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“suzanne.”
declan jolts. sure enough - there’s dreamy, sitting next to him on the bench outside of the crabitat as if she’d been there the whole time. “i- uh- hey?” she looks at him, before her vision unfocuses, looking- past him. her goggles are in her hands, loosely held, worn. “what’s up?”
“why do people keep talking about henderson as if he’s gone?”
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in which one particular batter can't just die - no, he's got to haunt the fuck out of the people he left behind. of course.