For a moment, the realization that he couldn’t send this to Janet or Dash hit him like a punch to the stomach. He wondered how many texts he had on his phone, if anyone actually missed him, if anyone panicked when the messages stopped showing as delivered when the battery ran out. If anyone had missed him, it would have been The Leftovers, and maybe his cousin Elliot, out in Seattle. They were both each other’s best support sometimes, the siblings they never had but both adored. He wondered if she was worried about him.

Continue reading →

The three of them, The Leftovers, did their best, despite being shockingly unprepared. There was a single baseball glove between them, and they took turns in the outfield with it, foregoing a catcher for the time being, letting the backstop do the work. They took turns pitching, took turns batting, and Oliver was awful. But he knew that. They didn’t care, and if any of them were too cool for school, it was all gone in half an hour. They cheered with one of them got a hit, laughed at missed catches, shared tips about pitches. They side-eyed the other teams, the ones who had all done this before, who were clearly better at the game, but they just laughed them off. Who cares what they think? In the outfield, Dash even started to sing, “No one likes us, NO ONE LIKES US, no one likes us, we don’t care!” Janet and Oliver laughed, and Dash smiled, shyly at first, and then broadly when he assessed that his team with laughing with him.

Continue reading →

Back to Part 03 – Forward to Part 05

We are apparently a team

Hey Everybody,

Just a reminder that practice starts at 9am tomorrow morning. Management has supplied you all with personalized game bags, and you’ll find bats, gloves, and cleats waiting in your locker with your uniform. If you need anything else, talk to me and we’ll figure it out.

You should all have your IDs by now, and security is expecting you at the team entrance (see map). Please be prompt tomorrow so we can start on time.

Rammy

***

Oliver woke up before the sun rose that morning and paced around the dorm’s common area. He couldn’t sleep, and didn’t really want to try. He found breakfast himself, taking a ride out to his old neighborhood on a streetcar, an experience that was both comfortingly familiar and entirely novel. When he got back, and everyone was still quiet, he dressed into more athletic clothes and made his way to the stadium.

The guard at the players and staff entrance waved him through and pointed him to the locker room. Oliver had never been this deep into any sport. He showed up at little league games fully dressed, or changed in the back of his mom’s minivan. He went out for pizza with the team still dressed in dusty jerseys and muddy cleats. He kept his team picture on a high shelf, where it got dusty and forgotten. But now, he walked down the access corridors in the underbelly of the stadium, being politely waved in to the locker room, where he was expected to be, because he belonged there.

The locker room was arranged in a U-shape, with alcoves for all of them, their names over each one, their jerseys hanging in each one, back out so they all could see their names. He found his, between Rammy and Crasher Katz. He processed that this locker room was for more than one gender, and he’d have to be cool about it. That was fine.

He found the showers, individual stalls, and places to change, should the players want that. He felt a little better about that. Oliver didn’t mind his body, not too much, but it was his, and he liked that he could choose who looked at it, should he want to. This all was strangely comforting.

Oliver wandered back to his locker, and his uniform. Trashcat. Number 33. It hadn’t moved from a few days before, when he had found himself there, standing in front of his uniform, back when Rammy came to welcome him in. They hadn’t asked him about his number, but it was exactly the number he wanted. The bag Rammy had mentioned waited, his name embroidered on it. It was, based on the uniform in his locker, the team colors, blue and gold. Inside, a pair of black cleats waited, along with a glove. A bat hung in the locker. It was thin, just a little wider than a broomstick. His name and number were carved into it.

There was, of course, one other thing to see. Oliver found the hall out to the dugout, and crept down it, past portraits of past players, Kenya Combs and Loreli Clonk, Sax Pinksi and Bo Birch, and dozens and dozens of signatures written on the walls. Some of them were faded, as old as the stadium itself, some of them dark and sharp. Oliver climbed the steps up to field level, and looked around.

The field was a little wider than a hockey rink, and stretched, if the number on the outfield wall was to be believed, 250 feet, fanning out wider. It wasn’t a baseball field, but there was still plenty of area for an outfielder to cover. He could see the base lines on the field, the third base line 50 feet back from the wall, the second base line another 50 feet closer to them. He wandered to home plate and stood in the batter’s box, looking down the field, past the pitcher’s mound.

Oliver then noticed the seats. He looked up, up to the upper level of the stadium, the 300 level seats. He swept his eyes around what was basically a hockey arena, stretched out. He thought about the hockey arena at home, and did the calculations on all of those seats.

“Fifteen thousand,” someone said, “if you’re curious.”

Back in the dugout, a human stood, an older Black man with a salt and pepper beard, more salt than pepper at this point. Like Aston, he had kind eyes, crows feet at their edges. He looked a little less fit than them, his age showing at his stomach, but Oliver didn’t feel like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He wore a United uniform. Rammy was with him, holding a clipboard. The two of them watched him with amusement.

“Sorry, I just…” Oliver started.

The man waved this off. “It’s fine, you’re curious. You want to see where we’ll play.” He looked around, admiring the stadium with Oliver. “Incredible, isn’t it?”

“It’s a little overwhelming?”

“It’s something we’ll all have to get used to,” Rammy said.

The man stuck out his hand. “Halycon Hill.”

 Oliver introduced himself.

 “Hal is our player-manager, captain, and head coach,” Rammy said. “He’ll be watching practice today to see where we all fit.”

“All… all of that?” Oliver asked.

“We wear a lot of hats in the Ultimate League,” Hal said. “It’s a tradition we held over from the old Professional League. The teams are closer that way.” He looked at his watch. “I’d love to stick around, but Management wants a word with me before we get started.” He nodded to Oliver. “See you on the field, Trashcat.”

Rammy watched Halcyon go. “Hal’s something of an elder statesman around here. We’re lucky to have him on the team.” She turned back to him. “How’re you doing, Trashcat?”

“This is all still overwhelming,” Oliver said. “But, the rest of the team seems nice.”

“Oh, good, you met all of them. Did you meet Amylee?”

“She spoke to me?”

“That’s better than most of us get,” Rammy said. “She’s adjusting. It’s a weird situation for all of us.” She motioned for him to follow, and they walked out onto the field. “Are you getting around like you need to? Finding everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “Yeah, Razija and Aston have been really nice. Crasher has been in and out but they seem nice too?”

“And Mariya?” Rammy raised an eyebrow at him.

“She seems nice?” Oliver said in a small voice.

“Yeah, she was a shock to me too,” Rammy said. “But she is very sweet. You’ll get used to her.”

“I’m going to be spending a lot of time getting used to everything,” Oliver said out loud, if only to himself.

“It’s not ideal…” Rammy let her eyes drift to the far wall of the field. “We’re all going through it though, and everyone is actually pretty helpful.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m here.” Oliver scanned along the luxury boxes. It seemed strange that someone would pay so much for what was essentially a bar game. But then again, golf. So…

“I don’t think I have an answer for you,” Rammy said. “I don’t know why I’m here either.”

Oliver watched her out of the side of his periphery for a moment. She kept her eyes ahead as they walked the length of the field. “How’d you get here?”

Rammy laughed to herself, just a little. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Might as well be what we all ask when we introduce ourselves.”

“Sorry…” Oliver said, pulling into himself. His ears dropped on his head.

“Aw, Trashcat, it wasn’t like that. I’m not mad at you. This whole situation…” she thought a moment. “It fucking sucks. But honestly, our team seems really nice and if I have to be trapped in a weird alternate dimension with a bunch of strangers, I don’t think I could ask for a better group.”

Oliver just nodded.

“Someone came to my door,” Rammy said. “I played softball, and the pro league in my universe was scouting, so when the person at my door said they wanted to sign me, I didn’t think about it…”

They reached the first baseline on the field, the one that marked the difference between a base hit and a double, a wide white line painted on the turf.

“I don’t remember the guy,” Rammy continued. “I’ve tried so hard to remember, but I can’t see their face and their voice isn’t clear. I know they spoke to me, but I don’t remember what they said. I remember packing a bag, knowing I’d be going far away and I’d need the really important things. And then I was here.”

Oliver listened with wide eyes. “That’s so scary.”

“I try not to think about it,” Rammy said. “What about you?”

“It’s really fuzzy, but I remember being at practice with my team. We were getting ready for the final game of the season and…” Oliver hesitated. “That’s it. We were practicing, and then I was here, and you were escorting me to the office.”

“Must have been really jarring.”

“Hasn’t stopped being jarring.” They passed over the line between a double and a triple.

“Once the season starts up, it’ll all be easier.” Rammy stopped in the middle of the triple section and looked around the arena. “It’ll be fun, at least.” Oliver glanced at her. She stared ahead, her gaze a thousand miles away. Oliver followed her sight line to a dark luxury box above and behind home plate. For a brief moment, he thought he could smell the slightest hint of alcohol. His gut said, maybe she and Hal had gone out for brunch. He pushed it back into the back of his mind.

Rammy checked her watch. “We have some time before we even need to get ready for practice. Want to see the rest of the stadium?”

Oliver’s ears perked. “Oh! That sounds nice.”

Rammy smiled, and for the first time, Oliver felt like she meant this one. “Come on, we’ll do the super insider tour.” They started back to the dugout, talking to each other about their own worlds.

-g

Back to Part 03 – Forward to Part 05

Back to Part 1 – Forward to Part 03

Hello I’m not from here

The way Oliver Trashcat could usually tell if he had slept well the night before is that he had forgotten where he was by the time he woke up. This had been true the few short years he had lived his adult life. Camping trips and escapes to other cities and spring vacations had always lulled him into a deep, restful sleep, and when he woke up, there were a few blissful moments when he couldn’t remember where he was, just that he was.

The night before had not been one of those nights. Oliver slept, fitfully so, tossing and turning as he got used to the new sounds all around him. The creaks and groans of the building, the lack of the cars on the interstate, the sound of streetcars outside. He had forgotten where he was when he woke up, but there was no joy in that, just minute panic.

Slowly, it all came back to him, as much as there was to come back to. There was the locker room, the jersey, Rammy, who was a person in a completely different dimension from his own, and the sports league, and the guide…

Right. Okay. Yeah.

Oliver sat up in his bed, looking out over the city, his city, except, in every way it wasn’t. He recognized bits and pieces of it, and so much more he didn’t. It was all too much to process, and he was definitely too hungry to process it. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, quickly dressed, and went to go check out the dorm.

“Hey!”

Oliver froze. He had barely made it out of his room. He had anticipated there would be a dorm to see, but he had forgotten about the other people in the dorm. He scanned the dorm, looking across the kitchenette to a bar height dining table, where people sat, now all watching him.

“Oh! Are you raccoon?” The same voice asked. He tracked it to a woman, probably around his age. She was just a little shorter than him, and wore a scarf over her head, covering her black hair.

“Uh, hi,” Oliver said, still frozen in his tracks.

The woman started forward. “I’m Razija, Razija Hemon. Are you Trashcat?”

“Oliver,” he said. “So, yes? This is, uh…”

“Yeah, man, I know how you feel.” This came from a Black man at the table. He kept his hair cropped close, was probably north of 25, and had a decently athletic build, and though he looked as confused as Oliver, his eyes were kind and curious. He stood too, standing taller than Oliver, and crossed over to bump fists with Oliver. “Aston Humble. “

“Nice to meet you,” Oliver said, trying not to sound too quiet.

“So how is your world different than this one?” Aston asked. “Cause let me tell you, this is nothing like mine.”

“The dorms?” Oliver asked.

“He means there’s only humans in his world. Or at least the only kind of people are humans.” Razija beamed. “Isn’t that interesting?”

Oliver nodded. “Am I… uh, am I going to be okay hanging around?”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Aston said. “If I can get used to Mariya, I can get used to talking animals, too.”

“Who’s Mariya?”

“Oh, you’ll meet her,” Razija said. “Who all have you met? Have you met Hal?”

“Or Crasher?” Aston asked. He sat back down at the table.

“Amylee should be around too.”

“You’d never know it, though,” Aston mumbled.

“Uh, just Rammy?” Oliver said.

Razija nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. She’s not around a lot either.”

“She’s the assistant captain though?”

“I guess so. She must be busy.”

Oliver just nodded. He collected his thoughts. He stomach rumbled. Right, that.

“Is there a good place around here for breakfast?” Oliver asked. “I didn’t eat last night.”

“There’s lots of places!” Razija lit up again. “What do you want? There’s the pancake house or there’s the place that has really good eggs or-“

“You gotta name names,” Aston said. “He can’t see that list you got up there.” Oliver played this over in his head a few times after. He wasn’t annoyed, quite the opposite. These two must have spent some time together, and this must have been something Razija had done before.

“Oh. Right!” Razija laughed.

“I’d really just love a good breakfast sandwich,” Oliver said softly.

“A what?” Razija asked, growing serious.

“They don’t have those here,” Aston said.

“But…” Oliver knew he was going to look entirely crestfallen and he tried not to. “It’s just a sandwich…”

“Yeah, I’m kidding,” Razija said, smiling.

“Yeah, man, it’s a sandwich, of course they have those here,” Aston said. “You good? You look like you’re about to cry.”

Oliver tried to control his trembling jaw. “No, I’m good.” He did not sound good.

“Oh no, Oliver…” Razija started forward again, getting closer, but not touching him. “Sorry, we’ve been here for a little bit, we forget sometimes that this is all overwhelming.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Aston said. “Raz and I have been out exploring, and this place is actually…”

“It’s nice,” Razija said. “You’ll love it here, I promise.”

“You won’t even remember that everyone you know is completely gone forever and you’ll never see home again.”

Oliver stifled a tiny whimper.

“ASTON,” Razija said, turning back to him with a stare that could have cut glass.

“Sorry, that was supposed to be a joke,” Aston said, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Well, make sure it’s funny next time.”

“Sorry, Trashcat,” Aston said. “Let’s go get breakfast. There’s a place with amazing hash browns down the street that will blow your tail off.”

Oliver wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “O-okay…”

“ARE WE GETTING BREAKFAST??” Came a voice from one of the other rooms. “Wait for me!”

Oliver turned to the voice. Standing in the doorway to one of the rooms was a demon, six and a half feet tall with dark purple skin and black eyes, and horns on their head reached towards the ceiling.

Oliver screamed and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground. He scrambled on the ground to the corner, holding his arms over his head.

“Oh no, I forgot,” the demon said in a sweet, feminine voice. She stayed at her door.

“Trashcat,” Razija said, “meet Mariya Usha…”

-g

Back to Part 1 – Forward to Part 03

Forward to Part 2

CONGRATULATIONS!

“So you have been pulled from an alternate dimension and chosen to play in the Ultimate League. Congratulations!”

Oliver K. Trashcat read that line over and over again, hoping each time it would make sense. He knew what the words meant separately, but together it might as well be Lojban. None of it made sense. He replayed the day over in his head: Woke up, made breakfast, went to practice, slipped the bounds of space-time and fell into another dimension, became professional athlete somehow, and was now undergoing on-boarding.

Like you do.

“Trashcat,” a voice before him said. Oliver blinked, returning to the office he sat in. Rammy Montevideo watched him from behind a desk with a practiced weariness. This was a process she had done before, way too many times. “Stay with me,” Rammy said.

“Sorry,” Oliver said. He slumped in his chair, and then sat up immediately, trying to look respectable at least. His ears pressed against his head. If Rammy had noticed, she didn’t say anything.

Oliver was raccoon, shorter than average, approaching his mid-twenties. He was thin, and you’d be forgiven if you assumed he was in any way athletic. He even had a little muscle on him, somehow. He was, though, in no way a professional athlete.

Rammy nodded. “It’s okay. There’s just a lot to get through, and then we can go over your questions.” Rammy was human, with light skin and brown hair, and a gaze that said she didn’t want to be there, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. She wore a jersey for the Clark Avenue United, unbuttoned, a black underguard showing. She was shorter than Trashcat, from the few moments that he had seen her standing.

“The team has taken the opportunity to set you up with a bank account.” She pushed a debit card at him, with his name on it. “Our credit union,” Rammy said, noticing his questioning gaze. She placed a box in front of him. On the front was a picture of a basic smartphone. “Phone is set up, my number is in there if you need help. Don’t call Management, they’re… let’s say busy.”

Oliver nodded again. He examined the box.

“Once this is all done, I’ll take you to the team dorm. You’ll have a stipend until you can get a proper paycheck. It isn’t much, but it’ll cover everything you need to get up and going.”

“Okay,” Oliver said. This was all… a lot. Rammy just nodded. She collected the stuff in front of him and put it all into a bag.

“I know this is a lot,” Rammy said.

“I have to play?” Oliver said, asking again like he didn’t already know the answer.

“We all have to play. I don’t know why any of us were chosen for this, but we don’t have a choice.”

“I just… I’m not actually good?” Oliver hugged himself. “I just wanted to join a recreation league and meet people and get exercise.”

“Well…” Rammy pushed the bag across the desk to Oliver. “You get to do some of that for money now.” She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. Oliver appreciated the effort.

“What happens if I refuse?”

Rammy looked away, dropping her eyes to a dusty corner of the office. “I…” She bit her lower lip in thought. “I think I don’t want to find out. And neither do you.”

Oliver sighed. He took the stipend envelope and opened it up. His eyes grew wide as he flipped through the colorful bills.

“Should be enough,” Rammy said again. Oliver almost didn’t catch the sarcasm.

“I’ve… never seen this much money before…” Oliver said.

Rammy had seen this before. “The Regents want to make sure we’re happy. In a way.”

Oliver quickly shoved them in his pocket. This was a lot.

“Right,” Rammy said. She stood. “You’ve seen the locker room. You should be getting an ID card in the next day or two, but in the meantime, let’s get you to the dorms.”

Oliver collected his bag and trotted to keep up with Rammy as she led him through the twisting corridors of the the stadium, and out to the city.

A block away from the stadium, Rammy turned him around so he could see where they had been. He looked back, looking at the giant light-up sign on the side that said “Civic Center Stadium.” On the massive video screen on the wall, the words appeared:

“Ultimate League Corkball Returns November 3.”

Oliver turned that phrase over in his mind. Rammy pressed on.

The team dorms were a few blocks further. Oliver tried to map where he was, but back home this had been torn out for the Interstate. There was no evidence of that here. Oliver could have wept.The dorms were straightforward. There was a common area on the floor, a common bathroom, a little kitchenette. There were six doors around the common area. Rammy stood back, giving him a little room to explore. He read the names on the doors; Mariya, Aston, Crasher, Razija, Amylee. His name was there too, and a chill ran up his spine.

His room was small, a standard dorm, a bed and a desk with a chair, and a pretty okay closet and dresser. The windows were amazing, and this high up he could see out over the city. If Rammy hadn’t been so nice, he would have stared out those windows until she went away.

“It’s not much,” Rammy said, “Laundry is next to the bathroom, and there’s machines in the stadium clubhouse too if you need it.”

“This is nice,” Oliver said.

“You’re on your own from here,” Rammy said. “We start practice in two days. Don’t worry about equipment, it’s all at the stadium. But if you want clothes, Stix, Baer and Fuller is a few blocks away, towards the river. And you can catch Metro there to the Loop. Did you…?”

“I’m sure it’s like The Loop I know,” Oliver said, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s all so different,” Rammy said. “Nothing is consistent.” She handed him some keys, for the outside door, for the floor itself, and for his room, and then started to leave. She stopped at the elevator. “Hey, I mean that, about calling me if you need anything. I know this is a lot, and we all needed help adjusting. Let me know if you need something.”

“You don’t live here?” Oliver asked.

“I’ve been here a while,” Rammy said. “I have an apartment.”

Oliver nodded, as if he was checking a box off a list.

“Have a good day, Trashcat. See you at practice.” The elevator closed, and Rammy was gone.

Oliver contemplated food, but all he wanted to do was sleep. He pulled off his shoes, closed his door, locked it, and flopped onto his bed. He pawed open the bag Rammy had given him, pulled out the guide, and started to read.

“So you have been pulled from an alternate dimension and chosen to play in the Ultimate League. Congratulations!”

He was asleep before he could finish anything else.

-g

Forward to Part 2

It’s been a while, huh? I started Pacific NorthWitch two years ago, and a whole bunch of things happened. I thought I was going to find the story, and I did a little, but the story did some psychic damage to me. So PNW is basically on the back burner for now. Might even rewrite it someday. Who know.

But I’m not here to bury my writing but to celebrate it! Starting… Let’s say Monday, October 10th, I’m going to be posting a finished story, one chapter at a time, every Monday and Thursday until it’s done. Presenting, I Signed Up For a Rec Team And Now I’m Playing For The ULTIMATE LEAGUE In Another Dimension??

“So you have been pulled from an alternate dimension and chosen to play in the Ultimate League. Congratulations!”

Oliver Trashcat had only wanted to play corkball in a recreational league, to meet people and get exercise. Now he’s in an alternate dimension with no way to get home, playing in the Ultimate League with a bunch of strangers. He’s never cared about winning anything in his life, but between secretive teammates, bloodthirsty fans, and mysterious league owners​, he’s starting to feel like his life depends on it…

I’m very excited to show this off to you, my love letter to Blaseball. See you Monday..

Grant