Act - 1 - Revolution - Chapter - 3
Gabril's Backstory
Chapter 3
Paladeia
“It was hard for me—"
Gabril Arcange clinches his two-foot-tall, impressionistically designed MVP trophy tightly to his chest. Victoriously, he stands in front of thousands of Pacifica Galaxy faithful. They gather in the middle of The Super Bowle’s playing surface and wait patiently for their hero to prepare his thoughts.
Mere moments after Pacifica’s dramatic 54–42 win over the Golden City Firebirds, the victory stage that Arcange is standing on was erected. Its bright lights glimmer dimly off Gabril’s bronze Cubist sculpture. Iconic among Paladeian sports fans, it resembles an ancient suitballer dramatically throwing what appears to be a shot-on-goal. A six-and-a-half-foot-tall, thin, bendable black microphone emerges from the clear, acrylic stage floor. It curves toward the retired center’s face. He says shyly into it, "It was really hard for me when—" The suitballer exhales to calm violent chest contractions. He steps away from the live mic because his emotions have gotten the better of him. The audience murmurs in support.
Without a massive goalie suit, Tenshi “Hachi” Hachiman flanks her now-retired captain’s right hip. Her long, beautiful black hair is tied up neatly into a ponytail. The goalie places a calming hand on Arcange’s back. She is a fashion model in the offseason and is elegant, even now in front of the large crowd. Despite her diminutive size and an unfashionably loose gray sweatsuit, she conveys confidence. As Tenshi’s captain fights back his tears, she reassures him, "It’s okay. Her spirit is here with us. I can feel it."
Nervously, the ex-Galaxy center repositions his microphone. He can smell the varnish his sweaty palms have been removing from the award in his hands. Fighting back tears, Gabril stammers softly, “It—was really hard for me last season when—”
Arcange is eight or nine inches taller than his goalie, who rubs the small of his back as firmly as her tiny hands will allow. The duo don similar team sweats and matching blue and gray sneakers.
“We love you!” Random, nameless audience members extend into the arena’s upper deck. They shout encouragement toward the stage full of athletes for the PISL MVP’s acceptance speech. “It’s okay! Take your time!”
Gabril exploits his fans’ poignant advice. He backs away again. As Tenshi continues her massage, the Galaxy captain pauses to look up. Beautifully bordering his vision, The Super Bowle’s glass-domed ceiling is surrounded by an immense, bare titanium aesthetic framework. An enormous blue and green, picturesquely ringed gas giant floats lifelessly. In the foreground, several cratered ice moons spin. Arcange begs the universe, “Give me strength.” A deep inhale only fills his nostrils with the smell of recirculated air. Gabril leans in once more. Changing his approach, he confesses, “It was hard for all of us last season when we lost my wife.” Pacifica Galaxy’s retired captain pinches the bridge of his nose. He attempts to dam his tear ducts with his forefinger and thumb. The thirty-eight-year-old’s bottom lip quivers. He sniffles, “Ya know, twenty-one years ago, when I met my wife, all she could talk about was how she was gonna change the world. That was all way before I had any idea what she was talking about.” A spattering of laughter allows Gabril to pause for a moment. His audience’s engagement relieves some of the tension in his gut. “She would tell me about all the Paladeians in need of food and medicine and how she really wanted to do something about it. I would nod and say, ‘uh huh’ because—I really wanted a girlfriend.” A roll of even louder amusement ensues from the giant crowd. After another pause, he resumes, “Then one day we woke up, married, and I was a famous suitballer. She had all the resources she would ever need to help people for the rest of her life.” Inhaling sharply several times, Gabril is finally unable to stop himself from crying. He uncontrollably sobs, “And that—was what—she did! She—would say—you keep playing hard, Gabril—so I can keep helping these people.” The athlete presents his trophy to the ether. It’s as if he were trying to convince it of his sacrifice. Tears stream steadily down Gabril Arcange’s pale cheeks. He shouts above his body’s ability to stop him, “I KEPT PLAYIN’ BABY! She brought water and medicine to indigenous tribes, and I—KEPT—PLAYIN!” Tens of thousands of Galaxy supporters cheer. They feel their reclusive hero’s brief speech approaching its end. He yells above their growing volume, “This was for all of you who supported me through my hard times!” Gabril turns to the twenty-six athletes standing behind him in various stages of dress. He says, “This was for my teammates!” Addressing the crowd again, the center screams, “This was for PACIFICA! THIS SEASON WAS FOR MY WIFE, AIMIE!”
Flanking his other hip, Montu “Mayhem” Molakhu stands at least four inches taller than Arcange. Lanky, tattooed, and shirtless, the bald attacker steps forward to snatch Gabril’s award. He raises it even higher.
Throngs of enthusiastic Pacifica Galaxy fans toss already-fallen blue and white confetti back into the air. They cheer the MVP’s tragically fallen wife by employing a singular chant of “AIMEE, AIMEE, AIMEE!”
Montu wraps an excited hug around Gabril’s neck. He firmly kisses his captain’s disheveled brunette hair. Distorting the arena’s sound equipment, the attacker grabs their microphone and screams, ”LET’S GO, GALAXY!”
Photographs are accompanied by flashes and spinning white towelettes. They erupted around the lower bowl of the arena. Hachiman, who announced her retirement at the beginning of the season, smiles and waves to a section of fans. A disc jockey’s turntables spin to life in the back right-hand corner of the transparently floored stage. His rave kicks off The Super Bowle’s third week of championship celebrations. A driving baseline emanates from concealed sound equipment. Subwoofers coordinate with an exotic strobe light show.
Hachiman, Montu, and Gabril, all well beyond their partying years, vacate the stage’s center together. Lights around the arena’s bowl extinguish, only to be replaced by dozens of multi-colored dancing neon lasers. The retirees exit the stage into the dark as Hachi gently grabs her ex-captain’s bicep. She brings Arcange close. As the dub-step crescendo violently fills their ears, Tenshi whispers gently into his ear, “That was beautiful. Aimee would have been so proud.”
“Thank you,” says Gabril. His co-captains lead him to the metal set of grated stairs that descend to The Super Bowle’s playing surface. Hachi asks, “So what are your plans now?” Mayhem’s footsteps go down the treads unheard.
Wiping his face somewhat dry of tears, Arcange sniffles again. Over the sound of intense techno music, he shouts, “I am going to try and carry on my wife’s legacy, one way or the other.”
“In that case.” Relinquishing her light grasp on Gabril’s arm, Tenshi Hachiman follows her left attacker down the narrow backstage passage. Through a perfect smile, she yells over her shoulder, “Montu and I have someone you need to meet!”