Jester
Jester is too small. Too lightweight. Too weird in her jerry-rigged old combat mech — decommissioned, thankfully — that flirts with the regulations for the sacred game. She might be able to score a three pointer, or even a five pointer, but there was absolutely no way she’d ever be able to hit a thirteen, never mind a twentington, making her useless on the wangball field. So why was she out there for every game?
That was a question head coach Billings of the Dubauer Prowlers asked himself every time he fielded her. There was the fact that she’d come in as a package deal with Dancing Queen, their new star draft pick. If they wanted her, they had to take Jester as well. That had been the one thing she wouldn’t budge on. She needed her, she'd said. He still couldn’t quite understand why a superstar in the making wanted… that on her team, but he’d figured he’d be able to find some way around it, given time.
Unfortunately and more importantly at this late point in the season, he’d been assured by more than one of their own loyal supporters and even his players that if he benched Jester or gods forbid kicked her off the team, very bad things would happen to him, personally. So before every game, Billings grit his teeth, closed his eyes, prayed, and aimed the team’s chaos gremlin in the only somewhat safe direction: at the opposing team.
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