Resizing Plot

[cottoncandypink]

There's an old Ford wagon in the garage that's had a bad experience with a baseball bat and a crowbar. Apparently it offended somebody, because now it has no windows, mirrors, or a single panel that hasn't been smashed to hell. That'll be going on someone's bill.


There's also a note for Baze Malbus at the bar.

Meet me outside
-W

After he leaves his note, Wilford heads outside to try to burn off some of this uncomfortable, jittery energy. He's still got his baseball bat and has gained big bucket full of baseballs. It's heavy as hell, but he's managed to drag it out to where he wants and is practising his swing. His twelve-year-old frame isn't quite used to a full-sized bat, and the weight throws him off a bit with every swing, but he refuses to go grab one more his size.

Comments

[iprotectyou]

Baze knows exactly who the note is from, and doesn't understand why he has to indulge the author. Still, Baze comes; he could be surprised, after all, though he doubts it.

"Wilford," the six-year-old says, high-pitched and childish. He folds his arms across his unarmored chest.

"What the kriff do you want?"

[cottoncandypink]

"I want to show you something! Come here!" Wilford calls over, practically bouncing up and down as he moves over to where the bucket of baseballs is waiting to be lost, one by one.

Also, baseball is boring by yourself, and Buster is stuck in a big cardboard box with his new chew toys, because he's too small to play.

[iprotectyou]

Baze adjusts his black, "Sun's Out, Guns Out" trucker cap, and crosses to Wilford's side to peer into the bucket.

"Balls?"

[cottoncandypink]

"You ever play baseball?" Wilford asks, hopeful that Baze will stick around and maybe not shout at him this time.

[iprotectyou]

"No," Baze says, frowning at him.

"Why do you want to play a game?"

[cottoncandypink]

"Because if I don't do something, I'm gonna have a heart attack," Wilford says. He picks up a smaller bat like his, made of aluminum, and offers it to Baze.

"It's fun. You'll like it."

[iprotectyou]

Baze squints at the offered bat.

"Why," he says, "are you going to have a heart attack if you don't do something? That sounds like a personal problem. I don't see why I should indulge your flights of fancy."

[cottoncandypink]

"It is. Forget that." He doesn't have the focus right now to try to explain it to someone from another planet. That's a job for another day.

"Come on, man. Help a friend out."

[iprotectyou]

Baze scowls at him.

"That's the problem. I don't know if we are friends."

Damning statement said, Baze sighs. He recognizes that this is Wilford's awkward way of apologizing, but Baze doesn't know if he's ready to be apologized to.

He takes the bat anyway.

[cottoncandypink]

"You usually want a lot more people, but you can do it with two and just take out the running."

Which doesn't make it necessarily baseball anymore, but semantics.

Wilford grabs a few of the balls from the bucket and shows Baze where to stand, where a missed ball - or a lucky hit - won't accidentally smash his dog.

"How it works is you got someone on the first team who throws the ball. The batter on the other team has to hit the ball as far as he can. But it can only go in a certain direction, or it doesn't count."

[iprotectyou]

"So do you want to throw first or hit first?" Baze asks, adjusting his grip on the bat according to how Wilford shows him. The Guardian still isn't sure if he wants to play this game, but he's going along with Wilford's instructions.

For now.

[cottoncandypink]

"I'll throw first."

He suddenly realises he neglected to grab a glove, but it's too late now. He doesn't expect Baze to be able to hit anything straight at him anyway.

Wilford tosses his own adult-sized wooden bat onto the ground and finds a good place to stand that seems like a good distance. He can't actually remember what a Little League distance is, but it's not like it matters.

"I'll throw it underhand. It'll go slower that way."

He gives Baze a few seconds to get ready before tossing the ball his way.

[iprotectyou]

Swing and a miss. The ball bounces harmlessly behind Baze, and he turns to narrow his eyes at it. He looks to Wilford again.

"Throw another."

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford does, trying to make sure the ball goes as slowly as possible, while still having the inertia to actually get to where it needs to be. Wilford would rather be testing his arm to see how fast he can throw now, but that would be counter productive, and it's hard to burn off energy by yourself.

"Just pretend it's my face," he says, having the feeling Baze probably wants to slug him right now, since he's clearly still mad about something.

[iprotectyou]

That only makes Baze swing faster, and miss harder. He scowls at the ball, and then snaps hid gaze to Wilford.

"It's a good thing you brought a lot of these."

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford doesn't miss that Baze's swing changes. Apparently he is still 100% pissed off.

"I was trying to hit them into the woods. I usually can from here."

About halfway between where they are now, and the edge of the trees, there's a spread out patch of white balls out in the grass.

Wilford tosses the last ball he has. He's going to have to drag the whole bucket over.

[iprotectyou]

Crack. Baze actually hits this one, and sends the ball sailing over to where Wilford's others are. A sense of smug satisfaction engulfs the six-year-old Guardian.

"Now I'll throw three for you."

[cottoncandypink]

"In a real game, you're out if you miss three of them," Wilford says, picking up his bat. Because fuck that Little League nonsense.

"Aim for right here," he says, patting himself on the chest. He stands over where the imaginary home plate is and gets ready to be hit with a ball.

[iprotectyou]

Baze crosses to where Wilford was standing, and picks up a ball. He doesn't often do things underhanded, but that's the way Wilford threw his balls to him, so that's the way Baze lobs his.

[cottoncandypink]

The slow speed is surprisingly awkward to hit. His brain knows how to do this one way, and his body is used to it a bit differently, and the result is a pop fly that almost lands on his head.

"Throw it harder," Wilford says, kicking the ball out of the way so he doesn't trip over it.

[iprotectyou]

Harder? Well, okay. Baze can do that. He flings the ball at Wilford's chest, not as hard as Baze can, but close to it. The result is a fast flying ball, aimed straight for Wilford.

[cottoncandypink]

This one connects with a loud crack, sending it far over Baze's head. It lands a little bit closer to the woods than the ones Wilford has hitting on his own, but not close enough to be near them.

"Like that!" he says, ready for the next one.

[iprotectyou]

"I like throwing better than hitting," Baze says, tossing the next ball at the same speed. He hates to admit it, but he is actually having fun. A little. He's still pissed off at Wilford.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford knocks this one out too. The large bat is a bit awkward on the swing, but he's getting used to it. He adjusts his stance with each swing, finding the right way to use his own weight to counterbalance the weight of the bat.

"You want to keep throwing?" he asks, watching the ball land in the grass. His scrawny little noodle arms are never going to make it to the woods, but it's not like he's going to give up.

[iprotectyou]

"Yeah," Baze says, already reaching into the bucket. He pitches a few more balls, getting into a rhythm, and all roughly at the same speed. Eventually, they run out of balls, and Baze starts carting the bucket to where the rest of the baseballs were hit.

[cottoncandypink]

It's been years since Wilford hit balls that weren't thrown by himself or a machine. It's surprisingly a lot more fun. When they run out, he runs out to the grass to help collect everything.

"Wanna see something real cool?" he asks.

Without waiting for an answer, he picks up one of the balls and shifts it around in his hand for a few seconds to get grip right. "Watch this."

He throws the ball in a sharp overhand pitch so it slowly but obviously heads off in a curve to the left. Then he rolls his shoulder, because holy shit that hurt.

[iprotectyou]

Hmph. Baze is still annoyed, but he does have to admit that was pretty neat. He doesn't allow himself to smile, much as he wants to.

"You all right?"

[cottoncandypink]

"No," Wilford says, throwing a few more balls just because they are there. He doesn't try to snap the throws this time though, because he likes having a shoulder.

"I just have to wait it out. I'll be fine."

Unless he has a heart attack, which he feels like is a real possibility.

[iprotectyou]

Baze doesn't want to ask what's wrong. But he is an adult--sort of--and can be the bigger person, figuratively, if not literally.

He sighs, and folds his scrawny arms.

"So, what's the matter?"

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford only now realises that throwing the balls means he has to go over there to fetch them again. Whoops.

He throws one more anyway, since the damage is already done.

"This body's all fucked up. It'll work itself out though."

He hopes.

[iprotectyou]

Baze picks up the bucket and carts it over to where the majority of the balls are before picking them up and placing them inside.

"Thanks for the game."

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford looks up suddenly.

"You're not sticking around?"

[iprotectyou]

"I'm still mad at you," Baze says, dropping three balls into the bucket. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

"That dumpster diving remark really hurt."

[cottoncandypink]

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Wilford says. He barely remembers what was said. Words have been coming out of his mouth a lot faster than he can think about whether or not they should be said lately. If anything, he's finding it hard to shut up.

[iprotectyou]

Baze reaches into his pockets and pulls out a cranberry juice box.

"If you didn't mean it, why did you say it?"

[cottoncandypink]

There are a couple of balls left by where they are. Wilford kicks them. But because they are not meant for kicking, they don't go very far.

"Early symptoms? I don't know."

[iprotectyou]

Baze's lip curls. He opens the straw wrapper and sticks the straw into the hole of the juice box.

"I am sorry for shouting at you."

[cottoncandypink]

There's that 'sorry' again.

"Why?" Wilford asks, heading over to go collect the rest of the balls. Or maybe just throw them somewhere else.

[iprotectyou]

"Because unlike you, I actually feel regret over hurting people," Baze says, and starts to leave.

[cottoncandypink]

"You shouted. Big deal. Everybody shouts."

He shouts a lot. Everyone he knows does.

[iprotectyou]

Baze stops, but doesn't turn around to face him. The Guardian closes his eyes.

"That doesn't make it right."

[cottoncandypink]

"Whatever. I'm over it."

He kicks a few more balls around, because apparently he's done being productive.

[iprotectyou]

Baze sips on the juice box, which he clearly isn't going to pitch at Wilford's head. The Guardian starts walking again.

[cottoncandypink]

"Seriously?" Wilford calls after him.

If his brain weren't going a mile a minute, like it is right now, he'd probably be able to figure out that he fucked something up pretty bad. Unfortunately, he's distracted too easily right now, and kicks another ball.