Chapter Text
Did Modo think that standing outside a back entrance to a roaring stadium all night was boring? Yes. Did he do it regardless because he needed the money? Also yes. Look on the bright side, he thought, at least this is something I can actually put on a resume. Which, no matter how little he wanted to admit it, was starting to become something he actually had to concern himself with.
Modo had been living in Vineland for the better part of a year now. He'd showed up with nothing but a duffle-bag and his egg, and hadn't known a lick of English. The first few weeks had mostly been ducking cops when they showed up to whatever underpass he had turned into a temporary nest, pickpocketing money, and stealing whatever he could get his hands on from food stalls. And then he'd met Tazzy. Tazzy was an aye-aye with piercings all the way up the underside of his ears who spent most of his time slinking across rooftops at night and people watching, looking for anyone with certain…talents. Modo didn't really know what Tazzy did in his free-time, or why he made a habit of helping out shady-looking figures, but that habit had kept the komodo alive, so he couldn't exactly complain.
Taz had followed Modo into an alley, complimented how hard it was to spot his sticky fingers, and then asked if he'd be interested in pick-pocketing some wallets from a couple of guys who—allegedly—drove around materials for some company that didn't have all its ducks in a row. Modo was going to turn down the offer, because for all that he'd been pretty shitty at it so far, he'd come to Vineland to try and do better. Fresh start and all that. And then Tazzy had given him 200 bucks. As a down payment. He'd gotten 400 more after the job. Since then, the lemur had been Modo's main source of employment and therefore cash. It was mostly odd jobs: “drive this here,” “follow this lady around all day and see what she does,” “keep this box in your apartment for the next week and do NOT open it or tell ANYONE you have it.” (he had, in fact, opened it, and he wasn't going to ask why Tazzy had what looked like an Egyptian artifact. Or why there'd been a hairless cat yowling at him for the entirety of their next meeting)
The point was: Modo owed Taz quite a bit, since he now had an actual apartment (albeit a slightly run-down one in not-the-best area), but he really needed a stable job. The aye-aye had actually been pretty understanding when he brought up wanting to do things that weren't on the dubious side of the law, and that led him to now. Thorns games were a big deal to everyone in Vineland, but apparently, they'd been losing traction lately, and as a result the team owner decided that security was the best area to cut costs. The night had been pretty easy, and Modo'd mostly just been practicing ballet and letting in the odd fan or 2 who hadn't been able to afford a ticket. About 30 more minutes, and he'd be free.
“HEY! Gi-giv-ve that back! ‘s not yo-yours.” Modo looked over to his left. A tiger in a Thorns hoodie was walking towards him leisurely while bouncing a roarball. At his feet, there was a bear cub who kept trying to grab it. He'd run to the tiger's right, reach out, and then the tiger would just bounce the ball into his left, and the cycle would repeat. The tiger glanced down to reply to the cub.
“Ain't your ball if I'm the one who caught it when Jet threw it back into the stands, kiddo.” Then he turned to Modo. “Hey man! Ya mind doin’ me a favor and letting me in? I left my wallet in there when the game ended and, well, my seat was a lot closer to the back, so getting all the way to the front would be a hassle.”
It didn't even take a second glance at the kid for Modo to come to a decision. “Modo will let you in when you give ball back to bear cub, yes?” He tilted his head and gave the tiger a once-over.
The tiger made a big deal out of sighing and putting his head down before raising it again to try and explain. “Look, dude, I know the kid makes it sound bad, but I really did get the ball fair and square. It was thrown into the stadium-”
“B-by me!” The cub chimed in. She was looking between Modo and the tiger, seemingly getting closer and closer to crying every second.
The tiger glared down at her. “Oh come on! It was up for grabs! I caught it when it was thrown back! I mean, Jett Fillmore signed it! The Jett Fillmore! You get why I can't just give it up, right?” He glanced backwards, as if expecting someone to come charging at him or something.
Modo just rolled his eyes. “Bear cub threw ball, ball belongs to bear cub. Last chance before Modo takes ball from you.”
The tiger looked kind of taken aback by that for a second, but he got real angry real quick. He was growling and everything by now. “YO-”
Before he'd even finished, Modo had grabbed the front of his hoodie and swung him into the wall, hard. As he let go, he pushed the roarball down, out of the guys hands, and started bouncing it himself. He'd planned on just handing it back to the cub, but apparently, the tiger really wanted that ball, because the second Modo turned around, he yowled before pouncing on the komodo's back, scratching up his left shoulder, and then reaching over him for it.
“AUGH! ЧЁРТОВ АД!” Modo bounced the ball into his right hand to keep it away, and at the same time turned his body towards the tiger. He stiffened his tail, which had been dragging on the ground, and used it to trip the big cat over. He stumbled, but he didn't completely fall over, so Modo rammed into him with his now-bloody left arm, before bouncing the ball from his right hand to his tail. The tail wrapped around it before throwing it at the bear cub, who'd backed off to the side. She caught it with both her paws. “GO! NOW! FIND ADULT STAFF AND TELL WHA'S HAPPENING AT BACK ENTRANCE!” She nodded once and ran.
“OH PLEASE! WHO D'YOU THINK A BUNCHA ROARBALL STAFF ARE GONNA BELIEVE!? A DEDICATED FAN? OR A KID AND A KOMODO DRAGON WHO BARELY SPEAKS ENGLISH?” He was wide-eyed now, and he honestly looked kind of homicidal. Modo was starting to regret thinking that tonight had been ‘easy.’
Looking at his track record so far, this guy was 100% going to chase after the cub if Modo didn't keep him here. With that in mind, he took a moment to breathe, squeezed his left arm, rolled his neck out, and then charged the tiger with the intention to bite. Roarball players had med staff, right? They'd have anti-venom. Probably.
-
2 hours later, Modo was sitting on a cot in the medical wing of the stadium. His shoulder was bandaged now, along with the other various scratches and bite marks littering his body, and honestly he didn't know why he was still here. Tigers weren't venomous, and even if they were, the likelihood it'd actually do anything to Modo was practically nonexistent, and he'd already given a statement to a random cop while he was getting stitches. He'd basically been told that since he didn't start the altercation, and there were cameras that proved it, he didn't need to worry about any kind of legal bullshit. Aside from that, he didn't remember anything about the interaction except that the guy was a pig.
The elk woman who'd bandaged him initially said that he could leave as soon as she was done, but then she'd stepped out of the room to grab something, and when she came back, she was much more rushed in bandaging him, and stammered out something about waiting here for someone who wanted to meet him. That had been about 40 minutes ago. Under just about any other circumstance, Modo would've left by now. But, alas, he didn't know if he'd get paid if he didn't check out properly, and he couldn't check out properly because, well, he'd been told not to leave. He was debating it anyway. The room was completely white and had those fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell that everyone hated, and he was pretty sure his headache was more from that than from blood loss, and he mostly just wanted to sleep.
Just as he was egging himself up to crawl across the ceiling to avoid being caught, the door opened, and a piglet in a pantsuit walked in with a fancy drink in one hand and a briefcase in the other. When she spotted Modo, she looked him up and down, and grinned in what he thought was a cocky, self-satisfied smirk.
“So,” she started talking. “you're the lizard who can play ball through a torn-up shoulder, all while keeping a tiger twice your weight guarded.”
Modo just blinked. He couldn't ‘play ball.’ He just knew how to dribble and pass, and had a history of street fights.
The woman kept talking. “When Taz put you on my security team, he said you were lookin’ for a long-term job.” She put her drink down on the counter next to his cot, and opened up her briefcase to grab some important-looking papers. “I might just have a position for you.”
He grabbed the papers when she handed them to him and looked them over. He didn't understand every single thing on the paper, but the gist of it was clear: become a Thorns team member, show up to practices and games, get a big fat check, and we aren't responsible for any injuries related to blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah blah blah.
He looked back to the piglet in front of him. “Modo does not know anything about roarball. Does piglet even have authority to give Modo this contract?” He leaned forward, quirked his head and narrowed his eyes. She certainly seemed like the type Tazzy would know, which meant that the probability of her lying was pretty high—65%, maybe 70.
The piglet laughed. “Where are my manners?” She stuck her hoof out for him to shake. “I'm Florence Everson, the owner of Vineland's very own Thorns. And I think you'd be an icon if ya joined the team. After all,” she rolled her eyes in an attempt at fond annoyance, “the clips of your little dance routine and the scuffle you got into are already blowin’ up with likes.”
Well, Modo didn't have anything else to do. So why not? He stuck his hand out to shake her hoof. “Modo Olachenko. I sign your contract, you give me schedule to be here?”
She snorted at him. “Well, how else would this work?”
Modo signed the papers.
-
He hadn't even gotten all the way home before his phone was blowing up with notifications. First it was just a schedule for practices, then it was an appointment he had to go to so he could get his uniform fitted, then it was a schedule for media training, and a physical fitness appointment, and he was most definitely not remembering everything he'd been sent, and there was still more coming in, he was sure. After the message about the fitness test, Modo just muted his phone. Right now, his entire plan consisted of eating whatever leftovers he had in the fridge without microwaving them, and then passing out in his bed immediately after.
Tomorrow, he'd actually sort through everything he'd been sent, and then he'd meditate on whether or not he made the right decision.