VI. Motley and Bold
Jester loved their fans with all her heart.
Aged 7 to 77, as the saying went, they came from all walks of life, each of them adding something vital to the amazing tapestry of support and heartfelt belief surrounding the Dubauer Prowlers.
She could feel them, out there in the stands, or out and about on the street, buoying her up, allowing her to do her thing, to be herself – and they weren't shy about fighting for what they thought was theirs, either in their comments to the players, or against the other team's supporters.
As it should be.
There was no-one she'd rather have in her corner, and nobody she wanted to disappoint less.
VII. Summer Sky
Spring, the time of new beginnings, had turned into full-blown summer.
Scorching days peeled the paint off the town's walls.
Caused plants to shrivel up, cooked where they stood.
Generators to break down.
Jester spent most of them outside with Jesus, going for long treks under spotless clear blue skies, across arid, cracked terrain, being careful not to trample the last of the scarce vegetation stubbornly hanging on. Praying for rain. For relief. For rebirth.
How long had it been since it'd rained?
How long had it been since she and her Queen'd had an actual conversation?
They were still living in the same house, but it didn't feel like a home any more.
They never talked any more.
Never laughed any more.
Jester had no idea what to do.
How to fix it.
If she even could.
But she wasn't planning on giving up.
VIII. Rainbows and Raiments
They were getting new team uniforms.
Unexpected, this late in the year.
Unnecessary.
Jester had a perfectly serviceable uniform.
Didn't need a new one.
Want a new one.
It wasn't tattered, it was battle scarred.
Each tear a memory of an encounter.
Each patch a gift from a fan.
A prayer for the future.
A blessing.
The owner, however, had decided it was time for a change, and what the owner said, went.
Walking into the fitting room of the very expensive-looking company hired for the rebrand, she was blinded by a rainbow of garish colours assaulting her eyes. Were these mech riding uniforms, or toys for children to play dress-up with? They were not only ugly, they also seemed... impractical. Dangerously bereft of padding in quite a few places. Skimpy, even. Had any of these people ever been in a mech being slammed through a concrete wall by another mech?
Jester thought about bringing it up, but nobody was interested in her thoughts.
That wasn't what she was here for.
She was here to nod and smile.
Do as she was told.
And that's when they revealed hers.
A special concept, designed after an idea the coach and the owner had.
Different from everyone else.
Nowhere even close.
A real jester's outfit, you see, just like in mediaeval times!
Jester smiled.
Laughed along.
Such a great idea!
And look, it even has a hoodie with the bells on it!
Cried herself to sleep that night.
IX. Feasts and Feats
Jester had never felt so out of place.
She was at a big fancy four course dinner in the ritziest hotel of the capital, thrown to celebrate a new sponsor for the team, with a guest list full of Very Important People she'd never heard of, but who certainly looked like they were very important – or at least very rich, which she guessed was basically the same thing as far as the ones that had put together the guest list were concerned.
The Prowlers had been split up across the many tables, to schmooze these Very Important People in stuffy suits and boring dresses that probably cost more than Jester had ever owned in her life.
The ones at Jester's table weren't any better.
Nobody she recognised. Nobody she knew. Definitely none of their fans.
Nobody that actually cared who she was.
Mostly resented her being there almost as much as she did.
She'd caught two of them whispering to each other in that way that carried enough to make sure the target heard it too. That they'd wanted a table with one of the pretty ones, but that the bidding on those had been fierce and too rich even for their blood, you know?
Was this what she'd let her Queen put her in a dress for, even though on her it looked more like she'd been stuffed into it instead of poured, like it did on 'the pretty ones'?
Jester'd been so happy that they were talking again, it'd taken her a second to realise it was just for... this.
Mindless self-promotion to people that didn't give a rat's ass about the sport. About them.
Making sure she didn't embarrass the team.
Didn't embarrass her.
Fuck this.
"Wanna see a cool trick?" She smiled brightly, gathering the eye and attention of everyone at her table, intrigued despite themselves.
Bunched the tablecloth in her fists.
Somersaulted backwards out of her chair.
Heard the rented dress rip in protest of her antics, which it had not been built for.
The cries of dismay and revulsion as her tablemates were now wearing the contents of their plates.
"Tadaaa!"
Five out of eight. Not bad.
