Victorious... that is a word he could get use to hearing. Those slimed up demons with ridiculous tentacles had held onto and bashed his band of Druchii all game. Their ball handling skills in the second half had let the few elves that were free to run about near free access to the ball and the game was quickly beyond them. There had been one seriously mangled back but that was to some unskilled yokel so he hadn't even bothered to learn the name of. Now Squall's mind drifted to getting out of this sticky disgusting wreck of a blood bowl field. It shouldn't be a problem and previous he had easily managed by simply putting one foot in front of the other but with victory comes fame... and with fame come the dreaded press. The coach swung one of his legs out and took one of his many slaves by surprise. He wasn't picky about his slaves; anything that didn't run away, smell too bad and followed orders was his only concern. This slave just so happened to be a well groomed rat who consider slavery as more of a career than anything else. The rat stood back up clutching his stomach and inquired what his master could want, "What do you require sir?”. His master did bother to look at him, "Find me a way out that doesn't involve talking to these news hounds".
Choosing a rat to find a way to slink off into the darkness should of been a master stroke but as he was being led though a section broken wall, which lead to the outside of the stadium, he felt eyes upon him. He could not yet see them and hoped that his imagination was being fed from his rampant paranoia. Now standing outside he made a quick progress toward the clubs lodging following the nimble slave through back alleys and mostly forgotten paths. Finally he could see his dwellings, his peaceful world where no one asked him anything unless he wanted them to. Gleefully he stepped out of the last alley but found himself in mid air instead of on the grimy cobbles. "Wha... wha... what in the hell!" he managed to sputter out as he was swung around to see a head as big as his torso. “Dis you?” A booming voice demanded, which penetrated his every cell in his body. “Huh?”, the confused elf said still moving his legs in the hope the ground would re-appear underfoot. The ogre tilted his head down swinging his captive so he could see the poster in his other hand. “Is… Dis… You…?” the rumbling voice continued now catering for the obviously dumbfounded Squall. The likeness was pretty close but he didn’t want to admit this to the lumbering oaf, “Errmmm no, sorry you seem to have the wrong person. I’ll be on my way thank you all the same”. Seemingly this ogre had been fobbed off one too many times by quick thinking victims and decided against letting the dark skinned one go, “Dis looks like you. I take you to bossman”. The ogre didn’t ask if he wanted to walk or how he wished to be carried, it seemed that flung over his shoulder was his only option. He had failed to notice the ogre’s hat previously. Normally it is hard to miss a giant white blood bowl hat with the word ‘Press’ in black across it. Bastards, the sneaky… sneaky… ah sod it he had been out played yet again.
The ogre trundled along the main street until he came to the press offices. His attempt to knock politely rocked the building and evidence of the ogres previously knocking showed as one of the hinges broke off. A flustered clerk ran from an office to prevent more damage to the building, “Put him down and guard the exit in case he tries to leave. Also try to remember not to knock, bellowing will do”. “Right bossman”, the ogre rumbled setting Squall on his feet. “This way, this way”, the clerk said in a hurried voice as he indicated along the hall. Muttering to himself the now bruised coach followed the scampering clerk. After a few flights of stairs they came to a glass door with the words ‘Moregore – Reporter’ written across it. Squall was ushered through the door to be met with the sight of the zombie standing in front of his desk with his hand out stretched. “Not you again” was all the elf could manage ignoring the hand and sitting down with a thump. Unflustered, as zombies tend to be, he took his own seat behind the desk. “I hope you had a pleasant journey here”, he quipped with his face not portraying even the slightest hint of a smile. “What am I doing here, what right do you have to bring me here!”, the Druchii ranted more than slightly annoyed at his current situation. “Well I think you will remember we have a contract”, the zombie replied, “you did read the contract when you team signed up for the league didn’t you?”. He hadn’t of course, I mean what was delegation useful for if not for dealing with paperwork. Someone’s head would roll for this even if they weren’t to blame. “In your contract it states that you must give a heat of the moment after game interview if we so desire, and we do desire that currently”, Moregore continued. Squall’s eyes studied the window but it was locked tight and the ogre was baring the only other exit he knew of… he was going to have to answer more of those questions, damn it. “Fine ask your damnable questions” he venomously spat out. “How did you feel after today’s victory?”, the zombie started predictably. “Pleased”, Squall answered shortly hoping one word answers would annoy the reporter. “Longer answers please, unless you would like the piece to be padded with a theory behind the missing reporters which were last seen entering your premises”. The words wrapped around room and a silence followed. I hate this creature was all Squall’s mind would let him think, but he would have to respond as the previous press protocol was an untidy affair. “It was an excellent game all around, lots of touchdowns and only one peon’s career was ended”, he mustered. His words exactly as spoken were transferred to the pad. “What would you say to the rumours that much of the Vipers success seems to be based on starting before the kick off?”, Moregore said without lifting his eyes. Squall had hoped no one had noticed his team’s indifferent attitude to a whistles role at a kick off. “I think you will find that elves simply move with such speed and grace that your brain… or whatever it is you have, can’t keep up with the sheer scale of it beauty”. An eyebrow or the area an eyebrow would have been lifted on the grey face, “And what about the allegations that the Vipers have been seen stealing from Delf Fun’s steroid factory?”. He would have sunk further into his chair but it was hard and wouldn’t comply, “Our new abilities are based upon a strict training routine that I refuse to discuss. Not all of us have to sink as low as that”. Again the face of his interviewer attempted a quizzical look, which failed to have any effect because of the lack of the correct muscles or intact hair follicles. “Last question as I’m sure you’re glad to hear. What do you think your chances will be against your opponent next week?”. Squall’s mind raced back to his office where he could see the face of the bearded ones coach. He hated the stunty, fat, bearded ones and the half bull ones were worse. “Let me say however that match ends, it won’t be a pleasant experience for me… and hopefully them”. “Well done, you have managed a full length interview without stabbing anyone. You may go about your day now”, Moregore stood again with his hand outstretched. The door was almost cracked as Squall stormed his way out of the office. Someone was going to pay for this outrage and it was not going to be pretty, well not unless you liked artistic blood splatter.
. Going to be a hard old match.
