In Your Face: Raw Footage! (IFL Season 3 Edition)

[Candy Hart]

IFL Week 5/6
Candy Hart
Badside Brawlers

When the red curtain parts, Dillon sticks his head in looking around. He continues talking to whoever stood behind him, "I told you I'd get you here in one piece." He grins, pulling his head back and holding the curtains parted.

"An' I'm lucky y'were right." Candy Hart stepped into the booth, holding an open Badsider and taking a seat on the cushioned bench. She took a pull from her beer and watched as Dillon let the curtain fall back into place while he remained outside. With him gone she squinted at the mirror panel before her.

"Please state your—" Will's voice behind the glass partition cuts off. "Haven't you been here already?"

Candy squints more at the comment of the currently faceless voice, "... No. Why, y'think y've seen me?"

"Uhh..." Will feels less secure about the glass partition between him and the woman known for her violent tendencies. If she wanted to be interviewed again, so be it. "Can you please state your name, your team affiliation, and the IFL week?"

Candy snorted, taking another pull from her beer and looking annoyed. Something about Apps owing her is muttered under her breath. She shifted on the bench, leaning back and pushing a hand through her hair. "Candy Hart. Badside Brawlers. It's week five or six, 'pending on who y're talkin to."

"I am talking to you, Ms. Hart."

"Candy." Her eyes harden. "For me, I jus' took care o'my week five bout wit' Joku last night... an' Kal's still got his t'do t'night... not that it matters, 'cept towards th' amount o'trainin' I hav' t'give 'im."

"You and Kalamere Ar'Din are very close, how would you describe your relationship?"

The camera gets a flat look from Candy. "We're teammates. That's th' extent o'it."

"You looked very comfortable with him during his interview, Msss... Candy." Will tried to quickly recover on the name but failed to see the real danger.

The brawler lifted a brow, her look turning suspicious. She tapped the bottle of her Badsider and then leaned to the red curtain. Her words unheard, when she returns she's holding a cell and watching a video that has been queued up on it. The RSN interview of one Kalamere Ar'Din plays.

Confused, Will tries to push on, "You fought Joku Ruko Shoyia of Champions of Mythos last night and took the match five to two in seven rounds. What was on your mind going into the match."

"Hit th' other guy." As Candy watches the video on the cell her knuckles turn white. The edge of her jaw ticks in anger.

"You only needed to avoid getting a shutout, did that help lessen the pressure?"

"Wasn' any pressure t'begin wit."


"Still, your opponent did manage to hit you twice."

"I hit 'im more." The angry tick at the side of her face continues as the interview she watced

"Having Kalamere there to cheer you on must have been encouraging. Do you think the two of you are the new Matt and Koy?"

There might have been a sound from the phone, caused by Candy's grip. Dillon poked his head in, looking at his cell with concern. Sure, he could replace it, but he really liked this one.

Candy lifted the beer to her lips and slowly downed the whole thing. Spotting Dillon, she handed him his phone.

Relief filled the man's features as his cell is returned to him. The red curtain falling as Dillon retreated to more thoroughly check the wellness of his prized technology.

Will watched in confusion as Candy set the empty beer bottle aside and started to stand, "Uhh... M-Candy? Are you done?"

"Yeah."

"D-do you have any final words?"

"Yeah." Candy stopped peering at the glass partition, "Run." With that, the woman stepped out of the interview booth.

The camera continued running, watching the empty cushioned bench. A silence continues before the audio picks up Will and another's startled cry, "H-hey! You're not supposed to be in here!"

The sounds of a scuffle, a thud, and only one of two started voices remains.

"Don't touch the equipment! Don't touch th—"

The visual goes black.

[Goldglo]

IFL Week 6
Matthew Algiers Simon
Team Fist

A tired and worried-looking Matt Simon settled into the booth, reluctantly complying with the eager and oft-repeated invitations of its external attendants.

A few moments later, as he examined the booth’s interior, he heard several muffled voices speaking in loud whispers.

“Governor Simon!” Voice One seemed excited.

“Colonel Simon!” Voice Two, also excited.

“Captain Futility!” Voice Three, smug and much less excited.

“Shhhhh! We can’t call him Captain Futility!” Voice One seemed horrified in her loud whisper.

Voice Three retorted, “He’s a loser and deserves the name! What do you say we call him? He’s not the Governor!”

Voice 2 chimed in, trying to end the argument with a joke, “Colonel Futility?”

“Shut up, he can hear you!” Voice One was obviously appalled.

“No he can’t! You start asking him questions…I’m calling Anne!” Voice Three had visions of extra coin in his pocket.

“No! Shhhhhhhhh! Quiet! Get back here! ” Voice One sounded like she wanted to cry.

Several moments later, presumably while Voice 3 stepped out to get in touch with Anne and others at the Rhydin Sports Network, Voice 1 cleared her throat.

“I apologize for the wait, Mister Simon…we’re ready now.”

Matt, forcing himself not to frown, answered. “All right. And before you ask: Matthew Algiers Simon, Team Fist, Week Six.”

“Thank you,” Voice One replied. “Oh! I’m just now receiving footage of your bout against Huma Evilba…ouch. Oooh! Ummmm...it appears you lost. How do you feel about your performance?

“Bane and I have fought many times over the years. Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you. This season, the bears have my number. Bane deserved the win.”

“Well Mr. Simon,” Voice One seemed reluctant to press this line of questioning but knew her job probably demanded it, “some would say that the bears, as you call them, have been getting you for three straight seasons now.”

From outside the booth, Voice 3 snorted and exclaimed, “Bears. Idiot. He’s getting his old pasty ass mauled all over the rings!”

Voice One swallowed and continued, “Colin Talvitie has given you the nickname of Captain Futility. In fact, he recently stated that people should feel sorry for you given the amount of setbacks in your political and dueling careers. To make matters worse, you’ve lost all of your dueling titles in recent months. What’s your response to that name in light of your performance this season?”

Perhaps surprisingly, Matt smiled genuinely. “Nobody needs to feel sorry for me. I’ve had my fair share of titles. I plan to have a few more. I’m not dead and buried just yet. Yes, Mr. Talvitie calls me Captain Futility. I could call him ^&*#@ or even a #@!&% *&*$# !&#@ $&*@&!$ but that wouldn’t necessarily make me any more correct than he.”

Voice One remained silent for several seconds, unsure how to respond.

“But, ah, you can’t deny that your IFL record is…well…Mister Simon it’s just plain awful.” Voice One sounded like she very much wished it wasn’t so.

“I’m not arguing that point. My IFL record isn’t anywhere close to what I’d like it to be from a personal standpoint. But I’m not the only cog. Team Fist missed the playoffs on a tiebreaker in Season 1, we made the semi-finals in Season 2 and even if we’re swept this week, which is an unfortunate but distinct possibility, we’re on track for playoffs this season as well. On the whole, the team’s performing well. That’s what counts.”

“Speaking of sweeps…” Voice One spoke a bit louder in an effort to drown out the phone conversation between Voice 3 and RSN taking place outside the booth, “…your wife ju…”

Matt cut off the question and failed to mask the brief flash of anger on his face, “Koy lost. It’s over and done with. I just explained that the team performance trumps individual results. We’re not talking about it further. Move on.”

“All right then,” Voice One cleared her throat while a muffled Voice 3 let out an enthusiastic “Yes ma’am!” and re-entered the booth to take over the interview.

“Captain Futi…I mean Colonel Fu…hell with it. Look buddy, you’re terrible. Everyone sees it, everyone knows it. You’re busted, washed up, FUBAR, roger wilco over and out or whatever you pilots say. You’ve got nothing left in the tank and your haggard woman’s following suit. Your daughter’s got to be getting an earful at school. Bet she comes home crying every day wondering why mommy and daddy are doing this to her. I just got off the phone with Anne Arky and sh…oh $^&#.”

So eager to ask his question, Voice 3 failed to notice that Matt bolted out of the booth about the time he said “haggard woman”. Shortly thereafter, Voice 3 found himself getting dragged from the booth (and potentially worse) while Voice One gasped in horror.

“The camera’s bolted down, I can’t move it! Damn thing! Colonel Futility’s on a rampage!” Voice 2, apparently flustered and on camera duty, knew he was missing out on something good.

The video feed cut off as Voice Two jostled the camera too roughly in an attempt to dislodge it from its housing. However, audio depicting a scuffle, mercy pleading by Voice 3 and a great deal of strong language from his assailant was heard clear as day.

Later, threats of a lawsuit from Voice 3 hit the airwaves as did statements from Iron Fist Garden security indicating they had forcibly removed Mr. Simon and Voice 3 from the grounds.

[Vanion Shadowcast]

IFL Week 6
Vanion Shadowcast
Mercenarii

A beautiful elf with golden hair enters the booth with a store-bought sketch pad in hand. He flops down leisurely onto the seat, looks down to his sketch pad, and chortles musically.

After a few moments, a deep and charming male voice speaks to Vanion through the partition after a brief cough, the subtle sound of nervousness creeping into his tone, "Hello. Please. State your name, and --".

Vanion cuts him off, without looking up from the sketch pad, amusement in his smiling, crystal-blue eyes, "Vanion. Mercenarii. Week Six."

"Very good, V-Vanion. Let's start. How do you feel about your team's performance over the past two weeks?"

The golden elf looks up from the sketch pad and smiles broadly towards the glass pane. The smile stretches beyond what seems amiable, and lingers for a few moments before he answers in a soothing, elvish dialect, "They were better than the four weeks that came before."

"Oh. Of course. But do you feel that they signal a turn-around for Mercenarii?", the male voice asks.

Vanion retorts with a lazy flick of his left hand, "Oh, who cares? Do I think that we'll beat Team Dirty next week and go to the playoffs? Absolutely. Team Dirty's pathetic. Do I think that we'll win the playoffs? Probably. Most of these fighters are either geriatric or suffering from heads-up-their-!@$es syndrome."

The male voice seems to relax as he continues, "Right. How did it feel being benched this week against the Champions of Mythos, after you've been the strongest competitor for Mercenarii?"

"I can't say that it bothered me too much", Vanion answers. "I had a nice view of Claire calling from above, and got to sit back and relax while I watched the so-called 'Champions' flop around like drunken school girls after prom. I certainly wasn't surprised by the decision."

"Really?", the male voice seems earnest curious. "And why is that?"

Vanion guffaws light-heartedly, and his strained smile grows even wider while he considers his answer, "Well, let's just say that C-O-M benched a certain liontaur this week. We'll call him Rakeesh. And, just between you and I, let's just say that I was recently inside Rakeesh."

There is a long pause. Then, the male voice asks Vanion, sounding very uncomfortable, "Would you like to clarify that statement?"

"Not really", the elf answers simply, still wearing his hungry smile.

"Ah. Alright, then. Moving on. You've been on a roll lately in the Outback, the Arena, and IFL. Would you like to say anything about your loss to Lena Choi of Asian Invasion?", the male voice asks speedily, still sounding a little disturbed.

"What's there to say? Nine times out of ten, it would have ended with my foot up her !@$!, and me using those long limbs of hers as my personal foot puppet. She got lucky. It happens", the elf responds tensely, while tapping his slender fingers against the sketch pad resting upon his lap.

After another brief pause, the male voice continues on, "Oh-kay. One last question. What's on the pad there? Some sort of drawing?"

"Why yes. Yes, it is!", Vanion replies in a joyful lilt. He raises the sketch pad up and flips it towards the glass pane to show its contents.

The sketch is wonderfully shaded, and masterfully drawn, but extremely lude. It features each member of the Champions of Mythos in the Iron Fist Garden, engaging each other in acts of extreme sexual depravity. Looming above the others is an obscene rendering of the liontaur Rakeesh, in a tutu skirt, using his massive greatsword, Soulforge, in ways that most blacksmiths would warn against.

The male voice breaks, "Ah. Okay! That's all we have time--"

"You asked!", Vanion interjects between fits of nearly insane laughter.

"I did. I'm sorry. Goodbye!", the male voice squeaks out, before the video cuts out entirely.