Patterned snakeskin boots with crisp white socks. Black pinstripe fitted trousers. Deep purple ruffled satin shirt. Black leather waistcoat. Velvet burgundy cape. Hair waxed, perfectly styled. Spiked ball in one hand, the other holding up a box of Skaven Cheese Classic. A glint in the eye and a cheeky grin. Norbert winked at the life sized standee. The mirrors in his personal dressing room no longer returned his affections, but at least he had found alternative means to admire himself and a bright side to the bizzare deal Tony had made with the cheesey conglomerate.
Begrudgingly, he had to pull himself away and join the others for their pre game motivational talk in their grotty communal locker room. This, to the surprise of noone, consisted mainly of insane ranting about rats and revenge. They would wait for Tony to leave before discussing anything resembling valid tactics or achievable goals. All throughout, though, Norbert found himself struggling to concentrate. It was barely perceivable, but he could have sworn he could hear something coming from deep below. A slow, deliberate scratching. Was the coach trying to dig his way out of his dungeon? Unlikely, the drooling idiot was rarely even concious. He shook it off and promptly forgot about the mysterious phenomenon as his thoughts were overtaken. It was time again to bask in the glory of adoring fans and walk the road to legend. And of course a little bit of revenge against the Rugrats wouldn’t go amiss.