Their Biggest Fan (Chapter 3) (Patreon)

“Okay, now, where did you say your seat was again? Down in front?” Delilah questioned. As though playing an easy-mode version of Operation, she lowered her hand deep into the arena on the opposition side where Chris belonged, surgically conscious of her vertical forearm and the architecture of the complex all around it. One accidental brush could send an avalanche of concrete raining down, or worse, knock an entire balcony loose. Luckily, Delilah was accustomed to operating in such dainty surroundings, and brought her hand down to just a few feet above the playing field pitch with ease.

There was a brief gasping hubbub down in the expensive sideline seats at the sight of this immense hand hovering ahead, placidly clawed, not only for its mere presence in their space, but with its two leading fingers bunched around a wriggling man who looked like an insect by such direct comparison. Fascinated fans from both sides of the game gawked, not used to witnessing Delilah from so very close up, where they could see every crease in her flesh and every shifting pinkish hue. A few paranoid onlookers, despite knowing of Delilah’s good nature, couldn’t help but feel a flash of horror at such an understated display of tremendous power: a humble loner pathetically worming in her sure iron grip, a symbol of their own individual ineptitude compared to this city-walking earthbound deity. However, everyone more-or-less was soothed again when Chris was allowed to stand on Delilah’s index fingerprint.

“No, my seat’s way higher,” Chris answered her.

“Oh, sorry. Here?” Delilah said. She adjusted the height of her hand, retracting her arm up from the stadium a full story in an instant: the world’s mightiest elevator. The next floor of balconies now took their turn to softly gasp when they found Delilah’s humongous elegant hand pointing their way, with a person standing on the end like the bow of a ship.

“I didn’t buy my ticket in time for this one. I’m up in the nosebleeds. Top level,” Chris admitted.

“Oh, that stinks! Well, count your blessings. You could be out here with me, and I’m even farther back than you’ll be,” Delilah said. Her hand ascended the rest of the way, where her fingertip connected with the uppermost balcony. “But at least I can see you from here! That way, when your team starts getting destroyed, I can rub it in your face in person.”

“In your dreams,” Chris laughed. He disembarked from his friend’s lengthy digit, on sturdy ground once again. Even at this high peak of the huge stadium, it felt like nothing compared to the method of transportation he’d used to arrive here. The man took his seat near the back, then looked up, discovering he could see Delilah down to her shoulders from here. If it got too difficult to spy what was happening in the game, all he’d have to do was crane his neck up and read the expression on her adorable, astronomic face.

Shortly thereafter, the announcer’s voice proclaimed the game was about to start. Sponsors were thanked, anthems played, and players dispersed to their positions on the field. At each stage of the lead-up, the crowd roared with the thrill of the coming match, having forgotten for the time being that there was a giant sitting just outside the stadium; they were naturally reminded of this reality, however, whenever Delilah joined in on the cheers, as her voice easily drowned out even the announcer’s speaker-aided timbre.

Then the game began, and the biggest cheer of all rang out to the four corners of the city. The girl didn’t hold back, hooting and hollering with an ear-splitting verve that she kept just subdued enough to avoid harming the sensitive fans, or shatter-able glass, of the miniature complex. Gradually, as the first half got underway, the home team started getting used to these thunderous cries from behind the stadium wall, and actually raised their own volume in support of both their team and Delilah’s larger-than-life encouragement. The opposition, for their part, just meekly did their best to still be heard, though even while yelling as a unit until they were hoarse, one minor whoop from Delilah cancelled them all out.

The air was electric. Points were scored early on for both sides, creating tension and a volley of cheers from each wing of the stadium, though of course the home team had far more shouting power on their side. Looking toward the complex opening above, and the face smiling in at them, the players themselves were overwhelmed in their own ways: the home team heartened by such a massive fan, though subconsciously nervous of disappointing her, while the opposition was unquestionably intimidated, even if they didn’t show it, but harbored a secret hope that even this blonde-haired sky-scraping archangel of a woman and her cheers wouldn’t be enough to win the day. For those reasons, both sides were charged by both amped-up nerves and competitive aggression, and it showed. The crowd could scarcely go half a minute without having a reason to applaud and roar, even on some occasions jump to their feet.

During these particularly significant moments in favor of the home team, like a tricky steal or an efficient score, Delilah had to fight the urge to stand up and bounce on her feet, just like her fellow fans. Unfortunately, the force generated by someone like her actually rising up and jumping could cause an earthquake that, with enough repetitions, could alter the shape of the continental crust itself. Thus, ascending to her feet again was out of the question, but Delilah made do by curling her toes, throwing her hands over her head, and pumping her fists again. Her shouts swelled even louder in volume, her mouth open so wide that any fans in the nosebleed balconies who aimed their binoculars in the wrong direction would accidentally spy the huge quivering uvula at the back of the moist, dark cave constituting Delilah’s enthusiastic maw.

Chris, though his sporting heart belonged to the away team, still couldn’t help but derive great entertainment from Delilah’s reactions. Indeed, from this high up, he could see her far more clearly than any of the scurrying players on the sprawling field stories below. He saw every twitch in her countenance, the dilation of her pupils and the flaring of her nostrils. Then, when another point was scored and that pent-up enthrallment broke free, her unbridled joy was expressed with such musical effusiveness that it was almost hard not to be convinced to support her side just a little. That kind of support, delivered with the strength of a thunderstorm, helped carry the home team to a healthy lead by the first break.