Hobbs Cain did not want to party.
The Party Zone on the Immaterial Plane roared with activity, every Blaseball team that fell out of reach of the playoffs delivered immediately after their last game. Hobbs had been walking to the locker room when it happened, feeling first his fur stand on end before he stumbled into the post-season celebration with a blink. He still wasn’t used to it, and he was sure he never would be.
The Party Zone reminded him of an open space at a stadium, with players roaming from group to group, laughing about the season, hugging old friends that had been separated in the Feedback, grabbing tacos together. Los Angeli brought the tacos, of course. They never didn’t have tacos. Hobbs longed for anything else. At least in Sunken Halifax they had krill chips. He’d never realized how much he’d miss krill chips.
Off to one side of the Party Zone was the field. Hobbs stood at the fence, watching the games that happened below. Every current blaseball game played out on the field below, all at the same time. He darted his eyes over the players, trying to catch who was playing. They all blended together. Even an eight foot tall slugger would be hard to pick out.
There was a flash on the field. A rogue umpire stood over a smoking pile of ash. Hobbs gripped the fence until the wire dug into his hands. He didn’t stick around to see who was summoned.
Hobbs could see The Moon by a quiet corner of the Party Zone. Which meant the Moist Talkers had arrived. He skulked over, giving the taco table a wide berth. Mooney Doctor stood with a drink in her hand, enjoying the relative solitude, talking softly with her wife, The Moon. The Moon loomed next to her, glowing warmly.
“Hobbs,” Mooney said, giving him a nod.
“Doctor,” Hobbs said. “I never got to say it, but good job. With Hotdogfingers, I mean.”
“It was a team effort. Your notes were indispensable.”
“Thanks for following through.”
“Well,” Mooney said. She took a long drink. “I think we made a mistake.”
“I don’t. Someone needs to show the Gods we are not their playthings.”
“The Gods aren’t afraid of us.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of them.”
“They got Gloom this time.”
“They got…” Hobbs blinked. “Wow…”
“Rest in Violence,” Mooney said from behind her drink.
“Rest in Violence, Gloom.” Hobbs left a moment of silence the stalwart batter. “Do you know-“
“We haven’t seen him.”
Hobbs flinched.
“But,” Mooney said, as if to offer Hobbs a lifeline, “that doesn’t mean anything. The Tigers aren’t here yet.”
“Yeah…” Hobbs said, looking away. The Squid had wandered over to the Party Zone, looming twenty stories over them, looking down and softly “hmmmm”ing. “What about York?”
“York’s okay,” Mooney said. She actually sounded relieved. “Someone stepped in for him.” She motioned over her shoulder.
PolkaDot Patterson leaned against a wall, enclosed in a giant peanut shell. Hobbs could tell it was them, the shell looking focused and mercenary and aloof.
“H-hey, PeeDee,” Hobbs said.
“Cain,” PolkaDot said.
“Uhm… That was kind of you.”
If a peanut could shrug, it did. “Silk’s a good kid. He didn’t deserve this.”
“I don’t think you do either.”
“That’s Blaseball,” PolkaDot said.
“Yeah… Do you want a taco or…”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yeah, I don’t like them much either.” Hobbs looked away again, towards the field. His whiskers twitched.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” PolkaDot said. “We’d know if he wasn’t. We care about him too, you know.”
Hobbs nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“You should relax,” Mooney said. “You’re in Party Time. Get a drink and have fun.”
“I can’t. No one is safe until they’re in here. And as long as he’s out there, he’s not safe. That’s why we are fighting the Gods.”
“You haven’t see then Taco’s bullpen, have you?” She pointed to the the Tacos, who gathered around the taco buffet. Five giant peanuts bobbed around, looking like they were having a good time, for what it was worth.
“They did it,” Hobbs said. “They’re on strike.”
“Players are fighting in their own way,” Mooney said. “That’s something.”
“That is.” Hobbs smiled a little. “I think I’m going to go say hi.”
“Take care, Hobbs.”
“Doctor.” He nodded to The Moon. “Nice to see you again.”
The Moon regarded him.
Hobbs wandered in towards the Tacos, not in a hurry. He pulled his coat tighter on his shoulders, trying to force his mind on to anything else. He even thought he might be able to get himself to eat a taco.
And Hobbs has so successfully gotten into his head that he didn’t recognize the sound of squishing footsteps behind him. Only when they had fallen into step next to him did he notice. He turned, looking up, his eyes wide.
Richmond Harrison bobbed along next to him, just as he had before, when they were team mates.
“Hey, buddy,” Hobbs said softly. “I was worried about you.”
Richmond looked down at him, smiling, his familiar smile. Hobbs was never sure if Richmond was ever fully aware of what was happening, but he was always happy to be there.
Richmond warbled, and motioned to the party around them.
“It is nice to see everyone again,” Hobbs said. “How was your season?”
Richmond warbled out story, a long gurgled tale.
“I did see Jaylen,” Hobbs said. “I’m glad she’s back too. I heard she hit you with a pitch though.”
Richmond shrugged and warbled.
“I know it’s not her fault. But I was worried.”
Richmond clicked at Hobbs.
“Because you could have gone away,” Hobbs said, doing his best not to look at Richmond.
Richmond gurgled a laugh. He grabbed Hobbs and picked him up, putting him on his shoulders, like he had done during so many games. He warbled out a few short syllables, slowly advancing towards the tacos.
Hobbs smiled, glad Richmond couldn’t see him wiping away tears. “I know, buddy. I’ll always be your friend, too.”
[g]
You too can participate in the cultural event of Blaseball.