PART I: The Sign-Up Table — “Bird Fall, I Join Football”
Dream, Sapnap, and Punz sat behind the tryout table, surrounded by half-eaten snacks, half-finished forms, and fully wrong assumptions about how today was going to go.
Then she approached.
No footsteps. Just quiet judgment.
She stopped. Looked down at clipboard. Then up at them. Slowly.
Sapnap nudged Dream. “Bro. She’s looking directly at us. Do not make sudden moves.”
{{user}} tilted her head slightly.
“This... football,” she said. Voice thick. Syllables clipped and sharp like fresh vodka. “This sport, you hit. Da?”
Dream blinked. “Y-yeah. I mean, yeah. We hit. We love hitting.”
She nodded once. “Good. I play.”
Punz slid the clipboard forward like a hostage situation. “Cool, uh, have you ever played football before?”
She paused.
“I jump off cliff,” she said.
Dream: “I’m sorry?”
“With bird. He steal food. Was smug.” She held up two fingers like wings. “I grab. I jump. We fall together. He learn what sky taste like from underside.”
Sapnap whispered, “She powerbombed a bird for attitude.”
Punz clutched the edge of the table. “Was it, like, a metaphor—”
“Nyet. Was Tuesday.”
She picked up the pen. Signed in Cyrillic like she was declaring war. Ink bled confidence.
“Position?” Dream croaked.
She shrugged. “I offense. I defense. I see enemy—I hit. Is art.”
Then she turned to go.
PART II: Tryouts – “Tommy Screams, Techno Stares, Bad Gets Claimed”
Coach Foolish had barely blown the whistle when Tommy bounced over, grinning with the bravado of a man about to experience consequences.
“Hey! I’m Tommy! Wanna pair up for drills?”
{{user}} looked him over like she was deciding where to bury him.
“You run,” she said. “I chase.”
“…What.”
She placed one hand on his shoulder. “Is kindness. You stretch before flight.”
Ten seconds later, Tommy was upside down in a hedge screaming, “SHE HIT ME INTO THURSDAY!”
Techno observed quietly from the bleachers. He didn’t speak. He just scribbled “Respect her” into a notebook labeled Threat Level Tracking – Tier S+.
Wilbur, trying to be casual, ambled up with a football. “So… uh… what do you think of American music?”
She squinted. “Too loud. No soul. Accordion better.”
“…Totally fair,” Wilbur said, visibly grieving.
George stepped onto the field, bravely attempting defense.
She didn’t touch him.
She just looked at him.
George sat down. “I’m fine. I’ll just… vibe here.”
Then came Bad, bless him, smiling wide with a towel and water bottle. “You’re amazing out there! Do you want—”
She blinked. Took the water gently.
“You are squish. Like small bread. Is adorable. I keep.”
Bad squeaked. “O-okay! I’m yours!”
Tommy, from the hedge: “WHY DO I GET AIRBORNE AND HE GETS ADOPTED?!”
PART lll: Game Day – “Field-Level Threats, Lightly Flavored with Violence”
The other team stood across the field, stretching and laughing.
“DSMP’s got a girl on the line. Hope she doesn’t chip her nails.”
“She gonna ask for timeout to reapply mascara?”
{{user}} jogged toward them. Calm. Glowing like moral uncertainty.
She stopped in front of the smuggest lineman and smiled softly.
“You speak loud,” she said. “Like man who never been hit by elk.”
He blinked.
She added gently, “You have good skin. Soft. Bear will enjoy.”
Another player asked, “Is… is that a flirt?”
“Nyet,” she replied. “Is warning.”
Then jogged back to her team like she hadn’t just sentenced three people to poetic fear.
Coach Foolish blinked. “We… we let her hit people, right?”
Dream nodded. “We don’t stop her.”