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It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is playing.
This is when she feels most like herself; the Shadows always tighten their grip during the day, making her fight harder to feel halfway tangible. Here on the stage with the lights dim and the sky dark outside, her fingers don't stumble as much over the guitar strings and her voice rings out pure and true. It's simple. Easy. She doesn't have to second-guess herself the way she always did at the plate.
The club’s almost empty tonight, but she expected nothing less. The Talkers are playing in a tournament, after all, and even the off-duty pitchers and other Shadows players have gone to watch, as have most of the fans. That's fine. She'll keep the patrons entertained (no matter how few they may be) until the team comes streaming in and brings the party with them.
She finishes her song. Looks up. Smiles at the applause. Idly strums a few chords. She knows how to play to the crowds here, big or small.
“Any requests?”
“Deep dark, static, and smoke.”
Who said that? Eloise shakes her head. Everything is starting to feel fuzzy and distant, but she tries to smile again, grips her guitar tighter. “Ah, désolée, I do not think I know that one.”
DEEP DARK, STATIC, AND SMOKE.
Those words reverberate through her head as the world dissolves around her and reforms itself into a field under shadowy skies.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is playing.
Her hands hold a bat instead of a guitar. Her dress has become a Moist Talkers uniform. The scoreboard informs her that this is Game 2 of the Midseason Fiesta Tournament, and the Moist Talkers are leading the Sunbeams five runs to two in the sixth inning. These things all make relative sense. She knew there was always a chance of her being called up from the Shadows; it had already happened to Tiago.
This is… good? Bad? The team wanted to lose, but now that they're in this tournament, they want to win, right? She has the stars to help them, knows the numbers by heart. 4.3 batting stars. 4.0 baserunning stars. 3.3 defense stars. She sees each constellation when she closes her eyes, feels the weight of the expectations that come with them. Naturally gifted, they call her. Not that she’s had much of a chance to prove it; she only signed up to the Shadows, staying off the active roster so the team could lose like they wanted to. This way, she could support her friends from the sidelines and continue to focus on her music until they needed her.
She hadn't expected them to need her.
…No, that's not quite true. She hadn't wanted them to need her. Not like this. She would do anything for them, of course, and this is supposedly a thing she's good at, but…
But what if she isn't good enough?
She'd always felt blinded by her own stars. They never felt like hers, never felt comfortable the way the stage lights do. It's not that she doesn't like blaseball, she does, really, it's just… well, no one expects much from most of the Talkers, and the team happily embraces that, delights in being bad. She's too good to be bad. But when they need her, they don't need her to be good.
They need her to be great.
She can do this. She has to do this. She doesn't have a choice. Step up. This is just another type of performance. Smile to the crowd. Everything feels wrong. Ignore it. Smile.
Eloise Butterworth’s smile cracks when she looks down at her shadow and sees the outline of Roland Magehands.
But it is her own hands that swing the bat, that feel the impact as it sends the ball bouncing along the field. Her own hands at her sides as she starts running to first. Her own foot hits the base, and the last thing she feels before reality starts to crack is the world fading again, growing far darker than before.
...
....
.....
......
It's nighttime.
It's nighttime, and everything is dark.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is playing, her fingers dancing across the strings, the crowd cheering.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is playing, running to second, the crowd cheering.
It's nighttime, and Roland Magehands is playing, focused intently on a game of Mahjong at a table in the corner.
It's nighttime, and Roland Magehands is playing, catching the ball, the crowd cheering.
It's nighttime, and Roland Magehands is Eloise Butterworth’s shadow.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is Roland Magehands’ shadow.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is talking to Doug Palladium in the Darkness, and he is telling her she will do great.
It's nighttime, and the Talkers are winning.
It's nighttime, and nobody is doing anything at all.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is falling endlessly, tangled up in Deep Darkness, becoming the Shadows themselves.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is absolutely fine.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth has tasted the infinite.
It's nighttime, and Eloise Butterworth is… is…
She doesn't know.
Game 3 starts without incident. Peanuts are falling from the sky. Silvaire Hasawi has taken the mound for the Beams. Milli Terminus is standing at the plate. Eloise Butterworth is sitting in the dugout with her friends. There is nothing unusual about this.
…So why doesn't she remember how she got here? Why does everything seem distorted and echoey? Everything is happening all at once, but twice. Do the others know this?
Silvaire throws a pitch. Milli swings. Strike one. Milli does not swing. Ball one.
Milli hits a single. Milli strikes out. The game goes on. So does the other game. Nobody reacts.
Eloise stands up when Mooch does, both at once. “What is going on?” she demands. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe? ” she demands.
Mooch does not know. Mooch looks at her in concern, as if she's gone crazy. She probably has. Mooch asks the others to make sure she's okay. Mooch steps up to the plate. All of this happens, but doubly so.
There is no time for her to explain to the others. She can't explain anything, anyway. Her turn is next. Mooch hits a ground out. Mooch swings at a strike. Eloise steps up to the plate. Eloise stays in the dugout.
Eloise Butterworth hits a ground out, and the crowd groans.
Mooch Perigee hits a two-run homer, and the crowd screams with excitement.
The inning ends. Eloise Butterworth hits a single.
The Talkers are winning 3-0. The game is tied.
She can handle this. She is Eloise Butterworth, 4.3 star batter, and she can handle this. That’s 2.15 stars per game. If she can half pay attention, that's good enough. Better, actually. She's afraid to pay too much attention. There is too much to see. People and places and things she knows she should not be seeing.
In Baltimore, under an eclipse, the Millennials are beating the Crabs. In Baltimore, under an eclipse, the Millennials are beating the Crabs. These sentences have the same words, the same meaning, but they do not describe the same thing. In Breckenridge, in the snow, the Jazz Hands are beating the Pies. In Breckenridge, at night, the Pies are beating the Jazz Hands. The Deep Darkness--
No. Don't look there. Don't go back there. Don't look beyond it, either, to the other -- other worlds -- look at the team. The team.
Her teammates have more stars than they used to. She remembers watching them party, back when things made sense. Several days ago. Several worlds ago. But she's still their star, and they're counting on her to shine for them. It's like a stage, isn't it? If she can sing and play guitar at once, she can play two games of blaseball at once. Most of blaseball is just sitting or standing around. She can manage that. She'll be fine if she doesn't look too close. She has to be fine. She's here for them, and she has to be here, even if it's more than one here at once.
Eloise Butterworth smiles. She knows how to play to the crowd. She waves off her teammates’ concerns, and she waves off her teammates’ concerns, and she is fine.
Eloise Butterworth hits a ground out. Eloise Butterworth catches a ground out. Eloise Butterworth hits a ground out. The Talkers are winning 4-0. The game is tied.
Antonia Rice gives up seven runs in one inning, blowing the Talkers’ lead. Antonia Rice pitches two more scoreless innings, continuing to shut out the Sunbeams. The Talkers don't have very strong pitchers. That had been part of their losing strategy; it was why Doug went to the Shadows and brought Tiago out.
Tiago Houston is watching Eloise Butterworth from the bench. Watching her shine. It was supposed to be him as their star batter, not her, but he was dragged into the pitching rotation instead to help them get to the Fiesta. He's glaring at her. He's looking away from her and mumbling something about her “stupid 4.3 stars and maple-scented hair” to Butch. Of course. This was supposed to be him. Maybe if it had been, the world would still make sense. The Shadows still tug at her as she walks two paths at once. She blinks and he is not there. She blinks and she is not there. She blinks and nothing is there. She blinks and everything is there. She wants to talk to him. She doesn't know how to talk without the world collapsing in on her.
Melvin Caesar hits a home run, finally breaking the tie and bringing the Talkers ahead 1-0. The Talkers are losing 5-8. Eloise Butterworth hits a double and Jira Hatchler bats her in, increasing their lead to 2-0. The Talkers are losing 5-9.
(Over in Breckenridge, Deep Darkness has taken Squid Psst. Troy Bowman is pitching instead. Squid Psst is still pitching. Squid Psst has been frozen. Lily Cole is pitching instead. Troy Bowman is pitching instead. Squid Psst is… is…
Eloise Butterworth doesn't know anymore. She doesn't want to.)
The game is over. She did what she was supposed to and helped the Talkers win. They're still playing. She needs to do what she's supposed to and help the Talkers win.
There are players on base. There are players not on base. There are players everywhere, in so many worlds. She doesn't know. She just needs to swing. Let those stars shine.
Eloise Butterworth hits a three-run home run, but the Talkers still lose the game. They had already won the game. They are moving on. They are not moving on. Her teammates are cheering for her. Her teammates are cheering for her.
It hasn't stopped. Both games are over, and it hasn't stopped. Everything is still happening all at once in every world, and she can see too much of it, and she can see… she…
Eloise Butterworth is being watched.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by a giant, somewhat confused-looking squid.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by Squid Psst, in Deep Darkness.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by a squidlike person in the crowd, who seems rather horrified about this whole situation.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by Roland Magehands back at the club, Mahjong tile in hand.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by Tiago Houston as he angrily crunches on a plastic fan.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by a small person-shaped void, a distant hole in reality.
Eloise Butterworth is being watched by someone very far away in a Shoe Thieves uniform, and Eloise Butterworth is watching them too, is watching a similar scene play out, watching them swing the bat, watching the ball fly high, watching the sky crack as the world itself fragments all around them.
Above all, Eloise Butterworth is being watched by the Microphone, its static swarming her vision, ringing in her ears, surrounding her with a suffocating presence. Deep dark, static, and smoke.
Eloise Butterworth closes her eyes, but she can't stop seeing. That far-away Shoe Thief broke their world, somehow, and now she’s managed to break her own. She would have been content to stay on the stage and play her music, but she was dragged away to help her team, and instead she ruined everything, and she has no idea how to fix it.
Eloise Butterworth, in every reality she can see, does not see any answers.