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"...well then."
The Wormhole Stadium is frozen, everyone staring at the newcomer that was not there a moment ago. Returning from Elsewhere was never a pleasant experience, for the one that returned or those anxiously waiting to see whether their friend was okay.
It was said that the immateria clung to you as you pushed through the curtain that acted as a barrier between Elsewhere and your home. People described it differently: silken spider webs, briar patches, a bed of thorns, a rushing current, burning ash, biting sand carried by a howling wind, pine needles sharp enough to pierce the skin; the list was endless and each experience very personal to the one who was lost. The one consistency to the tales told in quiet, shaky voices was that sometimes, bits of you were torn away. Chunks of your identity, who you were and what you defined yourself as, were kept by Elsewhere as toll for the crossing -- and the longer you lingered there, the higher the price demanded.
Hendricks Richardson, the elderly red dragon that just appeared in the field with globs of immateria still dripping from his glistening scales, had been gone for five days. A relatively short time away, but for those rushing towards him with relief in their eyes, far too long.
"Well then," he repeats, raising his head and ruffling his wings, shaking the immateria off. His team, the Sunbeams, come skidding to a stop as one of them holds out an arm and motions to give him space.
"Hey... you," the one who motioned says, lowering her arm and taking a single step forward. "How do you feel?"
"Hmm... old," Hendricks says, arching his spine. Several loud pops sound in sequence, and a small curl of smoke emits from his nostrils as he snorts in response. "And to spare you the trouble, Mrs. Fox, I remember my name. Hendricks Richardson, at your service. Though I do appreciate your diligence in following the cautionary procedures we set up to avoid undue shock upon -- oof!"
Hendricks finds himself cut off as Hahn Fox rushes to his side and throws her arms wide for a hug, with the rest of the team right behind her. Catching his breath, he puffs a small gust of heated air upon those clinging to his side and gently lowers a wing to envelop them, returning the hug in his own way.
"Missed you all too," he says in a low voice, lowering his head slightly to look at them. "Though... I will admit, it's a little hard to see right now. I don't suppose that any of you picked up my spectacles?"
"They're in the dugout," one of the Sunbeams says -- a green-skinned batter named Eugenia Bickle. Disentangling herself from the group hug, she jogs away to retrieve them, signaling to the Ohio Worms that they still need a moment before resuming play.
"Did you see Gomi there?" Hahn asks. "She's still... you know."
Dipping his head, Hendricks closes his eyes. "It's hard to remember, as you know. But... no. I don't believe I did."
"How's your memory on the whole? You're not scattered, obviously," she adds hastily. "But like. You know. Things slip away. Are you okay?"
Opening his eyes and gazing around, Hendricks takes a moment to answer. Bickle returns with his glasses while he considers, standing on her tiptoes to place the heavy gold spectacles on his snout. She tightens the small clamp hidden in the bridge of the glasses, securing the nose pads to the small indents between Hendricks' scales that keeps them from falling off in sudden motions. Wiggling them to test the hold, she drops down and nods at Hendricks.
"Thank you, Eugenia dear," he rumbles. Blinking, he turns back to Hahn. "Some pieces are missing, but they're only just out of reach. I remember all of you, and that I teach, and... oh, wait, there's a game going on, isn't there?"
The Sunbeams guiltily glance around in unison. It's true -- they can see the Worms awkwardly milling around, waiting for the reunion to conclude. Hendricks chuckles, the deep sound a familiar one to his team. What wasn't, though, was the next sentences that came from his throat.
"Well, I might not remember everything, but I'm not about to let that stop me," he says, rolling his shoulder to signal to those close that he intended to stand. "I'm a professor, correct? I don't remember what subject, but I doubt I got there by being a slow learner."
He rises to his feet once the last Sunbeam steps back. "Judging by the idol board," he continues, motioning with his snout the ever-present ranking screen on the edge of the stadium. "I'm a bit of a hit. Economy was rough this season, no? And considering that I do remember having a golden bat, I must have been a crucial part. Don't want to keep my fans waiting."
Flaring his wings, Hendricks arches his spine once more, extending his neck and tail in a last mighty stretch. Shouting to the Worms that he was just about ready, he lumbers to the dugout to retrieve his equipment, merrily humming a tune. The entire team shares looks with each other, faces revealing a mixture of amusement, confusion, and guilt.
"Let's just... let him remember on his own," Hahn says, stealing a look at the cheerful wealth-hating Marxist Studies professor as he hefts his beloathed cursed gilded bat with an uncharacteristic pride.
"Yeah," Bickle says with a smile, a hint of mirth in her tired voice. "It'll be funnier that way."