Brooms of our Fathers

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Deatheater
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Brooms of our Fathers

Postby Deatheater » Sat May 20, 2017 5:09 am

"C'mon, Sigurd. Look at what I've done already!"

Seth Griffin, son of the once-famed (and now deceased) Shane Griffin puts an arm on the shoulder of his longtime friend, Sigurd Brekke, Sverre Brekke's (the old Gryphons' manager) son.

"Look at what you've done?" Sigurd cries out in indignation, pulling away from Seth. "No, Seth. Look at what Dario's done. Look at what Ruse has done. They built their teams right and happened to be nice enough to give the Griffin family another chance! You've done nothing yet. You should be kneeling in front of those managers, thanking them for their generosity."
He stops and takes a breath.

"Seth, face it. You screwed up. You weren't ready for the Norsemen. Your dad wasn't ready for the Norsemen. How can I be sure you're ready for the Vanguard? You can't be so cocky this time. Lay low for once. Don't try to pull everyone's attention to you, and "impress" them before there's anything to impress them with. I thought you would've matured by now, into a man like your father."

Seth opens his mouth and quickly closes it, his face red with embarrassment and anger.

"My father was a fool!" He blurts.

"He was a fine player, but he never understood how to run a team. He didn't have what it takes to win in this dragon-eat-dragon world. I couldn't be more different than my dad. He was nice. Too nice. He treated his teams like a nice little family- the family next door that's always watering their plants and stopping to smell the roses. But me, no, no. I am so much different. I will treat this team like what it is- a business. I am the office building next door that makes you go bankrupt and buys your property! So if you know any better, Sigurd, you will shut up."

Sigurd sighs. "This is what I'm worried about. Your father had a temper at times too, remember? And look at where it got him-"

"Shut up, Sigurd. Please."

Seth sometimes got emotional at the mention of his father, and erupted into sadness, fury, or a combination of the two. Sigurd softened, not wanting to mention anything that might be a sensitive area.

"I'm sorry Seth. I just want to help you."

"Then be my manager. Please, Sigurd. You learned a lot from your father, right?"

Sigurd thinks, and nods.
"Then use whatever he taught you to help me. You only want to help, right? Here's your chance. Dario and Ruse have given us a good foundation- I need a few others to help this organization build to the top. What do you say?"

Sigurd stares at his shoes, contemplating whether he should risk so much on his friend again. Heaving another heavy sigh, he sticks out his hand, not looking up from the ground.

"I'd better not regret this. Alright, Seth. I'll help- on one condition."

"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" He asks impatiently.

"You need to be careful about your emotions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sigurd looks up into Seth's eyes, burning with a flame of excitement and anticipation, a flame he'd need to learn to extinguish- not all the way, but just enough so that his mind didn't catch fire with the blaze of passion.

"Seth, your temperament, your cockiness, everything. It needs to be controlled. I can help you with your emotions, but I'm not going to spoon feed you everything. We need to be equal partners and friends, and your emotion can't get in the way. For once, be calm. It's for the best."

Frustrated, and about to retort than he can control himself, Seth begins to argue, but catches himself.

"I see what you mean. Alright, fine. I'll work on my... Sethness."

Sigurd chuckles, shaking Seth's hand.
"Good to hear, my friend. Good to hear."







This is the first little section in this story I'm making. Instead of doing a normal newspaper, I think I might do this. As the Vauxhall Vanguard grow, I'll continue doing little bits here and there, updating everyone on the story of the troubled Seth Griffin and his friend/sort of psychiatrist/team manager, Sigurd Brekke. I hope you guys like this, took me a good bit of time, and the first time I wrote it, it was different and somehow never saved, so this is try #2. This story is also representative of me, the ambitious and, quite frankly, overdramatic, teenager as well as the maturing part of me that says "SLOW YOUR ROLL, KID", so I think it's kinda cool. So yeah.

Sincerely, Deatheater

(No more demon thing after my name because maturity. Yeah!)
Ew why was my signature so cheesy?

Really, song lyrics? Yeesh, I haven't left all of my cringiness behind. I promise, it's mostly gone now.

I should have at least quoted a less dramatic song.

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