REFLECTION IN THE WINDOW ACROSS THE STREET WIP:

(NOTE: This is a Work In Progess (WIP) of a blaseball fan fiction over two characters, Clare Ballard II and (The un-named stranger) Agan Espinoza. The main focus of this is supposed to be Clare Ballard's deal of being a replica (READ: clone) of someone from pre-history that the general public has limited knowlege of.)

The end of the world is a confusing time. This is somewhat obvious and self evident, wouldn't be much of an ending if it wasn't. 

What Clare means is that it is so incredibly easy to slip out of the vault if you time it right, since things are confusing and for all that stack of boxes tries its best to catalog everyone, it really can't keep up with its workload with everything else going on.

This is why she's on the subway, going to the only place they know of as home. Just to visit, before, well, whatever's going to happen. It's still odd to think of the Apartment as home in any way, the same odd way being around New York always is. Something has changed at some point, she always feels deeply, despite not knowing when or how or even what about it is different. Deja Vu, almost. If it can be called that.

Regardless of whatever nonsense juggles around in the back of her head, they want to be able to see everything again, even if now she can actually tell the differences. Two years is a long time to be away, for someone who knows nothing else.

The subway is more or less the same, at least. The ads have been swapped since the last time they were here, but the seating is the same, and the structure is the same, and the stain on the wall at the station near the apartment is still there too.

A couple of restaurants on the street above ground have been changed to something else, all of them with closed signs in the windows to match every other storefront in the area. The apartment is the same, at least on the outside.

Other than, like, the weird blue glowy thing going on around it.

There's some nonsense about metaphysical travel about, and Clare hasn't really gotten it at all despite that being all that the casters yap about over all the recent games they've managed to catch. Ugh, can everyone just go back to that nonsense about more suns? That was about as far as they wanted to keep up with the new decrees. If this was a decree in the first place? Whatever.

Other than the glow, which she's henceforth ignoring until they can't, there's also someone she doesn't recognize loitering on the steps.

The first noticeable thing about them is that they're holding their drink in that way that tends to make certain people panic at it. One handedly, only holding the lid that's sticking to the rest of the cup through some force of will. Clare is not one to panic at it. Although they feel like they knew some people that would, not that they can remember their names or anything else important, thanks brain.

The second thing, and probably the thing they should have noticed first, is that they're smoking slightly. From their body, not like, smoking something. It drifts off in waves, without any sign of where it's coming from, and easily dissipates in the wind. Man, smoke detectors must hate this person.

The third thing is that they're definitely wearing a Mill's uniform, which means that they actually probably live here and aren't just sitting on the porch because it looks comfortable or something. This also means that Clare will have to talk to this person before entering the Apartment because they've noticed her staring and are making eye contact. Geez.

As Clare gets to the first step their eyes widen a bit, like blaseballs or dinner plates or however that saying goes. 

"What– I thought–?" They stumble over their words, blinking at them before shaking their head and starting over, "Uh, I mean, sorry. I thought you were someone else for a moment. Do you need me to fetch someone for you?"

"No," Claire lingers at the step, "Just, you know, visiting."

Suddenly, Clare feels their nerves fray, just a bit. 

How different is the team now? They sort of recognise the person in front of them from--somewhere else, something like that--but who's to say how many unfamiliar faces will face her once she goes up those steps. Will the wallpaper of the entrance even be the same? Her room--she hasn't even thought of it--most likely someone else's now, if it even exists at all anymore.

They scuff their shoes on the step. The stranger watches over their drink. they sip, a short stint of wrist movements to make the straw reach. A politely interested expression rests evenly on their face.

"Is it cool," Clare asks, "If I sat out here with you for a moment?" 

Just long enough to steel herself again.

"Sure. It's not like I can stop you or anything."

They laugh, a light jaunty thing, and scoot over when Clare makes to sit down next to them. Doesn't even blink at the dust that shakes off of her at the action.

The concrete is cold, as is the rest of the environment this time of year. The smoke billowing off the person next to them rises, slowly, eventually fading into the backdrop of overcast clouds. Clare cranes her neck up to track its path. 

She's seen something like this before. In videos, the aftermath of an incineration often leaves the same smoldering results, but here, in the calm wind and against the noise of the city proper, it seems calm.

Motion in the corner of her eyes has her turning back towards the other, who stretches their free wrist. Rolling, one way and then the other, lolling off where they rest their arm on their knee. Clare knows that movement. 

Quite suddenly they are able to place why, exactly, they felt that they've seen this person before.

She should have been able to recognize them instantly. How many other players have they seen with smoke flowing off of them? The change in uniform, as weak as a defense it sounds, must have messed them up. Curse their lack of practice in people changing looks, this is what she gets for seeing only unchanging, preserved players for a year. They certainly look less intimidating with their dark blue and gold being replaced with the soft pink of the Mill's. 

Although, admittedly, being in the shadows of the Vault Legends didn't give them a good look at the other anyways. They remember, though, crystal clear, when rewatching the game that the camera swung over to the Star's dugout suddenly, tracking the player with her name, almost-- almost her name, lunging over the bench to snatch a disk marking a run and disappearing again into the tunnels with a grin. When the camera lingered for just a beat too long, the caster working themselves up over the upset, that one of the players in frame laughed, rolling their wrists the exact same way. 

A habit, probably picked up some time so long ago it seems almost impossible that it even existed to Clare.

Across the street, someone is walking their dog. The two's pace is slow, down the concrete covered hill. Clare's eyes track them, the relaxed gate, the bounce of the leash.

"Do you..." She starts, pauses, starts over, "Who did you mistake me for?"

The other hums at their side. The ice bumping against the plastic of their cup filling the brief silence between that and when they start talking.

"Well, I didn't really know her personally. More of just someone that was well known in general, you know?"

The dog across the street pauses to sniff at something, the owner indulgently letting them.

The other continues after taking a sip, "You do look similar, but I knew you weren't her 'cause she has a beauty mark on her face."

Claire touches her cheek without really thinking about it, almost as if now that it's been spoken the mark would appear under her fingertips. She doesn't even know if she's touching the right spot.

She tried not to look hard at her-- at the other person who almost has her name when watching the replays, but she should have noticed something like that. The angles on the camera must have been wrong, or the resolution too grainy to make out something small like that.

"I mean." The other continues, "It was drawn on, obviously. She didn't have it during the first season. Actually, the rumor mill had a bit of a field day with it. Not much else light to talk about, you know? So a bunch of people went to town on such an otherwise ordinary thing."

When they got their first paycheck, Claire went and bought some waterproof mascara at a pharmacy. They remember feeling like they were supposed to do something more with it after lining their eyes.

Mystery solved, thank you terrible muscle memory. Ugh.

"That's silly." Claire says, because it was.

"Yeah." They laugh, "It is, isn't it."