trans_9 | Life outside the diamond is a wrench

Today, the sensoriums are decked out like a baseball field, enshrouded in conifers. A storm rumbles overhead and while there may not be any vampires hanging around, Supermassive Black Hole could quite possibly be playing in the background. And Peter Parker, decked out in a Meatship Mets jersey, could quite possibly be dancing his way up to the plate.

"... and now Parker steps up to bat," he commentates peppily to himself, "It's been a tough start to the season for the young Forest Hills leadoff. The coaches are attributing his bad form to an unfortunate case of abduction but at only twenty one, he's certainly got pluck."

From the mound a pitching machine groans into life and spits out its first ball. There's a resounding crack as he drives the ball squarely down centerfield, his spider-strength powering the ball way off into the trees.

"We caught up with Parker after the game for a few words on his magnificent opening punt post-game." he continues, "'Well, what can I say Kent? After the last few misfires we decided to keep play simple this time around. I just play to my strengths, Kent. I've got a good arm and as my uncle taught me, with great power comes great responsibility...'"

So, anyone up for a game of metabaseball? Somebody has to shut him up.

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"You don't sparkle, either." Wyn points out. "... not that I'm suggesting you start. OD'ed-on-glitter-lotion is not a good look for anyone." She enters the Sensorium and walks up to the fence behind home plate, plantsuit shifting into a pair of black skinny jeans and a bright blue t-shirt.

"It does seem a little conspicuous for vampires to go around leaving glitter snail-trails," he muses, swinging at the next ball, before offering her the bat, "I'm not sure who'd ever follow a glitter trail. A peckish Hansel and Gretel, I guess. You wanna go?"

Wyn nods. "Yeah, real vampires are much more subtle." Is that sarcasm? Probably. Wyn's only met one vampire, and he played up the Dracula thing for all it was worth. (He thought it was hilarious. Other people were a bit less amused.)

"I don't know how." she says, hands in her pockets. "I was just investigating."

"That's debatable. I mean, Drac's still wandering around in periodwear." Touché.

He holds the bat a little closer, "Well how 'bouts you investigate the flying balls with the business end of this stick?"

"I said real vampi-- oh." Much as she'd like to deny it, Wyn can be a bit of a dumb blonde sometimes. Not realizing that she's talking to Spiderman? That counts as a blonde moment, as does trying not to immediately launch into fangirl mode.

"Um. Yeah, this isn't going to end well." she mutters, reluctantly taking the bat and stepping up to the plate.

Hey, it's not like his expecting to be recognised without his costume. The whole 'you're a comic book archetype' schtick hasn't yet been properly explained to him. He's just doing the terribly Spiderman-like thing of assuming everyone knows what the hell he's talking about.

Peter jogs over to the pitching mound and takes a ball from the machine, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

Of course, for a man with the proportionate strength of a spider, that's not all that easy. He reaches bag and lofts her a ball at what he thinks is a moderate speed.

Wyn is playing baseball with Spiderman. That will probably never not be awesome-- at least, until a ball comes flying at her. That's slightly less awesome.

She swings, just a second too late, and the ball hits the fence behind her with a 'thump'. "Yeah, 'going easy on me'." she says, giving the bat an irritably thoughtful look. She might as well test her theory now... the only thing that could go wrong is that she gets hit by a baseball. She sketches two curved lines stacked on top of one another right in front of home plate, humming quietly to herself.

She's pretty sure using magic is cheating. She's also pretty sure she doesn't really care.

"Steeeeeeeeee-rike one!" he cries, picking out another ball.

Watching her sketching out on the field gets him chuckling, "You know, I don't think remarking the base is going to help you with my madskills. I can't help being this good."

He lines up his pitch and punts a solid ball over to her.

Wyn watches the ball travel closer and closer to home plate, then throws her hands in the air as it rebounds off of a curved forcefield and hurtles towards the outfield. "I dunno, that seemed to help." Wyn says, grinning. She was right!

"... definitely overestimated how fast it was going, though." she continues slightly sheepishly, marking out the first line.

"I don't think we can really call this a sport anymore," Peter observes, firing a ripcord of webbing after the errant ball. They meet with a dull 'thwap!' and he yanks the ball back to the mound.

"Is Pong a sport? It's kind of like Pong, except with more magic." Wyn asks thoughtfully, rubbing out the marks in the dirt altogether. "Anyway, sorry, using you as kind of a guinea pig for this theory I had." Your regularly scheduled failed-attempts-at-playing-baseball can now resume broadcast.

Edited 2009-09-01 23:35 (UTC)

"No, but Quidditch is." he grins, "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Peter."

"I don't think we have either, although I'm bad with names anyway. I'm Wyn." Do not try a pun based on her nickname, Peter, because she has heard them all. Many times.

"Won what?"

"The name lottery, apparently." Wyn says, shooting Peter an irritable glare.

"Hey, it could be worse. You could be called Taxi." evidently long stretches of time on bioships diminishes Spider-Man's ability to quip effectively, "And don't worry about the magic. I'd have a pretty unfair advantage otherwise."

And that joke just flew right over Wyn's head. "Trouble is, Wyn's a nickname. It is worse."

"... maybe something a bit less giant-wall-of-magic-ish, though, because that's no fun either."

"I'm used to playing ball with Doctor Strange and he doesn't know how to do anything that isn't giant-wall-of-magic-ish. Sorceror's are such showoffs."

"You're telling me. I was at uni with about a hundred and fifty sorcery students, and it seems like they all need a pink sparkly top hat and three hours of chanting to get anything done. Eventually, you just say 'we get it! You're a sorceror! Call me when you've finished' and go do something productive." Wyn says exasperatedly.

"Yeah," he lines up and hurls her another ball, a little easier this time so that she'll be able to hit it without having to shout expelliarmus, "You'd think they'd have abridged versions of some of these incantations."

Life outside the diamond is a wrench

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