[color=fff200][i][h2]Corrie Strickman[/h2][/i][/color]
[color=fff200][i][h3]Winter Carnival, Sports Booths[/h3][/i][/color]

[color=fff200]"I request a grasshopper,"[/color] Corrie ordered, plunking her money on the counter. [color=fff200]"Make it a big one."[/color]

"That kinda day already?" the anteater cashier responded, collecting the money with a bemused look.

Corrie replied with the minimal amount of chatter and eye contact required to avoid being entirely rude. She wasn't here to chitchat, after all, she was at... a big outdoor event for all your family and friends. Hm.

Soon later, the owl received her grasshopper-filled pastry. She sat at a nearby table to casually eat it. It just [i]happened[/i] to be a coincidence, of course, that the table looked out toward the sports booths across the road. Corrie was merely here for the pastry.

Some of the booths were small and simple, managed by one or two animals with flyers and a few action photos of their team. Other booths worked harder to attract interest with gimmicks like raffles, performing tricks, and carnival games. One such booth caught Corrie's eye, and she internally debated for a while before deciding it couldn't hurt to just take a closer look, obtain more information.

"Hey," a zonkey at the booth greeted with a bit of a stiff smile as Corrie approached. "You lookin' for an autograph? Or the nerd booths? They're over that way."

Corrie frowned and shirked a bit at the mixed-signals introduction. But then she straightened up and puffed out her chest a little.

[color=fff200]"On the contrary, I have arrived to take note of your prized hobby. Is not the sharing and recruitment of softball the prime motivation for using abundant resources on such a display? I may be more diminutive and traditionally studious than your typical fare, but I possess equal right and ability to observe this booth and partake in any challenges proclaimed therein."[/color]

The zonkey blankly stared through Corrie during the speech. It took her a couple seconds to decide to give enough damn to process, a couple more to actually process. Then she let out a toothy smirk.

"Oh, a challenger, eh? I guess we could always use some more funds... You gotta stand behind this line. You get three throws. If you knock down all the cans with three throws or less, you get a prize. That'll be $3, please."

Corrie paid the fee and carried the supplied ball to the line. The owl immediately felt a sinking pit of doubt as she weighed the awkwardly large ball in her hand and gauged the stacked cans so, so far away. She considered asking for a refund, or at least cutting her losses now to save her pride. But the zedonk was still watching intently with that subtle smirk - no turning back now.

Well, Corrie could reason this out. This was simply an intimidating math problem. One might expect aiming for the bottom row to be most beneficial. But there was no way to know the heft of the cans - perhaps the notion of eliminating many obstacles with the preliminary throw was a trap, the target too stalwart for such a ploy. Corrie had three balls for a reason. She would eliminate the uppermost half or so first, and then use her remaining balls to topple respective halves of the lower rows. As for the angle, a quick estimate of the distance to the goal, height discrepancy between herself and the goal, and the mass of the ball determined a release angle of approximately 145 degrees to be ideal. Yes, she had it all perfectly formulated!

Corrie's first ball sunk to the ground a foot short of the target entirely.

The zonkey couldn't suppress a wheezing chuckle as she watched Corrie flush. Cordy-whatever Strickman. Public speaking class, tenth grade. A debate that strayed well beyond the academic requirements and into the personal, earning the zonkey the name "dumbass" for the rest of the year. This was a long time coming, Corrie, but now you're on [b]my[/b] turf, let's see how you like THAT!

Corrie, for her part, had absolutely no recollection of the ordeal. Or the zonkey. Her feathers ruffled a bit as she picked up the next softball.

"Woah woah, wait a second," a third voice piped up.

Corrie had barely noticed the quiet squirrel monkey in the corner until she walked over to her.

"Yeah, these are the [i]mid-weight[/i] balls," the monkey continued. "Hold on a second-"

The monkey dug through a crate and pulled out a smaller ball. In the meantime, Corrie noticed the zonkey looked... annoyed? Hm... maybe the mammal felt embarrassed about being called out on her mistake? It would make sense, after all, some hybrids always feel like they have something to prove.

"Here you go," the squirrel monkey murmured as she handed Corrie a new ball. This one still felt large in Corrie's wing, but not unreasonably so. "Let me change out some of those cans, too."

Corrie almost felt worse as she faced the mocking cans again. The first failure was a fluke, the wrong parameters, not her fault. But when she failed again... there was no excuse.

The owl finally breathed and tossed the ball. It glanced off the side of the tower this time, and three cans slowly teetered off.

"Yeah, that was better," the monkey commented with a light smile. "You might have a good arm."

[color=fff200]"I.. I do?"[/color] Corrie stuttered, caught a little off guard. She figured three was a rather poor showing, certainly unworthy of any praise from a genuine player.

"I think so," the squirrel monkey replied, "if you put a little work into it. Here-"

The monkey picked up the ball and demonstrated, sharing a basic rundown on how actual pitchers throw a ball. She gently touched Corrie's wing to guide it through a few slow-mo, practice throws. Corrie still felt doubtful as she stepped back up to the line, but maybe a little better. She tried her best to remember the motions as she threw the next ball. It collided with a solid hit, knocking off four more clattering cans. Corrie couldn't help but grin with glee and swivel her head back to the monkey, who looked startled for a moment but then responded with a thumbs up.

"Alright," the zedonk cut in, "you had your three. I'm sooo sorry, better luck next time!"

Corrie's smile faltered as she swiveled back to the zonkey.

[color=fff200]"Uhh... I do believe the first ball was a mistake not of my own doing, and therefore I am entitled to an additional one."[/color]

"Uhhh-huh," the zonkey replied with growing acidity. "You smartypants brain-breeds and all your 'entitlements,' I've already heard enough of that. You can't just say your big smart words and study your way through everything, dork. You. Lost. You sucked at throwing! And now maybe there's a tiny little space in your brain next to all those facts about history and shit to appreciate all the skill needed to throw, and catch, and- Mia, DO NOT give her that ball!"

Both of the smaller animals froze and looked at the zonkey with wide eyes. The monkey opened her mouth, but she couldn't force anything out, and she ended up dropping the ball and scurrying back to her corner with an anxious hunch.

Corrie, however, was beginning to regain her voice.

[color=fff200]"Well, aren't you the supportive team player!"[/color] Corrie's ear-tufts ruffled up as she berated the zonkey. [color=fff200]"I may not be the most skilled in softball, but at least I have enough basic animal decency to know that swindling and THEN mocking anyone who shows up is a terrible recruitment strategy. Perhaps you're very good at throwing a [i]rock [/i]at a [i]stick[/i]. But you might want to be a bit nicer to animals with different skill sets! Maybe even - [i]heaven forbid[/i] - skill sets which contribute [b]actual[/b] advancements to the knowledge, health, and overall quality of life of many animals, and not merely padding up your own sports cars and celebrity egos and... oh..."[/color]

Corrie's words faded into a gulp as she seemed to suddenly notice the height difference between her and the zonkey, who glared at her with about as much murder as an herbivore could muster.

[@Argetlam350]