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+---- Thread: *Draft Meeting (/showthread.php?tid=20611)
*Draft Meeting - Lightnoir - 03-30-2020
Draft Meeting With Wesley Eriksen
Light Noir sat in his office on the second floor of the Sim Talent building. Behind him a large window framed the New York skyline. As a viewer you say: wait, if this is IN New York, how can you see the skyline in the background?
Light opens the bottom drawer of his desk and removes a whiskey bottle. He pours himself a glass, signalling that the time is 4 pm on a Friday. He clutches a phone receiver between his shoulder and cheek, he takes a sip of the whiskey, privately grimaces, and continues speaking, "Yeah, the agency's been doing pretty well this year. Although, across the globe, sports have screeched to a halt there are still some places that are thriving. See, I work for Sim Talent, an agency specializing in simulated athletes. We have clients in the NSFL, PBE, shit we even represent some sim croquet players operating out of Taiwan. It's a crazy world."
You hear the murmur of the other person talking, Light nods and smiles, then kind of smiles less. He leans forward.
"So, I'm a bit more of a minor player here, you see. I'm trying to work my way up. There was a while there I was trying to respresent sim E-sport athletes, but apparently the levels of abstraction were too much to retain any interest, so yeah. I lost a lot of money. But it's fine, that's fine, these days I've got myself a real talent on my hands. Let me tell you about this kid, Wesley Eriksen."
He pauses waiting for a reply, but doesn't seem to get one, "Now look, don't get me wrong he's a nice guy. He's handsome, athletic, just all-around, hehe, good guy. He's got a good head on his shoulders. The problem is that it's filled with air. I remember watching his film in high school, and listen to this, he must have gone through the concussion protocol fifty times. And not cause he was getting hit, see, he just always walked around like he didn't know where he was. Just on the sidelines, shuffling about, staring into space. Haha, listen, he'd get on the field and it was game time right, something always just clicked for him there, but uh, try to hold a conversation with this guy. It's the conversation equivalent of eating cardboard, right? Where was I going with this? Oh yeah! I'm gonna make a lot of money on this kid."
Light sits up straight. Alright, we're getting to the good part now, "See, he's got it in his head that he's gonna be a top player in the NSFL, me? I don't see it. He's not even the best player on his little league team, and he thinks he's gonna be a hero! I don't see it! But either way, I don't care! My phone's been going off the hook! I won't name any names, but I've got teams wanting to fly him to Los Angeles, New Orleans, just all over North America. They're really intersted! Now I'm telling him he needs to get this money while it's hot, you know what I'm saying? You gotta- oh hold on, my secretary's buzzing me, I'll call you back later."
Light puts down the phone and takes another sip of whiskey. "This better be good," he mutters to himself before hitting the intercom button.
"Wdaya want?"
"Mr. Noir, Wesley is here for your meeting."
"Ah crap! Uh, well send him in." Light makes an attempt at straigthening his hair and clothes. Then realizes he doesn't care, and messies them up a little again. Then he feels like that defeats the purpose of proving he doesn't care and that's about when Wes walked in.
"Uh, Mr. Noir? Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes, of course Wesley my boy, uh, take a seat" Wesley sits down in one of the two chairs on the far side of the desk.
"You just look a bit disheveled is all."
"Oh I can assure you, I'm fine, I'm fine, uh, whiskey?"
"No thank you, I don't really drink."
"Oh" This threw Light for a loop. His go-to opening gambit, dismissed.
"Mr. Noir, you do this every time, if you don't want to go through this again just stop scheduling these appointments for 4."
"That's actually a really good point, I hadn't thought of that. Anyway, what did you want to talk about today?" Wesley looked exasperated.
"Well the draft, obviously! So? What kind of interest have we gotten? I've been playing pretty well, so surely I'm on someone's board!"
"Right, right, yes, let's see," Light began shuffling papers on his desk, but realized after a second they were mostly fast food receipts.
"Maybe you should look on your computer..?"
"Haha, yes," In a flurry of keystrokes Light had brought up his spreadsheet, well, microsoft word, welllllll it's a notepad document but it's got all of the information he's gathered from interested teams. "So you want to talk about the teams that are interested in you?"
"Yes, of course I do Mr. Noir! We're like 800 words in!"
"Right, right, of course. So we've got interest from uh, Orange County, Austin, Colorado, uh, Wes do you know what a 'yellow knife' is?"
"What? Yes, that's a city in Canada. They have a team there, did you not do any research?"
"I did my research! I did a lot of research, maybe just not on them necessarily."
"Well whatever, is that all?"
"No, you've got, let me see here," Light reaches into his desk and takes out a pair of glasses. Wesley stares dumb-founded and shakes his head before Light continues "New Orleans, Baltimore, Arizona, Philadelphia, they even want you in Honolulu Wesley! See, I'm doing a great job?" Wesley beams hearing all the names, and rolls his eyes at Light's need for confirmation.
"You're doing a fine job Mr. Noir, thank you. So who seemed the most interested, who do you think is going to take me?"
"Welllllll," Light clicked on the screen, many times. He opened 14 tabs on accident, and realized the computer wasn't going to give him an out on this one. He was going to have to bullshit.
His specialty.
Light Noir leaned back in his chair and held the glass of whiskey chest-high. "I'm going to be honest with you Wesley, not every team and not every person has your best interest in mind.
You could go to Yellowknife. They're a great program with top to bottom talent that you could thrive in. They've got some olders guys at your position that are going to have to be phased out soon and you're probably going to get opportunities sooner rather than later. Who knows how they'll want to take advantage of you, I mean, Canada!? C'mon. Orange County look set... except that they could lose one of their best players at Safety in the expansion draft, and they might look in your direction-"
"Who'd you talk to, what was it like!?" Wesley blurts out. He clears his throat after his outburst.
Light continues, "I talked to Prince Vegeta, and he seemed like a very kind Saiyan. I think he saw big things in you Wesley, he knows talent when he see it. They seem like a great group of friends over there, he even said they were helping their GM do his homework! How fun is that?"
"What? His homework? That's ridiculous."
"Look Wesley we could work down this list all day, but in your heart, where do you want to go?"
Wesley thinks for a moment, his eyes glaze over briefly (That's the look thinks Light) before he refocuses and starts speaking, "Well I think there are a lot of great teams out there. Yellowknife, New Orleans, and Orange County all seem like they'd be great for my development. They've got talented experienced players that could help me grow, but maybe it would be better to build something? Honolulu, or Arizona... I could be the primogenitor to a whole new community of football players. I might not have mentors, but I could be a mentor, show the people who come after me how you have to work hard, every day for it. Yes! Of course!" Wesley jumps up from his chair. Light reflexively jumps up as well, spilling about $6 worth of whiskey on the carpet. "Thank you so much for having this meeting with me Mr. Noir! I'm so lucky to have you as my agent!
"Wesley reaches out and shakes Light's hand vigorously. "We should meet again after the draft, when works for you?"
"Uh, four o' clock?"
"Sounds great, sir! I'll see you then!" Wesley enthusiastically left the room, leaving Light alone once again. He sat down, finished his glass, poured another, and begin punching digits into the phone. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk while lifting the receiver to his face.
"Yeah that was the sap, haha. What a dork, so tell me, when are you free...."
Quote:1507 Words. It would be nice to get 1.5x for this, but bonus week hadn't been announced by the time I started writing and I do not believe this is what you folks had in mind lmao.
*Draft Meeting - Tesla - 03-30-2020
Thanks for letting us see inside the workings of such a brilliant agent!
Glad to see Wes is in such good hands.