Post by Roosevelt on May 31, 2013 23:39:03 GMT
Bottom of the ninth. Two outs, two strikes. Bases are loaded, and the other team is two runs ahead. The entire game is on the line, it's all about this one pitch, this one swing, and then the devil's own speed in the legs of your teammates. At least, that's how it felt. Roosevelt had found himself in a ruined mirror of the world he once knew, a world where nobody really laughed or played baseball, or any game for that matter. The only ones allowed to have fun were the Saiyans, and their tails would look stupid in baseball uniforms, if you could even fit that stupid hair under a cap. Forget about batting helmets entirely.
It was like one big, sick joke with no discernible punchline, just a whole lot of humans being slaves and everything being shitty.
At first he didn't understand why Dr. Clemens locked him away in a capsule that taught him about things other than baseball - about fighting, and protecting people, and making people happy in ways other than swinging a bat and running in a diamond and catching a ball and throwing that ball to a teammate or tagging a guy with that ball all depending upon where on the field you're standing. But once he'd stumbled across the halfway house, upon the Ghettian Settlement in general...He understood. People needed him, more than they had before. They needed more than just baseball.
Roosevelt was a decent fighter, but what he truly excelled at was getting from one place to another. This, combined with his ability to go unnoticed by ki senses, made him uniquely qualified as a courier. He could get a package from place to place very quickly, and without calling much attention, if any. And if he was stopped? He was pretty damn hard to catch, and could hold his own in a scrap if it came right down to it.
Today he was delivering something important. He'd delivered medicine and other medical supplies, letters of various importance (both for individuals and the resistance), and had even delivered human remains to be buried with respect. For him, this delivery outranked all of them. It was just a plain brown box, maybe 33 inches long, 20 inches wide, and 10 inches deep. It wasn't particularly heavy, it didn't bear any dangerous substance labels, it was quite nondescript. He'd recovered it from a craftsman who did commission work when the Saiyans weren't looking, and it was to be consigned to the Halfway House. Special Delivery Instructions? This box is not to be opened prior to delivery.
It should have been a simple job, even with its importance. Maybe it was that he was in a hurry, maybe it was just bad luck, but as he turned a corner on a back road he found himself face to face with two scarred, tattooed, and not-so-happy human men. One was picking his nails with a crude knife that looked like he'd forged it from a less crude knife. The other just folded his arms.
"Where you goin' in such a hurry?" said the one withe the knife.
"Always in a hurry, this'un." Said the one with folded arms.
"Wonder if he's got somethin' good in that box. Somethin' valuable."
"It's just linens." Roosevelt lied. He was a crappy liar.
"Bored now..."
"Hear that? My friend is bored. And when he gets bored, he gets punchy. Why not just entertain him by handing over the box?"
"I'm afraid that's just not going to happen."
No more words were spoken. The one with the folded arms reached out to grab the box, and Roosevelt swiftly pulled it away. The one with the knife lunged forward, blade first, but Roosevelt managed to easily dodge that one, too. These two looked tough, but ultimately they weren't much to bother with. Roosevelt shrugged, tossed the box into the air, and like a blur knocked each of them on their asses, with a couple of broken teeth to boot. He'd employed basic Wing Chun, straight out of Ip Man. It was child's play. He caught the box.
As he turned to leave, however, he found himself faced with what could only be described as the unwashed cavalry. At least a dozen thugs, all of them sharing the same demeanor as the two men he'd just homerunned, all eyeing his package. Roosevelt elected to run. They gave chase, and while most fell behind fairly quickly, a couple of them had clearly done this before. Roosevelt took corners tightly, jumped over dumpsters and slid under parked vehicles. He climbed and descended fire escapes and other edifices, only to find himself on the roof of a building, trapped, with two men who seemed much better trained and much more determined than the first two. One was armed with a chain, the other a lead pipe. They approached menacingly.
Their faces were hilarious when Roosevelt leapt off the roof with reckless abandon, and they cried out in fury, calling him a cheater as they watched him descend slowly and safely to the ground on what looked like wings of light. Finally, he'd lost them.
The rest of his trip was uneventful. He helped a child with a skinned knee, told a woman she looked lovely (even though she really needed a bath), and took a moment to enjoy the blue sky. When he arrived at the Halfway House, he gave the box to a woman in charge of the children living there. Together they watched the children open it, and pull out two wooden bats, a few leather gloves, and a crude but serviceable baseball. They seemed confused, but Roosevelt went down to one knee and looked each of them in the eye.
"Let me tell you about a man called Babe Ruth..."
It was like one big, sick joke with no discernible punchline, just a whole lot of humans being slaves and everything being shitty.
At first he didn't understand why Dr. Clemens locked him away in a capsule that taught him about things other than baseball - about fighting, and protecting people, and making people happy in ways other than swinging a bat and running in a diamond and catching a ball and throwing that ball to a teammate or tagging a guy with that ball all depending upon where on the field you're standing. But once he'd stumbled across the halfway house, upon the Ghettian Settlement in general...He understood. People needed him, more than they had before. They needed more than just baseball.
Roosevelt was a decent fighter, but what he truly excelled at was getting from one place to another. This, combined with his ability to go unnoticed by ki senses, made him uniquely qualified as a courier. He could get a package from place to place very quickly, and without calling much attention, if any. And if he was stopped? He was pretty damn hard to catch, and could hold his own in a scrap if it came right down to it.
Today he was delivering something important. He'd delivered medicine and other medical supplies, letters of various importance (both for individuals and the resistance), and had even delivered human remains to be buried with respect. For him, this delivery outranked all of them. It was just a plain brown box, maybe 33 inches long, 20 inches wide, and 10 inches deep. It wasn't particularly heavy, it didn't bear any dangerous substance labels, it was quite nondescript. He'd recovered it from a craftsman who did commission work when the Saiyans weren't looking, and it was to be consigned to the Halfway House. Special Delivery Instructions? This box is not to be opened prior to delivery.
It should have been a simple job, even with its importance. Maybe it was that he was in a hurry, maybe it was just bad luck, but as he turned a corner on a back road he found himself face to face with two scarred, tattooed, and not-so-happy human men. One was picking his nails with a crude knife that looked like he'd forged it from a less crude knife. The other just folded his arms.
"Where you goin' in such a hurry?" said the one withe the knife.
"Always in a hurry, this'un." Said the one with folded arms.
"Wonder if he's got somethin' good in that box. Somethin' valuable."
"It's just linens." Roosevelt lied. He was a crappy liar.
"Bored now..."
"Hear that? My friend is bored. And when he gets bored, he gets punchy. Why not just entertain him by handing over the box?"
"I'm afraid that's just not going to happen."
No more words were spoken. The one with the folded arms reached out to grab the box, and Roosevelt swiftly pulled it away. The one with the knife lunged forward, blade first, but Roosevelt managed to easily dodge that one, too. These two looked tough, but ultimately they weren't much to bother with. Roosevelt shrugged, tossed the box into the air, and like a blur knocked each of them on their asses, with a couple of broken teeth to boot. He'd employed basic Wing Chun, straight out of Ip Man. It was child's play. He caught the box.
As he turned to leave, however, he found himself faced with what could only be described as the unwashed cavalry. At least a dozen thugs, all of them sharing the same demeanor as the two men he'd just homerunned, all eyeing his package. Roosevelt elected to run. They gave chase, and while most fell behind fairly quickly, a couple of them had clearly done this before. Roosevelt took corners tightly, jumped over dumpsters and slid under parked vehicles. He climbed and descended fire escapes and other edifices, only to find himself on the roof of a building, trapped, with two men who seemed much better trained and much more determined than the first two. One was armed with a chain, the other a lead pipe. They approached menacingly.
Their faces were hilarious when Roosevelt leapt off the roof with reckless abandon, and they cried out in fury, calling him a cheater as they watched him descend slowly and safely to the ground on what looked like wings of light. Finally, he'd lost them.
The rest of his trip was uneventful. He helped a child with a skinned knee, told a woman she looked lovely (even though she really needed a bath), and took a moment to enjoy the blue sky. When he arrived at the Halfway House, he gave the box to a woman in charge of the children living there. Together they watched the children open it, and pull out two wooden bats, a few leather gloves, and a crude but serviceable baseball. They seemed confused, but Roosevelt went down to one knee and looked each of them in the eye.
"Let me tell you about a man called Babe Ruth..."
