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Cedric Spliff hit the ground hard.
Well, not just ground. He'd definitely fallen through something on the way down, but he didn't know what—it was taking all of his mental processing power to not pass out. Every part of his body hurt, so bad that any amount of movement seemed a herculean effort. He let out a groan of pain as he lay there in the crater. After a few minutes, the dust began to settle and he got a better look at his surroundings. He seemed to be in some sort of basement or cellar- the only exit he saw (besides the hole in the ceiling he'd fallen through) was a single door up a flight of wooden stairs.
So he'd landed in a building, then. That was good—he wouldn't need to trek through the wilderness to find some people that could help him. But perhaps more importantly, it was a safe place for him to pass out for a while, let his body recover from the strain of atmospheric re-entry.
He didn't know how long he lay there in that dazed fugue state—minutes, hours, days even—but eventually, he was shaken out of it by a voice.
"Spliff, Spliff, Spliff. What are the odds."
Spliff sat up, suddenly alert, looking around for whoever was talking. The voice was familiar- he thought he'd heard it in a movie or something- but there was something odd about it. He heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs above him, descending in a slow measured pace.
It wasn't the face he remembered, but eccentric outfit, posture, and smug smile meant this could only be one person.
"Al Pastor," Spliff said, eyes narrowing as he struggled to his feet. "What are you doing here?"
"That's all I get? No 'Hey, how ya been?'" Pastor shook his head, chuckling. "Thought they were supposed to be polite up north."
Spliff didn't respond. Beneath his bandana, his mouth set into a nervous frown.
"Fine then, I suppose I'll get right to the point. I'm here because you falling in Los Angeli, of all places, is quite the opportunity. As I recall, you used to be able to turn quite the profit with nothing more than a smile, an empty promise, and a plan from a... particularly clever friend." He chuckled slightly at his self-aggrandising joke. Spliff was not amused. "And that was back when you were a nobody. Now, you're a Blaseball star. A celebrity. A household name.Think of how much we could rake in with that kind of clout on our side!"
Spliff took a slow step backwards, arms raised in front of him. "Whoa, whoa. Look man, I-I'm not interested in chasing cash anymore." The slight tremble in his voice betrayed the anxiety he was trying to keep off his face. "We had a good thing back in the day, but it's really not a priority right now. And I'm not even sure money's really a thing anymore, so-"
Pastor's eyes narrowed. "You misunderstand me, Spliff. I'm not asking. Check the uniform."
Spliff looked down at his jersey. It wasn't the blue and red Moist Talkers one he'd been wearing before he fell. This jersey was purple, with a yellow trim and rainbow stripes around the midsection. The front of it read "LA Unlimited Tacos."
"That's right," Pastor continued, stepping closer until he loomed over Spliff. "You work for me now. So either you do as I say, or I'll be forced do-"
"Okay, that's enough."
Spliff and Pastor whirled to see a figure leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. A dark skinned woman with bright yellow hair, she was wearing the same Tacos uniform as Spliff, though hers was hanging unbuttoned, revealing a crop top and an impressive set of abs. A thick gecko tail sprouted from her lower back, and her right eye glowed purple with power. Spliff recognized her instantly—Jenkins Good, one of his former teammates from the Moist Talkers, and a good friend besides.
She pushed off the wall and walked forward, placing herself firmly in front of Spliff, between him and Pastor. "Hey Ced," she said, glancing back at him. "Catch up in a minute." Good glared at Pastor, cursed eye glowing bright. "We work for you, alright, but only as part of the Blaseball team. The ILB contract is very clear about what you can make us do outside of games, and something tells me running scams is not included. Now, you leave Cedric alone, and I might just so happen to forget about that little threat you were about to lay down. Is that clear, or are things going to get..." She narrowed her good eye, causing the bright flame of the curse to flare up. "Complicated?"
Pastor backed off, hands slightly raised. "Whoa, calm down there, pal. You didn't think that was serious, did you? Just some light teasing between old friends, right?" He looked to Spliff, who didn't respond. Pastor shook his head, turned around and started heading back up the stairs. "Geez, lighten up, will ya? Anyway, I should probably let you get situated. Ms. Buzzkill there knows where pretty much everything is, ask her if you need anything. Later!"
The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, and Al Pastor was gone. Good waited a moment to make sure he wasn't coming back, then turned back to Spliff, the determination on her face fading to concern. "You alright there, Ced? Haven't seen you freeze like that in a while."
Spliff wanted to say something, thank her, but his tongue felt like a lump of lead in his mouth. He pointed at his bandana and shook his head.
Good nodded. "Yeah, I get it. That was kind of a lot to deal with right after falling from space. Take all the time you need."
Spliff took a moment to steady his breathing and calm his racing heart, then stepped forward and wrapped Good in a tight hug. She returned it, along with a couple solid pats on the back.
"Missed you too, bud." She let the hug stand for a few moments, then stepped back. "Come on, let's get you back to the clubhouse. Meet the others, all that jazz. And I hope you're hungry, cuz I've got some new recipes I've been itching to try."