Blaseball
voices on the other line
by paopuleaf
they’re halfway out the patio when their name is called. “socks maybe,” mx. chicago greets/beckons/asks, “come sit with me?” they grimace. turn on their heel and prepare for the worst—but mostly, they just take a seat, propping their feet up on one of the table legs and tearing at the edges of the sandwich wrapper. (socks maybe, recently alternated into an almost-identical blaseball timeline to their own, has a conversation with chicago.)