complex.

Theo shrugged, and shook his head. "Basic pay is fine. Whatever you'll offer, I'm good with. I just want to play so that I don't spend an off-year simply running drills and scrimmages without playing an actual game. If you really want something to get my loyalty...match what you're doing for Honorius, donation-wise, and you'll have me locked in." He looked at him, and shrugged again. "I don't have a whole lot of needs."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John Olson was about to approach Dana Graw when a strong hand prodded him in the shoulder.

"Made it, Coach. Steve's on his way up, but he had to use the crapper."

In point of fact, Olson had asked two players from the Pirates to accompany him. Traffic had been bad, though, so they had run a little late.

Theo Grimm was a terrifying linebacker. He had, not long ago, been named "Defensive Player of the Year" in college, and had been "Defensive Rookie of the Year" the previous year in the pro's. It was sort of a shame that the Pirates weren't better, because they were actually not bad, defensively. But it teneded to not be enough; to say they hadn't been to a Federal Bowl in forever was an understatement. Grimm, though, had all that was necessary to get them there, defensively; he had run ridiculous 40's (for a linebacker), matched a combine record on the benchpress (repetition), had blown scouts away on the agility tests, and had turned out to be quite the field-general for defences. He had been offered two scholarships, one academic, one athletic. He had taken the athletic one, and given the academic one to a student in greater need. But, the point was, he had the brains to match the brawn.

In short, the ultimate counterpart to the captain of the offense on any team.

Following him up the stairs was a hulking offensive center. Steven O'Neal, in point of fact, the starting center for the Pirates. By all accounts, he was one of the most composed and reliable centers in the league; he hadn't bungled a snap in years, and he'd been playing gridiron since he was eight. He stood at about 6'4", and he was about 330 pounds. His speed was better than most linemen his size, and he was as strong as they came. And he didn't panic, and he made good reads, and could reliably coordinate the backs with the offensive line's protection. Not as smart as Grimm, but not a dumby, by any stretch of the imagination.

With the two players behind him, John Olson moved towards Graw, extending his hand. "Dana Graw? John Olson, head coach of the Tripoli Pirates. I hear you're interested in playing with us, maybe getting us to the next level?"

[Rennidan]

Julio turned back to the Thomasburg cityscape and chuckled. These two Allamunnic players weren't what he'd expected.

"You two gentlemen are one of a kind. I'm happy to organize a charity game, it's a genius idea. Who knows, it may even help kickstart the international domestic tournaments." Julio nodded and faffed about within his folded up jacket to produce two thick envelopes. Before he even motioned to hand them to the two waiting players, however, he tore them open and produce a well-chewed pen from his own shirt pocket. He quickly flipped to the back page and began scribbling away, using the window as a table.

"I never... hm.... I never understood why they print contracts before anything is agreed - ah no - is agreed upon. Hm. I think that still counts as a legal contract." He quickly studied over what he'd scribbled down then smiled and offered them to both players.

"The added gist is that Blitz will hold a charity game, every year, if the Rebels agree to it. We'll come up with a smart sounding Bowl name for it and all proceeds will go towards helping restore Skarrsboro. As for the donations to Skarrsboro, I'm sure we can come to an amount between 600,000GC and 700,000GC split between both of you, and then of course whatever both of you decide to donate out of your own pay will help to supplement that amount. We will have to argue the case back home for that amount, gentlemen, but when they see your passion and when they realize the difference it's going to make having you two onboard..." Julio smiled, revealing shallow wrinkles set to deepen over the years. "I think it'll be a breeze to get them to offer the amount up."

____________________________

Dana Graw, at the young age of 21, was a veteran of two World Bowls. His eyes rose to meet John Olson, eyes that were a cloudy blue and aged beyond their time. Graw could have been any other pretty boy quarterback in the world before he fell in with the Brutes. Now the facial scars and crooked nose that comes with being a scrambling, physical quarterback had knocked him from the ranks of typical 'pretty' and into a world of ruggedness. His pristine hands were rolling himself a cigarette for later. He was the only player on the Brutes to have the nicotine itch, but you wouldn't know it when you watched him play. He placed the rolly gently behind his left ear and smiled a crooked smile at the Pirate's head coach.

"Iss'a'pleasure, Coach." Graw drawled a Northern Rennidanian accent (somewhat Louisiana meets Spain) as he gripped Olson's hand firmly. "An' that there mus' be Theo Grimm. The nightmare man himself, hey? An' if ah'm rememberin' correctly, the tiny man behind him must be Steve O'Neal. Centre, correct?" Graw chuckled. "Ah think that Vaalburger mister thought you wouldn't be bringin' any players with you, suh. This is indeed a bountiful suh-prise." Graw chuckled again. He was a good tempered individual considering his past life in and out of Rennidanian juvenile detention. "Coach Olson, suh, ah'll say this to rest your mind as I can see you're eager for an answer. Yes suh, I am indeed interested in playin' for the Pirates. Would it be a hassle if we took this meetin' down to the field though, suh? I'm eager to see what the turf here in this beautiful country is like."

[The Fanboyists]

"Hey, if it's legal, we'll sign it," Honorius said with a smile. "And if it ain't legal...well, then you have my word--"

"And mine," Theo added.

"That we'll sign it again if this copy is, for whatever reason, invalid. Though I dunno about Theo, but..."

"We'd like to hear about any additional changes to it. Just on principal. And if there ain' any, then, it's good with us. Shake?" Theo asked, as both he and Honorius extended their hands. In the Federation, handshakes were often used as informal means of sealing contracts, which was largely what Theo intended, in this case; even if the written-on contracts weren't quite valid, he and Honorius were indicating that they agreed to the terms therein and would sign a valid copy, if necessary.

After a moment after they had shaken hands, Honorius nodded towards the window.

"What do you think of the country, so far, sir?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, absolutely, we can go down to the field. Unfortunately, if you come play for us, ours isn't anywhere near as nice as this one, but it's not bad, either. In terms of facilities and such, we're not as poorly-off as the Saints, at least. They actually practice in a park in an industrial part of their city."

As the four made their way down to the field (which didn't take long, even on the stairs; both Pirates were quite fit, and Olson, though in his early fifties, had yet to start feeling the years catching up to him), the clean, utilitarian nature of the complex was still readily apparent. Even the field itself, though clearly finely-made and well-cared for, was simply marked, and, it was readily apparent, was turf, not natural grass.

Of course, it was better turf. Federal Steel was on one of the largest, richest companies, and had spared no expense for the Ironmongers in the complex. Some had said that the turf was soft enough that they would be willing to sleep on it. Indeed, it was very soft, without the hard rubber pellets that normally served as a 'dirt' on other turf fields. Instead, a solid, foam-type substance served the purpose, adding a bounce to the step of those on the field.

The stands were imposing, as the stadium was the largest in the country, with seating for 142,000. Though generally not counted with the stadium's capacity, there was actually places for a few thousand more standing-room spots. A covering over the stadium ensured that spectators would remain dry. The dome was retractable, which meant that the stadium could either be outdoor or indoor, depending on what the Ironmongers' coaches thought would give them an advantage. Games against the Monitors, for instance, were, by tradition, played outdoors, often allowing snow into the arena.

All in all, quite impressive.

"So, Mister Graw, now that we've got the basic issue of whether or not you'd be willing to play with us settled, let's settle on the specifics, more or less. I've been told to offer you the league entry-level pay for a quarterback, which is roughly...I believe is roughly F$680,000." In general, because of the quirks of the nation and the emphasis it placed on linemen and runningbacks, along with linebackers, receivers and quarterbacks typically had a lower entry-level pay than those other positions. Granted, the salaries tended to increase much more rapidly for good quarterbacks, but the concept was the same.

"And that will be upwardly negotiable. We'd like to offer you two years to start with. If we like what we see after a year or year-and-a-half, or even earlier, we'll write up an extension with you. And, of course, there's the offer to join the Player's Union. There's not much friction between the union and the cities or the coaches, but our players have found its a good thing to be under, just in case. Also, we will provide healthcare, workplace insurance, and the like for you. That's part of being a player in this country." Olson paused, and then asked:

"But, here's a really big question. What do you want from this?"

[Rennidan]

Julio, understanding the importance of handshakes within the contractual world of the Allamunnic States, gripped both the D-Linemen's hands. His heart was racing as fast as it possibly could as he sealed the deal, this was a big step for the Blitz and the RGL alike.

"Honorius. This country is..." Julio paused, his eyes settling back on the view outside as he released their hands. "This country is beautiful. Not typical rolling-countryside, nature a-plenty beautiful, but a soulful, meaningful beauty. Reminds me of Arcorsis, actually. I'm not just saying that to tug on your heartstrings but I think you'll agree with me when you arrive. Arcorsis is a big city, but it's not all shiny and polished. There's character to it. A seedy underbelly that's easy enough to miss, an efficient citizen-driven machine that works well. You know over five hundred languages are spoken in Arcorsis, gentlemen? It's an amazing place, but Thomasburg, ah, Thomasburg certainly is a creature of its own."

_________________________________

The young Rennidanian quarterback looked around at the stadium that engulfed him. He wasn't over his head stood in a stadium like this, it was well within his comfort zone, it was just something a bit different to what he was used to. Big, grand and not-leaking. He'd attended several games in the ol' Warehouse 17, and had fought off a fair few blitzs in the car park of the Green Sky Pub.

Graw's hands moved to remove the bag from his back. With a swift unzipping the quarterback brought a slightly battered Official World Bowl ball up into his hands.

"What ah want right now from this, suh, is for Steve there to gimme some snaps whilst Mister Grimm there tries to blitz me, suh."

Graw examined the field, pushing the turf beneath his feet down with his bodyweight. "Bouncy." He muttered to himself with a slight frown and a quizzical tilt of the head. He threw a gentle spiral to Steve and set himself up on the twenty yard line, before turning back to look at Olson. He raised his voice and his Northern drawl echoed slightly through the empty stadium.

"Y'see, suh, ah just want to play the game. Numbers don't matter much t' me. The team ah play for right now don't matter too much t' me, ah mainly picked you guys 'cos ah like pirates and b'cause Mister Powis said you folk could use a hand. Ah ain't claimin' to come to this team bein' a messiah that'll drag you from the depths but ah certainly like t' think ah can make a difference to your offence. Your defence already has a mighty fine star athlete an' he's stood right there. What ah wanna' see right now though, suh, is just how good these two athletes are. Ah wanna' make sure ah can trust my centre to block and my defensive counterpart to blitz."

[The Fanboyists]

Theo chuckled. "Well, then, I guess we'll add one more language to it, then. I don't think there's any other Skraelings there, I bet."

Honorius looked at Julio with a wry smile. "Personally, I've never much liked Thomasburg too much. It's teeming, and vibrant, sure, and maybe its just my own nationalist sentiment, but I tend to prefer Skarrsboro's cobblestoned-streets and Onneria's cathedrals. Or even Dunnmaar's sort of tight-knit, clan-like feel. But I don't doubt you. There's not many cities I've been to that I haven't at least sort of liked."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve nodded, smiling happily. He moved over to about seven yards in front of where Dana had stood; the Pirates tended to work a lot out of shotgun-formation, and so Steve was most at home snapping at seven-yards. Across from him, Theo easily set himself at normal depth, across from Steve, in his stance easily.

Steve, for his part, sank into a two-pointed lineman's stance immediately, and looked supremely contented. Most Allamunnic linemen were more than comfortable simply holding that position. "Home sweet home," Steve said quietly with a smile as he assumed his stance.

"Give me a cadence, and I'll snap," Steve said evenly, watching Theo's eyes carefully. "I'm gonna give you a five-yard-drop pass-set, so don't step up too far, or I'll run into you."

He sat and waited, as Olson stood at the ready, watching. This would be a good demonstration of how Dana might handle himself in a game, even if it wouldn't be a perfect indicator. He did call out: "Ey, don't do this full contact, go with rough touch or two-hand, for now. We don't want anyone visiting the hospital before practices have even started, proper."

[Rennidan]

Dana smirked as he set up ready to receive the shotgun. No full contact though? That wasn't how he'd been brought up to play. No kit and full on, pedal-to-the-metal aggression was all he knew, but if the coach demanded it, well, maybe he could reign it in just a little.

"Ready... Down! Gumbo 22. Gumbo 22. Set... huhutt!"

Dana dropped back a yard as the ball flew comfortably into his hands, and prepared for the oncoming blitz.

__________________________________________

The ageing Rennidanian went back to fiddling with the World Bowl ring on his finger as he watched the young quarterback do his thing on the field. Powis had always considered the idea of coaching on a more professional level, but the idea of working for vast amounts of money was against his morals. He wasn't about to go discuss job prospects and wages with Olson just yet though. He'd let the Pirate coach watch the young talent at work first.

[The Fanboyists]

The blitz came, quickly, lightning fast, and furious.

But Steven was a good lineman in general, in addition to being simply a good center.

So he held the blitz at bay. For a couple of seconds, at least. One-on-one drills without pads on are rather unfair in the defense's favor, and this was no exception. Within two, maybe three seconds, Theo was past him and streaking towards Dana with the ferocity of a speeding bullet and the power of a hurricane.

As he rached him, Theo gave him a light wrap-up, rather than a full-contact. The point was, if the drill had been full-speed, Graw would have gone down.

But the poise Dana had more than impressed Olson, who laughed happily.

"Dammit, Mister Graw, I think you're exactly the guy we're looking for!"

[Rennidan]

Dana moved back from Grimm and nodded his approval.

"Aye, aye, ah can play with this team. Three seconds from a centre, ah can cope with that."

The young Rennidanian quarterback ran his fingers through his hair with one hand as he spiralled the ball gently back to the coach.

"Good snappin' too, suh." Dana smiled at Olson, his teeth were still relatively straight and intact all things considered. "So what now then? Ah sign some forms, find me a nice lil' house to be in and play some fine foreign gridiron?"

"I don't think 'fine' is the word for your play style, Dana."

Powis lumbered behind Olson and placed a meaty hand on his shoulder.

"Raw and composed, perhaps." The Brutes head coach smiled at Olson. "Grimm is doing a damn fine job too. It was suggested to me that I inquire about current status of your defensive coach."

[The Fanboyists]

This was almost too much for Olson. A good quarterback who might be able to revitalize the franchise, or at least end the constant cycling of journeymen quarterbacks. And the quintessential Brute?

The Pirates's head coach nodded. "Our defensive coordinator, the bastard, left us for a more promising team after last season. I've been looking for months for a replacement. Would you be up for the job?