And now for something completely different! I've known about OFF for a while now, but I've only just gotten around to playing it. So have some celebratory Batterie. Sort of. I haven't actually finished the game yet but I just couldn't resist writing something about these adorable little assholes. Enjoy and please review!
We're All Mad Here
Chapter 1
Batter hated the hospital. No, that wasn't quite true; it was clean and white and everything was in its proper place, and he liked that. He might have lived there quite happily, provided that he was left to his own devices. It was the people he couldn't stand, always poking and prodding and asking questions and talking to him in stupid insipid voices as if he were a child. And he hated the boredom. Especially the boredom. It would have driven him mad, but thanks to his fucked up brain that particular ship had sailed quite some time ago.
Batter lay upside down on his bed, throwing a ball at the ceiling. There were several sheets of exercises on the desk beneath the window, pages of meaningless black scratches sent over by his school. They were all untouched. He was bored, yes, but not that bored.
There was a small dent in the ceiling directly above Batter's head. He aimed the ball, flicked it upwards with a satisfying thunk, and caught it easily in his other hand. He could do this all day if he had to.
"You are going to have to talk to me eventually, son," said his therapist, an enormously fat man who insisted that Batter call him Enoch. Batter thought this was rich, seeing as Enoch refused to call him anything but son. Batter hated it, and he hated Enoch. Enoch wasn't his father. He wasn't even a doctor. He was just a lardass with a notebook. Batter pretended the dent was one of the pockmarks on Enoch's moonlike face, and threw the ball again, smiling.
"You do want to go home, don't you, son? Back to school?"
Why the fuck would he want to do that? Home was stained for him now. His mother was terrified of him. His friends were terrified of him. Well, at least they would be. If he had any. School didn't interest him. The only thing he had ever had to go back to was his baseball team, but he'd fucked that up this time, too. They wouldn't want him back now. Not after this got out.
He threw the ball again, harder this time, vehemently, and missed the dent by about an inch.
"Of course you do. And that was the deal, remember? You take your meds, you rehabilitate, and you talk to me. There's no way around it, son, it's all part and parcel."
I'm not your son, Batter wanted to scream. I don't want to go home or back to school. And I don't have to talk to you. So stop pretending you know shit about what's going on in my mind, lardass.
He knew it was childish, but he couldn't have cared less. Enoch could go to hell. They all could. He threw the ball again, then again, and again, faster and faster until it was nothing but a white smear across his eyes and time blurred. By the time he finally missed a catch his palms were stinging, the plaster above his head had begun to crumble, and Enoch's chair was empty.
Batter smiled to himself, then rolled off his bed to retrieve the ball.
Yeah, these chapters are probably gonna be a lot shorter than in my other stuff. Could be a good thing, could be bad; we'll see how it goes. Sorry to all those who were expecting Zacharie to make an appearance in this chapter, but you know what they say about good things and those who wait ;) ~reviewreviewreview~