Star Wars Limited Run OPEN Elite League Limmie 311: Golden Slumbers

Tanno Kalas
Carratos

The season was coming off the rails, now they had to win their last game, and get lucky along the way. He'd wanted his first season to be great to get to the playoffs but now it was slipping away from him. He spent the night alone, he didn't want his bad mood to affect Talia. She had other things to worry about, better things than his foul mood.

He sat in his apartment just breathing in and out trying to calm the pain in his chest. It hurt like his heart was in a vice and was being crushed. He'd wanted nothing else but to make the playoffs. And he knew the door wasn't closed but it was getting ever thinner. His full focus was needed to try and dig them out of this hole.

He took a breath and turned on the holo, he had game tape to watch, and it was the scrappers so there was a lot to watch from last season and this one. He would need to be perfect, the team would have to be perfect if they were going to have a chance at making the playoffs. We watched hour after hour of limmie action he watched until his eyes hurt then he rubbed his eyes. His eye lids drooped his head tipped forward and he could feel himself drifting away.

He shook his head forcing himself to stay awake. Falling asleep in the middle of studying would not be a good look. Though his eye lids closed, just for a moment.

A knock at the door drew his attention. His eyes snapped open and the image on the holo-projector was very different. How long had he been asleep? Judging by the drool on his chin it was a long time. Another knock at the door got him up and moving. He checked the sensor that showed him who it was on the other side of the door. He quickly straightened up and tried to wipe off the spittle from the corner of his mouth.

"Just a minute." He called out doing final preparations. With a final breath he opened the door smiling. "Hey." He started

"Hey," Talia replied smiling just as brightly. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Na, na I'm awake." He waved his hand in front of him. "I was just watching games to get ready for my next game." His brow furrowed, "What are you doing here? Don't you have another tour date?"

"Not this week, this week I have all to myself. And…I want to spend some of it with you." She smiled up at him and he couldn't help his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

"Yeah, that's great…um…"

"I don't have to stay I know I'm just springing this on you."

"No, no, it's fine, Um… let me uh…clean up a bit."

"It's ok, you don't have to do much, I'm not that fussy."

"Not too fussy…" He said mostly joking but her couldn't help his feeling that the superstar that sleeps in mansions and stays in fancy hotels wasn't too fussy.

"I'm really not." She said entering his space and looking around. It was a pretty standard apartment. A holo-projector in the middle of the space with a couch set to the main display side, and a kitchen with a half wall letting beings in the main room see into it. Tanno opened the fridge and looked through it.

"Have you eaten?" He called out.

"Not yet, i was thinking we might go out?"

"We could but, I do have some premade meals I can throw in the oven for a little bit."

"Oh from a meal prep service or something?"

"Something like that…the Pirates have mandatory meal service for rookie players, make sure we have good healthy food available. So are you vegetarian, vegan…for that we might have to go out."

"I'm ok with anything…except boiled vegetables. Not my favorite."

"Alright, do you want protein packed bantha steaks with beans and greens, or nutrient rich grilled endoran chicken wraps?"

"Sounds like an advertisement." She took a seat at the table setup in the corner.

"I mean, I'm sure we get these meals from a company that gets their food from a company and so on and so on." He took out the meals and threw them into the oven. It would be a few minutes until the food was ready. He took the seat across from her.

"So, why are these meals mandatory?"

"Well, for a long time when rookies got to the ELL started making ELL money some of them would start living the high life. You know lovers, fast speeders and great food…food that is not always the best for you or your play. So a lot of rookies were giving substandard play and getting cut. One of the ways to help was to give them meals that are healthy and good so they aren't tempted to overeat unhealthy food. Keeps the players in the league and lets the teams keep the players they drafted."

"Seems a little controlling."

"A little bit but again a lot of players are 18 hyped up on adrenaline and happy chemicals they're not really in the best place to be making rational decisions. Eventually they start making good choices but, in the early days they need some help."

Her face was still a little sour.

"I mean I can see how that is a little controlling, but teams and players are trying to win and the team is just trying to help."

"Or are they just protecting their investment and the players are just product, to be protected, bought and sold."

"I mean that's a very cynical way to look at it…" He turned his head a little, "I mean you're not completely wrong but, I prefer to think of it as the team helping players do better." He thought about it for a moment. "But, I mean one could say the same about you. Your songs, and even your appearance is a product that is bought and sold."

"But, at least I get to control what happens to me."

"I mean I don't have to eat the food they send, but I do mostly because they're already made and all I need to do is…" A chime sounded and Tanno got up and removed the meals from the oven. "Heat and eat. Makes my life simpler. I don't hand over control of myself when I join the team, It's just I signed a contract to give my best and the team helps me fulfill that contract. So if anything we're in partnership."

She smiled again. "I didn't really mean it. I'm sure there's nothing illegal going on…I just found it weird. That they would help with that."

"We've been playing pro limmie for a long time, we've learned a lot." he took a bite of his meal, looking up smiling. "How have you been doing?"

"I've been doing good, glad for this break, I was feeling a lot worn down."

"And you're spending it with me."

"I don't mind, I know you won't ask for an autograph, or take my picture, or ask me to sing."

"Well, I was about too, but I'll wait until later." They looked into each other's eyes finding themselves moving closer drawn towards each other. They couldn't stop, nor did they want to stop what was about to happen. Their lips met and he still felt the fireworks in his chest. They kissed again, and again losing track of time.

He woke up the next morning rolling on to his side to find her still next to him. His hand gently pushed a lock of curly blonde hair from between her eyes. She shifted slightly burying her face into the pillow. A soft laugh left him as she settled back into the bed. He laid on his back, careful not to wake her from her slumber. Her shoulders softly rose and fell with her breaths, even in her sleep she was beautiful.

He could stay next to her forever, but he knew he had other things to do. As he shifted to get out of bed her head lazily rested on his shoulder. He was pinned now, he couldn't move at all as her warmth soaked into him. Gently he put his arm across her shoulders and gave a careful squeeze.

He was sure coach could forgive him for being a little late this morning.

How could he wake a sleeping angel?

TAG: No one

 

GM post

For the final week of the regular season, it's bonus potential for Bakura and Carratos.

Week 10
Bakura Miners at Nubia Silver Streaks (32-2)
Ord Mantell Scrappers at Carratos Pirates (27-9)
Centran Royals at Euceron Officers (23-8)
Corellia Rebels at Coruscant Senators (0-16)

Final standings
Skywalker Conference

1. Ord Mantell Scrappers (7-3, conf. 5-1)
2. Centran Royals (6-4, conf. 2-4)
3. Carratos Pirates (5-5, conf. 4-2)
4. Euceron Officers (3-7, conf. 2-4)

Solo Conference

1. Bakura Miners (7-3, conf. 5-1)
2. Coruscant Senators )] (6-4, conf. 3-3)
3. Corellia Rebels (4-6, conf. 2-4)
4. Nubia Silver Streaks (3-7, conf. 2-4)

HSN headlines

• ELL announces Ord Mantell wins the Commissioner's Trophy
• Lokensgaard: "While it could be argued that a Commissioner's Trophy-deciding game should be played between the two teams, per the tie break rules, the League has chosen to use the Scrappers' Week 8 victory over the Miners as the tiebreak, even if not specifically defined in the rules. It favors neither team to add an extra game for the purpose of deciding something outside of a playoff spot."
  • "However, had we needed an extra game to decide a playoff spot, the League would have been more receptive to using that week for a Scrappers/Miners rematch."

Galactic Cup Playoffs
Conference Finals
(2) Centran Royals at (1) Ord Mantell Scrappers
(2) Coruscant Senators at (1) Bakura Miners

TAG: @galactic-vagabond422 @jcgoble3 @Jedi Gunny @Lady_Belligerent @SWNerd11 @Vehn

 

Tanno Kalas
Carratos

And that's how it ends not with a bang but with a whimper. A shellacking from the dominant Scrappers. Tanno couldn't do anything to stop it. All the Pirates had to do was win, and they couldn't do that. All that was left was to pack it in, and rest up for the next season. One by one each player cleaned out their locker. Zara the defensive captain, rested her forehead against her stall. With a few breaths she stepped away turning off the holo that showed her name. Everyone looked bowing their heads. They knew what that meant, she wouldn't be coming back next season. She was calling it a career, to follow her best friend into the sunset. Tanno smiled as Zara put a hand on Izzie's shoulder, passing the torch to the other woman.

It was the official end of the Iris era.

But there would be more seasons, more chances to reach the glory of the playoffs. It just didn't happen this year. Tanno sat in his stall for a while, a very very long time. He was so close to the playoffs. So close to the promised land. He was hoping to stumble into the playoffs like the Pirates had again and again in the last era. But, that magic just wasn't with them this season.

A knock came from the entrance to the locker room.

Tanno looked up finding Talia waiting for him, all dressed up looking like she was going to a party then watching a limmie game from a box seat. Not that he minded, she looked pretty.

"Hey, you ready to go."

He took a breath looking at all the empty stalls he was the last one remaining.

"Yeah, I guess."

Getting to his feet he picked up his bag his stall empty as all the others, with his name still shining on it.

They walked down the tunnel the same tunnel so many legends walked down. Along the wall was an ever growing mural, painted and added to over the years.

It starts with the first season in the ELL, the Copin era, the first coach Geoff Copin, with a young hungry team ready to take the league by storm, that's were most of the major rivalries started. The Mercs and the Smugglers, the Skywalker Conference of old. Coach Copin put them on the map but could never quite put it all together. Then there was, the assassination attempt, a gunman took a shot at him, his missed but grazed little Iris Copin. Giving her the mark that would one day become her nickname.

Then was the Cavanaugh era, when the Old Salt line dominated, and the galaxy saw the ascendancy of Logan Manx-Sandin.

283 the year of the Phoenix the team rising out of the ashes of occupation to win their first championship. The image of Logan being held up by his wife and Bastrio as he lifted the cup. It was an image all Pirate's fans remembered, one eye holding up his first championship. The mural captured the image as he stood over the ashes of Goss-Pell Memorial Stadium.

Next was the struggle to return to the finals, this was exemplified by the scene of Boutros Sabah landing a right cross on Shady Leroux. The wars between the Smugglers and the Pirates legendary, as the Skywalker fought for the glory of the finals year after year.

The end of the era is punctuated by 291, the second cup won by the Pirates, the last one Cavanaugh would win.

After Cavanugh came Iris, in 292, the mural showed the team's transfer of power, the passing of the torch. Cavanaugh and Copin standing next to each other as the Mercs made their challenge.

293 the year of coronation, Iris was the heir, but in that year she became the undoubted ruler of Carratosian Limmie. A place she reigned from for over 10 years. There were other players the rose and fell in that time, the artist showed Tynos Taal and Rose-Lynn Hypertravels embracing on the field, the introduction of the HeadBANDAID that saved the sport. A lot happened under the gaze of Scarface.

Until 309, the most recent cup that the Pirates won, Iris holding it up Tynos close by smiling. The final image Logan, Mikia, Leigh, and Iris all looking towards the blank space, a place for new stories to be told on the wall. More legends to come and continue the story of the Pirates.

Tanno stood at the exit looking back down the dark tunnel to the field that he'd played on, that so many sweat and bled on.

There were still more stories to tell…

He turned off the lights.

Fin

OOC: Thank you to all that made this game the greatest it could possibly be. May it live on forever in our minds.

TAG: @Trieste @Runjedirun @Vehn @Jedi Gunny @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Lady_Belligerent

 

IC: Quill Penn
Tallera Field, Nuba City, Nubia

This.

This was the limmie Quill wanted to play. Had dreamed of playing. A dominating game on defense couple with unrelenting offense. It was the epitome of the strong midfield system that had seen so many variations on Bakura over the decades, that he’d grown up watching.

The team had responded to Coach K’s challenge by playing some of their best limmie of the season. Quill knew that he shouldn’t be so excited about a dominating win against the last-place team in the conference, but they needed this game. A three-game losing streak heading into the playoffs would have given whoever they faced a huge morale boost. After a season of playing their tails off to earn a home game in the playoffs, Quill didn’t want to give away that advantage.

And he knew why he’d played so well personally, being part of the second shutdown of the season. Despite sitting next to her in the locker room, Quill and Aisa hadn’t so much as brushed the sleeves of their jerseys against each other. Though they hadn’t talked about it—not with words, anyways—they’d both agreed that whatever they’d been doing had to be on hold. At least for now.

It left an ache in Quill not to feel his skin against Aisa’s, her arms around his waist, but he’d forced himself to use that ache. It had fueled his play, made him work harder, push himself further. He’d sharpened his concentration so there was only limmie. It was almost enough to ignore the burning in his breast for Aisa.

“OK, OK,” Coach K said as she came into a jubilant locker room, “that’s playoff limmie.” The team quieted down to listen. “We don’t have final offworld scores yet, but Ord Mantell is up big on Carratos and it looks like they’re slugging it out on Coruscant.”

Everyone knew the Miners probably needed a Scrappers loss to win the Commissioner’s Trophy. Though there was room in the rules for a shared Trophy—or even, improbably, an extra game—nobody really thought the ELL was going to go for that when there was the head-to-head tiebreak in Ord Mantell’s favor.

“But none of that is important. What matters is that you played the best limmie you could today,” Alana continued. “That’s what the galaxy is going to see. That’s what you need in the playoffs.

“Get cleaned up, do your interviews, and get to the shuttle. Let’s go home and get ready for our fans.”

The locker room erupted in a cheer.

---

Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura
One week later

Quill knew it wasn’t possible. Bakura Gardens might be entering its ninth decade, but it was still structurally sound.

And yet, as he stood in the hallway leading from the locker room to the field entrance, he would have sworn he could feel the stadium shake.

The Miners had just missed the playoffs last year. The year before they’d lost in the first round. The year before that they’d been outgunned by the Pirates in the Final. It had been six years since the team’s last championship. The fans, the city, the continent, the planet—they wanted to go all the way this season.

And to do that, the Miners were going to have to go through a team that had featured in so many Miner seasons, the Coruscant Senators.

The Force seemed to have a flair for drama.

Quill could feel the expectations of an entire planet settling onto his shoulders as he waited to run onto the field. He’d known about them the first time he’d walked onto a field with a Miners jersey, but he hadn’t physically felt it until now. This was nothing like a Bak10-deciding game or a bowl game. They’d been big games, but not Galactic Cup Playoffs big.

Suddenly everything Coach and the veterans had said minutes ago in the locker room seemed insufficient. How did anyone ever play limmie under this pressure? With billions, trillions of fans watching? How was he supposed to play like this?

Quill took a deep breath, but it was ragged, rattling in his chest. Intellectually, he knew he was spiraling, that he could handle this, that he needed to calm down. Emotionally, he didn’t know what to do to stop this runaway gravtrain hurtling through him.

And then he felt a light touch on his back. “Easy, big man.”

The sound of Aisa’s voice cut through the panic coursing through his nerves. Her fingertips on his back was like a grounding wire, seeping off excess energy. He took another breath and this one came easier.

“We need you to control your emotions, not be dragged along by them.”

But Quill knew that they didn’t need anything from him. She needed it. And that made a difference. He couldn’t play for an entire planet in front of the whole galaxy.

But he could play for her.

Quill twisted his arm behind him to put his hand on her arm. “Got it.”

“If it helps, I’m bouncing off the walls back here too,” Aisa admitted.

“I’ve got you,” Quill said.

“I know,” Aisa replied.

Before they could say anything else, the doors opened at the head of the hallway and the noise of the stadium hit them. There would be no more words today.

Just limmie.

TAG: @Jedi Gunny @Lady_Belligerent

 

GM post

Bonus potential for Bakura this week.

Galactic Cup Playoffs
Conference Finals

Spoiler

2) Centran Royals at (1) Ord Mantell Scrappers (27-17)
(2) Coruscant Senators at (1) Bakura Miners (27-35)

155th Galactic Cup Final
(2) Centran Royals at (1) Bakura Miners

TAG: @Jedi Gunny @Vehn

 

NOTE: Here goes nothing - final Senators post. Hard to believe it, but it's time to say goodbye to these characters and team in the only way I know how. I even practiced the song in question yesterday on my own guitar to feel a greater sense of wrapping things up here. Now please enjoy:



IC: Cecilia S’rily

Senators Stadium


The last notes of “In the Meantime” faded away to the roar of the million-plus beings packed into Senators Stadium, beings whom had shown up to see the first live reunion of what had once been coined the S’rily Family Band in over ten years. As Cecilia took a deep breath, wiped the beads of sweat dripping from her face at the hot stage lights overhead, and then proceeded to tighten the snare drum casing, her eyes flickered towards the sight of her older biological brother Galin stepping up to the microphone. Her Assistant GM with the Senators, Galin had played a masterful set as he always had, mixing his guitar skills along with punching vocals that had been a mainstay of their onetime rise to mainstream success. And then there was adopted brother Ronny Debble, the long-haired Zeltron having made it to the big time on the music circuit as the lead of his own group playing the classics “only found on the classics stations”, as he liked to crow. His guitar playing had been sublime, and his vocals equally powerful as the trio pounded through song after song from each of their own bands. Galin had started off the set with his hard-hitting anthems, Cecilia had taken the mantle in the middle of the set with an assist from her regular bandmates, and Ronny had taken the helm with a group of beautiful tracks which mixed his jaw-dropping improv skills and attention to fine detail.


But it had only made sense to finish the set, and cap off the 50 years of Senator Limmie under the family name, with the songs that had once led the Family Band to stardom. It had started off with “The Door”, followed by several other tracks which they had translated into financial success. And now there was but one track left to play, one which they hadn’t played in so long but remained forever seared into each of their brains regardless. It was the perfect track to say farewell to what had been and open arms to what would someday be.


Yet there was one piece missing, one crucial part of the band that could not be overlooked. “We’ve got one more song for you all,” Galin said into the mic, drawing cheers from the excited crowd. “But first we need to make a slight change to the stage lineup and bring on a guest star for their cameo. To the man who made all this possible, who made this place as special a place on this Capital as it has become . . . to our father, Gark S’rily.”


As the cheers echoed throughout the stadium and into the waiting Coruscant night sky, the venerable elder S’rily made his way up onto the stage with help from a few stagehands. He was far frailer than he had been in Cecilia’s younger years, age finally starting to slow down what had once been an absolute firecracker of a personality. But it only seemed fitting for him to be on stage for the final song, the man whom had instilled the love of music in his children able to cap off the 50th anniversary of his taking the helm of a moribund Senators franchise and turning them into contenders right out of the gate. It had been a long time since those halcyon days, but somehow the name of S’rily would always be synonymous with the franchise. And Cecilia intended to continue that legacy herself, along with her brother at her side.


It had been two rotations since the league office called saying that the Senators were invited back for the following season, a breath of fresh air after the Senators had come out of the gates swinging in their first Elite League season in almost fifteen years. All season Cecilia had been concerned that their one season in the show was a superficial way for the League to gain credibility on the 50th anniversary of the so-called “Silver Age” of the sport, that they would be relegated to the Premier League despite having made the Conference playoffs. Now there was no reason to worry, for there would be another season to prepare for, another season of Senators Limmie in the Elite League, another season where the S’rily family name would be at the helm of the franchise her father had dragged from the depths to prominence. Everything would continue as it should have always done.


There was a break as the three S’rily children, two biological and one adopted, embraced their father before the adoring crowd. And despite being ravaged by age, there remained a mischievous look on the elder Bothan’s face. “Time to spill it, Galin. Why exactly am I up here?”


“We’ve got one song left to play, and it’d only be fitting if you played on it, pops,” Galin said. He then motioned towards an instrument which a roadie had brought forward and now sat proudly on stage as it once had so many years prior. “We even brought your show model back for this one.”


Gark arched an eyebrow. “Galin, you know I’ve forgotten a lot of the songs we used to play, and I’m way out of practice . . .”


When Galin said the name of the song he had in mind, Gark’s eyes went wide. “You know, I think I might remember how to play that one. But you sure that’s the one you want to end with?”


“We all had a hand in picking it,” Ronny admitted. “And it seemed like the right one to choose for this moment.”


“C’mon, Dad, you can do this,” Cecilia added as picked up her father’s bass and handed it to him. “It’ll be just like old times.”


“Just wait until ‘old times’ means decades instead of a few years, you young-ins’,” Gark said with a shake of his head. But as he slipped the guitar strap over his torso and then ran his furry fingers over the strings, there was a spark there that had been missing from their father’s visage for a long time. “I don’t know how to say this, but somehow it feels like I’ve never left. Stage lights on, crowd waiting in anticipation, playing with you all . . . it’s all I ever could have dreamed of.”


After a quick sound check, Galin went back to the microphone. “We’re ready for our last song. Are you ready?”


As the crowd erupted in another round of cheers, Galin turned around and counted off before starting in on a guitar riff that had not been heard from the band’s live shows in almost twenty years.



Yet the mesmerizing distorted riff silenced the crowd as they fell into the trance and Ronny went up to the mic and started the vocals as he had so many times before in younger days. Somehow, as the vocals began and the rhythm continued, it felt to Cecilia as though somehow despite the days which had passed, the days which had left, the music had somehow never disappeared.


Bleed in your own light, dream of your own life, I miss me, I miss everything I’ll never be


There was so much to unpack from 50 years of Senator history on showcase. An unknown executive rising to a GM post with an Elite League team knowing very little about the sport. A ragtag team with experience and some pedigree but very little success pertaining to winning. A Cup win in 262 over Kashyyyk, the boogeyman of the League during those early days, a run from 262-268 that included two Cup wins, several Cup Final appearances, and not a single seat left unfilled at games. Yet there was also so much more – the lull after the title win, a team kidnapping which had left the team desperate for players and staff, the same man whom had stepped in to GM the team taking upon himself coaching duties for the good of the franchise. And somehow it had all worked out, a team on the rise.


A crown of thorns, an image formed, behold the mark I’ve borne, a mark of scorn to you


Yet the fall from grace had been just as shocking, just as sudden in the decline. A hostile takeover in ownership, the team placed on the chopping block under the machinations of Calo Mornd. Her father’s call to action as a superhero with admittedly one of the goofiest names possible, but for a time Superbothan was synonymous with standing up to the bullies of the world, the terrifying showdown in the pouring rain where Mornd had supposedly killed her father. Cecilia did not know all the details – neither of her parents had been all too forthcoming with the details, but they had not been able to cover all their tracks forever. A man dead, a planet in mourning, a Mornd on the loose with the power to eliminate all his rival had worked to build. Things could not be direr – until the man who would not stay dead arose from the ashes and finally placed Mornd on ice. While the Senators did not survive that transition, they too soon arose from the ashes themselves in 272 and staked their claim to perennial Elite League play. And out of the ashes of the old team came a new union between that man whom had sacrificed so much and the woman whose tireless work kept the entire franchise afloat on a daily basis, a union which despite the hard years to come for the Senators had created the group now on stage. Despite the trials and tribulations, despite the winless 277 season that placed great angst upon the fans and the franchise, despite the gambling scandal, love somehow prevailed.


Consume my love, devour my hate, only powers my escape, the moon is out, the stars invite, I think I’ll leave tonight


Indeed the many sparkling moons of far-away suns shone in the darkened Coruscanti skyline, their brilliance punctuating the bright lights of the stadium as the wall of sound continued to blast forth from the mounted speaker racks located all around the stage. Galin’s droning guitar riff, Ronny’s enthralling vocals and slide guitar work, Cecilia’s pulsating drum beats, their father turning back the clock as he masterfully played each note in turn. For here there was no need to allow age to slow him down, the music he had once created with his much-younger children so many years prior still holding up even as they had all gone their separate ways. That was the inevitability of growing up, but despite the ravages of age, Cecilia could see that her father had no regrets in what he was doing. It was something for old time’s sake, a momentary return to a past where things had been simpler for all of them.


For Gark S’rily was the reason all of them were there, the reason the Senator brand retained its staying power in the Elite League, the reason why Cecilia knew it was on her to continue the family legacy. In some ways the song was a perfect metaphor for the elder Bothan to finally say goodbye to the game he loved so dearly, his farewell from a long and distinguished coaching career at the same Coruscant Polytechnic Institute where he had once coached his sons through the rigors of college ball and seen Galin off to the Elite League where a title awaited in his future, not to mention the future love of the junior S’rily’s life who happened to be playing that title game in goal. And for Ronny, whose career had not gone pro in Limmie but in the rhythm of life that had led to his music stardom, the time spent at CorTech was not a waste. It had just been a springboard to greater things elsewhere.


But that was not to forget Mykal Oha, their other adopted sibling who now sat in the audience with their mother Me’lin, surrounded by his own family and friends. He had been taken in by the family in high school, a talented young man whose own home life had failed him but had all the potential he needed to become something special. And that he had become off the field, now a successful businessman with a fortune to call his own. His rise to stardom had been inspiration enough for Cecilia to pursue her own dreams far from Coruscant in the Hapes Consortium, a place where she could make a name for herself outside the family lineage. Yet somehow all roads led back to Coruscant, and finally Cecilia knew she could not resist the call. Her mother and father had laid the groundwork for her success from an early age, and by taking the reins of the Senators franchise her father had reinvigorated, she had done exactly what her other siblings had done before her – find where they needed to be in life and succeed. With a playoff appearance under their belt and an invite back, she hoped the Senators would someday take that next step and become all that they were meant to be. She had put in all the necessary groundwork herself – now it was time to truly build that foundation for sustained success.


Soon, I’ll find myself alone, To relax and fade away, Do you know what’s coming down? Do you know I couldn’t stay free?


But as the song progressed, Cecilia knew that she would not be alone. Her brother would remain at her side as Assistant GM, and the love her parents had always shown her would never fade away. Even on the darkest days she could escape to moments like this, moments where everything just felt right. Someday she too would grow older just as her father had, and perhaps it would not be as graceful as his own aging, but it would be those moments spent with her family which would keep her company. And then there were moments which were still to be made, remaining in tantalizing fashion just beyond her reach. Always in motion was the future, a wise man had once said, and nothing was certain. All Cecilia understood was that she had to be there to meet that future – for the Senators to reach that future laid out before them. 311’s trip to the Conference Semifinals had been a start, but there was plenty more to accomplish now that the bedrock had been set for success.


I shall be free, I shall be free, I shall be free, I shall be free, free, Free of those voices inside me


As the vocals faded out and Galin picked up a different droning riff once more, a tear descended Cecilia’s cheek as she awaited the end of the song. Fifty years had passed since her father placed the franchise on his shoulders, and in this way it was the perfect way to send him out. Now it was her turn to live up to his legacy, though somehow she knew he would say that she was already doing that no matter how well the team performed. In that way, the name was power, the legacy was respect, the passion to succeed was already there. She just had to do everything her father had ever taught her and lead in her own way. And in that way, both her father and her could be free of those voices inside, just as the lyrics suggested.


I shall be free . . . I shall be free . . .


And then the song was over with a mad dash up the frets and a hard drum-kick combination, followed by what sounded like a cannon blast before the reunion show was over. And in that moment Cecilia knew she had the closure she needed. The page was ready to turn from her father to her, the transition finally complete in the only way that felt right. They had all made their own lives, but the music had brought them back together – and in their own way, the music had set them all free from expectation for one magical moment in time.


There was a whirlwind of emotion as the siblings and their father took a final curtain call from the adoring audience, and plenty of hugs as Cecilia could not stop herself from crying. It was such an emotional time for her, but that look from her father as they went in for a hug was all she needed to know. He would always be proud of her, no matter what came next. Again, as the song suggested, she could be free from the voices inside her, free to chart her own course – free to forge her own legacy.


As the group finally walked off the stage and the din of the crowd died down a bit, Cecilia used a hair tie to bind her drumsticks together but stopped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you going to be alright?” Galin asked his younger sister.


“You know that this means the end of an era – Dad’s era,” Cecilia responded as she wistfully looked to her father, who was now back to walking with his cane again as technicians took his venerable bass back. There was a look of closure in his eyes, as if he had come to terms that this was the end of his time in the game and that he could finally relax in a long-overdue retirement. “I just hope we sent him off in the way that he deserves.”


“But that’s the funny thing about legacy. It might be the end of Dad’s Limmie story, but it’s still early in ours. And I think we’re getting somewhere, you and me. Just like it was meant to be.”


Cecilia gave Galin a perplexed look. “You really think so?”


Galin just drummed a few beats on his sister’s shoulder with his palm. “I know so. Time for us to carve a new chapter to the legacy together. What do you say, sis? Want to create history?”


A hint of a smile formed on the tired Twi’lek’s face. “I’d like that.”


And so to 312 and beyond, the S’rily legacy with the Coruscant Senators franchise of the Elite Limmie League would persist. Maybe not perfect, maybe not glitzy or glamorous as other franchises, but just as life continued unabated on the Galactic Capital, so would those donning the orange and black. And Galin and Cecilia S’rily were excited to see what the future held for their beloved franchise - and for themselves.


P.S.: No TAGS for specific things, but I wanted to mention everyone here: @Trieste for starting the game, @Vehn for being a worthy adversary, @jcgoble3 for making me not the only goofball to write stories about big explosions, @galactic-vagabond422 for providing a needed injection of story material into the later seasons , the late Tim Battershell for Tengate (R.I.P.), @JM_1977 , @Runjedirun for all those classic Coruscant-Ralltiir matchups, Bardan_Jusik and CPL_Macja for all the years of back and forth brawl games, and for everyone else who ever participated in this game. It's hard to say goodbye, but I can't believe it lasted 14 years after I submitted that first character sheet. My own fiction works could not have been made possible without these characters and stories to rekindle my love for creative writing, so in that way hopefully some measure of these stories shall live on for years after this thread and game are locked and lost to history.

R.I.P. Elite League Limmie, 2010-2024. You will be missed.

 

IC: Quill Penn
Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura

All Quill was doing was surviving this game.

The Senators had brought everything to the playoffs. He’d known they were coming in hot, but this was more intense than he’d expected. The Senators wanted to show it was no mistake they were back in the ELL. They didn’t care what the Miners had done in the regular season: they were going to play their hearts out.

Quill had played tough games—most of them against Atalanta University and a certain player—but this was the toughest game he’d ever been in. His tiniest mistakes were exploited and blown open for points.

He hit the locker room at halftime almost in a daze. He was aware of Coach Kirt using the vidboard to demonstrate the adjustments she wanted for the second half, going over where she wanted them to attack more or defend better. But even though Quill knew their season was on the line, he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that he wasn’t keeping up, that he was going to blow it.

“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Aisa took his jaw in her hand and forced him to look at her. “I need to know where you are right now.”

“They’re getting through me. They’ve put up, like, 9 points on me,” Quill admitted. “I can’t stop them.”

“I need you to listen to me,” Aisa said. “This game has stopped being about awesome defense. This is about keeping ahead of the Senators.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Look, the Senators decided to come at us with turbolasers blazing. They’re calling Kirt’s bluff. We want to win games with offense? They’re trying to out-power offense us,” Aisa said, her voice laced with a quiet intensity. “That means that we can’t play to not be scored on. You have to stop thinking like Horst Penn’s son.”

“So…?” Quill’s brain couldn’t process this. Aisa was saying they should let the Senators score?

“We have to play in a way that forces the Senators into the tough shots. The low percentage plays. They’re going to score on some of them, but they won’t score on all of them—and if we do it right they won’t score big. Give them the edges, not the middle. Make them take the hard shots.”

“Make it hard for them…” Quill repeated. Even though it sounded like he was just echoing Aisa, his mind was putting it together. “OK. OK.”

“Besides, the classic games everyone remembers are never for defense. We knew we signed up for a thankless—”

“Do the corner backs have something they want to share with the class?” Coach Kirt called, causing the team to look at them.

“Just getting down the plan,” Aisa said, “Give them the outside and keep them shooting above the bar.” Had that really been what Coach K had been talking about the whole time? Quill hadn’t caught any of that.

“That’s it,” Alana said encouragingly. “We want to clog our zone up, jump on the turnovers, and get the ball up the field fast so we do what we’re good at. They come in hot, we come in hotter. Everyone’s going to make mistakes today. We win by making the most of theirs and making ours hurt as little as we can.

“This is going to be the toughest offense we’ve played all season. So everyone has got to get tougher. And I know you can. Let’s go.”

---

It was perhaps the hardest 30 minutes of limmie Quill had ever played. If he had approached it with what he thought ELL defense was like when he played his first game as a Miner, stopping your opponent from doing anything, it would have broken him.

Instead, it battered him. Senators still got off shots from his side of the field. He gave up plenty of points. But none of them broke the Miners. Their defense, Quill’s contribution included, was just enough to keep them in it, to keep the Miners alive.

When the game was over, Quill was not part of the mass of his teammates celebrating their trip to the Galactic Cup Final as the cheers of Bakura Gardens rained upon them. He was exhausted, having given everything he had to beat the Senators. He fell to his knee and put his head against the grass as he soaked in the fact that he had survived. He was going to play for the biggest trophy in the galaxy and it had taken everything he had to make it there.

This was not the glorious triumph Quill had thought a playoff win would bring. It was the bone-tired fatigue of fighting in the trenches, the struggle through a war of attrition. Even as Quill joined his team for their holo with the Solo Conference trophy, proudly held by Kass in contravention of a prominent superstition about the conference trophies, and smiled, he could not close his eyes the awful reality staring back at him.

If this was how hard it had been to beat the Senators, a team they’d defeated twice in the regular season, what were the Centran Royals, a team the Miners had lost to by 16 points, going to do to them?

TAG: @Jedi Gunny @Vehn

 

OOC: This post had so much more going for it but I simply ran out of time to get it composed properly. It falls short of what I wanted but well, here ya go!

IC: Princess Josephine Daneher
155th Galactic Cup Final
Royals vs Miners

Princess Josephine Daneher, dressed in a smart business suit, stood near the tunnel as the Centran Royals filed toward the pristine grass that would host the 155th Galactic Cup Final between the Centran Royals and the Bakura Miners.

Her eyes caught sight of Nigel Tremayne. Her rival this season but the two had made peace when they discovered they had one strong purpose in life in common: seeing the Centran Royals win the Galactic Cup.

It had all seemed like a dream during the beginning of the season. Now they were just one game away from making that victory a reality. The pairing would never see eye to eye on much. They didn’t need to at this point. They were beyond the need for friendship. In this case, game recognized game.

Princess Josephine nodded briefly as the Royals coaching staff, consisting of former Nar Shaddaa Smugglers greats, Erin Windreaver, Niall Rian, and Zelena Wiles, made their way to the Royals sideline. She was confident that Addison Vehn had assembled a winning roster but Josephine knew the Miners were nothing to get overconfident about.

They were the best team in Elite League Limmie history. The pillar of the sport. The epitome of what it took to keep a successful franchise going these many years. Some media pundits would argue there would have been no Elite League Limmie without the Bakura Miners. Few would challenge that idea. Few dared to even try.

Josephine had learned so much about Limmie since purchasing the Royals a few seasons ago. The rules. The etiquette. The delicate nature of running a sports franchise. It was nothing like the life she’d led on Dela prior to starting this new adventure.

Nothing at all.

Tag: @Trieste

 

GM post

Bonus potential for just Bakura this week due to a rule instituted seasons ago that only teams that had bonus potential for half their regular season games. Unfortunately, Centran only had bonus potential for 2 of the 10 regular season games.

155th Galactic Cup Final
Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Spoiler

(2) Centran Royals at (1) Bakura Miners (6-6, OT 7-8)

This is usually where I congratulate a team on winning the Galactic Cup, but that would be hollow this time around. Instead, I congratulate everyone who's ever been a part of Elite League Limmie for making it a wonderful experience.

I look forward to the closing posts to come.

TAG: @Vehn

 

IC: Quill Penn
Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“You are ready. And I am so proud of all of you,” Alana Kirt told the team.

Quill could feel the Galactic Cup Final patch on his jersey. He knew it was only a few hundred grams of mass, but its weight seemed heavier. The last time the Miners played in a Final at Bakura Gardens was 15 years ago.

And the captain of that team? Horst Penn, a fact memorialized for limmie history on the Galactic Cup.

The trophy Quill was about to play for.

“Those of you who were here last season, you remember the qualifier against Corellia,” she continued, “and what happened after. We didn’t panic. We didn’t blow the team up. We looked at what we needed to do to get here and we did it.

“Those of you who joined us this year—” She looked at Quill. “—have been part of that solution. The Final is a crucible. The only way you get through it is to give everything you’ve got. But don’t give it to get your name on the Cup. Don’t give it for the fans. Give it for each other.

“And that’s all I’ve got to say so let’s—”

“I have something to say.”

Everyone looked at Quill.

“Coach Kirt is right.” He knew as a rookie he should let the veterans who’d been here before make the speeches. He didn’t know why he was talking now. Maybe he couldn’t play the biggest game of his life without getting this off his chest. Maybe it was the Force moving inside him. “We have to play for each other.

“And there’s one person I’m playing for: Aisa.” Quill looked at her. “Not only has she made me a better player by pushing me all season, but I love her too.”

Aisa stared back at Quill with a look that very clearly said, Dude! Not the moment for this! We’re about to play the biggest limmie game of our lives!

Quill turned back to the locker room and, unlike the Riverton books he read where declarations of love caused onlookers to melt with happiness, he got stares from his teammates.

“Uh, we know,” Kass said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yeahhhhhhhhh,” Rose-Lynn said.

“You two are not very subtle,” Gerald added, his voice as dry as ever.

“Some of the walls in this place are not as thick as I would have assumed,” Obi-San added with a smile that said well, what can you do?

“Well…” Quill was not sure how to transition out of this situation of his own making. “I guess we should play some limmie then?”

“Let’s do that,” Coach Kirt said, clearly eager to get the team’s mind back on the game. “Everyone, get in the middle.”

As everyone got to their feet for the huddle that would be the last private moment they had until halftime, Quill heard Aisa mutter, “I love you so much that I’m going to kill you after this game.”

He didn’t doubt it.

---

Quill bent over and braced his hands against his knees, sweat running off his face. It was only for a second, but he needed every rest he could get.

The Final had been the opposite of last week’s game. Where the Senators had decided to try beating the Miners at their own game, the Royals leaned into their strength:

Hard-hitting, unrelenting, bruising defense.

It was how Quill would have played it in their cleats. The Royals had been the best defense all season and they were showing it here. The Miner offense and midfield had ground to a halt against the Royals. They couldn’t take two steps without being harried, hurried, tackled, or otherwise punished for entering the Centran zone. It was down to the Miners defense to do the same—but better.

Quill was playing the game he’d dreamed of his entire life: a defensive battle, in a dark blue Miners jersey, at Bakura Gardens with over 100,000 beings roaring from the stands, in the Galactic Cup Final, in overtime.

He looked around and saw that his teammates were barely hanging in there. They were tired and battered, but they had no choice. They had to keep going. They were going to be the ones to decide how this game ended.

And Quill knew that meant they needed everything he had. The veterans were playing smart, but they needed players with legs. That had to be Quill and Aisa, the young corners. They had to give them that extra boost to get over the edge.

Throughout overtime, Quill pushed and pushed and pushed with each play. Goals had to be out of the question. Even one point could break them now. There was no room for error.

Quill had stopped paying attention to who the Royal players were. Matchups were long gone. All that mattered was covering whatever moved with a jersey of a different color than his. Everyone was dangerous now. Anyone could be the hero today.

And with the certainty that had taken a season to develop, Quill saw that heroism in the eyes of the nearest Royal. Quill knew the boloball was coming this way and there would be a shot. The only question was whether it would go to the near or far side of the goal. It was a 50-50 chance.

Quill had nothing to go on, no tells to help him. Just instinct. When the ball came into the Royal, Quill dove to cover the far side, extending his body as far as his ligaments would let him. He would have dislocated his arms if he could have.

He took the boloball in the face so hard he wondered if it broke his nose.

Later, he learned that it was Aisa who recovered the deflected boloball, who kicked it up field to clear the zone before a Royal could get it, and that the ball was still sailing through the air when the clock hit double zero.

---

​

Later that night, when the stadium was empty, a Verpine artisan would sit with the Galactic Cup and perform a ritual stretching back 155 years. When they finished their work, there would be one more entry in the trophy’s great history.

BAKURA MINERS 311
DECLAN TRIESTE THE NOBLE HOUSE OF TRIESTE
LENA CUNDERTOL ALANA KIRT MAY HULL
KASSANDRA KIRT CAPT. AISA ARAIN
ROSE-LYNN HYPERTRAVELS PETR GRIFFITH
OLIVAR KIRT AHO LIGHTSTEED RAV MAGONOMOS
RORIE MCLITA CHEZ NOTHOIIN QUILL PENN
GERALD RIVIERA OBI-SAN SAMYA AKIRA SHIV
ASTRA SIXTREES TCHUZRE ZYRASTUS​

But before that could happen…

Quill Penn and Aisa Arain would raise their first Galactic Cup, individually once Aisa passed it to Quill, and then again together. It was the beginning of an beautiful partnership, on and off the field.

After almost everyone had gotten their turn, Lena Cundertol would have her on field moment with the Galactic Cup. The second she raised the trophy, she knew what comparisons would be drawn between her and her absent father. This time, they would be in her favor. It had taken him three seasons to win his first Galactic Cup. She’d done it in two. She was already thinking about what she’d need to do next season. She wasn’t going to stop until she’d won four more and put her father’s record behind her.

Jak Mixle, as always, was on the field, watching for any surprises. Win or lose, it was his job to prevent surprises from happening. But even he looked around for a moment at the fans, fireworks, and celebrations and thought, This ain’t a half bad show.

Rose-Lynn Hypertravels was already planning the end-of-season vacation she and Tynos always took. It was too bad this year’s championship ring wouldn’t be ready by then. She would have enjoyed wearing both of them to tease Tynos. Instead, she was thinking of a different piece of jewelry for her left hand.

Lyndsey and Artemis Cash jumped off their backwater cantina barstools when overtime ended and hugged each other in joy. “That calls for another ale!” Artemis called to the bartender droid, “including for our friend here.” “And then we’ll get you to the Marshal,” Lyndsey said as she clapped their bounty on the back. The unfortunate being, who had watched the whole game in binders, wished the Galactic Cup Final had gone to quadruple overtime. It would have been nice to get a little more freedom before she was turned in.

Sandy Starkrimson, her husband Jed didn’t recreate their first date (at least the first one that Jed could remember) by going to the Final. Though part of them wished they could have gone, they were much happier on the couch with their young son, Luke, who had so many ideas about what his mom should talk about on the next broadcast of Hits Like A Girl.

Bess, the Miners’ porg mascot, ran around the field, waving her arms in joy before making confetti angels on the field. Though their name would not be on the Galactic Cup, the being inside the giant, furry costume deserved their Galactic Cup ring as much as anyone else.

Mihal Ceallaigh sat on his stool in The Inky Raven and said, “Now I think that could call for another pint there, if you don’t mind.” He might be 154 years old, but for a Bakuran that was just beginning one’s old age. Surely he deserved an extra pint on a day like this.

Declan Trieste would be the last being to lift the Galactic Cup before the team holo that would be added to the locker room hallway that led to the field. He could wait patiently. He wanted to savor the moment he lowered the silver trophy to his lips, for it was the closest he could come to kissing his wife again.

Horst Penn was still on the clock, but he disregarded his field commentary duties to watch his son win the same trophy that he had all those years ago. He wouldn’t mind that the BBC would broadcast him, arms around his spouse and tears streaming down his face, across the planet. “Do you like limmie now?” he asked Trixie Eldred Penn as he rested his chin on top of her head. “Maybe just for today,” she allowed.

Former players Tamon "T.K." Kutel, Stephana Adiims, Harle Quinn, Bree Veers, and El "Flea" Baganno III applauded from the alumni box. All but one of them knew what these players were experiencing—and they were all sure they could have gone down there and won another Cup themselves if they’d wanted to.

“And really, I’m all right without one. Doing just fine, in fact,” Flea says to you, “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been getting up to lately…”

Somewhere in Bakura, someplace far—but not too far—from a limmie field, Dash Stonlon sat in a pub in a well-worn and well-loved dark blue overcoat, raised a pint at the vidscreen, gave the tiniest smile.

Corran Ostaren, who had gone through two different comedy show hosting jobs since that season he spent following the Miners, posted on one of his channels, “I can only assume that the last 4 ‘Thank you for discovering us and helping us win a Galactic Cup’ cards from an obscure boloball team on the edge of the galaxy got lost in the HoloNet. That’s OK—fifth time’s the charm!”

After handing the Galactic Cup off to the champions, Fenrir Lokensgaard stood on the field and reveled in yet another successful season. Even so, he already had ideas to tweak next season. “Yes…” he mused. “Maybe.”

Rocket Richaud’s heart was full as she watched her team lift the Galactic Cup once more. But that joy was small compared to having one arm around her wife Sadie and another around their daughter, who was now the age Rocket had been when she’d had that fateful season that brought her to Bakura Gardens for the first time and brought her and Sadie together. Maybe they’d have to scrape together the money for a family trip next season…

May Trieste knew there would be injuries to tend when the celebrations finished. She’d been team doctor long enough to know none of the Miners were fully honest with her about their physical condition until playoffs were over. But May had always done what she could, knowing professional limmie players would push through more pain than most beings would know in a lifetime. One thing was for certain: she’d look at the Kirts’ shoulders because you never could be too careful. But first she’d find her mother, Verity Vehn, who’d come to represent to two families this day, and give her a long hug.

Falene Trieste and Vienna Harlow were content to watch from the Noble House box, even though the rest of their family had hurried to the field. Their reasons for remaining were different. Vienna had little interest in basking in the reflected glow of the championship when there were other, more important things in the galaxy. And for her part, Falene knew that she would find no thrill in proximity to the Cup, not when she’d experienced the ecstasy of raising it twice herself.

The holo of The Kirt Family, Olivar, Kassandra, and Alana, holding the Cup above their heads together would go on to become one of the greatest images of Miners limmie. But of all the places it would be reproduced, nowhere was it treasured more than on a mantle in a quiet house in Ojai.

In Section 210, Sydney Talon smiled and clapped as each Miner took a turn with the Galactic Cup. He’d make sure the trophy made it to the Fleetfire Zarmer Talon office in due course. Even the team attorneys deserved their day with the Galactic Cup—and Sydney already had plans for his time with it.

A tiny breeze picked up some confetti and wafted it over the surface of the Galactic Cup. Perhaps it was a sign that, somewhere in the Force, Aileen Wynn, Dana Roslyn, and Ayn Dormingale Trieste were watching it all and were happy for this team that had been part of their lives.

Though the stood to one side to let others have the glory, in some small way everyone felt the presence of Kerry Trieste. She had watched the Bakura Miners for all of her 91 years, 24 of them as owner—including back in 262 when it felt like the ELL got more competitive. She had seen many Galactic Cup celebrations. Of this one she was content to say, “That’ll do.”

(And, at her feet, Rua barked, “Championship sausages for everyone!!!”)

This is not a TAG, but instead a deep, heartfelt thank you to @galactic-vagabond422 @jcgoble3 @Jedi Gunny @Lady_Belligerent @SWNerd11 @Vehn for being part of this last, if perhaps just for now, journey. You are what made them more memorable than any result that a random number generator spit out.