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okay it's late again i'm putting up the rest of the plaintball thing i wrote with @fabledivine

"I try," Moody says blandly in response to Tyreek telling him this, not unkindly, over post-match drinks. Tyreek drinks only water (Hades beverages disagree with them), but Moody keeps up with the more demonic Hadeans glass for glass.

The Chicago Firefighers’ Plaintball Association starts as a way to blow off steam. Free for all plaintball, friendly rivalries between stations. Then Landry says that Hades has an all-region team—the Tigers—and won’t the Firefighters come give the Hades arenas a try?

That’s how Tyreek meets Moody Cookbook.

Moody is the captain of the Tigers (who, Tyreek notes, are impressively well-organized for a plaintball association) and next to his teammates, he is strikingly and unimpressively... Normal.

"Why do you all play, anyway?" Tyreek asks him. The Tigers have uniforms. Uniforms. A part of Tyreek wonders if they're in over their head.

But Moody shrugs. "Hades likes games," he answers, before blatantly changing the subject. "How do you know Landry?"

The Spirit of Violence in question is a few seats away at the bar, oblivious to their conversation and engaging a ragtag collection of Tigers (including his newest host, a girl named Paula) and Firefighters in a riotous story of some kind. Tyreek has no doubt that it is so heavily embellished as to bear, at this point, only a theoretical connection to truth.

Despite themself, they smile, somewhere between fond and soppy.

"We're old friends," they say, and note by Moody's own wry smirk that they must have come across as cryptic to him as he had to them. But he does not pry, just clinks his glass against Tyreek's and gets another round with the Tigers' vicious sniper trio.

A month after they're back from Hades, Tyreek gets an invitation from some folks out in Philly to play a couple matches-- with an audience and local TV.

Something about it feels wrong, deep in the part of their gut that still tastes like ash and electricity, that still feels like cold metal. It's just plaintball. They almost ignore the letter-- would have, if it weren't for a postscript in Landry's garbled handwriting vouching for the Philly Pies. They're good people, he says, even if their strategies are brutal.

So Tyreek collects another team from across the city and they take a weekend to drive to Philly. The audience isn't terrible, the drinks afterwards are safe for human consumption, and the company is good.

Three weeks after Philly comes Moab and another postscript from Landry, this one lengthier and more enthusiastic. Even if it is half plaintball and half discussion of desert mythos, Tyreek reads it thrice before they put it away. Missives from Landry have been few and far between in recent years.

Moab is followed by New York, then San Francisco, then Baltimore. The first two invitations include the now-familiar postscript from Landry, though neither contains anything note. The latter does not.

Against their better judgment, Tyreek takes the team out to Baltimore, anyway.

There were audiences in Moab, New York, and San Francisco, though none of them as big as the audience in Philly. In Baltimore, however, things start to feel different.

The Crabs-- that's their team name-- don't warrant the energy of the crowd (and to be honest, neither to the firefighters). The crowd is enthusiastic, almost harsh, cheering for paint-blood from above the pit. But the Crabs aren't great: their strategy is flimsy and predictable and their cohesion as a team is subpar.

Tyreek mentally berates themself for assessing the Crabs like that. This is friendly sport, not professional. Their inner monologue of strategic critiques is starting to sound like Landry during wartime.

Afterwards, one of the Crabs catches Tyreek a little away from both teams.

"Good game," they say, and Tyreek, still a little paint-splattered, smiles in response. It doesn't quite meet their eyes.

"Sure, you too."

"I'm surprised you came all the way out here," the Crab (whose name Tyreek hasn't caught) says before Tyreek can remove themself from the situation.

"Baltimore's not as far as we've gone, actually," Tyreek responds. "We went out to California a couple months ago."

"I guess we'll be seeing you soon, then," says the Crab, which doesn't make any sense to Tyreek, but someone calls them away before they can respond to that.

They would have put it out of their mind, but then on the way back to Chicago, they get a text.

Dominic Marijuana is the vice captain of the New York Millennials. He says as much in his text, along with his name and a note that Moody passed on Tyreek's contact (never mind how Moody had their number to begin with, or Dominic's for that matter). He asks if Tyreek knows what the Firefighters' roster will be-- who their captain will be.

He capitalizes Firefighters. It doesn't look like an error.

Tyreek responds that they have no idea what Dominic is talking about, but they suppose they're as good a captain as any, given that this whole plaintball association thing was more or less their idea, with Josh and Rivers helping.

Dominic says okay, and nothing else

The letter from Landry is waiting in Chicago, on top of an embossed golden envelope with no address.

#plaintball #i have nothing else to explain sorry.#blball scribbling

hiiiii i wanna hear more about plaintball au [propping my head up on my hands]

(with @fabledivine)

top important things:

this is a less formal "league"-- it was started by players as a word-of-mouth, recreational-invitational series of matches (see my ficlet), and once league governance gets started, there is a players' union that crops up pretty quickly after that.

it is still very violent. players do die (we're thinking that they are get shredded by shrapnel but jury's still out). players have classes like dps, tank, sniper, support, and strategy is a big part of the game-- so player swaps are also really big because it affects the strategy of the games.

stadiums are also very unique from place to place. they are all big pits like gladiator rings with audience watching from stands up/around. each style has different styles and setups and obstacles and hiding spots. but we do think it's all capture the flag style games. with like maybe three flags.

oh also there is a place of the dead i've been calling the pit :)

#plaintball #blaseball