And there, he awoke, his eyes remaining shut as always. The world's flow became visible, manifesting images and true sight. The empty pale soul of the being briefly flickered, fading back into his body.
He wore an outfit not unlike that of a baseball player from an early era, black and white. A long wooden bat in his hands, tapping the tip softly against the ground. The ballcap worn by the strange pale thing shadowed his eyes with supernatural darkness.
There was nothing, no compulsion or designated motion to do. The Batter examined his bat and noticed a spot where something had once been peeled off, leaving a bare x shape of disturbed material. He ran his hand down across it, smoothing it out and removing the discrepancy.
"Player?" he asked, receiving no indication of the being's presence.
It seemed, perhaps, it was not his turn. However, without one, what was he to do? If no-one was present, to tell him?
Someone spoke up, "Uh...hey, are...you a baseball player?"
The Batter turned to see a woman, her energy dancing rather than flowing, nor rising and falling.
"I'm The Batter," he said flatly.
"Uh...heh, well, I meant. Are you...part of a team?" she asked, confused. "Uhm...are you...lost?"
"No," The Batter replied, considering. "Early."
"Pardon?" she asked.
"I'm early," The Batter suggested before asking, "Are there any specters here?"
"Spectors...oh, spirits, looking for a drink?" the woman snickered and motioned. "There's a place you can find some, just down the street with the pretty neon sign. It's go-" The Batter walked past her. "O-oh uh...well, have a good day?"
He didn't bother to respond. If the Player was not there, it ultimately didn't change the reason for his existence. After all, he was meant to purify this world.
The Batter passed many distorted beings, debating if they were specters yet. He surmised he would get to them shortly. There was a den of spirits he had to attend to, after all. The Batter passing many confused or curious glancing people and many more who didn't care.
Coming to the door of the bar, The Batter examined the neon sign, glowing with a sugary light. Something inviting, tempting. A lure, perhaps, for foul spirits.
And then, he stepped inside, glancing around the room at creatures and twisted horrors that barely resembled humans. They talked, and chatted, they gurgled and screamed, unable to perceive their own agonized state, the wretched wastes, pitiful, worthless, and impure.
Gripping the bat tightly, The Batter shut the door. "Okay," he said. It was time to get to work.
The eyes, dual colored, examined the contents of the trashcan. Pilfering around in it, until something was produced. Leaning back over, the girl fall some. Wearing a blue, and purple striped shirt. With a dusty brown jacket on overtop it.
"Ow." Frisk muttered, while getting back up.
She had come in search of alcohol. Something needed to treat wounds apparently. A necessity given that Aliza had gotten sick, from her cuts. And thankfully, she found a half-filled bottle of something. Whiskey, according to the label.
She hoped briefly, that this would be the correct type. She knew there were many kinds of alcohol, after all. Stashing it in her jacket pocket, she heard a sound. Something ringing out like a gunshot, making her jump. Looking around, she didn't see anyone there.
Hurrying to the end of the alleyway, she came around to the front of the bar, and the street there. The people who had been present, having run off in a panic, at the sound. Assuring her it wasn't something imagined.
Before she could proceed further, the front door of the bar creaked open. Her eyes falling on a strange figure stepping out. It was... a baseball player. Like the kind seen on old cards. Only, his skin was pale, like his outfit. Save for the black parts of it, and the shadows that prevented her from seeing his eyes.
But a sound, like splashing, drew her attention. It echoed some, as the strange man stepped. Her eyes going to his feet, which splashed with bloody steps. His dark boots covered in crimson.
The girl froze, as the strangers turned towards her. She tried to come up with something to say. Something to do. And left with the feeling of rising tension, she ACTed.
"Are you in the outfield?" She asked nervously. "Because you're an angel."
The strange man was silent, longer than she liked. "No."
"Uhm...okay?" She asked, as he stepped, and she instinctively, stepped back.
The man walking past her. Her heart beating in her chest as he did so. The girl glancing at the door for a moment, and the bloody streaks that she could see beneath it. Swallowing hard, she quickly ran away.
Whatever was going on, she wasn't in any state to do something about it. Frisk glanced back as she ran, noticing that the man with the bat was watching her go. Inspiring her to run even faster through the city, as she tried to shove the thought from her mind.