“Until the qualifiers? Four weeks,” Pickle said, and he could tell she was feeling the burden of responsibility already.
DROP SEVENTY-FIVE
Hector spent all morning on the phone. He was new in this business, and he didn’t manage to get through to anyone really. For hours he was kept on hold, the stupid, inane music piercing his skull. Even worse, some owners used chatbots, which were even stupider than a stupid person speaking through a tin can and string.
After a couple of hours of wanting to pull his hair off, he admitted defeat.
“I can’t even get a conversation with these guys, let alone discuss a business deal,” he muttered to himself, holding his head. His desk was a mess of notes and names and phone numbers, both on paper and on the veil. He didn’t know these people, and the ones he did know were not a good indication of what the others were really like.
He admitted that he needed to schmooze a bit more in the owner’s lounge. Go to parties. Talk to people.
Blergh.
He called Hondros.
“Yes, my friend!” the fat bastard said when he picked up.
Hector sighed. You don’t choose your friends, not really. “I, uh... need those two girls you mentioned.”
“Really? Excellent! I’ll send the contracts over right away. Their owners told me they have them ready to go, but definitely not tonight...” he trailed off, innuendo rolling off his fat tongue.
“Yeah, no problem. We need them the day after tomorrow, to start training. Is that doable?” Hector said, his eyes following the pedestrians in the street.
“For you, Hector, everything is doable!” Hondros said cheerfully. “Now, there are some clauses, and I expect you to deliver them back in the pristine condition I’m giving them, m’kay?”
“Yeah, whatever. We both know I’ve got no choice. Make the deal and have them come at HPP tomorrow night, so they can rest up. Pickle wants to start training them early.”
“Interesting... Well, as soon as you sign the contracts, we have a deal!” Hondros said.
Hector felt a bitter taste in his mouth, as if someone had suddenly dripped pickle juice in it. “Yes, Yianni. And thank you for the quick turnaround.”
It paid to be polite in your business deals, that lesson was the one he’d learnt early. Even if you might have said some nasty things beforehand, when you’re sitting on the business table you learn to push all that aside.
Like a cat. Just shove it all off the table, let them fall to pieces. He laughed at his own stupid joke. Gods, he was tired.
DROP SEVENTY-SIX
Pickle gulped once and then walked up to him.
Hector sighed and dropped his armour sketches on the table. “What’s wrong? You have that frown between your eyes you only get when things are bad.”
She wasted no time. “We need more money.”
“Of course we do. We always need more money.” He relaxed and leaned back on his chair.
“Yeah, but there’s one way we can make some.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” He leaned forward and made a ‘carry on’ gesture with his hand. “Let’s hear it.”
Pickle swiped in the air and showed him a veil banner about a jugger match. The team she presented to him was even sillier than his own: The Clumsies.
He choked down a snort. “Okay. What about them?”
“You can loan me and Cherry out for a match. It won’t be much, but it is a cash injection. Not to mention that both of us girls would like to let go of some steam.”
“Sure. How do you know they need players?”
“I know some of the girls, we met a few days ago, kept in touch. The Clumsies are a joke team, a brand. They make plenty of money, though. They’re rather nice, as nice as you can get in this business. They are good people but not good athletes, and they have autognosia.”
Hector took a better look at the digital poster and the Clumsies’ website. “Know thyself,” he nodded.
“I just mentioned it casually and they got all excited about it. I mean at the prospect of finally winning a match with our help.”
Hector swiped the website away and went back to his sketches. “Okay.”
Pickle paused for a second. “What, just like that?”
“Sure. Do it. Set it up. Make the arrangements. How much clearer can I say that I agree with you?”
“But, I can’t set it up. You have to call them.”
Hector sighed and looked up from his armour sketches. “Pickle?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t the other owners have assistants?”
“Of course they do.”
“Then pick up the phone, say you’re my assistant, and book the damn deal.”
“But-But I might screw this up!”
Hector rolled his eyes and picked up the sketches, again. “We both know that’s not likely.”
DROP SEVENTY-SEVEN
At the gynaeconitis, right before the match, Cherry and Pickle were getting ready.
Hector was leaning on the wall, looking away and being discreet. Cherry wouldn’t mind if she caught his eye, just a tiny bit. “See? I told you you could handle the deal,” he said to Pickle.
“Yeah... I got a good price too. It’s just one payday but it’s nothing to scoff at,” Pickle said, putting on her top.
“Hey, I’m not one to scoff at incoming money. Just don’t overexert yourselves, we definitely don’t want an injury,” he said.
“Come suit me up,” Pickle said, standing tall.
“Sure.” Hector walked up to her and picked up the armour pieces.
Cherry perked up at that. “What’s this now?”
Pickle spoke in a pitch that was too high for Cherry to truly believe her. “Oh, it’s just a thing. Hector puts on my armour before each match.” She waved it away, chuckling dismissively. “It’s for good luck.”
Hector knelt down and put greaves on Pickle, leaning behind her legs to bind them in place.
Then he stood up, picked up her breast padding, inspected it for a moment, then put it around Pickle’s chest, covering her exoskeleton. He reached around her waist and fastened it just right.
Then he picked up the shield. Pickle stretched her arm and Hector slid the shield over it, allowing her to grip it at the proper place. He tightened the straps as much as they needed to.
Then he picked up her sword. It might have been edged with foam, but Cherry knew that Pickle could wield it like a pro. Hector clipped it onto her belt.
Finally, he picked up her helmet. Pickle leaned forward in a reverent pose, and Hector placed her helmet on, sliding her hair back with his hand. She met his eyes again, and he strapped it in place. Not too tight, not too loose. Just right.
“There. Ready to kick ass, Pickle,” he said, giving her a smile.
Cherry couldn’t contain it any more. “That. Was. Awesome!”
They both turned to her, looking confused.
“I’m so gonna sketch this scene when we get back home.” Then she looked away and kicked the side of the bench. “Hey... Hector?”
“Yeah?”
She held her greaves up with a finger. “Can you suit me up too?” she asked, hesitating. “Only if you want to, that is...”
Hector’s eyes ping-ponged between the two girls. “Well, sure I can.”
He walked up to her and knelt down before her. Cherry was much smaller than Pickle, and she could see it in the way Hector could reach around her leg and tie the greaves without stretching. She looked down at the top of his head as he armoured her up, running his hands over her padding and checking the parts, tugging on them left and right and tying them just right. She leaned forward and took in a whiff of his hair.
His hands were strong and they moved expertly along her body. It all became a haze in her mind and she didn’t even realise when Hector put on her helmet and tied it under her chin.
When he tapped her helmet gently, she was shaken out of her reverie. “All set. Grab those skulls, Cherry!” he cheered
her on with a ‘we can do it’ fist.
“S-sure!”
Pickle and Cherry were at the gate, waiting for the starting signal. “Did you... um... enjoy it too when he did that?” Pickle said. “I’m talking about the... you know, back there.”
Cherry swooned. “Are you kidding me? I got tingles all over, I’m practically wet down there!” She ran her hands over her body, wiggling her gloved fingers.
Pickle coughed and turned forward. “Yeah... I just think it’s good luck, that’s all.”
“Sure you do,” Cherry deadpanned, squinting at her. “No tingles whatsoever. Just for good luck.”
“What else could it be? And Hector knows how to tie up a suit of armour, that’s another practical thing,” Pickle nodded. “It makes sense for him to do it. You know, avoid any accidents.”
“He sure does!” Cherry cheered on. “With those powerful hands all over my body...” she breathed out.
“Focus on the match, Cherry!” Pickle demanded.
Cherry breathed in, then out, puffing her cheeks. “I’m focused. I’m wet, and focused.” She hopped in place, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
DROP SEVENTY-EIGHT
The Clumsies kept true to their name. No matter how well a play Pickle and Cherry started, they couldn’t keep up and maintain it. They kept losing the skull to dumb, rookie mistakes.
Cherry got worn out, running up and down the field, doing her best. “I can’t score!”
“It’s okay, trust me, it’s not your fault,” Pickle assured her back at the starting line.
“Still,” Cherry panted, we were hired to give them a win. “I say we give it a try.”
“We are. But we can’t perform miracles, not with just two good players!” Pickle noticed they got the attention of a Clumsie, she was called Olivia, one of the girls Pickle met back at the Taf bar. She smiled at her, changing the subject. “Let’s just try a slide, I got your left, worry only about your right, okay?”
Cherry nodded and assumed the sprinter’s pose.
The stones started hitting the drum, and Cherry was on top of the skull in an eyeblink. Pickle covered her from two enforcers, and Cherry weaved through the Chain and threw herself forward into actually scoring.
The Clumsies’s fans went wild. The girls cheered and hugged her tight, smiles all over. “We can do it! We can win this!” they said.
Yeah... No. Pickle forced herself to smile back and to appear positive, but she was too good of a strategist to believe that. By Athena’s owly gaze, the game had been lost already. All they could do was stay true to their contract for this match, play well, and try not to get injured, ‘cause that would negate whatever little they might earn this day.
They all readied themselves for the next round. The Clumsies seemed focused, razor-sharp. Clutching their weapons, they were poised to strike.
Pickle pushed her bottom lip in a ‘hm.’ Would the Clumsies manage to surprise her? Emma, Olivia and Izzy certainly took this round seriously.
And then the stone struck, and two of the Clumsies fumbled their q-tips and tripped each other. They fell on the floor, and an instant-replay looped again and again for the audience.
Pickle slumped her shoulders in a deep sigh of resignation.
DROP SEVENTY-NINE
“Hey, Cherry? Come on down for a second, will ya?” Hector yelled from downstairs.
Cherry felt a shiver running down her spine. There it was, the bad feeling. She couldn’t really say no, and he hadn’t asked for anything unreasonable.
She walked down the stairs slowly, each step one of drama, as if she was heading towards a firing squad.
Hector was down at his workshop, as usual. He had some project splayed out, that much was apparent. Parts and bits of armour and fabric were arrayed in a pattern-like fashion. “Yes, Hector?” she gulped.
“Come stand here,” he pointed. “Over here, where the light is.”
She did so. “What do you need me for?” she asked, but her real question was, ‘Is this the night where you finally show your real face?’
“To take measurements for your armour,” he said, picking up his measuring tape like a pro. “Stretch out your arms for me, please?”
She shut her eyes and did as she was told.
Hector measured her dimensions with practised ease.
“They’re all online already...” she said, lamely.
“It’s not just the numbers, Cherry,” Hector said, going over to the other arm. He measured, and added, “It’s also the general feel, how it sits on you.” He mimicked the feel of something heavy with his hands. He went to her waist and she shut her eyes again. “Sure, I could craft one by the numbers alone, and it would fit you just fine, no doubt about that. But getting the feel of the body wearing it, it’s different.”
There it was. She braced for it. Now would come the inappropriate touching. Then it would all begin. The darkness.
“Lift your arms up in the air for me, please?” Hector said and measured under her breasts when she did so. “Why are you panting like this, did you come running down here? Calm down.”
She bit her lip and nodded in affirmative but couldn’t really calm down. Run, run away, that was her only impulse right now.
Silly girl.
You’d only make it a couple of steps outside.
Hector measured her upper chest. Then he asked, “May I touch your collarbones?”
She nodded yes, still biting her lip. Her eyes darted around the room. So many tools, pliers, hammers. She could grab one. She wasn’t that strong, but she certainly was fast. Fast means power, right?
Right?
Hector touched her collarbones, feeling his way around. “See, the problem is that a lot of the upper armour rests on the collarbone, and it becomes very uncomfortable if it doesn’t sit right.”
“I see...” she said, now actively breathing hard. She had worn boy shorts and a t-shirt. The outfit wasn’t provocative in its own way, but it was invitingly easy to get rid of. That, she realised, had been a mistake. She had let her guard down, felt too comfortable in here.
Hector pulled his stool and sat next to her, leaning down to measure her thighs. “I was saying, that since you’re a qwik, you really need your mobility. You have explosive sprints, and very fast turns.” He went on to measure the knee and lower leg. “Finding the right balance between protection and mobility is an artform,” he continued.
“I agree,” she said. She could admit that he hadn’t touched her inappropriately. Not yet. But it could all change in an instant. That’s what men were like.
Hector measured her feet’s length, then said, “Take a starting position for me please. Yes, just like that.”
She stood still in the ‘ready-to-sprint’ pose. Now she really wanted to run away. It was like wanting desperately to pee and someone asking you to pour water on a plant next to you. Torture.
Hector straightened his back. “Okay, done! I should have a first fitting for you tomorrow, and we’ll adjust from there, since were all gonna be around here somewhere,” he chuckled, apparently finding his silly joke funny. Then he turned back to his workbench.
“Wait, what?” Cherry exclaimed.
“What?”
“Is this it?”
“Yeah. I got the measurements, thanks. You can go. Or stay, I don’t mind.” He casually waved her away, dismissing her.
Cherry put her hand on her waist. Now she was really pissed off.
There was a long pause, and finally Hector turned just his eyes to see her still standing there. “Is there something wrong?”
“Wrong? WRONG? You invite me over to your house, you buy things for me, you give me an allowance, you call me downstairs in the middle of the night to come for a ‘fitting,’” she air-quoted.
“Measuring,” he corrected.
She threw her arms in the air. “Even worse! You run your hands all over me, see me trembling like a leaf, and then, what? Nothing?”
“What did you expec
t me to do?”
“I dunno! Take advantage of me?” she said simply. “Am I not attractive enough for you?”
“Cherry, you are. Very attractive. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
She instantly stopped being angry. “Oh. Then why aren’t your wandering hands, you know, wandering?” she mimicked with her own hands.
Hector looked at his hands. “I’m confused. Do you want me to?”
“Yes, you big dummy!”
“Oh, Cherry, I can’t. I’d be taking advantage of you. This owner-athlete relationship is really fucked up,” he shook his head.
“Sure you can,” she said, stepping close to him.
“Cherry...”
“Feel my collarbones.”
“I already have, they’re nice,” he smiled. Gods, he had a nice smile.
“Do it again.”
He brushed his fingers on her collarbones. They felt rough and strong and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Now, measure my torso.”
Hector picked up his measuring tape and went for it again.
“Not with that. With your palm.”
He chuckled and complied. He measured her torso with his palm-length. “This is terribly inaccurate,” he said with his deep voice. “We’re gonna mess up the armour and we’ll have to do it all over again.” He ran his palm over her breasts, then groped her.
Fucking finally.
Hector leaned in, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close into a deep kiss. He was gruff and sweaty and so damn hot.
“Mmm,” she teased, “That was very nice, but I don’t see how it helps with the measuring.”
“Let me show you how,” he said and picked her up, then placed her on his workbench over the armour parts. He set her down with the same orientation.
“Oh, nice. Where does this part go?” she said coyly, pointing to an arm part.
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