Chapter Text
excerpt from art of the side hustle: blaseball players exploring new careers during the grand siesta by justin breadcrime, via splorts illustrated
shaquille “shaq” torres , known as shaqattaq to the tens of thousands of viewers who regularly tune into his twitch streams, readily admits that he wouldn’t go back to blaseball if he had the choice.
“oh, yeah, i’m absolutely dogshit at it,” he says, with a laugh. he talks animatedly with his hands throughout the duration of the interview, every bit as energetic in person as he seems on camera. “and the tigers are - the way the tigers are. you know. all intense and shit. way bigger on practicing than the garages used to be. if i could get some kind of get-out-of-jail-free card to just do twitch stuff forever, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”
torres’s streaming career technically started just prior to the return of internet league blaseball - they self-admittedly signed up with the seattle garages “for the clout of being on a splorts team that’s also a rock band”. but their twitch channel didn’t rise to greater prominence until long after they flickered in the feedback and joined the roster of the hades tigers alongside then-garage paula mason in season 8. after three years of being away from seattle, torres returned during postseason 11 to produce the now infamous “mike townsend memorial dinner party” twitch stream, a live broadcast held ostensibly to honor the death and heroic sacrifice of fellow original garage mike townsend, who was in attendance. the stream also notably featured torres’s former teammates tot clark and luis acevedo, the latter of whom posed as a body double of townsend laying in a coffin for much of the broadcast.
“mike had just been shadowed a second time, and all the news outlets were going back to treating him like he was dead or a missing persons case or whatever,” torres says, when asked about it now. “i thought it’d be funny to kind of exaggerate that and throw him a wake, and invite him to it. i mean, he knew pretty much what he was walking into. we just didn’t tell him all the details. or expect, like, tens of thousands of people to watch it.”
the dinner party stream was, in fact, the first of torres’s streams to crack fifty thousand viewers, boasting over eighty thousand by the time it ended. it also marked the first of his forays into livestreaming beyond video games, proving popular enough for him to begin working more experimental content into his broadcasts. these days, surrealist improv comedy is just as much a part of the shaqattaq channel as speedrunning personal bests and arcade rhythm games like jubeat or pop’n music. torres refers to the experimental streams as “just another side to [their] brand”, and admits readily that those broadcasts have been some of the most viewed on their channel, often amassing fanart and generous viewer donations on top of dozens of new subscribers.
with newly unlimited time, not to mention a blaseball player’s salary, torres is looking forward to planning and producing new one-of-a-kind livestreams alongside his usual video game fare over the course of the grand siesta.
“i’m thinking of doing some kind of twenty-four hour charity stream,” he tells me, “or something where the more people donate to charity, the more hours we stream. i’ve been talking to mike [townsend] and some other people about coming on to do segments for that. i want to do something full interactive for that, too. and maybe like a kitchen segment or something. oh, and i’ve been trying to get ahold of polkadot patterson, but nobody on the moist talkers will call me back.”
the shaqattaq channel rarely has a set schedule - torres has made a habit of streaming two to three times a week during the siesta, but their viewers rely on twitch notifications and other fans’ social media posts to know when a broadcast is live. torres has their own social media accounts, but rarely uses them, preferring to interact with fans only through twitch. it’s an odd but understandable barrier, a preventative boundary that keeps fans from accessing too much of their life. i mention offhandedly during our brief interview that they seem more like the sort of streamer who is constantly posting personal updates online, and torres laughs.
“listen, i do a lot of shit in front of a lot of people,” they say. “i gotta get the privacy where i can.”
***
[confirmed] shaq torres back in seattle?
(self.blaseballsightings)
submitted 2 days ago by PARK_IT_ [seattle area]
i was walking around madison park yesterday, and i swear to god i saw shaq torres standing around at the beach sharing a drink with someone else (tall, green hair, glasses??). i don’t watch their streams regularly - anyone know if they’ve mentioned being back in seattle for some reason? pretty sure they haven’t been spotted here since the end of season 8. didn’t take any pictures because i didn’t want to be creepy, but it was definitely them.
fridgemessages [seattle area] - 20 points 2 days ago
omg yes!! i totally saw them at the barcade around the corner from the big garage last night! they’re so sweet in person, they were there with a couple other garages (i think) but still took a selfie with me for twitter [link] i asked if they were planning any streams while they’re in town and they were soooo coy about it but i bet they are!!
PARK_IT_ [seattle area] - 7 points 2 days ago
wow! thanks for confirming! glad to see an og garage back in town. :)
lemonstick35 [baltimore area] - 18 points 2 days ago
i watch his streams and he hasn’t mentioned leaving hades for any reason. might just be visiting to catch up with friends. he’s pretty quiet about his personal life.
PARK_IT_ [seattle area] - 5 points 2 days ago
yeah, i checked his twitter but he hasn’t posted anything in months? thanks, though!
BLOODMUG [infinite la] [sibr] - 13 points 8 hours ago
malik destiny and derrick krueger’s deathiversaries are this week. it’s possible there’s some kind of private memorial happening for original garages members. either way it’s bound to be a touchy time, so i wouldn’t bother any of them if you see them around town.
eyesinthedark [seattle area] - 7 points 1 day ago
the green haired person is probably mcdowell karim garages shadow player
PARK_IT_ [seattle area] - 2 points 1 day ago
thank you! i looked up pictures of hir and i’m pretty sure you’re right.
DM_ME_YOUR_FIREFIGHTERS_PICS [chicago area] - 2 points 5 hours ago
ze made me pay $35 for a reading to tell me my aura sucked ass when i was in seattle :/
a_muse_of_snow [hades area] - -1 points 6 hours ago
hope hes begging to get traded back to seattle lol good riddance
***
“if we stand here long enough, it’s gonna rain,” mcdowell says, around the rim of hir beer can.
“yeah?” shaq asks. “how d’you know?”
ze cracks a grin. “psychic, remember?”
they’re standing on the grass in madison park, close enough to the water that shaq could take a few steps forward and touch it with the toe of their shoe, if they felt like it. they don’t. there’s other people around, but no one’s even going near the water. it’s a few degrees too cold for that. spring is dragging its feet on rolling over into summer, and the temperatures have yet to crack sixty or higher, the morning chill so severe that it’s making even shaq consider a jacket. the humidity in hades is probably spoiling them. they can’t remember the last time they’ve had to begrudgingly suffer through wearing sleeves that reach past their elbows.
“i think you checked the forecast before we got here,” shaq says, squinting up at the sun as it disappears behind a thick, grey cloud. the sky is overcast enough that mcdowell’s prediction - wherever it happened to come from - holds weight. though it’s never really risky to predict rain in seattle.
“i don’t divulge my methods,” mcdowell says. ze hides hir broadening grin behind another sip of beer - maybe trying to be more somber, or maybe just trying not to outwardly let on that ze’s teasing. either way, it doesn’t quite work.
“uh huh,” shaq says. takes a sip of their own beer. makes a face. “this sucks.”
“the beer or being here?”
“both.”
mcdowell laughs. “the beer’s not so bad.”
“malik would hate it,” shaq says. they fiddle with their snake bites, pushing their teeth against the rings for a long moment before they go on. “not the beer. the - this. us standing around like sad bastards, fuckin’ - what, more than a decade since he died?”
“something like that,” mcdowell says, hir grin fading just as quickly as it appeared. shaq almost regrets taking the tone they did.
“either fuckin’ way, he’d make fun of us,” they say. it’s a little strained. an attempt to force the conversation back towards something comfortable, to stick the landing back into gentle ribbing.
“he’s probably making fun of us right now,” mcdowell says, apparently content to assist in changing the subject rather than circling around the unspoken well of grief between them. “in the hall. i bet he’s got a whole new tight five about being dead.”
shaq snorts, an ugly, mirthless little noise of laughter. “probably.”
mcdowell eyes them curiously, draining the last dregs of beer from hir can onto the grass and crushing the can in hir hand. ze doesn’t say anything, though. just looks , in that way of hirs where you know ze’s reading things on you that you don’t even know you’re putting out into the world. cold reading, shaq thinks it’s called. they hate it when mcdowell does that shit.
“what?” they ask, a little testy.
“nothing,” mcdowell says. “are you going to the garages thing tonight?”
“what, the memorial thing?”
“yeah.”
“i dunno,” shaq says. they got an invitation to it, of course. all the original garages did. it’s nothing fancy, just getting drinks in honor of the four garages lost in season 3 - bennett, tiana, malik, and derrick. but it’s a new tradition that someone - probably teddy - is trying to start, and shaq’s perfectly satisfied with the way they mourn malik every year, drinking with mcdowell in the park.
“it feels like it’s gonna be a weird fuckin’ vibe,” they add.
mcdowell raises an eyebrow. “isn’t it always?”
“it’s especially weird when they make our get-togethers all about the dead guys.” shaq tilts their beer can from side to side in their hand, feeling the liquid slosh around inside. “feels like i only get invited to seattle for fuckin’ weddings and wakes.”
“mike’s going,” mcdowell says, somewhat pointedly.
“oh, well, if mike’s going,” shaq says.
they’re not being entirely sarcastic. somehow mike is one of the few original garages who they’ve kept in touch with, and even shaq’s not sure how it happened. maybe it’s that they’re both streamers, or that shaq started treating the rest of the team less like work colleagues they needed to keep at arm’s length after season seven, but they still never thought they’d be tight with mike townsend . hell, they even lived with him for the first year after they came back to seattle. before they knew for sure if the siesta was long enough to warrant finding their own apartment.
“actually,” they say, pensive, “i’ve been meaning to ask him about some shit for the charity stream, anyway. i guess i’ll go.”
mcdowell nods. “cool. have fun.”
“what, you’re not coming?”
“mike’s the only shadow who was invited,” ze says, with a shrug. “guess they didn’t know some of us were friends with malik.”
“dude, are you shitting me?” shaq asks. their voice rises and cracks with incredulity - they grimace, seeing heads of other park-goers turn towards them, and lower it. “you can be my plus one. i’ll sneak you in.”
“absolutely not,” mcdowell says. it’s immediate, not missing a single beat, but it’s not harsh. just a gut reaction, shaq thinks. they can’t exactly blame hir.
shaq grins. “aw, what, you think my fuckin’ reddit fans are gonna come up with conspiracy theories that we’re dating again? i’m pretty sure they’re over that shit.”
mcdowell shudders. “i wasn’t going to say it.”
“i’ll buy you a drink after,” shaq offers. they feel a little guilty for mcdowell being dragged into the black hole of internet rumors that hangs over them. especially in the early days, when they were still navigating how to be seen by so many people. how to be known - or at least, how to have so many people assume to know them.
“yeah, you will,” mcdowell agrees, pitching hir beer can overhand, watching with smug satisfaction as it carves a perfect arc through the air into the nearest trash can.
“anyway,” ze says, once the can clatters to a stop out of sight, “we should get out of here. bad enough being a sad bastard in the park. i’d rather not be a sad bastard at the park in the rain.”
“if you’re so psychic, you should’ve brought an umbrella,” shaq deadpans.
gratifyingly, mcdowell barks out a laugh. “you’ve got me there.”
***
“hi - sorry, excuse me, are you shaqattaq?”
the shrill voice, straining to be heard over the noise of the barcade, isn’t one shaq recognizes. a part of him - the tipsy part - wants to be annoyed that they’re asking to make sure of who he is when his name is written right across his back, on the old garages jersey he threw on as an afterthought before leaving his hotel. but the rest of him is used to this by now, to being stopped in the grocery store and at airports because someone was able to connect the pink haired stranger passing by to the streamer they watch every week.
“yeah, that’s me,” he says, setting his drink on the bar and turning around with a broad grin. “are you a fan of the stream?”
“yeah, yeah, of course!” the stranger says, grinning back. they’re taller than he is, skinny, dressed like they’re trying to single-handedly bring scene kid fashion back in style. neon bracelets crawl up their arms from wrist to elbow, clattering as they fidget with the hem of their shirt with chipped, black-painted nails.
“my girlfriend got me into your minecraft vr stuff, like, a year ago. she’s gonna shit when she hears i ran into you.” they say, then pause. shaq watches the gears in their mind turn, already knowing what the question is going to be. “can i get a selfie, or is that, like, cringe of me to ask?”
“nah, you’re good,” shaq says.
he poses gamely for the couple of pictures that are snapped, flashes a grin and a peace sign. the phone camera’s flash hits his glasses oddly, makes a lens flare - but, hey, not his problem.
“are you gonna stream while you’re in town?” the fan asks, thumbs already flying over the screen of their phone, sending the photos out to - somewhere. a group chat, twitter, wherever. doesn’t matter. shaq doesn’t mind photos he takes with fans making the rounds online. just candids taken without his knowledge.
“uh, probably not,” he answers. and, giving in to the impulse to skew things just a little awkward, “i’m kinda here for this memorial thing, so.”
“oh - oh shit,” the fan says, eyes ringed by eyeliner going wide. they glance around as though seeing the other garages milling around the barcade for the first time, and grimace sheepishly. “i didn’t know - uh, sorry. i’ll get out of your...thing.”
“hey, no worries. nice to meet you,” shaq says, even though they’re already scurrying away. he raises a hand in a lazy half-wave of a goodbye, and doesn’t allow himself even a ghost of a smile until he turns back to the bar to retrieve his margarita, taking a long sip and wincing when the sting of tequila hits his tongue.
“you could’ve said no,” mike says from a few feet away.
“it was, like, a five second commitment at best , dude.” shaq shrugs. “if i minded, i’d say so.”
“sure,” mike says, knowingly.
***
clip from shaqattaq twitch broadcast, streaming for charity! now playing: outer wilds with ollie mueller
“so - chat, no spoilers, okay, ollie’s never played this before.”
“man, the flight controls in this game are jank .”
“i’m actually pretty sure it started as a flight simulator game or something?”
“well i can’t fucking tell if i’m going up, or -”
“check your map!”
“i did! i - what is that ?”
“uh, probably don’t worry about it.”
“shaq, for real -”
“it’s just a supernova. remember, from the museum?”
“oh, shit. can i -”
“i mean, do what you want, dude. i’m not gonna tell you what to do.”
“shit, okay. shit. i can - maybe if i -”
“...”
“oh, fuck.”
“...”
“did i - i died? did i do it wrong?”
“no, you’re good.”
“but i died.”
“yeah.”
“so -”
“the sun blows up every time. you can’t outrun it. that’s - welcome to the point of the game, dude.”
***
[unconfirmed] public library - edric tosser
(self.blaseballsightings)
submitted 7 hours ago by knightingale [chicago area]
like 95% sure i just saw edric tosser at the chicago public library checking out a shit ton of comic books
edit: looked like secret six wonder woman and birds of prey if it matters
light_and_sweet [chicago area] - 5 points 6 hours ago
smh this scrub’s never run into a firefighter at cpl before :///
DM_ME_YOUR_FIREFIGHTERS_PICS [chicago area] - 4 points 6 hours ago
i saw josh butt checking out a bunch of self-help books at like 9 am once. he looked tired
glassnewt [chicago area] - 4 points 6 hours ago
one time i saw rivers rosa in the science fiction section and she told me to fuck off
100waspsinatrenchcoat [chicago area] - 4 points 5 hours ago
edric and lou roseheart are regulars at the deli i work at! they’re both super cool about being recognized in public, and they tip really well! you should say hi next time :)
a_muse_of_snow [hades area] - 2 points 3 hours ago
ugh the wooooorst ffs pitcher who caaaaaares
fay_love [miami area] - 2 points 2 hours ago
lmao stan shaqattaq i guess
fridgemessages [seattle area] - 1 point 2 hours ago
here from r/shaqattaqconspiracies if this is real i will SHIT
knightingale [chicago area] - 1 points 1 hour ago
???
fay_love [miami area] - 1 points 1 hour ago
shaq recced gail simone on their last stream lmao
illegalsouls [hellmouth area] - 1 points 30 minutes ago
this feels like a stretch guys
***
in edric’s defense, he only started watching the streams because declan watched them first.
he’d caught the tail end of one while coming home after a shift at the firehouse and succumbing to the urge to lie as motionless as possible on the couch, mostly letting the noise wash over him. but it became a regular thing. get home from shift, throw self onto couch, let the cadence of shaq torres’s voice inevitably lull him to sleep until he wakes up some hours later in the dark and finally drags himself to bed.
it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, is the thing. edric watches the streams because declan watches the streams. they’re background noise. and he keeps telling himself that until he’s looking up the youtube archive to see vods of streams he’s missed, and watching live broadcasts by himself on his phone, and going to the library to check out ten fucking comic books because shaq torres happened to recommend a favorite writer of theirs.
“hey,” declan says when edric walks back through the apartment door, backpack still heavy with books. they’re curled up on the couch with a bag of microwave popcorn and a can of some shitty ipa, and they tip the can in a little salute of greeting. “where’d you go? i thought you were off today.”
“i am,” edric says. “i took a walk to grab lunch.”
not technically a lie. he did get lunch on his way back from the library. and he’s not sure why he feels obligated to omit the library part, either. declan would rib him about it, sure, but it’s not like they don’t both rib each other about everything under the sun. there’s no point in being sensitive about that shit now .
on the other hand, it feels embarrassing. checking out a stack of comics just because some twitch streamer was excited about them. even though that kind of shit happens every day, even though it doesn’t have to mean anything. edric can’t shake the idea that it might mean something, though. that he has to keep it under wraps until he figures out what the fuck it does mean, and that declan making fun of him while he’s still figuring it out might shatter the entire thing, like it’s something fragile edric’s carrying close to his chest.
“you didn’t get me lunch?” declan asks, voice edging towards a whine.
“you didn’t say you wanted any,” edric says, leaning against the wall to unlace his boots.
“aw, dude, i was asleep when you left!”
“i’m fucking with you. of course i got you lunch.”
edric dumps his backpack on the ground near the door, unzips it to grab the grease-laden brown paper bag within that holds the still-hot sub, fries, and soda that are rightfully declan’s. he brings it to the couch with him, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair on his way over.
“scoot,” he says, handing the bag over and flopping down next to declan. “what’re you watching?”
declan obligingly shifts to one side, sets their beer down on the coffee table, and lowers the tv volume a couple notches. “shaq’s charity thing.”
“that’s still going?” edric arches his eyebrows. he gets his answer as soon as he sits down in front of the tv, which is indeed displaying shaq torres and several others - including mike townsend - playing mario party. “i thought it was a 24 hours thing.”
“no, it’s like - every time they hit a donation goal, they a new block onto the stream.”
“how many have they added?”
“uh. probably eight by now.” declan shrugs. “whatever it is, i’m pretty sure they weren’t planning for it. but it’s for charity, so.”
edric squints at the faces lined up to the right of the screen, watching shaq’s webcam window. it’s weird, he thinks, that they’ve definitely met face to face on a blaseball field before, and neither of them remembers it. weird that he never quite registered shaq torres of the hades tigers (and formerly the seattle garages) existing until the grand siesta, when everyone’s doing their damndest to avoid thinking about blaseball. weird, probably, that edric will have to play against them when games start again like they’re supposed to in a few years, and that he’ll know who shaq is down to the exact cadence of their voice, but they won’t know him at all.
“they’ve got other donation things, too,” declan says, maybe to fill the silence when edric doesn’t say anything back to them. “shaq and mike got minecraft married, and they’re gonna get divorced once they hit like ten thousand. if they hit ten thousand. i mean, they probably will. they’re pretty close.”
“minecraft married?” edric asks.
“yeah. like, married, but in minecraft.”
“sure.”
“i don’t think it’s legally binding,” declan says pensively, reaching into the bag on his lap to fish out a couple of fries.
“he looks fucking exhausted,” edric says. on the screen, shaq is grinning, but his eyes are half-lidded, maybe ringed with dark circles from dehydration if it’s not just a trick of the light.
“i mean, yeah,” declan says. “he probably is.”
edric slides his phone out of his pocket and opens the stream there, finds the donation link. hesitates a little. even if it’s for charity, the idea that he’s contributing in adding more hours to the broadcast feels cruel. but shaq did choose this, and they’ve presumably got enough co-hosts that they’ll have time to rest if they need it. let mike or someone take a turn running the show. there’s no way they’d try to stay up for two days straight, not with how tired they look right now.
still. edric donates $50, lingers over the optional field for a personal message for a solid minute before typing in get some sleep and hitting send.
***
the charity stream’s still going when edric wakes up in the middle of the night and checks their phone, just to see. somehow, they’re not surprised.
they have a track record of waking up in the middle of the night and lying awake for some time before they can get back to sleep, especially in the summer. even with the a/c blasting, the air is thick with humidity, the sheets balled up in a pile at the foot of the bed. edric feels sticky with sweat, knows there’s no use in trying to get back to sleep until they can force themself to lie still for a while and cool down. they reach for their headphones on the nightstand.
the charity stream isn’t what it was earlier in the day. there’s no one else hosting it, just shaq, and no loud, bright video games that assault edric’s senses when they slide their headphones on and prop their phone up on their chest to watch. the broadcast is from one camera only, trained on shaq at a desk as he painstakingly applies glue to tiny plastic pieces and presses them together. he’s making some kind of miniature. a robot, edric thinks.
“so - oh, wow, okay, there’s still a couple hundred of you in chat,” shaq says, turning his head to check some off-screen monitor. his hair is pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, his glasses perched precariously near the tip of his nose, but he looks less exhausted than he did earlier. or maybe it’s a trick of the light, again. “well, uh, welcome to whatever the fuck this is. mike went to bed after divorce court, so it’s just me.” he pauses. squints at whatever he’s reading off of, then laughs. “ yes , i took a nap. how the fuck else would i be awake right now?”
edric settles in bed, lets the phone on their chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. doesn’t close their eyes yet.
“so what i’m doing - what i’m doing is, i’m building some of the gunpla that have been piling up in my closet, and seeing how much gundam lore i can explain before any of my other co-hosts wake up and feel like playing a game,” shaq says. it’s amazing, that he can still talk so much and so fast while working so delicately with his hands. “we’re already all the way to char’s counterattack , which came out in the...late 80s? i think. so, right - you remember our friend char aznable, you know char, we’ve been talking about char this whole fuckin’ time. well, this movie starts with char and his gang dropping an asteroid on the earth. and there’s this task force, londo bell, that’s supposed to stop it. uh, obviously they do a shitty job of that. but two of the londo bell members are bright noa and, obviously, amuro ray, who we’ll loop back around to. we don’t care about them yet. amuro’s an ace pilot, char’s rival, you know his deal. what we do care about is the earth prime minister and his daughter, quess -”
edric’s not sure when they fall back to sleep. the only thing they’re really aware of is closing their eyes and letting shaq’s voice wash over them - not retaining much, still lulled by it.
***
gala seating chart?
(self.blaseballrumors)
submitted 4 hours ago by lemonstick35
is it true the seating chart for the expansion era opening gala leaked? i kind of assumed all the teams would be sitting together but i keep seeing people yelling about it on twitter. did they mix it up to make people mingle or something?
sharktic [sibr] - 6 points 4 hours ago
according to the leaked screenshots, they did mix it up. if the leak is real, i would assume it’s to encourage people to mingle.
lemonstick35 - 3 points 3 hours ago
wow. any idea how they’re sorted?
sharktic [sibr] - 3 points 3 hours ago
no clue. we’re working on figuring out if it’s random, or something else.
fay_love - 5 points 3 hours ago
people are just mad they didnt seat jesstel w the rest of the tigers lmaooooo
a_muse_of_snow - 1 point 2 hours ago
well she deserves to be with them and not at a table with GOOBIE BALLSON
fay_love - 1 point 30 minutes ago
ok die mad about it i guess
lemonstick35 - 1 point 30 minutes ago
what’s wrong with goobie? i like goobie.
***
excerpt from 16 underrated blaseballers we can’t wait to see at the expansion era opening gala by marigold stanza, via buzzfeed splorts
- alston cerveza - canada moist talkers
he’s famously dodgy around reporters, but everything we learn about the man just makes us want to know more. we’re looking forward to seeing what this adventurer has been up to over the grand siesta (if we can corner him long enough to catch an interview), and to seeing if he’s still trying to bring back the monocle.
- combs estes - breckenridge jazz hands
they may be one of the jazz hands’s most middling pitchers, but their fashion sense is always on point, and they’re rumored to make all their own outfits for formal events. we’ll be keeping an eye out for what they’re wearing to this one, but there’s no doubt they’ll raise the class level of the room a good 80% just by being there.
- shaq torres - hades tigers
we already know what this recent transplant to the tigers has been up to - twitch streaming - but we’ll still be on the lookout for him at the gala. we’re big fans! and, of course, we have to see if he tries to pull off anything for his channel. after all, he won’t have many chances to stream regularly once games are back on.
***
“you didn’t wear red,” carmelo hisses from shaq’s elbow as they enter through the doors to the gala in tandem. shaq usually has a few inches on her, but she’s wearing heels that are tall enough to flip their height difference on his head. he’s not sure how he feels about that.
shaq blinks, puts on his best innocently surprised face. “was i supposed to?”
“yes, asshole,” carmelo says. “hiroto sent out an email.”
“didn’t see it.”
“we’re the tigers. we wear red to these things. you know that.”
“it doesn’t match my hair,” shaq says, and tucks an errant, hot-pink lock back behind one ear. he’s telling the truth, mostly. he doesn’t usually mind the way the tigers’ deep red colors clash with his hair, but he feels entitled to take issue with it when it comes to events where everyone’s supposed to look their best in front of professional photographers. he tends to stick to black and white for those - and he has tonight, with the exception of the floral patterned tie knotted loosely around his neck.
carmelo rolls her eyes. “fine. you could look worse. i guess.”
she keeps moving towards the ballroom while shaq stands and lingers, itching to get out of the jacket he’s wearing at earliest convenience. the sooner he can dump it at the coat check or on the back of a chair, the sooner he can roll his sleeves up to the elbow and feel a little less like clawing his way out of his skin. maybe it’s gauche to show his tattoos at an event like this, but, well, what does he care? he’s done much more embarrassing things in front of far more people.
“you guess ?” shaq yells after carmelo, somewhat belatedly, watching the blood-red train of her dress disappear through the doors to the ballroom. he’s effectively talking to himself - and luckily there aren’t that many people around to see it, save for mike, also lingering in the hall.
“i heard the breakup was amiable,” mike says, utterly deadpan. he’s not dressed in anything fancy, just a suit that’s close enough to the garages’ dark blue that it’s clear what team he’s on. it’s the same suit he wears to every formal league event, but it’s not exactly like people expect mike townsend to show up in designer clothes.
“you should get your ears checked,” shaq says just as flatly. “i mean, we know how to tolerate each other on the field, but -”
“it’s no minecraft divorce?”
“yeah.” shaq laughs. a genuine laugh, caught off guard by the question. mike is good at that, he’s learned. catching people off guard. “yeah, it’s no minecraft divorce. and, hey, speaking of which -”
the smile lingering around mike’s lips vanishes. “oh. no. you -”
“jesus, dude, lighten up. i was gonna ask if you came with anyone.”
“oh.” mike relaxes visibly, shoulders lowering. “uh, no. i was about to go in and look for mcdowell, actually.”
“is ze actually coming to this thing?”
“probably. i don’t know.”
“hm,” shaq says. he stops resisting the urge to take his jacket off and does, throwing it over his shoulder until he can find a place to put it down. “good luck with that.”
***
shaq finds a place to leave his jacket eventually, skips the coat check and just hangs it off the back of his assigned seat at one of the tables that ring the ballroom. he’d heard the seating assignments were random, but he’s starting to doubt it - through some cruel joke of nature, carmelo and famous are both at his table. out of hundreds of players here, he’s sitting with the two teammates who like him least: his ex, and the one who’s never stopped vocally blaming the garages for paula turnip and ren morin leaving the team, who seems dedicated to making him feel like he doesn’t fit in with the tigers.
the odds are fishy. shaq can’t help but wonder if the seating arrangements were designed to manufacture drama, to give the tabloids something to talk about and get blaseball back in the news right before season 12’s opening day. if that’s the whole point, shaq has to hand it to whoever organized this. it’s kind of diabolical. but maybe the seating charts really were random. maybe he’s just unlucky.
he can ditch the table for now, at least. the dinner part of the gala won’t be for a while, and there are bars on either side of the room serving drinks, so shaq drifts to the less crowded one in the far corner. there’s only a few people milling around it. shaq doesn’t realize until he’s standing there that the lack of any crowd or interest is because there’s no bartender behind the bar.
“i didn’t realize that by ‘open bar’ they actually meant ‘pour your own drinks’,” he says to no one in particular, leaning his elbows on the bar top.
the guy closest to him snorts. “she’s on break.”
“then where’d you get a drink from?” shaq asks, nodding at the small plastic cup on the bar in front of them.
“made it myself.” the guy looks up and to the side, towards him, and their eyes widen just the slightest bit. their mouth contorts - they blurt out, “i know you.”
shaq laughs. “yeah, probably. i’m, like, the shittiest player on the tigers.”
“no - uh.” the guy looks distinctly embarrassed, now. they run a hand over their face, push their hair - dark roots beginning to overtake bright blue - back from their forehead. “from - from twitch and shit. i mean. i. my roommate watches your stuff.”
“oh,” shaq says. for some reason, he’s always surprised when blaseball players know him through his livestreams first, instead of through the game. maybe he’s just hung around the tigers too much. most of them are too serious about strategy and actually winning to understand why someone would want to have another full time job besides blaseball.
“well, cool,” he adds. “i’d be kinda fuckin’ embarrassed if we’d actually met before and i didn’t remember you. you’re not really the kind of guy i’d want to forget.”
the guy raises an eyebrow, leans against the bar to rest their cheek in their hand. they look amused, but still a little mortified, face flushed. it’s a good look on them. the light from the ballroom’s many, many ostentatious fixtures glints off their facial piercings when they finally open their mouth to speak again.
“are you flirting with me?” they ask, voice cracking just a bit. also very endearing. shaq is used to people being a certain level of flustered around him, but not quite like this. and he’s never seen it from another blaseball player.
“hm,” shaq says. and, because he doesn’t like to lie, “yeah.”
“you don’t even know what team i’m on.”
“i could guess.” shaq grins. “i’m great at guessing.”
the guy smirks back at him, apparently content to relax into the conversation now that they’ve clarified exactly what it is. “if you can guess what team i’m on, i will personally make you a drink.”
“deal.”
“and you can’t ask questions.”
“aw - what!” shaq says, before he can help himself. he frowns, mostly teasing. “dude, c’mon, that’s not fair.”
“okay.” the guy screws up their face, pretending to consider. “three questions. you get three.”
shaq studies them, trying to remember if he’s ever seen them on a field before - and where he’s seen them, if so. they’re shorter than him by a few inches, which is something. shaq’s on the shorter side, as far as blaseball players go. he feels certain he’d remember anyone with this guy’s looks, especially the piercings and blue hair, but there are far too many people in the league with colored hair these days, not to mention piercings. and extremely fucking hot doesn’t exactly help much for placing them on a specific team.
there’s nothing particularly identifying, either, about the guy’s outfit. slacks, black dress shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone, red tie hanging loosely at their chest. boots - not dress boots, but combat boots that have evidently seen a lot of wear. that’s as good a clue as any, if shaq could only figure out what it’s a clue to .
“well, i know you’re not on the tigers,” shaq says, to get the obvious out of the way.
“oh - good one,” the guy says. “detective fucking columbo over here.”
“pretty sure columbo was a lieutenant, dude.”
“are you -” the guy stops themself short, and sighs. “okay, we are not getting into the semantics of columbo right now, that’s like a whole different discussion.”
shaq laughs. “listen, i’m just - i’m doing process of elimination. you’re definitely not a tiger. and you’re not a crab, or you’d be all ascended and shit.”
the guy makes a face shaq can’t quite read, but says, “yeah, okay, that’s two down.”
“what position do you play?”
“pitcher.”
shaq pushes his tongue against his snake bites, considering. pitchers are harder. he already doesn’t have a great memory for players on other teams, and it’s much more difficult when it’s a face he might only see once or twice per season.
“you’ve got two more questions,” the guy prompts him.
“yeah, i know,” he says. “what subdivision are you in?”
“uh. wild high.”
“aha.” shaq grins again. that certainly narrows it down. and he can tell from the look on the guy’s face that they didn’t expect him to ask such a specific question - maybe they expected to give up their league, sure, but not subdivision.
shaq gives the guy another once-over, trying to place them. probably not a wing, they don’t seem like the law school type. not uptight enough to be a jazz hand. maybe a lift player, but they don’t seem like someone who’s that new to the league. which leaves -
“oh,” shaq says. “yeah, that makes sense. with the red, and - you’re a firefighter, right?”
“that was fast,” the guy says. they leave their drink sitting on the bar and step around behind it, now actually facing shaq despite the barrier between them. “guess i should’ve done more rules on questions. what’re you drinking?”
shaq hums, thinking. “surprise me?”
“at least tell me what you like .”
“something sweet.”
“i can work with that,” the guy says, their eyes leaving shaq’s to scan the line of bottles behind the bar. they grab one to squint at the label closer to their face, then return it, grab a different bottle instead.
“i never used my third question,” shaq says idly, watching them scoop ice into a cup. “what’s your name?”
“uh, edric,” the guy says. “tosser.”
“ri-i-ight,” shaq says. his memory’s starting to jog, now, however vaguely. he thinks he can remember seeing edric on the mound, pitching against the tigers, but it’s fuzzy. “you here on your own, edric tosser?”
“i drove over with some of the firefighters, but i’m guessing that’s not what you meant.” edric sets the cup in their hand down on the bar in front of shaq. “there’s your drink. you here alone, too?”
“alone and at a table with my ex,” shaq says, with a laugh that’s attempting to be self-deprecating. it doesn’t quite get all the way there, comes out harsher than he means it to, and he covers by taking a sip of his drink. “oh, dude, this is really good.”
“i know,” edric says. “who’s your ex?”
“carmelo plums.”
edric whistles. “wow.”
“don’t fuckin’ wow me, i’m the one who’s stuck sitting with her,” shaq says. the laugh comes a little easier this time, at least.
edric laughs too, just enough for shaq to feel a certain, glowing sense of pride about it. “she can’t be that bad.”
“bad enough that i’m considering ditching my table for the rest of the night.” shaq drains the rest of his drink, not really bothering to savor it. the plastic cups are so small that it would take more than one to even get him tipsy, anyway. “what table are you at?”
“don’t actually know,” edric says. they lean over the bar to grab their unattended drink and similarly drain the cup, snapping a tiny ice cube between their teeth. “i kind of, uh, skipped the seating chart and headed straight for the bar.”
“i mean, considering this crowd? under-fuckin’-standable.”
“and considering -” edric stops short, mouth twisting into an expression that’s nigh unreadable. “you know.”
shaq’s not sure what he’s supposed to know. he blinks at edric for a moment, uncomprehending, until he remembers the context of the gala and the pieces click into place.
“right,” he says. “blaseball soon.”
“blaseball soon,” edric repeats, with thinly disguised disdain. or maybe dread. shaq doesn’t know them well enough to make the distinction.
“it’s kind of wild,” shaq says, “that they’re, like, piling every single player into one party with a bunch of open bars and no press allowed right before opening day. like, they definitely want us to make bad decisions that are gonna leak to the media or whatever, right?”
edric snaps another ice cube in their mouth, between their molars. “or they didn’t think it through.”
“nah, they’re totally banking on someone making a scene. s’free publicity right before the start of the season.”
“well,” edric says, “you’d know, right?”
shaq pauses, gives them a look that he hopes reads as more curious than offended. “what?”
“oh - i just meant -” edric stammers. they look embarrassed again, flush creeping back up towards their cheeks. “with the twitch stuff, i thought, uh. maybe you were gonna -”
“oh. nah, not tonight.” shaq laughs. “i didn’t come here to make a scene. i think hiroto would kill me for real. jury’s still out on bad decisions, though.”
edric sets their cup down. “yeah?”
“well, yeah,” shaq says, then pauses, long and deliberate. weighing his options for a minute before deciding to plunge in headfirst. this is the last gasp of true freedom before blaseball takes up his every waking moment again, after all. might as well do something reckless with someone he just met, instead of crawling back to his seat and suffering through conversation with carmelo and famous and whoever else is there.
besides. edric’s kind of gorgeous.
“i mean,” he says, finally. “it depends.”
“on what?” edric asks, eyebrows quirked.
shaq grins. “on if you wanna make a bad decision with me.”
***
#1 aldon cashmoney stan @celestigers - 32m
SOMEONE GOT CAUGHT MAKING OUT ON THE BALCONY @ THE S12 OPENING GALA KJHGHJGFHG BLASEBALL PLAYERS CANT BE NORMAL FOR ONE NIGHT I S2G
#1 aldon cashmoney stan @celestigers - 32m
MAKING OUT LIKE TEENAGERSSSSSSSSS SDFGFGFHJHG HELP
CRABS COME HOME @DA_PINCH - 30m
LMAOOOO WHO TF
#1 aldon cashmoney stan @celestigers - 27m
NO IDEA oomfs has a cousin on the jazz hands who told them hiroto looks PISST sdfgfdsdf i bet it was a tiger
CRABS COME HOME @DA_PINCH - 24m
OFC IT WAS A TIGER LMAO besties can we PLEASE have a normal splorts event for ONCE
#1 aldon cashmoney stan @celestigers - 24m
i know it was famous i KNOW it
#1 aldon cashmoney stan @celestigers - 23m
LIKEEEE who else would even BE that messy sdfgfdasdfgfd
***
not that it even matters, but shaq torres is a good kisser.
it shouldn’t matter, is the thing. edric should have exactly no cause to know how good of a kisser shaq torres is or isn’t. but the fact of the matter is that shaq has their back pressed to the balcony wall in an alcove between two large potted plants, and their hands are balled up in edric’s shirt collar, and they and edric have been making out from the minute they first stepped outside. shaq tastes like the drink edric mixed them, pineapple juice cut with acrid vodka, and kisses urgently, greedily, like they’re doing all of this on borrowed time. like it’s something they’re stealing.
something small and steel nudges against edric’s bottom lip, and he’s startled enough to come up for air. shaq gives him a quizzical look. edric takes them gently by the jaw, one-handed, keeping their face still enough to examine.
“tongue piercing?” edric asks, as soon as he spots it for what it is.
shaq frowns. “is that a dealbreaker? i almost took it out, i was gonna try and be more classy -”
edric doesn’t bother with a response that isn’t leaning in to kiss them again.
this isn’t, he tells himself, anything that might even remotely turn into a crush. it’s a bad decision. exactly what shaq said it was. doesn’t matter how surreal it feels to be close enough to touch shaq, to be touching them, after seeing them exclusively through a screen for the past year-and-change. doesn’t matter how different they are in person. doesn’t matter that the difference is fascinating - shaq’s mannerisms are no different, there’s no veneer or disingenuity being removed, but their energy is more subdued than edric would have expected. there’s a hunted look behind their eyes on occasion that edric has only ever seen in other blaseball players who survived the discipline era.
but, again, that doesn’t matter, because this is a bad, stupid decision on the last night either of them has to make bad, stupid decisions for the forseeable future. it’s two strangers sharing company on a sinking ship. it’s a middle finger to shaq’s ex. it’s a fluke, a mistake, and there’s definitely nothing about it that edric won’t be able to put out of mind as soon as the season starts. definitely not the way he can practically feel shaq’s heartbeat in his own chest, or the way they tensed when he put his hand on their side to keep them still. definitely not the way they’re still clinging to him like they’d drown otherwise.
“well, i hate to interrupt,” a rough, amused voice drawls from behind edric. this time, he startles enough to jump more than a foot away from shaq, leaving their hands curled in the air where his collar used to be.
“jesus shit , paula,” shaq hisses, eyes wide and startled. their glasses are askew on their face - they reach up to right them, then down to straighten their tie, fidgeting now more than ever. “i was busy.”
paula mason’s eyes flick from shaq to edric, a smirk creasing well-worn smile lines around her mouth. “i bet.”
edric stays quiet. wipes sweaty palms on his slacks, makes a valiant effort to fix his collar. paula was a firefighter, once, but she only ever knew the other edric. the one who was here before the alternate reality decree passed. edric’s not sure that he and paula have exchanged words beyond vague pleasantries at firehouse gatherings and league events.
“did you actually need something?” shaq asks, not quite irate but definitely annoyed.
“hiroto and sandy are trying to wrangle everyone for tigerbeams group photos,” paula says, still smirking, her arms folded over her chest. her silvery hair is tied back in a practical braid, and she’s in a suit so dark red it looks black from certain angles. tigers colors. it only occurs to edric, seeing shaq and paula next to each other, that shaq’s outfit doesn’t have any red in it at all. even the floral pattern on their tie is pastel shades of blue and green.
shaq rolls their eyes, and doesn’t even try to hide it. “tell them i threw myself off the balcony and made a run for it.”
“hey, if i’ve gotta be there, you’ve gotta be there,” paula says. she casts a glance towards edric again. “sorry to break up your little…” she waves a finger in the air, drawing some incomprehensible shape. “whatever this is.”
“it’s cool,” shaq says, in a tone of voice that betrays immediately how uncool it is.
“yeah, it’s fine,” edric says, fighting to keep the same tone out of his own voice.
“great,” paula says. “we should get going before hiroto decides to file a missing persons report.”
“sure,” shaq groans. they peel themself off the wall with visible reluctance, straightening their tie again, their eyes finding edric’s. “hey, give me your phone?”
“uh,” edric says. he didn’t think this was a getting-the-guy’s-number sort of scenario, but he’s already getting his phone out regardless. he has to take a step forward to press it into shaq’s outstretched hand, and he can’t quite meet their gaze while he does.
“text me sometime,” shaq says, when they hand the phone back.
“oh,” edric says. “uh. okay.”
“cool,” shaq says, and turns to leave with paula.
“you’ve got schmutz on your face, kid,” paula says. she licks her thumb and wipes something from shaq’s cheek, making them cringe away from her as she does it.
“aw, paula, come on !” they whine, and edric finds it endearing, almost in spite of himself.
“we’re about to take photos,” paula says, her voice getting more distant as she and shaq pass through the door that leads back inside to the ballroom. “you don’t want to look like you were making out in a bush, do you?”
“it was near a bush, okay -”
their voices fade into the distance. edric watches them leave until the door swings shut, then digs in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter.
***
edric stares at his phone later, in bed, in the dark. finds the contact under shaq’s name - just their first name, with purple heart emojis on either side.
it would be so easy to text them. ask how the rest of the gala went for them. tell them he ended up sitting across from hiroto, and she looked like she had a bug up her ass most of the night. shaq might think that’s funny.
it would be so easy to text them. but texting just a few hours later feels like too much, and bad decisions at parties don’t usually warrant follow-ups, no matter what the people involved say about getting in touch later.
besides, blaseball starts again in under a week. and edric’s seen firsthand how it tests relationships - tears them apart, sometimes, and doesn’t leave time to pick up the pieces.
edric plugs his phone in, and turns it off. goes to sleep. tries to forget the gala. definitely doesn’t revisit the feeling of shaq’s hands desperately hooked in his shirt, their heart pounding so close it could have been behind his own ribcage.