Vorelando sat across from Kristaps Vorezingis in the school counselling office. Voregia state didn’t have a sports psychologist, the position had been retired after one too many people got eaten on the job but they’d kept the office around for situations just like this.
Vorezingis gave Vorelando his infamous death stare, to see if he could get him to crack. Vorelando wasn’t much of a cracker.
He stared back.
“Do you know why I called you here?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?”
“It’s because I’m too real with it, because this school, nay, this society can’t handle a man with ideals. You want compromise, I can’t give you compromise, I can only give you me.”
Vorezingis let out an almighty sigh. It shocked Vorelando, not because it had happened but because it sounded so sad.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“What is it about then? Is it because I vored Cayenne?”
“Of course not, you were well within your legal and moral rights to do so, extra curricular vorings on campus are tolerated if they’re done in good faith.”
“So there should be no problem.”
Vorezingis said nothing, taking his wallet out of his pocket and procuring a polaroid picture from within.
“Vorelando, I am about to show you something I haven’t shown anyone in many years.”
“What is it?”
“The love of my life.”
Vorelando took the picture and turned it around. Captured within the white border were a shining, beautiful, immaculate pair of feet. Feet beyond anything Vorelando had ever seen, ever even conceived.
“Who is she?”
“Francine. And Laurie. Francine is the one with the distinctive mole.”
Vorezingis bore a sad smile as he reminisced about the feet from a time long passed.
“What happened to them?”
Vorezingis’ smile turned sour.
“Reality happened. That’s the worst thing about feet Jones, they usually come attached to a person. She only wanted me for my Big Vore Status, she never loved me like I loved her feet.”
Vorezingis took the photo back and placed it carefully in his wallet before continuing.
“That’s why I said it isn’t about that. I get it. This isn’t a world for the likes of you and me, it’s a vorers world and we’re out on our feet just trying to survive in it.”
“Then why am I here?”
“You’re here because I can see you’re hurting. You’re hurting like I was back in my prime. All that love, all that anger with nowhere for it to go. You can’t be yourself in public, if you do, you’re labelled a freak, if you bottle it all up, the pain will eat you alive.”
Vorelando felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He was seen, for the first time in his life he felt truly visible. His father had forced him into vore, made that his identity but that was never him. He didn’t love vore, he loved feet, and he wanted to be allowed to do that in peace.
He started sobbing, the warm tears flowing down his face and into his mouth. They were salty but psychologically refreshing as he hadn’t tasted tears in years.
“Vorelando Jones, you give me hope. When I saw the way that you manhandled the scorpion boys, I knew I was watching something special. It took me back to my childhood, a time before Voran Magic changed everything...”
“What do you mean?” Vorelando said as he wiped his eyes.
“Naturally you wouldn’t remember, but there was a time before Vore dominated our culture. A time when the people elected their leaders, when they still taught history in our schools, when fetishes outside of vore were accepted as commonplace.”
“There was a time like that?”
“Yes! And there will be once again! The spirit of democracy will never die, history will never cease to be and alternative fetishes will always prosper within the boundaries of our minds!”
Vorezingis wheeled himself around his desk and laid his hands on Vorelando’s shoulders.
“Once I was a young man too, Jones. I got into vore not because of a love of the game but because I wanted to change the world. I wanted to defeat Voran Magic and tear down his monopoly on culture. But I was careless, one minor slipup and I lost both my legs. From that moment on, I never had a chance and I knew it. I continued on in the cage, letting that dream slip away into the recesses of my mind.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Don’t you want to defeat him too Jones? Is it not the role of the son to defeat his father within the cage?”
“How did you know that?”
“Sometimes I just know.”
“Do you want to defeat Voran or not?”
“Of course I do.”
There was no hesitation in Vorelando’s voice. Not only did he want revenge but now he wanted revolution. He wanted to tear down the society hat Voran helped propagate, a society where one’s personal worth was derived from their relationship to how well they ate their fellow man.
“Then you need to make it to the pros, and you’re not going to do that by screaming about feet all the time, as righteous as it may be.”
“No buts.” Vorezingis interrupted. “If you truly love feet, you’ll shut up about them. You need to take down the system that oppresses them from the inside.”
Vorezingis patted Vorelando on the shoulder before wheeling himself out of the office, leaving Vorelando to contemplate things.
“Play the game kid, make the world your own.”