Chapter Text
Kofi doesn’t really care about blaseball. They aren’t good at it, and while that might bother some, they don’t really mind. Competition never appealed to them, and they found their best self in the work they did alongside others, not against them. Kofi would help their team by brewing various drinks to help with energy and speed; and when Link asked them to come to practice, they of course would. No need to be an inconvenience to Link’s perfectly constructed schedule when practice was a great chance to hang out with their friends.
But no matter how many times they stood at the plate and swung their bat in the vague direction of the ball, they never improved enough to hit it on their own accord. It wasn’t in the syrup, for them. That was quite fine. Usefulness wasn’t something Kofi took into account when evaluating themselves, or any others. Maybe not the most ‘agent’ thought process to have, but Kofi didn’t really mind that either.
It’s their time to be at bat, and Kofi decides that a better use of their time would be texting one of their friends on the other team. They saw a bird that reminded them of her earlier, and forgot to send her the image. The pitcher at plate sees them take their phone out of their pocket, and shrugs before throwing anyway. It whiffs, and Kofi would have heard the call of ‘Ball, 1-0!’ if they were paying much attention.
They send the picture, and look up to hear ‘Ball, 2-0!’. The pitcher meets their eyes, and Kofi gives a small wave. That pitcher seems very nice. Not wanting to be too rude and make them feel bad about throwing only balls, Kofi picks up their bat and swings wildly. A strike is called, and Kofi gives an encouraging smile to them. That doesn’t have exactly the intended effect, as the pitcher becomes distracted enough to throw two more balls and Kofi has to pick up their bat from the ground and walk over to first base. Not wanting to be discouraging, they give the pitcher a thumbs up as they go.
Maybe they’ll try to get their name after the match, they think. They seem like they could use a coffee. Preoccupied with this thought, they stand unmoving as Manu gets a home-run and Kofi is immediately tagged out.
The earth is full of life, and the earth is beautiful. Maggot Swan knows this better than anyone else. It’s a sunny day of Feedback on the blaseball field, and Maggot can hear the worms beneath the mud digging and digging, unimpeded. They resist the urge to join them fully as they hear Link up at bat; knowing that it is almost their turn to hit. However, they do let a few of their companions fall towards the dirt from their hair. It is always good to let them have some time to meet family, if they’d like to.
There’s a crack at-bat, and a cricket in the mud beside first base hops away to safety. The Grink is up, and then Maggot is next. Good, good. Maggot flexes a hand, considering what would be the best to try and hit with, this time. Chitin? Horn? Skin? The composition of their fingers ripples, then settles on a solid chitin wrapped around the infested branch that they have taken as a bat. Their friends writhe, and Maggot nods in understanding. The Grink has struck out, so they must be careful and cautious and strong. Link has gotten to second base, they hear from the worms beneath the earth.
“Thank you.” They hiss to their friends, before stepping up to bat and preparing to feel the accompanying skitter of warning when the pitcher releases the ball and steps a heavy foot down.
Bibby Zmith was READY for her first game as a Blaseball player for the Houston Spies. She had her code name ready, specially picked to be the coolest one anyone ever had. They had their nicest trench coat on, with a perfectly accurate rad skeleton painted on the back of it. Kofi had even gotten her a cool potion to have on her toolbelt, in case of emergencies. Bibby wasn’t entirely sure what it would do, but they were just assuming that it would be a power-up, one that made them even stronger.
Not that they needed to be any stronger! Bibby leaned forward over the railing, looking onto the field. One of her skeletons, the one with the strongest tibias she could find, was practicing swinging their bat under Link’s watchful eye. Another three were watching the pair of them, seemingly taking notes. With the powers that she commanded, Bibby wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING! Half their skeletons were going to hit the blaseball so hard, and the other half were assuredly making a profit in the lemonade stand above the dugout. She could imagine the change shaking around in her piggy bank already, just as she could feel the imbued magic in each of her skeletons shift and move in time. Necromancy was a powerful art, and Bibby believed themself to be the most powerful artist.
Link seemed to check something on their clipboard, and begin giving instructions to the rest of the team. Probably gametime, she assumed. Bibby shuffled forward and sat on the windowsill of the dugout, sitting criss-cross to watch the game. This was going to go great, all because of her and all of her skeletons. And she guesses her team will probably do acceptably as well.