Chapter 18: 18. Introducing: Footlando Jones

“What do I do? What do I say?”

Vorelando pleaded with Kobe for advice. The two of them were backstage at Voregia State’s media room, ready to be thrown out to the press.

Normally, these types of press conferences were only done for the major recruits, One and Two had had theirs earlier in the day. The other 5 star recruits from around the nation had already been through their press conferences or would be getting to them soon.

The reason there was a press conference for Vorelando and Kobe was that they had both been unranked coming into their final years of high school, Vorelando didn’t even have a competitive record. But somehow, they’d both come out alive. The expected press conference was the top 5 scorpion boys but that hadn’t transpired. Everyone wanted to know who these two were.

The entrance exam had been live streamed across the web, as it was every year but Kobe and Vorelando’s exploits had been clipped and gone viral. Vorelando in particular had become a minor internet celebrity in the past few days as footage of him single-handedly gang banging the scorpion boys had been viewed over 69 million times.

“Just do you, baby, that’s all they want. Don’t tell 'em anything you don’t wanna.” Kobe eventually replied.

“That’s easy for you to say, man, you’re used to this kinda thing. I’ve never done it before.”

Kobe slapped Vorelando’s sizeable yet firm ass.

“You gotta relax bro, being behind the mic is much like being in the cage, let them sniff out that you’re nervous and you’ll pounce.”

While Vorelando was rubbing his sore cheeks, an underpaid intern came over to usher the two through the curtains. As they stepped out onto the stage the shutters and flashes of dozens of cameras threatened to overwhelm Vorelando but he just about managed to keep his cool.

As the two sat down, the school’s press officer announced to the attending journalists that the two would begin taking questions, starting with Kobe.

Only a few hands went up to ask Kobe questions, most of the journalists knew the real scoop was Vorelando, a true mystery man. They knew what to expect from Kobe’s answers, still, that wouldn’t make them a bad article.

“We’ll go to Voreonica for the first question.” The press officer said.

“Mr. Steakhouse, Voreonica Weary from VVC news here, your skilful display and never say die attitude in the entrance exam has won you a lot of admirers across the country, what do you want to say to these new fans?”

“Damn, if they half as pretty as you, tell 'em to call me.”

Kobe winked at the reporter who started blushing profusely. He knew how to work the media to his advantage.

The press officer quickly moved on to the next reporter, a burly man with a receding.

“Kobe, Voris Joy from VNN, big fan. You were only able to get through that last encounter with Nrvnqsr because of the deal you made with the man formerly known as John, do you intend on keeping up your end of the bargain?”

In the intervening period, John had legally renamed himself ‘:|’ in an attempt to distance himself from the name John.

“Of course I will.” Kobe said as he whipped out a bottle Cock Cola from his jacket pocket. “What kind of man would I be if I broke a contract?”

He cracked open the bottle of Cock and took a big swig, turning his head to the side so the cameras could get a great shot of both his face and the Cock logo. He truly was a smooth operator.

The press officer moved on to the last question for Kobe.

“Vore De Exvora with the V, what is your goal in the world of vore? Where will we see Kobe Steakhouse, 5 years from now?”

“You’ll see him on billboards, on TV, before your videos. You’ll see him around every corner, on every product, you’ll even see him fucking your bitch if you ain’t careful.”

Kobe snatched the mic out of its stand.

“Let me be clear, I’m here to take over the vore game, make sure you note that down. I’m making it to the pros and then I’m making the pros mine.”

He hurled the mic across the room and it shattered into pieces, then he got up onto the desk in front of him and beat his chest like a gorilla before calmly sitting back down.

Make an impression, that’d been his goal, and he certainly had. With only 3 questions Kobe had walked away from his part of the press conference 3000% more marketable. A lot of the reporters who hadn’t asked him a question now wished they had and it was showing on their faces.

“Mr. Jones will now be taking questions.” The press officer moaned.

Every single hand in the room shot up at once. The press officer pointed to a bespectacled man in the front. The man grinned and pushed his glasses up against the bridge of his nose and proceeded to speak without ever removing his hand from the frame.

“Vjorn Vjrongurdsson, independent journalist, no relation. I want to ask you the question every single one of us here has Mr. Jones. Just who are you?”

A silence hung over the room as Vorelando deliberated his answer. Even though it was mere moments, it felt like years to the ravenous journalists.

“Well shit, I’m just me.”

It took everyone in the room a moment to react. They had been expecting a more elaborate answer. They didn’t know Vorelando Jones.

“Can you say that again?” Vjorn asked.

“Did you not hear me? I said I’m me, that’s it.”

“Is that… all?”

“Yeah, goddamn, is that not enough for you people?”

“Next question please.” The press officer said, trying to keep things flowing smoothly.

“Vorton Securitysystem, Voregia Herald, you didn’t have a competitive record or a record of any kind when you defeated Clark Eaton as a walk-on earlier this year. What is it that made you decide to get into college vore, what drives your passion for eating other people alive?”

Vorelando’s face grew heavy.

“I have no passion for vore, don’t get it twisted.”

“Then what made you step into the cage with Clark Eaton?”

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“He disrespected a friend, as simple as.”

“You expect us to believe that?” One of the reporters in the back snorted.

Vorelando replied before the press officer could intervene.

“Yeah, it’s the truth.”

“Come on, with your level of voring ability, you’ve got to love it.” Another reporter piped up.

“Nobody tells me what to love.”

“So, you’re saying you’re unequivocially not into vore?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

All of the reporters burst into hysterical laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so clearly into vore,” Vjorn said.

“????” Vorelando replied.

“You don’t have to deny it, being into vore is fine.”

“But I’m not into it.”

“Then what are you into?”

“Feet.”

The laughter ringing around the room ground to a halt instantly. Kobe put his head in his hands as he watched his friend walk himself directly into a headline.

“Feet you say?” one of the sweatier journalists asked.

“Yeah, feet, love 'em, way better than vore.”

“What about them?”

“What do you mean what about them?”

“Well, what specifically about feet gets you going?”

“You don’t see the appeal of feet, bozo?”

“Not really no.”

When the journalist said this Vorelando become enraged. He snatched the mic out of its stand and kicked the table in front of him over.

“Alright, let me lay down the law for you uncultured swine. Feet, they’re the zeitgeist. I’m talking the heel, the sole, the instep. I’m going in on all ten toes and beyond. Everything stops at the ankle, that’s where you lose me, not interested in your fucking Achilles, sorry. It’s foot time, all the time in the Jones household.”

Most of the journalists were too shocked to speak but one brave soul did.

“What about the hands?”

“They’re just mid feet.”

This causes some of the journalists to whip up into a frenzy.

“You’re a mad man Jones! Everything that feet can do, hands can do better!”

“Shut the fuck up, journo, what would you know about feet? There’s an aesthetic imperative when it comes to feet, that’s something hands could never have.”

“But hand-“

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up. Can hands stand on you? No. No, they can’t. This is an objective fact.”

“But what if you were with someone extremely flexible, someone who could hand-stand on you?”

“A mere imitation of the foot. A hand in feet’s clothing. It’s disgusting really, a mockery of everything I stand for.”

Many of the journalists are now out for blood, they’re only being held back now by security.

“What, did I hurt your feelings? Y’all some handjob simps huh? Is that it? Well, guess what, it’s not just feet, armpits are better too. Get me a bitch that’s all feet and armpits, then we’ll see who’s ‘into vore.’

This remark sends the journalists over the top and they break through security. One by one they take turns fist fighting Vorelando on stage. Every time he knocks one down, they get right back up and join the end of the queue.

For hours and hours, this cycle continued but Vorelando never wavered. He was fighting for the integrity of feet, he could go for days if needs be.

By the end of it all, he had knocked out every journalist in the room at least twice. The next day, every paper had a picture of a knock punch underneath the headline: Footlando Jones.

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