<div class="floatleft">(http://i631.photobucket.com/albums/uu35/greytrail/Elliquiy%20avatars/Disney%20college/Phil1_zpsa01356f9.jpg)</div><strong>Character name:</strong>Phil Satyrios<br/><strong>Who:</strong>the assembled students in the dorms<br/><strong>When:</strong>morning, day 1<br/><strong>Where:</strong>stadium to common room<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>foul mouth! <br/><hr/><br/>"You goddamn, lazy maggots! I will hunt down every last lazy shit-sack one of you and tie your nuts into pretzels if your sorry asses are not on that field pronto! Move! Move! Move!"<br/><br/>It was status quo for the start of the year. The boys and men that made up Coach Phil Satyrios' team could say and do whatever the hell they wanted behind his back, but while they were on his damn time, they better obey and snappily or he'd chuck them out of his stadium with mad glee. He didn't give a shit if they were an illiterate farm boy or a silvered superstar. They were here on his time for his expertise. He would tolerate serious shit from no one.<br/><br/>Particularly during these early days.<br/><br/>Like a hazing in the military, he ran his team ragged before easing up on them a bit. Players had been known to drop from exhaustion or have complete nervous breakdowns. And they had to keep up with their regular classes too.<br/><br/>He could get away with it because he was damn good at what he did. Awards and star players littered his career and he was proud for the men he sent away from his iron grip as experts in their craft. Just as he felt for those that failed. Unless they screwed up and made no effort to fix it. Those losers could go on to be mall cops because they brought failure on themselves.<br/><br/>Speaking of which…<br/><br/>Leaving the team to his assistant, Phil strode across campus, cursing his inability to find shoes that didn't make his feet hurt. Surely someone on the fucking planet could make a pair of goddamn shoes that didn't feel like torture…<br/><br/>Appropriately worked up, he practically head-butt the door open at his first stop, relishing the way the students inside jumped as though tasered.<br/><br/>"Is there a reason my guys are fucking around and not on my field? You have fifteen minutes or pack your bags."<br/><br/>It was worse when he DIDN'T yell. Students figured that out in about ten seconds around the volatile man. With a dour look that bespoke extra work for his guys, Phil left with quiet decorum to finish his task.<br/><br/>Really, he had a thankless job.