((Cisco Vasquez continued from 11th Meter))
If people didn't know who that was stumbling into gym class like a zombie, they'd probably think it actually was a zombie. As it happened, that person happened to be their varsity goalkeeper on injury leave, wearing the usual gym uniform instead of his varsity gear.
Today, everything seemed out of balance for Cisco Vasquez. Or rather, more out of balance than usual. At times it seemed like he was struggling to stay on two feet.
His latest attempt at "creative" goalkeeping in their last game against San Adrian Central had left him with a mild goalpost concussion that saw him benched and replaced with Mike Masher (or however he felt like pronouncing his "ARCH NEMESEEEEES!" name) for the remainder of the regular season. At least Cisco emerged from it without too much damage to his system - or at least no more than was expected for someone already as 'damaged' as he was - taking it in his perennially drunken stride. It also meant more free time to do...whatever he felt like doing.
Apart from what was very nearly a neurotic outburst in the ambulance. Being confined and strapped down in a moving vehicle was never an easy experience for him, but he was thankful it was over. Or at least that's what the sedatives convinced him it was. Now it was just him, his classmates, a big open gym, and whatever the coach had in store. He settled among the bleachers while his classmates gathered, and began some warmup stretches.
Going Balls Deep
Return of the random...character.
Going Balls Deep
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Roland Harte sat at the end of the Gym bench while the rest of his class congregated near the bleachers. He sat casually, pausing every so often to push a strand of his black hair back behind his ears or to adjust his glasses slightly. Roland sat mostly to himself, only saying a rather simplistic "Hey" or smiling at students he knew. While the majority of his classmates stood together sharing jokes and talking about last night's episode of whatever show was popular at the moment, Roland refrained for the time being.
He stretched on the bench already bored to death and annoyed a the time it was taking to get the class started. He wasn't a big fan of wasting time, even if it was only Gym class. Roland in the back of his mind reprimanded himself for taking the class in the first place. He already had his Gym credit and it wasn't like he was in need of any more physical activity, his camping excursions saw to that. Hell, he was even considering heading out to the weight room after school a few times a week for lack of anything else to do. If he hadn't have taken Gym Class, he'd have had an open period. Better yet, he could have used that open period to take a more interesting course, or something that would've looked impressive on a resume. But it was too late for that now, the year was almost over and done with. After a summer of relative relaxation he was straight off to file his papers and join the military. He was nearly home free. Roland grinned and stood, scratching the scruff on his face. Across the way he could make out the fairly unique figure of Mr. Layton hauling a trolley across the gym floor. The class, with Roland in tow, began to gravitate towards him and they met in the center of the gym.
Mr. Layton smiled at his class. A lifetime of teaching in and around Bayview, he was now a permanent fixture in the Gymnasium. Whether he be forcing a class of out of shape niner's run laps or officiating a game of volleyball he was always around, quick with a grin and a joke. Picking a dodge ball off the trolley next to him, Mr. Layton chucked it over towards the nearest student who awkwardly caught it.
"Alright class, listen up." He said in his rather unique gravelly voice, unmistakably his own.
"After that long arduous unit on Football, I'm sure all of you need a little bit of good ol' fashioned relaxation. Too bad you won't be getting any."
Roland smiled at the quip, already fully knowing what was to come. Looking around at the various other kids in the class he saw some glance back at him, perhaps knowing what he'd be thinking.
Dodgeball. I'm the king of dodgeball.
There would be no mercy this gym period, oh no.
Mr. Layton turned to the trolley and began to toss the balls out onto the floor. They bounced and landed at the students feet, at least, those lucky enough to get one.
"Today we're gonna' have a good old fashioned game of Team Dodgeball. I'm sure you all have heard the rules before..." Layton continued. Suddenly the Teacher paused in his step, and turned to look behind Roland. His grin widened in pleasant suprise. He picked up a Dodgeball and tossed it in the direction of the boy standing behind Roland.
"Cisco, glad to have you back!" He said.
Roland looked over. A shorter boy with tanned skin stood near him, his hair dyed a slightly unusual shade.
Cisco.. why does that sound familiar...
Roland thought back and finally placed it. He was that... strange kid. The soccer goalie who had hit his head a few weeks back or something. He'd been out for awhile, but it looked like he had returned in time for Graduation. Roland hadn't talked to him all that often, but he seemed to have earned himself quite a reputation around the school. Roland furrowed his brow ever so slightly and took a slight step away from him. Roland found himself thinking he'd rather avoid being put on the same team as such a bizarre kid. He'd probably release more stress smacking the kid with a Dodge ball then having to listen to him talk, perhaps it was unkind but Roland figured it to be the honest truth.
He stretched on the bench already bored to death and annoyed a the time it was taking to get the class started. He wasn't a big fan of wasting time, even if it was only Gym class. Roland in the back of his mind reprimanded himself for taking the class in the first place. He already had his Gym credit and it wasn't like he was in need of any more physical activity, his camping excursions saw to that. Hell, he was even considering heading out to the weight room after school a few times a week for lack of anything else to do. If he hadn't have taken Gym Class, he'd have had an open period. Better yet, he could have used that open period to take a more interesting course, or something that would've looked impressive on a resume. But it was too late for that now, the year was almost over and done with. After a summer of relative relaxation he was straight off to file his papers and join the military. He was nearly home free. Roland grinned and stood, scratching the scruff on his face. Across the way he could make out the fairly unique figure of Mr. Layton hauling a trolley across the gym floor. The class, with Roland in tow, began to gravitate towards him and they met in the center of the gym.
Mr. Layton smiled at his class. A lifetime of teaching in and around Bayview, he was now a permanent fixture in the Gymnasium. Whether he be forcing a class of out of shape niner's run laps or officiating a game of volleyball he was always around, quick with a grin and a joke. Picking a dodge ball off the trolley next to him, Mr. Layton chucked it over towards the nearest student who awkwardly caught it.
"Alright class, listen up." He said in his rather unique gravelly voice, unmistakably his own.
"After that long arduous unit on Football, I'm sure all of you need a little bit of good ol' fashioned relaxation. Too bad you won't be getting any."
Roland smiled at the quip, already fully knowing what was to come. Looking around at the various other kids in the class he saw some glance back at him, perhaps knowing what he'd be thinking.
Dodgeball. I'm the king of dodgeball.
There would be no mercy this gym period, oh no.
Mr. Layton turned to the trolley and began to toss the balls out onto the floor. They bounced and landed at the students feet, at least, those lucky enough to get one.
"Today we're gonna' have a good old fashioned game of Team Dodgeball. I'm sure you all have heard the rules before..." Layton continued. Suddenly the Teacher paused in his step, and turned to look behind Roland. His grin widened in pleasant suprise. He picked up a Dodgeball and tossed it in the direction of the boy standing behind Roland.
"Cisco, glad to have you back!" He said.
Roland looked over. A shorter boy with tanned skin stood near him, his hair dyed a slightly unusual shade.
Cisco.. why does that sound familiar...
Roland thought back and finally placed it. He was that... strange kid. The soccer goalie who had hit his head a few weeks back or something. He'd been out for awhile, but it looked like he had returned in time for Graduation. Roland hadn't talked to him all that often, but he seemed to have earned himself quite a reputation around the school. Roland furrowed his brow ever so slightly and took a slight step away from him. Roland found himself thinking he'd rather avoid being put on the same team as such a bizarre kid. He'd probably release more stress smacking the kid with a Dodge ball then having to listen to him talk, perhaps it was unkind but Roland figured it to be the honest truth.
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The sound of Coach Layton pushing the trolley across the gym floor jolted Cisco out of his stretching routine and got him up at attention like a meerkat. He'd always treated the gym cart like it was a mystery box of surprises, even though there was obviously a very limited selection of surprises to be found in it. He followed the class as they gravitated toward the cart, an almost childlike look of enthusiasm on his face.
His mouth nearly hung open as the coach pulled out a dodgeball.
"Alright class, listen up. After that long arduous unit on Football, I'm sure all of you need a little bit of good ol' fashioned relaxation. Too bad you won't be getting any."
Which was a shame, because Cisco had wanted to have a go at a sport he lovingly dubbed 'lemonball.' Although other players didn't necessarily feel comfortable when he got involved in the inevitable dogpile in previous semesters.
"Today we're gonna' have a good old fashioned game of Team Dodgeball. I'm sure you all have heard the rules before..."
If football was "the beautiful game," then dodgeball must have been its polar opposite. A glorious sport of violence, exclusion and degradation, it was one of Cisco's favorite gym-class pastimes. It wasn't that he wasn't skilled at it, nor was there really the same risk of near-fatal injury as other gym sports. It was just the 'nostalgic' thrill from the nature of class hierarchy that it just oozed.
Such nostalgia almost rudely interrupted by what seemed like a quick flash of dark red...before snapping out of it to catch the dodgeball nearly inches from his chest.
"Cisco, glad to have you back!"
"Aye aye, cap'n," Cisco groaned before compensating for the lack of enthusiasm with a hasty salute.
People were obviously staring at the green-haired goalie, including the rather tall Roland Harte. The military-wannabe's elitist nature didn't put Cisco off ('but are military guys always this stuck up?), and he quite enjoyed it when their contrasting natures interacted...regardless of their consequences.
His mouth nearly hung open as the coach pulled out a dodgeball.
"Alright class, listen up. After that long arduous unit on Football, I'm sure all of you need a little bit of good ol' fashioned relaxation. Too bad you won't be getting any."
Which was a shame, because Cisco had wanted to have a go at a sport he lovingly dubbed 'lemonball.' Although other players didn't necessarily feel comfortable when he got involved in the inevitable dogpile in previous semesters.
"Today we're gonna' have a good old fashioned game of Team Dodgeball. I'm sure you all have heard the rules before..."
If football was "the beautiful game," then dodgeball must have been its polar opposite. A glorious sport of violence, exclusion and degradation, it was one of Cisco's favorite gym-class pastimes. It wasn't that he wasn't skilled at it, nor was there really the same risk of near-fatal injury as other gym sports. It was just the 'nostalgic' thrill from the nature of class hierarchy that it just oozed.
Such nostalgia almost rudely interrupted by what seemed like a quick flash of dark red...before snapping out of it to catch the dodgeball nearly inches from his chest.
"Cisco, glad to have you back!"
"Aye aye, cap'n," Cisco groaned before compensating for the lack of enthusiasm with a hasty salute.
People were obviously staring at the green-haired goalie, including the rather tall Roland Harte. The military-wannabe's elitist nature didn't put Cisco off ('but are military guys always this stuck up?), and he quite enjoyed it when their contrasting natures interacted...regardless of their consequences.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
((Craig Hoyle continued from Second lap, same as the first))
Roland Harte being in the same gym class was nice; with a kid that tall, it could draw attention away from yourself... most of the time. The other giant of the early morning gym class stood on the opposite side of the wide-open room, leaning against the bleachers rather than sitting on them. They always looked so flimsy, fueling constant paranoia that if somebody as hefty as himself were to sit on them, they might break, causing him to tumble into the abyss below... or just get stuck. Yeah, he'd probably get his ass stuck, and the custodian would have to pull him out.
Craig would miss the football section of gym. His immense size, both vertically and horizontally, meant that at least he was good for something. It felt good not to be picked last for once. However, the good times always feel like they're over quicker than the bad ones, and he was sure the dodgeball unit was going to be a loooooong few weeks. Dodgeball required a good arm (which he didn't have), good catching skills (which he didn't have), a quick reaction speed (he was good at hurling his body forward on a call, but not so much dodging soft, spherical projectiles), and a small, agile body (Craig scoffed at that detail). All in all, he was pretty much screwed.
Craig participated in the starting stretches the only way he could, by twisting his torso slightly in either direction and by picking up either foot and pulling on his calf, using the bleachers for support so he didn't tumble over. When he put his foot down, he tried to do so lightly so it didn't mark its placement with a resounding 'thud' (he didn't need to hear any more 'fe fi fo fum' jokes today). Feeling pretty much stretched out, he slumped against the bleachers again, hoping that he'd get picked for a really good team so he could just stay in the back, away from all the action.
Coach Layton hadn't looked his way yet, so it was all good. As long as he didn't have to catch one of those stupid balls like Cisco just did... ... wait, Cisco? Craig turned to look at him, noting just how tiny the green haired boy looked when he stood near Roland; that means he had to appear even smaller when standing next to him. Where had he been all this time? Well, now Bane AND Joker are in gym class. At least it will be interesting, but... but... I don't wanna be picked last!!!
Roland Harte being in the same gym class was nice; with a kid that tall, it could draw attention away from yourself... most of the time. The other giant of the early morning gym class stood on the opposite side of the wide-open room, leaning against the bleachers rather than sitting on them. They always looked so flimsy, fueling constant paranoia that if somebody as hefty as himself were to sit on them, they might break, causing him to tumble into the abyss below... or just get stuck. Yeah, he'd probably get his ass stuck, and the custodian would have to pull him out.
Craig would miss the football section of gym. His immense size, both vertically and horizontally, meant that at least he was good for something. It felt good not to be picked last for once. However, the good times always feel like they're over quicker than the bad ones, and he was sure the dodgeball unit was going to be a loooooong few weeks. Dodgeball required a good arm (which he didn't have), good catching skills (which he didn't have), a quick reaction speed (he was good at hurling his body forward on a call, but not so much dodging soft, spherical projectiles), and a small, agile body (Craig scoffed at that detail). All in all, he was pretty much screwed.
Craig participated in the starting stretches the only way he could, by twisting his torso slightly in either direction and by picking up either foot and pulling on his calf, using the bleachers for support so he didn't tumble over. When he put his foot down, he tried to do so lightly so it didn't mark its placement with a resounding 'thud' (he didn't need to hear any more 'fe fi fo fum' jokes today). Feeling pretty much stretched out, he slumped against the bleachers again, hoping that he'd get picked for a really good team so he could just stay in the back, away from all the action.
Coach Layton hadn't looked his way yet, so it was all good. As long as he didn't have to catch one of those stupid balls like Cisco just did... ... wait, Cisco? Craig turned to look at him, noting just how tiny the green haired boy looked when he stood near Roland; that means he had to appear even smaller when standing next to him. Where had he been all this time? Well, now Bane AND Joker are in gym class. At least it will be interesting, but... but... I don't wanna be picked last!!!
(Harold Fisher continued from Eleutherea)
Harold hated gym class, and for good reason. It was one of the many things in which he was outmatched by almost everybody, and that always made him bitter. Whether it was running, squats, or even some of those "fun" sports that they played, everything about this place was nothing but an exercise in pain and torture, and he got the joy of participating in it at least once a day, as part of his physical fitness requirement for graduation.
Today's humiliation: Dodgeball. Yes, dodgeball. A game that Charles Darwin would hold dear to his heart, as it served as a great analogy for the survival of favored species. More specifically, it proved that the smaller you were, and the better you were at running, the more likely you were to not get targeted by the predators on the other side. Harold had neither of these qualities, and judging by how rarely he was picked, the rest of his class knew it as well.
Harold groaned as the coach tossed a ball to another classmate (he never bothered to learn names in this class) and he decided to stay near the back of the thronging crowd of overeager musclebound twits that populated this class. He pretended to stretch out just enough so that it would look like he was doing something (a few rotations to crack out his back) and then he went back to putting his pockets into his wide shorts, staring at the object in the coach's hand like it might start ticking and blow all these nitwits to kingdom come.
Soon, the sorting process would start, and he would see once again how the rest of his class despised him for lacking the thing that they could see on the outside. There was nothing that could improve this day. Nothing whatsoever.
"Okay," Coach Layton announced, "now I need two team captains. Any volunteers?"
Harold's hand ultimately stayed in his pockets, but he felt a small twitch as his mind momentarily tussled over whether or not he should volunteer. After all, it would give him a better chance of winning if he could handpick his team rather than relying on these idiots to do it for him. On the other hand, if he failed, it would be a waste of his time. In the end though, he sensibly stayed put and simply glanced around to see who else would take the bait.
Harold hated gym class, and for good reason. It was one of the many things in which he was outmatched by almost everybody, and that always made him bitter. Whether it was running, squats, or even some of those "fun" sports that they played, everything about this place was nothing but an exercise in pain and torture, and he got the joy of participating in it at least once a day, as part of his physical fitness requirement for graduation.
Today's humiliation: Dodgeball. Yes, dodgeball. A game that Charles Darwin would hold dear to his heart, as it served as a great analogy for the survival of favored species. More specifically, it proved that the smaller you were, and the better you were at running, the more likely you were to not get targeted by the predators on the other side. Harold had neither of these qualities, and judging by how rarely he was picked, the rest of his class knew it as well.
Harold groaned as the coach tossed a ball to another classmate (he never bothered to learn names in this class) and he decided to stay near the back of the thronging crowd of overeager musclebound twits that populated this class. He pretended to stretch out just enough so that it would look like he was doing something (a few rotations to crack out his back) and then he went back to putting his pockets into his wide shorts, staring at the object in the coach's hand like it might start ticking and blow all these nitwits to kingdom come.
Soon, the sorting process would start, and he would see once again how the rest of his class despised him for lacking the thing that they could see on the outside. There was nothing that could improve this day. Nothing whatsoever.
"Okay," Coach Layton announced, "now I need two team captains. Any volunteers?"
Harold's hand ultimately stayed in his pockets, but he felt a small twitch as his mind momentarily tussled over whether or not he should volunteer. After all, it would give him a better chance of winning if he could handpick his team rather than relying on these idiots to do it for him. On the other hand, if he failed, it would be a waste of his time. In the end though, he sensibly stayed put and simply glanced around to see who else would take the bait.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
"Okay," Coach Layton announced, "now I need two team captains. Any volunteers?"
Roland finally managed to snap his attention away from Cisco and back to the Coach. A noticeable silence filled the gymnasium, broken only by a few awkward laughs as the students of Mr. Layton's class realized none of them were really up for the task of being made team captain. Roland shook his head in slight annoyance. It wasn't like they would be doing anything else this period, no matter how much some of the less physically inclined students wished. They were just stalling the inevitable.
"Anyone?" Coach Layton repeated again. "Come on, it's just picking teams, 'ain't gonna kill you." He turned back to the trolley, knocking off the last few Dodgeballs and kicking them in the direction of the class.
Roland glanced around at the class. Team Captain would of course mean that he'd have a chance to pick his own squad. That could prove rather interesting and the idea appealed to him the more he thought about it. Could a squad hand picked by Roland end up winning in Dodgeball? There was no real reason not to try and see. A challenge could be just what he needed to kickstart his day, and it wasn't like a little competition ever hurt anyone.
"Well, if it'll speed things up, I'll be a Captain." Roland said stepping forward smiling a confident smile.
Roland finally managed to snap his attention away from Cisco and back to the Coach. A noticeable silence filled the gymnasium, broken only by a few awkward laughs as the students of Mr. Layton's class realized none of them were really up for the task of being made team captain. Roland shook his head in slight annoyance. It wasn't like they would be doing anything else this period, no matter how much some of the less physically inclined students wished. They were just stalling the inevitable.
"Anyone?" Coach Layton repeated again. "Come on, it's just picking teams, 'ain't gonna kill you." He turned back to the trolley, knocking off the last few Dodgeballs and kicking them in the direction of the class.
Roland glanced around at the class. Team Captain would of course mean that he'd have a chance to pick his own squad. That could prove rather interesting and the idea appealed to him the more he thought about it. Could a squad hand picked by Roland end up winning in Dodgeball? There was no real reason not to try and see. A challenge could be just what he needed to kickstart his day, and it wasn't like a little competition ever hurt anyone.
"Well, if it'll speed things up, I'll be a Captain." Roland said stepping forward smiling a confident smile.
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"Okay, now I need two team captains. Any volunteers?"
Silence. Nobody wanted to be the one to end up picking their friends for ritual and painful humiliation, no matter how temporary.
"Anyone?" Coach Layton repeated again. "Come on, it's just picking teams, 'ain't gonna kill you."
For some people, getting bonked with large rubber balls at high speeds while helpless on the ground was a fate worse than death or prison. At this point though, Cisco was more anxious to be picked for a team rather than volunteer as captain.
"Well, if it'll speed things up, I'll be a Captain," said Roland.
"Right, that's one," Coach Layton replied. "We'll need one more."
Cisco picked up another ball, getting up slowly and cradling the two instruments of metaphorical death just below his navel while he imagined some epic music playing. Roland had just volunteered to be the upstanding hero, which meant a crazy, freaky villain was needed. Or was that vice versa, where the fitness mogul was the villain and the freaks were the heroes?
And did that really matter when the fun part was about to begin?
He looked around to see who else was suitable for the job. There was Craig Hoyle, about the only person that had about as much imposing "captain" presence as Roland (though not much else). And then there was...
Before he knew it he'd filtered through the crowd and tossed the ball toward the ever-brooding Harold Fisher at such an angle that it would whiz just over his head, figuring that he'd have to raise his arms to catch it and end up being inadvertently selected. Unfortunately, Cisco wasn't exactly good at throwing dodgeballs as much as he was chucking footballs.
Silence. Nobody wanted to be the one to end up picking their friends for ritual and painful humiliation, no matter how temporary.
"Anyone?" Coach Layton repeated again. "Come on, it's just picking teams, 'ain't gonna kill you."
For some people, getting bonked with large rubber balls at high speeds while helpless on the ground was a fate worse than death or prison. At this point though, Cisco was more anxious to be picked for a team rather than volunteer as captain.
"Well, if it'll speed things up, I'll be a Captain," said Roland.
"Right, that's one," Coach Layton replied. "We'll need one more."
Cisco picked up another ball, getting up slowly and cradling the two instruments of metaphorical death just below his navel while he imagined some epic music playing. Roland had just volunteered to be the upstanding hero, which meant a crazy, freaky villain was needed. Or was that vice versa, where the fitness mogul was the villain and the freaks were the heroes?
And did that really matter when the fun part was about to begin?
He looked around to see who else was suitable for the job. There was Craig Hoyle, about the only person that had about as much imposing "captain" presence as Roland (though not much else). And then there was...
Before he knew it he'd filtered through the crowd and tossed the ball toward the ever-brooding Harold Fisher at such an angle that it would whiz just over his head, figuring that he'd have to raise his arms to catch it and end up being inadvertently selected. Unfortunately, Cisco wasn't exactly good at throwing dodgeballs as much as he was chucking footballs.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Craig took a loud, heaving breath and let it out. Sweat was already beginning to form near his hairline and dribble down a bit, even though he hadn't been very active beyond a few twists and stretches. Either it was the heat and stuffy atmosphere of the gym, or maybe he was just really... really... nervous.
Please don't pick me please don't pick me please don't pick me... Craig repeated to himself over and over. He just knew... absolutely KNEW that the coach was probably getting set to just pick a student to be captain since none of them were going to pick for themselves. And if that ball flew towards him, indicating his captainship, he'd just make a fool out of himself.
The internal frenzy that he had worked himself up into grew so powerful that Craig had to shut his eyes to deal with it. Steady... steady, breathe in through your nose, out your mouth... somebody will volunteer, there are enough jocks, enough Superman wannabees...
He could almost instinctively feel something heading his way, and Craig opened his eyes, turning... just like he thought, from somewhere on the other side of the gym, a round blue blur was rapidly growing in size and tenacity, probably ready to smash right into his face. The boy flinched in a way that, to understate, was 'noticable', and took a step back. He never thought to consider that it was probably intended for the shorter boy just beside him.
Please don't pick me please don't pick me please don't pick me... Craig repeated to himself over and over. He just knew... absolutely KNEW that the coach was probably getting set to just pick a student to be captain since none of them were going to pick for themselves. And if that ball flew towards him, indicating his captainship, he'd just make a fool out of himself.
The internal frenzy that he had worked himself up into grew so powerful that Craig had to shut his eyes to deal with it. Steady... steady, breathe in through your nose, out your mouth... somebody will volunteer, there are enough jocks, enough Superman wannabees...
He could almost instinctively feel something heading his way, and Craig opened his eyes, turning... just like he thought, from somewhere on the other side of the gym, a round blue blur was rapidly growing in size and tenacity, probably ready to smash right into his face. The boy flinched in a way that, to understate, was 'noticable', and took a step back. He never thought to consider that it was probably intended for the shorter boy just beside him.
Looking around the silent gymnasium, Harold afforded himself a brief chuckle. This was something that he expected to happen, and seeing it in motion only made it even better. He had only enough time to question to himself who the Coach would be forced to pick when he glanced over and realized that a ball was heading straight towards him.
Son of a...!
With speed born out of sheer terror, he reached with his hands in front of his face to catch the ball. So great was its momentum though that the fat kid found himself stumbling backwards, and by the time he corrected himself, he noticed that everybody was suddenly looking at him. It didn't take a genius of his caliber to put two and two together, and as he stared down at the ball in his hands, his stomach felt like it was doing spontaneous gymnastics.
"Fisher!" Coach Layton said. "Glad to see you stepping up for once."
"But I didn't!" Harold stammered. "I was just-"
"No backing out now. If we don't get this done, we'll be standing here forever. Now pick somebody and let's get started."
Harold considered protesting, but just sighed and said under his breath, "Yeah, whatever." Looking around at the crowd of students, he decided that he would start by singling out the fellow who had winged the ball in his direction. Jabbing out his finger at Cisco, he said, "Hey, guy who nearly killed me, get over here." If the fat man was going to get humiliated in front of his peers, he'd make sure to take the guy who set him up in this situation down with him.
Son of a...!
With speed born out of sheer terror, he reached with his hands in front of his face to catch the ball. So great was its momentum though that the fat kid found himself stumbling backwards, and by the time he corrected himself, he noticed that everybody was suddenly looking at him. It didn't take a genius of his caliber to put two and two together, and as he stared down at the ball in his hands, his stomach felt like it was doing spontaneous gymnastics.
"Fisher!" Coach Layton said. "Glad to see you stepping up for once."
"But I didn't!" Harold stammered. "I was just-"
"No backing out now. If we don't get this done, we'll be standing here forever. Now pick somebody and let's get started."
Harold considered protesting, but just sighed and said under his breath, "Yeah, whatever." Looking around at the crowd of students, he decided that he would start by singling out the fellow who had winged the ball in his direction. Jabbing out his finger at Cisco, he said, "Hey, guy who nearly killed me, get over here." If the fat man was going to get humiliated in front of his peers, he'd make sure to take the guy who set him up in this situation down with him.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
As with all things, Meredith treated gym class as if it were the bane of her existence. She hadn't even really bothered to change into clothing suitable for the class, still wearing her heeled boots, pleather cuffs and red latex trenchcoat. She leaned against the back wall of the gym, watching the rest of the class.
"Heh. Dodgeball." she murmured, "Another bloodsport to strengthen the strong's hold over the weak in this unfair world."
She kept quiet, hoping that the coach wouldn't notice that she hadn't changed yet. Then again, she wouldn't mind sitting out of the class again.
Or would she?
In some tiny part of her mind, Meredith did kind of want to play the game. She derived pleasure from lobbing the heavy balls at her opponents in the middle of the circle as hard as she could. It was rather cathartic in some way.
"Heh. Dodgeball." she murmured, "Another bloodsport to strengthen the strong's hold over the weak in this unfair world."
She kept quiet, hoping that the coach wouldn't notice that she hadn't changed yet. Then again, she wouldn't mind sitting out of the class again.
Or would she?
In some tiny part of her mind, Meredith did kind of want to play the game. She derived pleasure from lobbing the heavy balls at her opponents in the middle of the circle as hard as she could. It was rather cathartic in some way.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
In a strange way, Roland felt bad that Harold had chosen Cisco. He'd heard whispered in the hallways stories of Cisco's bizarre antics. Maybe it would have been good to have a wild card like him on his squad? Roland grinned at that. His "Squad", he was really getting into this. In any case it was too late to consider that.
Roland scanned the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. There was no short-edge of muscle heads who could prove to be useful in such a straightforward game as Dodgeball. Roland craned his neck and saw an unfortunately familiar sight. He rolled his eyes.
Meredith, that weird emo chick was leaning against the gym wall wearing a ridiculous trench coat. Meredith was one of the few members of the class who were of the female denomination, and for the life of him Roland had no idea why she'd elected to take Gym instead of a spare period. All she ever seemed to do was "rebel" against Coach Layton and wear bizarre getups. She looked incredibly out of place in the Gymnasium and Roland felt a pang of sympathy for the oddball. If she had the intellectual capacity to dress in a normal fashion, Roland would have taken her for a rather attractive girl. Unfortunately that wasn't the case and she stood against the side of the Gym not looking like she'd be interested in entering the game anytime soon. Roland didn't even think of the possiblity of picking her.
Who else was there? Roland glanced beside Harold and his eyes fell upon the familiar sight of Craig Hoyle. The bigger boy looked like a giant towering over Harold, Roland could relate. Being only slightly shorter than Craig, Roland stood higher than most of his classmates. He furrowed his brow in thought, now there would be an interesting first pick. Craig wasn't fast, but he was big and had been rather useful in the Football unit before. Roland could picture smaller students hiding behind him as a temporary shield, enabling them to get into a better position. Then again, being so big Craig was a walking target. Would he be able to dodge long enough for such a gambit to even be arranged? There was only one way to find out, and there was no shortedge of wannabe weightlifters and track stars in the class to comfortably fill out his elite squad.
Roland opened his mouth but hesitated. The kid looked nervous. He probably didn't want to be the center of attention, and Roland didn't want to have Craig thinking the selection was to make a mockery of him or something along those lines. Craig was an alright guy when Roland thought about it, it wasn't like he was annoying or anything. He was just... bigger.
It's a risk but what the hell, least this way the poor guy won't get picked last.
Roland tried his best to give a smile and adjusted his glasses. "Alright then, Craig you'll be my first pick." He could see the shock on some of his classmates faces but paid no mind, it wasn't like they could do anything about it. "Your move Harold."
Roland scanned the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. There was no short-edge of muscle heads who could prove to be useful in such a straightforward game as Dodgeball. Roland craned his neck and saw an unfortunately familiar sight. He rolled his eyes.
Meredith, that weird emo chick was leaning against the gym wall wearing a ridiculous trench coat. Meredith was one of the few members of the class who were of the female denomination, and for the life of him Roland had no idea why she'd elected to take Gym instead of a spare period. All she ever seemed to do was "rebel" against Coach Layton and wear bizarre getups. She looked incredibly out of place in the Gymnasium and Roland felt a pang of sympathy for the oddball. If she had the intellectual capacity to dress in a normal fashion, Roland would have taken her for a rather attractive girl. Unfortunately that wasn't the case and she stood against the side of the Gym not looking like she'd be interested in entering the game anytime soon. Roland didn't even think of the possiblity of picking her.
Who else was there? Roland glanced beside Harold and his eyes fell upon the familiar sight of Craig Hoyle. The bigger boy looked like a giant towering over Harold, Roland could relate. Being only slightly shorter than Craig, Roland stood higher than most of his classmates. He furrowed his brow in thought, now there would be an interesting first pick. Craig wasn't fast, but he was big and had been rather useful in the Football unit before. Roland could picture smaller students hiding behind him as a temporary shield, enabling them to get into a better position. Then again, being so big Craig was a walking target. Would he be able to dodge long enough for such a gambit to even be arranged? There was only one way to find out, and there was no shortedge of wannabe weightlifters and track stars in the class to comfortably fill out his elite squad.
Roland opened his mouth but hesitated. The kid looked nervous. He probably didn't want to be the center of attention, and Roland didn't want to have Craig thinking the selection was to make a mockery of him or something along those lines. Craig was an alright guy when Roland thought about it, it wasn't like he was annoying or anything. He was just... bigger.
It's a risk but what the hell, least this way the poor guy won't get picked last.
Roland tried his best to give a smile and adjusted his glasses. "Alright then, Craig you'll be my first pick." He could see the shock on some of his classmates faces but paid no mind, it wasn't like they could do anything about it. "Your move Harold."
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A mischievous smile crossed Cisco's face as Harold caught the ball, resulting in the coach picking him for team captain against Harold. Just another step in forcing the famous 'freaks' vs. 'pros' team assignments that made every dodgeball game a proper ritual of humiliation. The thing was, Cisco didn't exactly want the 'pros' to win. I mean, that was how the movies were supposed to turn out, right?
His pattern of thought was derailed when he noticed his new team captain pointing at him like he'd been accused of murdering his wife and kids.
"Hey, guy who nearly killed me, get over here," Harold demanded, and Cisco responded by cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders like he was twice as buff as he looked.
"Alright then," the lime-haired boy replied, his voice taking on a forced tough-guy accent as he walked over to Harold, "These jocks are goin' down." He then cracked his knuckles and wound up his arms like a star pitcher, even though his baseball pitches were one of the fewer badly-honed skills than his 'lemonball' passes.
Moreover, he and whomever Harold would pick to shield him from the inevitable would end up going down in a humiliating flurry of balls. And it was from that sort of humiliation that Cisco derived a portion of his masochistic enjoyment of life. But he wouldn't let the team know that just yet. He was too busy acting like the World Dodgeball Champion to do that as Roland then picked Craig the Giant.
"Hey..." Cisco then quietly advised, "Pick the goth chick. She's been sitting there like she's craving jock blood or somethin'."
His pattern of thought was derailed when he noticed his new team captain pointing at him like he'd been accused of murdering his wife and kids.
"Hey, guy who nearly killed me, get over here," Harold demanded, and Cisco responded by cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders like he was twice as buff as he looked.
"Alright then," the lime-haired boy replied, his voice taking on a forced tough-guy accent as he walked over to Harold, "These jocks are goin' down." He then cracked his knuckles and wound up his arms like a star pitcher, even though his baseball pitches were one of the fewer badly-honed skills than his 'lemonball' passes.
Moreover, he and whomever Harold would pick to shield him from the inevitable would end up going down in a humiliating flurry of balls. And it was from that sort of humiliation that Cisco derived a portion of his masochistic enjoyment of life. But he wouldn't let the team know that just yet. He was too busy acting like the World Dodgeball Champion to do that as Roland then picked Craig the Giant.
"Hey..." Cisco then quietly advised, "Pick the goth chick. She's been sitting there like she's craving jock blood or somethin'."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Wait... seriously?
SERIOUSLY!?
Craig didn't move for a few seconds when Roland had motioned to him, said his name, had called him over to his side. His body was just as unanticipating of being called first as he was, to the point where there was at least two seconds of complete absence of motion. As soon as the thought ran through Craig's mind that perhaps he was keeping Roland waiting, he gave a short 'oh' and speed-walked over to him, standing behind him and facing the rest of the kids in line.
Craig could only look at them for so long before looking down at his feet (or... well, mostly his belly, which obscured much of the view). He had been picked... not only not last, but FIRST? Okay, second, technically, but first for the second team! That had never happened before, and with good reason... who wanted a slow, massive target with no arm on their team?
After a moment, he briefly glanced over at Roland, who was ready to take his next pick. There was the thought of saying 'thank you', but that'd make Craig seem creepy and desperate; you just don't thank somebody for picking you for a game. It was still a very nice thing that he did, though, even if it was just to be nice and not out of any real tactical thought. He knew that Roland was a pretty big guy, even if anything shorter than himself was considered 'small' or 'average' to Craig, and two of the biggest kids being on the same team seemed like suicide.
To compare, Craig looked over to Cisco and Harold, realizing that this game was going to be some surreal 'David versus Goliath: Dodgeball edition'.
SERIOUSLY!?
Craig didn't move for a few seconds when Roland had motioned to him, said his name, had called him over to his side. His body was just as unanticipating of being called first as he was, to the point where there was at least two seconds of complete absence of motion. As soon as the thought ran through Craig's mind that perhaps he was keeping Roland waiting, he gave a short 'oh' and speed-walked over to him, standing behind him and facing the rest of the kids in line.
Craig could only look at them for so long before looking down at his feet (or... well, mostly his belly, which obscured much of the view). He had been picked... not only not last, but FIRST? Okay, second, technically, but first for the second team! That had never happened before, and with good reason... who wanted a slow, massive target with no arm on their team?
After a moment, he briefly glanced over at Roland, who was ready to take his next pick. There was the thought of saying 'thank you', but that'd make Craig seem creepy and desperate; you just don't thank somebody for picking you for a game. It was still a very nice thing that he did, though, even if it was just to be nice and not out of any real tactical thought. He knew that Roland was a pretty big guy, even if anything shorter than himself was considered 'small' or 'average' to Craig, and two of the biggest kids being on the same team seemed like suicide.
To compare, Craig looked over to Cisco and Harold, realizing that this game was going to be some surreal 'David versus Goliath: Dodgeball edition'.
"Hey...Pick the goth chick. She's been sitting there like she's craving jock blood or somethin'."
Harold was just about to raise his finger again when he heard his new teammate make a suggestion that stopped him dead. Turning slowly, he eyeballed Cisco with a special kind of look, the one you give to your cat when it drops a chewed up rat into your morning cereal. Then he looked over where Cisco was looking, and he saw her. Not close to dressed in gym attire, and giving off the appearance of a street punk, Meredith oozed a very noticeable odor of not wanting to be here, and hoping that nobody would notice her or call her for their team. If she had her way, she'd be standing there until the bell rang.
Well, Harold just couldn't have that. If there was suffering to be had, he'd make sure that there was more than plenty to go around. And so, turning so that his body was facing her dead-on, just to make sure that she wouldn't get confused about who he was talking about, the fat man raised his finger once more and shouted, "Hey you, get on my team!" The opposing side would think this was stupid. They probably would encourage Harold to make even more lamebrained decisions, but that was what he wanted. Truth was, he hadn't really been into the game since he had vindictively picked a person out of personal revenge, and was now actively seeking to sabotage the coach's intended fun game of Dodgeball.
If you are doomed to failure, then make it a spectacular failure. That's what Dad would say in this circumstance.
Aside from those exceptional characters though, the rest of the class was kind of generic. The rest of the picking would pass like a blur, with Harold making sure to prioritize the people who seemed weaker or who merely looked like they wanted to leave.
Harold was just about to raise his finger again when he heard his new teammate make a suggestion that stopped him dead. Turning slowly, he eyeballed Cisco with a special kind of look, the one you give to your cat when it drops a chewed up rat into your morning cereal. Then he looked over where Cisco was looking, and he saw her. Not close to dressed in gym attire, and giving off the appearance of a street punk, Meredith oozed a very noticeable odor of not wanting to be here, and hoping that nobody would notice her or call her for their team. If she had her way, she'd be standing there until the bell rang.
Well, Harold just couldn't have that. If there was suffering to be had, he'd make sure that there was more than plenty to go around. And so, turning so that his body was facing her dead-on, just to make sure that she wouldn't get confused about who he was talking about, the fat man raised his finger once more and shouted, "Hey you, get on my team!" The opposing side would think this was stupid. They probably would encourage Harold to make even more lamebrained decisions, but that was what he wanted. Truth was, he hadn't really been into the game since he had vindictively picked a person out of personal revenge, and was now actively seeking to sabotage the coach's intended fun game of Dodgeball.
If you are doomed to failure, then make it a spectacular failure. That's what Dad would say in this circumstance.
Aside from those exceptional characters though, the rest of the class was kind of generic. The rest of the picking would pass like a blur, with Harold making sure to prioritize the people who seemed weaker or who merely looked like they wanted to leave.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
"Hey you, get on my team!"
Meredith startled a little. She'd been staring at the floor, her hair over her face when she was called to join Harold's team. Slowly, she dragged her eyes from the floor and looked at him.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." she droned.
She shrugged, rolling her eyes as she slowly dragged herself, vinyl coat and all, over to stand next to or behind him. She sighed heavily, then started into another of her famous soliloquies.
"This is a big mistake." she murmured to Harold, "The whole world is a big mistake. This game is a bigger mistake. And what you did just now? Bigger. You've got some nerve picking me to boost your ego in this pointless bloodsport. I hope that the Caesars cheer for you when you get put into the colosseum."
It was shorter than usual and a lot less coherent. Probably because, like it as not, deep inside, Meredith did enjoy dodgeball. Sure, she couldn't aim in the least, but she could really lob a ball hard.
Meredith startled a little. She'd been staring at the floor, her hair over her face when she was called to join Harold's team. Slowly, she dragged her eyes from the floor and looked at him.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." she droned.
She shrugged, rolling her eyes as she slowly dragged herself, vinyl coat and all, over to stand next to or behind him. She sighed heavily, then started into another of her famous soliloquies.
"This is a big mistake." she murmured to Harold, "The whole world is a big mistake. This game is a bigger mistake. And what you did just now? Bigger. You've got some nerve picking me to boost your ego in this pointless bloodsport. I hope that the Caesars cheer for you when you get put into the colosseum."
It was shorter than usual and a lot less coherent. Probably because, like it as not, deep inside, Meredith did enjoy dodgeball. Sure, she couldn't aim in the least, but she could really lob a ball hard.
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