Quick FBA one-shot with   Anonymous13423

Sterling Bengtzing sets fellow draftee Derek Kim with a plan. What is it?

Derek Kim ©   Anonymous13423

Sterling Bengtzing © Me

FBA © Respective owners/frontmen

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“JÄVLA HELVETE! JA!” A thunderous roar echoed in the hallways exiting the outdoors court, as the Blue team, featuring a boisterous marbled polecat who won a ticket to the final. As short as the games were, it was still testimony to the FBA officials who were watching: The polecat was here to win.

((“THAT was a game, wasn’t it son?”)) asked the elder mustelid, Ferdinand, to his son. As result-driven as he was, the fact he could play alongside part of the champion roster that his dad had was almost too good to be true. But there he was.

((“Holy shit…. First FBA event and I’m on the fucking finals of it!”)) he replied in his dad’s tongue. ((“Couldn’t do it without you and Julius. I’m learning a shitton!”))

((“The other two sure did well too. I bet they’re excited too...”))

Sterling was “Huh? Yeah whatever. We rocked!”

Ferdinand rubbed his lower back. ((“Oof...Now… I gotta go shower and take it easy. The reminder of your age can be painful sometimes! Don’t get in trouble, young man!”))

The elder marbled polecat went to the locker rooms that the Dynn management assigned to the teams to store their properties and clean up. Sterling opted to walk away to the hotel room to get cleaned up instead of using them. No one got why, but no one really questioned it.

“I thought I told you to clean yourself up, dude…”

Except for a certain black and white bird waiting outside the hotel’s doors. “There’s a thing called proper hygiene.”

The voice broke his concentration, as he saw the kkachi, making the connection to who was a while after. He walked up to him, still using his “blue team” jersey. “Was just going to. And as I said, none of your damn...” He faced the avian, crossing his arms, almost a good foot taller.

Derek stood, un-intimidated, leering a bit. “Do as you will, then. Anyway, nice game today! Surely an improvement from your one rebound yesterday!”

Sterling reached to his back to undo his ponytail; Derek could see just how much the mustelid’s game time darkened his blue gear, especially underarms and chest, there might as well be an indigo team, scrunching his face once he caught a wind of the big polecat. “Yah, dad was struggling. Had to abandon my defensive game to aid him, but damn it worked.”

“Well, he had like four times the rebounds as you did, but whatever… how was facing the hypercarries of Team Red?”

“Eh, once you figured Rocky and the other guy out, the rest was a given. That damn turtle is a doozy, but instead I just focused on rebounding the shit out of the other two and BAM! Victory baby! POW!” he reached his hands up as in imitating a rebound, then shot a horns gesture up in the air.

“Heh, another day, another team that gets a free night in Vegas tomorrow…”

“And I’ll be on my way to the win…” he grinned. “You still up for the dinner?”

“...Shower first,” said Derek, the smell definitely getting to him, waving the air in front of him. “I’ll meet up at the the place in a half hour.”

“Hrm… Whatever birdy, there are things to discuss. Meet’cha there…” he attempted a high-five, which Derek reciprocated.

“See you there,” he said as they parted ways.

“Phew!” He inhaled a breath of air. That guy sure had a strong ‘presence’.

---

The two came by the gaudy Vegas burger restaurant, where they sat on adjacent bar stools. The avian noticed something odd once a pair of beer glasses came through.

“Fake ID?” he whispered once he was out of earshot to the waiters.

“And a fuck lot of confidence...” the polecat snickered. The metal lifestyle sure aged you just enough to pretend to be perfectly ‘older’.

“Ha!” Derek cawed as he played around with one of the complimentary peanuts. “So… what’s your reason for calling me over in private tonight?”

Sterling took a hearty sip of the Vegas-sized glass, some foam sticking to his muzzle. “Besides of hanging out with someone not lame, basically… gotta keep all my eggs in one basket,” he gestured.

Derek drank the ice cold draft beer before replying. “Interesting… care to elaborate?”

“Take a look at the competition. Tell me who’s gunnin’ for the draft right now. Names...”

“In terms of direct competition… really not anyone I know of? Maybe that Kijani guy and even he’s kind of a long shot. In general the street dudes like Mallark seem to want it a lot more than the others...”

“Getting hotter, Bird… Keep going...”

“Name’s Derek, mustelid…” He tossed some of the peanuts down his beak. ”Anyway, I’m pretty sure the other guys like Selas, Martineau, Maxwell, and so on think their shit is working… but I honestly doubt if they mean it when they say they take the game seriously. Can they handle the league?”

Sterling raised his glass to the bird. “Now you get why you’re here...”

“Because you think I’m ‘better’ than the rest of them?” Derek clinked his own glass. “I just try to make up for my somewhat plain physicality… if any of my direct competition actually took it as seriously as I do I’d be out of a chance. Although,” Sterling downed the glass, letting the avian finish. “I’m pretty sure no one does.”

The polecat frowned at the reply given. “What if one of those guys ends up higher than you and shit is exactly how it is today in that time? Them being as fucking basic as they are?”

The kkachi deliberated before replying, “It’ll be disappointing if that’s what the teams are going to see in me… I’m not going to say this out loud, but I’m hoping to blow up the Combine while I can to make sure that shit does not happen.”

The orders came by at the time Derek finished, Sterling’s notably bigger and more “carnivore-friendly”. They asked for a second round of beer, as he cleared his throat. “That is what’s killin’ the FBA. We don’t need anymore little shits and basic playing. We need strength, passion, people who are who they are and fuck whoever thinks that being themselves is wrong. McCarthy, Maxwell, the fucking sissy frenchie whatever his name… They need to know where they stand in this league as well as we. We belong up there, with the millions and the starting time. They… who cares? Bottom feeders? Bench warmers? Not in… Get what I mean? Tchotchkes...”

“Kkachi.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a kkachi.”

“Not you! I mean… a tchotchke! Something attention-calling but totally worthless, just like them!”

“Oh! Silly me,” Derek laughed. “They’d make for good ‘friends’... But inside the court, I don’t want friends; I don't need friends. I want teammates, people that can actually work well with each other in a game. I can work with them if I HAVE to… but I think I’ll have the most fun working with fellas like you.”

“You see why I called ya...” the mustelid took quite the bite from his order. “...You got the mindset where it is. If your game’s still on point as it was when I faced ya way back...”

“Even better.”

“...Then we need to make sure our strength doesn’t go to waste. We got the game, we got the mentality… we need to keep together. The few against the lame. Already spoke about this to Tryce, he’s game… If you have the balls to say you’re better than them right now, I’ll get convinced you can make the damn cut and set yourself for the bigtime, D.K. Just making sure talent don’t go to waste and the good spots don't go to them. You’re a fucking good guard”

Derek smiled. “I like what you’re sayin’, dude! Count me in. Oh, and a sneak peek...” He pulled out a spring notebook that had “Observations” written on it.

Sterling raised an eyebrow. “The fuck? Your black book? Who you boning?”

“I wish!” Derek laughed. “It’s just stuff I’ve written down while watching the charity games here in Vegas. I don’t know if I’ve gotten a big enough sample size, but I think I’ve gathered a lot about how these guys play by getting to see them in person… Who are you facing tomorrow again?”

“I don’t know man… this Dakota dude?”

“You mean Whitelatch?” Derek proceeded to rifle through the pages until he found the name that Sterling wanted to check out. “Here you go! If you’re gonna be working with me, I might as well let you in on some of my trade secrets. I actually have more about him in my laptop, but I left it at the hotel, so...”

Sterling grinned, displaying his now known crooked fang. “There was a reason I wanted you in the group, you brainiac. Fucking impressed...”

“Keep in mind that I don’t plan on releasing everything I have in one go, because if I did that I’d be ruined,” said Derek. “If everyone has access to this kind of stuff, you don’t really get any advantage, you know?”

“Obviously...” he stretched, arms above his head, making his joints pop. Derek noticed those slight underarm stains again; seems it was a condition of some sorts with him. “...So that’s the deal. We stay together, help each other out, ignore the lames, get the FBA praise guys like us deserve… Deal?”

“Deal,” Derek smiled, extending his wing to the mustelid. “Let’s shake, to make it official.”

The pair shaked hands just as the waitress came over to get the paychecks of the two. “To keeping the FBA on track!”

“Sure thing.” Derek smiled as he let go of Sterling’s paw when he noticed something on his arm. “What’s with the arm sleeve?”

Sterling’s expression changed, but the tone was still cocky. “It’s my fucking style. Don’t like it, beat it.”

“I see… See ya around, then!”

They fistbumped before parting ways, the polecat up for another night in Vegas. The good player squad was now up to three…

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