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Damaged Petals.
Posted: 06 Oct 2025, 16:56
by Soapy
You see you wouldn't ask why the rose that grew from the concrete had damaged petals. On the contrary, we would all celebrate its tenacity. We would all love its will to reach the sun. Well, we are the roses. This is the concrete. These are my damaged petals. Don't ask me why. Ask me how.
► Show Spoiler
Season 1, Episode 1
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 06 Oct 2025, 16:58
by Soapy
Season 1, Episode 1
"Interview subject: Connie Gardner. Time: 2:17 AM, October 6th." Detective Rochester clicked the recorder on, its red light pulsing in the otherwise dim room.
--------
"All you’re going to be doing is holding that fucking clipboard," Eric elbowed Brice in the ribs as they leaned against the wall outside the locker room. The tone was relatively light in the busy corridor as visiting recruits bandied about despite the Fighting Irish dropping their second straight game to start the season.
Brice rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, man."
"I'm serious," Eric continued, grinning wide enough to show the bloodied lip he picked up in yesterday’s win over New Prairie. "C.J. was throwing some fucking dimes out there."
"He is also picking up Ls," Brice countered, adjusting the collar of his polo shirt. "I’ve camped with that guy, he’s not like that for real."
As a series of coaches began to filter out of the locker room, quarterbacks coach Gino Guidugli stepped out, his eyes lighting up when they landed on Brice.
"Glad you boys could make it," he said, clapping a hand on Brice’s shoulder. The fact they had just lost a game wasn’t evident on his face as he shook Eric’s hand. "You’re getting bigger every time I see you, son."
"It ain’t all good weight," Brice teased, not missing the opportunity to return the volley on his childhood friend.
"I don’t know about that," Coach Guidugli laughed. "When are you coming in for your official, man? Coach Joe ain’t going to take 'no' for an answer, you know that, right?"
"My dad wants to come for the USC game, but Ohio State’s in Madison that same weekend, so we’ll see," Eric shrugged, always keeping his cards close to his proverbial vest. All of six-foot-six since he was an eighth grader, the shoe had always been on the other foot when it came to recruiting.
"Cool, cool, cool, hope you get to make it. We’d love to have you both, you know that, right?"
"Yes, sir," Brice responded while Eric forced a smile.
The interaction lingered more than necessary as Coach Guidugli began engaging in small talk, asking how Brice’s season was going, how his family was. Unlike other positions, Guidugli only had one person to recruit and keep tabs on, and since Brice had been committed since birth, there really wasn’t much of a recruitment—or much to talk about. He’d be going to Notre Dame whether Coach Guidugli was there or not, but Brice politely answered each question, keen on making as much of an early impression as he could.
"I won’t keep you guys too long,” Coach Guidugli mercifully said after about ten minutes or so. "Coach Freeman is tied up right now, but he knows you’re here, so if you stick around, I’m sure he’d love to catch up with you."
"Of course, sir, I’ll be around."
--------
"Five more!" Brice shouted, his voice echoing across the weight room as sweat darkened the front of his St. Joseph High School t-shirt, counting off the final reps on Marcos’ set of power cleans.
The center’s face reddened under the strain of the barbell as the other linemen formed a circle around him, clapping and shouting encouragement. When Marcos finished, he dropped the weights with a thunderous crash that reverberated through the otherwise empty school.
"Good shit," Brice said, slapping Marcos on the back. "You think Marian doing this shit right now? Fuck no!"
Coach Lanovoi raised an eyebrow from behind his desk but simply shook his head, long ago accepting that if his four-year starter was going to have an unfixable flaw, a sailor’s mouth was something he was willing to live with.
The once-optional lifting session that Brice had asked him to open the weight room for had grown into a well-attended ritual in the morning. At first, Coach Lanovoi thought that the sting of losing in the state championship game would have worn off—that it would only be a few guys and that it would eventually die off. But it didn’t. Every morning, they would make their way inside the weight room. Sometimes they brought too much energy, blasting music; other times they dragged their feet. No matter what, they were there—with Brice leading the charge.
As Coach Lanovoi watched the group of young boys, all in various stages of their physical development—between college-ready bodies like those of Eric and Marcos, and the young freshmen’s scrawny frames struggling to push the bar (with no plates on it) off their chests—he finally took notice of the time.
"Y’all got ten minutes!” he yelled out. "I don’t need Sister Margaret sending me an email about you guys being late to class!"
--------
Brice sat in the school library, a textbook open in front of him, but his attention was on the girl across the table as she scribbled notes furiously, her dark hair falling forward to curtain her face.
"You don’t need to write that damn hard," he laughed, tapping her notebook with his pen.
"What do you know about writing notes?" she shook her head. "What are your teachers going to do, fail you?"
"You do know I have a higher GPA than you, right?" he shot back.
"Of course I know that, I’m the reason you have it," she playfully slapped his shoulder, a smile creeping onto his face.
"That’s the money arm, baby girl," Brice sarcastically rubbed his right shoulder, stretching it out. "Now you owe me a massage."
"And nothing more, right?"
"I would never violate your purity like that," he replied, slipping his hand towards her thigh, which she quickly slapped away. "When the whole team beats you up for injuring me, don’t say I didn’t warn you."
"You wouldn’t let that happen, now would you?" she mocked him, tilting her head to the side.
"Only if you kiss me," Brice said as he leaned forward toward her. Connie glanced around briefly before they quickly pecked each other on the lips.
"You’re so lame," she laughed as she tried to return her attention to her schoolwork, only to be interrupted by a group of students that had been walking toward the table.
"So this is where you guys have been? Being all cute and stuff?" said one of the girls, who had dark red hair styled in a bun.
"It’s all her fault," Brice quickly pointed to her.
"Oh, sh—," she pulled out her phone. "I lost track of the time."
"Of course you did, Connie,” the same girl playfully rolled her eyes. "Time flies by when you’re having fun, right?"
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 06 Oct 2025, 17:08
by Captain Canada
Onwards and upwards. Here we go
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 06 Oct 2025, 17:19
by Caesar
Connie? Is that Soapy Perry giving his main love interest a white girlfriend? A puritanical, virginal one at that?
Welcome back to the narrative game, Brodie
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 05:17
by djp73
Here we go. Interesting start. Where does Colton fit in? A bit confused about his appearance.
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 07:30
by Soapy
Let's get it
Caesar wrote: ↑06 Oct 2025, 17:19
Connie? Is that Soapy Perry giving his main love interest a white girlfriend? A puritanical, virginal one at that?
Welcome back to the narrative game, Brodie
Boy do I have a surprise for you in Episode 2 if you didn't pick up on it in Episode 1
djp73 wrote: ↑07 Oct 2025, 05:17
Here we go. Interesting start. Where does Colton fit in? A bit confused about his appearance.
Brice = Colton, that's his last name. I fixed it though, I initially wanted to have the coach call him Colton (as coaches often call players by their last name) but then I described it instead by mistake which is what led to the confusion.
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 10:13
by djp73
Gotcha, seemed like a third dude just standing there getting ignored
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 10:32
by Soapy
Season 1, Episode 2
"We’re good! We’re good! Ready, ready! Ready, set, go!"
Brice’s eyes immediately went to the right flats, bringing the safety with him before he quickly turned his head toward the seam and fired a pass into the alley that landed softly in Austin’s giant mitts as he turned upfield, picking up a few yards before he was brought down. Austin quickly got up, running over to the official who spotted the ball as the rest of the offense joined him at their own 42-yard line, their eyes all fixated on Brice as he barked out commands.
"Riverside! Riverside! Riverside!" Brice yelled out, briefly looking toward the sideline to see if Coach Butler was going to signal something else in. He wasn’t. He didn’t need to.
"Alert! Alert!" Marcos squatted down over the ball, using his free hand to point out the creeping safety.
"He’s not making that play," Brice told his longtime center, patting him on the side of the hip before walking back into position, clapping his hands for the snap.
He handed the ball off to the running back, Brandon, who buried himself into the pile of bodies that kept moving forward despite the defense’s best effort to stop their progress. The referee eventually blew his whistle.
"On the ball! On the ball!" Brice called out, hurrying the offense to the line as he once again looked toward the sideline. "Kruger, Kruger, Kruger!"
He read the corner’s body language as he got lined up to Brice’s far left on the field side of the formation, still adjusting his chin strap as Curtis was getting set in front of him. He had been involved in the pile, his legs likely beginning to feel heavy as the long drive continued. Curtis’ route was a dummy route—or at least it was supposed to be—just clearing out that side of the field and hopefully bringing the safety with him so that the slot receiver on the right side, Jimmy, would be able to cross his defender’s face on a drag and have plenty of grass in front of him.
"Fuck it," Brice muttered to himself before approaching the line of scrimmage. If he was going to break the record, he might as well do it in style.
"Moose! Moose!" Brice instructed, checking into max protection.
As soon as Brandon and Austin tapped their helmets, acknowledging the call, he called for the snap.
"Hold, hold," Brice told himself as he tried to control the single-high safety with his eyes, first looking toward his right where his Z receiver was running a dig before looking toward the middle where Jimmy had easily beaten his defender.
"Fucking go with him," Brice tried to will the defender with his mind, staring down Jimmy the entire time as he crossed the hashes. The safety’s water finally broke.
Brice readjusted his feet, kept his balance, and launched it deep, not even checking to see if Curtis had beaten his man. Of course he had. The ball traveled through the fall air with the velocity you’d expect from a Power 4 arm, and Curtis sped up to catch it, initially hot-dogging the route since he didn’t expect the ball. He was able to get under it just as it crossed the goal line and fell into his expectant arms, the defender managing to get a hand on Curtis’ waist to pull him down but not enough to knock the ball loose.
"Sorry ass, bitch ass nigga!" Curtis spun the ball as he got up, getting a look from the official which served as a warning. Curtis didn’t care—his day was likely over anyway.
"Cracker got an AR!" Marcos yelled toward Brice as the quarterback sprinted past him to join Curtis in the end zone.
"Like he shooting schools up!" Brice yelled back in excitement, discreetly pointing a gun signal toward the opposing sideline, using his body to shield it from the officials.
…
"Y’all make sure y’all don’t lose that football!" Brice joked as one of the student volunteers sprinted toward the team bus with the football that Curtis had just scored with, making Indiana high school football history.
"You should have kept it and broken the yards record with it too," Eric shook his head.
"Nah, I’m done today," Brice leaned back into the bleachers as South Bend Adams’ offense was in the midst of another three-and-out. "Let my brother get in at quarterback, light up these sorry ass bitches."
"If you’re done, I’m done," Eric scoffed, leaning down to undo his knee brace.
"You only need like sixty for the record," Marcos, who wasn’t quite ready to call it a day, tried to convince Brice to stay in the game despite the 35–0 lead in the second quarter.
"Jimmy needs the film, bro," Brice took off his play-calling wristband. "Besides, I’d rather do it next week at Homecoming anyway."
"Stop trying to aura farm," Eric looked into the stands. "He just wants to walk around on the sidelines with his helmet off to impress the huss."
"You already know it," Brice cackled as he dapped up Marcos. "Shit, after I break the record, that might be enough to get Connie to bring one or two of them with us to the spot, you know? All hands on deck type of situation, you feel me?"
"Shut up," Eric laughed. "You don’t even got enough meat for that, bro. There’s a reason you’re dating a Chinese girl. Her tiny hands make you feel like you’re the biggest, the largest."
"Y’all are gay as fuck," Marcos shook his head as he got up. The rest of the offense, their day now finished since Brice said so, joined in on the laughter.
…
Brice spun around in the pocket, escaping the interior rush as he sprinted to his left. Eric got enough of a nudge on the defender in pursuit to buy Brice time to turn his hips and fire the ball toward Jimmy, who made his defender miss and then cut back inside to pick up the first down.
Brice quickly spun his head toward the sideline, not for the next play call but for confirmation. A giant grin was on Coach Lanovoi’s face as he gave him a thumbs-up.
The official blew his whistle, signaling a timeout as he collected the ball from Jimmy.
"Congratulations, son, hell of a career," the official told Brice as he hurried over, holding out the ball.
"Thank you, sir," Brice said before holding the ball up to the sound of cheers from the fans and even courteous claps from the opponent. All except for one of their defensive ends, who bumped shoulders with Brice as he went off the field.
"Man, start the fucking game. Don’t nobody give a fuck about this shit," the stocky defensive end commented, loud enough for Brice to hear.
"Man, shut your bitch ass up," Brice turned around and said before resuming his trek to the sideline, plastering back on that million-dollar smile.
…
Brice stuck the ball into Brandon’s belly, but his eyes remained upfield, fixated on the linebacker who initially took a step forward but then backtracked, settling into the passing lane Brice was looking for. It was already too late—Brice had pulled the ball, the linebacker’s quick instincts spoiling the play.
Realizing he was now covered, Jimmy broke off the route and popped back outside, settling into the open space between the linebacker and the backside safety. Brice ripped the ball, his uncertainty about what he was seeing not evident as the ball blasted into Jimmy’s chest. He cradled it as he went to the ground, immediately sandwiched by the two defenders.
The nearest official rushed in, looking down toward Jimmy before holding both arms up.
"Yeah, boy!" Brice screamed as he pumped his fist. He quickly looked for that same stocky defensive end, unnecessarily adjusting his path so that he would bump him on the way to the end zone. "Eat a dick, bitch!"
…
"McQueen! McQueen!" Coach Butler yelled out to the offense from the sideline as they settled into formation with Brice out wide and Jimmy in the shotgun. The defense tried to scramble to adjust, the scouting report warning them of this look.
Brice just stood there as the ball was snapped and Jimmy got the handoff on third and inches. But as he tried to push off his back foot, he lost his footing and began falling toward the ground. He managed a forward lunge to reach the line of scrimmage but was quickly whistled dead short of the line to gain.
"Goddamn it!" Coach Lanovoi slammed his hands together as he looked up toward the scoreboard. South Bend Riley was proving to be a tough opponent, and nursing a six-point lead in the third quarter, the prospect of giving them the ball back with a chance to take the lead wasn’t appealing—even from his own thirty-seven-yard line.
"What are we doing here?" Coach Butler asked Coach Lanovoi in his headset, his eyes fixed on the laminated play sheet in front of him.
"Go for it."
…
Brice motioned Jimmy across the formation and deployed a hard cadence to try to get the defense to jump offsides. While they didn’t, it did expose the pressure package they were intent on bringing, with the nickel corner creeping toward the line of scrimmage. Brice reacted by instructing Brandon to line up to his right instead of his left.
"Ready, ready! Ready, set!"
The ball was snapped and Brice rolled right with Brandon moving in that direction as well. The stocky defensive end was left unblocked and initially went toward Brice but then spotted Brandon and jumped out toward him. Brice faked the pitch for good measure, and while he wasn’t Lamar Jackson, he had enough foot speed to pick up the first down before the defensive end folded back into the play and dragged him down from behind.
Brice quickly got up, spinning his arms in a circular motion before signaling a first down, holding both the pose and his stare-down of the defensive end.
"Watch it, 12!" the official warned him. "I’m warning you!"
Brice paid him no mind as he looked toward the sideline, Coach Butler already signaling the next play. He barked out the call, got behind Marcos, and took the snap. He handed it off to Brandon but whipped his head back around to see the play’s result—just in time to feel the defensive end’s presence crash down on him.
The hit came fast, helmet clashing against helmet, the sound ringing louder than the impact itself. Brice’s body hit the turf. And then—darkness. Pitch black darkness.
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 10:54
by djp73
Soapy wrote: ↑07 Oct 2025, 07:30
Caesar wrote: ↑06 Oct 2025, 17:19
Connie? Is that Soapy Perry giving his main love interest a white girlfriend? A puritanical, virginal one at that?
Welcome back to the narrative game, Brodie
Boy do I have a surprise for you in Episode 2 if you didn't pick up on it in Episode 1
Brice definitely pasty
Damaged Petals.
Posted: 07 Oct 2025, 10:59
by djp73
Soapy wrote: ↑07 Oct 2025, 10:32
"McQueen! McQueen!"
…
The hit came fast, helmet clashing against helmet, the sound ringing louder than the impact itself. Brice’s body hit the turf. And then—darkness. Pitch black darkness.
i see what you did there.
lights out for Brice. future cte cautionary tale.