Up To Bat [Open]

It had been a little over a week since the sky had darkened the way it had. Though since that afternoon, the lone namekian returning every day to clean up the stadium did so with a renewed vigor. Something about the idea that a new Kami, an Earth Kami, being chosen instilled a stronger desire to bring back the love to this baseball field. Before he felt himself filled with doubts, almost as endless as a river. Now though, Bazz felt as though if they wanted to bring Satan City back, they actually could. The notion of being under a Kami’s protection once more gave Bazz hope for this city’s future. A little bit more of zeni had been invested in more cleaning supplies, and sure enough like so many days before, Bazz made his trek down the emptied street where the stadium called home. The wind had done its part to help out, as most of the stray fliers or trash Bazz missed in his sweeps had effectively been blown away.

It was good to see that things were turning around finally. That much could be attested to as he came to the stadium’s gates, admiring his handiwork in the cleaned brick walls, and repaired ticket booths. The work had been tedious, but the amount of care and love he put toward rescuing this place from abysmal irrelevance had been unfathomable. All Bazz wished to see was the stands packed again, the concession lines full, hear the crack of the ball against the bat seconds before a wild crowd would roar. With any luck the team would return soon, and they would do so to a home they remembered just as they day they left it. Tossing his backpack of supplies over the iron gates, Bazz would effortlessly make a hop over the bars to seize it, before heading inside to the groundskeeper’s tunnel to head for the field itself.

The familiar crunch of grass would filled his ears as he made his way to the pitcher’s mound, gazing about the expanse of the emptied stadium with a wonder. No matter how many times he took the privilege to stand here, the namekian could never truly get over how unreal it still felt. Bazz would sit the pack down on the mound, and look about all the emptied seats all around him. Closing his eyes with a deep breath, he began to try to imagine all those seats filled with cheering fans. Within his mental image Bazz’s gi would change into a Satan City uniform, a make believe cap resting firmly on his head to shield his eyes from the imaginary sun. Now pitching for Satan City, give it up for Bazz everyone! an illusory commentator would chime in the namekian's internal monologue. He would casually toss a baseball loftily into the leather of his glove, staring down the unwary batter at the plate that was soon to be his forkball’s prey. Imaginary Bazz would wind up for the pitch, moments before the catcher’s glove would ring out with the fire of the ball cracking the leather, the umpire crying out a fierce Strike One! as the batter shook his head.

Bazz would smirk as he opened his eyes to the sound of the nonexistent, fading cheer of the crowd that vanished to reveal emptied seats again. It wouldn’t be long before all that would change, and soon he would be able to relish a good nine innings of his favorite past time. Deciding today was the day to tackle the scoreboard, the man in blue would seize the pack at his feet before flying over to begin work on a thorough scrubbing. There was a hefty amount of graffiti still, and it had to go before this place could come anywhere close to being spotless. Bazz only hoped that he could get it finished before the day was out.