X has been studying Alice's pitching style from her position on the bench, which may explain why she doesn't look particularly nervous as she steps up to the plate.
(Or it may just be because X doesn't have much of an expression ever.)
She lets the first pitch go by, but swings for the next one.
Strike one.
The third pitch is something X manages to get her bat behind, but she hits it a little too low and the ball pops up and to the right.
Re: X-23 at batpaladinsuitsyouSeptember 4 2009, 02:21:55 UTC
Booth, from his spot at first base, ready to get under the ball as it comes down the first base line. "I got it, I got it," he cries, to forestall the second baseman coming after the ball, which might lead to an unpleasant collision.
He runs sideways, eyes on the ball, glove extended. The ball's coming down, right at him. He thinks he's good to go, and then - THUNK - he's caught it.
Booth holds up the ball and then tosses it back to the pitcher.
Re: X-23 at batthemidnightsonSeptember 6 2009, 02:10:12 UTC
"Next time," Edward agrees, standing not too far from where she walks back to. He does need a seat when everyone else will actually get tired and find some use in the relief.
Crowley at bataj_crawleySeptember 7 2009, 13:23:31 UTC
Strolling back up to take his place, Crowley raises the baseball bat to point at the vampire on the mound, levelling a snaky grin at her over the top of it.
Once there, though, and in position, Crowley's fingers shift slightly against the bat as he makes sure of his grip.
It's his last turn at the plate, after all; time to make it count.
Re: Crowley at bataj_crawleySeptember 18 2009, 13:14:32 UTC
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a screamer.
The CRACK of ball against bat is ferociously, ear-splittingly loud, and it echoes against the distant treeline approximately a quarter of a second before the ball itself follows suit. It disappears into the dense ranks of tree-trunks, trailing behind it only the high, thin shriek of torn air, and a sad cloud of pine needles.
Hopefully, it's distracting enough that nobody notices it takes Crowley the whole rest of that second just to stop blinking at the hole.
The bat thunk-thunks into the dirt by his feet: once (the head), and twice (the grip).
And then the demon breaks for first like (if you'll pardon the expression) a bat out of Hell.
Re: Crowley at batofthefamilySeptember 18 2009, 23:27:15 UTC
Carlisle is already gone far past the tree line as Crowley swings --
At least the tree-line obscures the ball (and himself) enough to hide the fact that he didn't catch the ball before it finally touched down against the forest floor.
Nobody actually sees Carlisle throw the ball back to the diamond, and Carlisle can't even see who he is throwing to.
Re: Crowley at batpaladinsuitsyouSeptember 19 2009, 01:37:47 UTC
Booth sighs as he watches Crowley approach. That ball's not coming back his way any time soon. The demon runs past first, and he can't even see where Carlisle went.
This playing with superhumans is not really all it's cracked up to be.
Re: Crowley at bataj_crawleySeptember 19 2009, 02:40:39 UTC
Crowley feels first base rattle under his foot as he hurtles around the corner, but it's second to the piercing whine slicing through his eardrums once again.
The ball's back in the hair.
Head down, elbows in, he flashes down the line towards second.
Re: Crowley at batun_fallenSeptember 19 2009, 02:56:21 UTC
Raguel has got this one. Oh, he has so got this one. He actually runs a few steps into the outfield to snag the ball out of the air, then turns back with what can only be described as a gleeful snarl. Crowley is just coming up on second.
Re: Crowley at bataj_crawleySeptember 19 2009, 03:21:50 UTC
Correction: Crowley has just reached second, momentum forcing him into a skid on the turn.
There's a moment - just a moment, or even less - when Raguel's midway through whirling to face him and Crowley's halfway through his skid and half the crowd are still wondering where the hell the ball went, where time seems to slow and stretch out to breaking point and (just for a moment, or even less):
Crowley looks at the ball.
Raguel looks away down the basepath.
Their eyes meet across the base.
And then the dirt-spray kicks up between them and Crowley's gone again, streaking flat out towards third.
Re: Crowley at batun_fallenSeptember 19 2009, 03:30:54 UTC
OH. NO. YOU. DIDN'T.
Raguel is certain that there was a smirk somewhere in there - he as good as saw it - and he pelts after Crowley like a man on fire. Yelling like one, too. He tromps over second and keeps going, faster, the ball held up like a banner.
When everyone is ready, and a wayward demon bunny has been chased out of center field, play resumes.
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(Or it may just be because X doesn't have much of an expression ever.)
She lets the first pitch go by, but swings for the next one.
Strike one.
The third pitch is something X manages to get her bat behind, but she hits it a little too low and the ball pops up and to the right.
And up and even farther to the right.
Uh-oh.
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He runs sideways, eyes on the ball, glove extended. The ball's coming down, right at him. He thinks he's good to go, and then - THUNK - he's caught it.
Booth holds up the ball and then tosses it back to the pitcher.
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Maybe she'll have better luck next time.
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Once there, though, and in position, Crowley's fingers shift slightly against the bat as he makes sure of his grip.
It's his last turn at the plate, after all; time to make it count.
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The CRACK of ball against bat is ferociously, ear-splittingly loud, and it echoes against the distant treeline approximately a quarter of a second before the ball itself follows suit. It disappears into the dense ranks of tree-trunks, trailing behind it only the high, thin shriek of torn air, and a sad cloud of pine needles.
Hopefully, it's distracting enough that nobody notices it takes Crowley the whole rest of that second just to stop blinking at the hole.
The bat thunk-thunks into the dirt by his feet: once (the head), and twice (the grip).
And then the demon breaks for first like (if you'll pardon the expression) a bat out of Hell.
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At least the tree-line obscures the ball (and himself) enough to hide the fact that he didn't catch the ball before it finally touched down against the forest floor.
Nobody actually sees Carlisle throw the ball back to the diamond, and Carlisle can't even see who he is throwing to.
Just please someone catch it.
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This playing with superhumans is not really all it's cracked up to be.
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The ball's back in the hair.
Head down, elbows in, he flashes down the line towards second.
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(The comment has been removed)
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There's a moment - just a moment, or even less - when Raguel's midway through whirling to face him and Crowley's halfway through his skid and half the crowd are still wondering where the hell the ball went, where time seems to slow and stretch out to breaking point and (just for a moment, or even less):
Crowley looks at the ball.
Raguel looks away down the basepath.
Their eyes meet across the base.
And then the dirt-spray kicks up between them and Crowley's gone again, streaking flat out towards third.
Eat dust, Raguel.
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Raguel is certain that there was a smirk somewhere in there - he as good as saw it - and he pelts after Crowley like a man on fire. Yelling like one, too. He tromps over second and keeps going, faster, the ball held up like a banner.
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