Survival Of The Fittest

'Show me what you got...'

Isaiah brought steel baseball bat above his right shoulder, staring at the pitching machine. This was as close as a duelling a student got in the modern world, minus the guns, leather dusters, boots and cigarettes.

The ball was released silently. His weight shifted to his back leg and came forward with the bat in a blur of metal.

It connected to early and was launched high and to the right. Isaiah turned to his left as his body readied itself for a sprint. His weight shifted and his right leg stretched forward to begin his run. His eyes followed the ball.

'Foul ball, damn...' Isaiah whispered.

(Ema Ryan debut... well, excluding the prom.)

Sitting on a bench a few feet from Isaiah, a half-finished copy of World War Z in her right hand, Ema casually twisted the lollypop in her mouth with the thumb and forefinger of her left. Every so often, usually whilst turning a page, she casts a vaguely interested glance at the boy, amusing herself with internal wagers as to how he'll perform.
At least, 'glance' is what she thought she was doing, at some point, hard to say when, the girl didn't manage to look away again, and just sat watching, commenting under her breath "He sure looks like he takes this seriously..".

'Show me what you got...'

With a nod to nobody in particular, she confirms with herself that he definately takes this 'duel' very seriously indeed. Fully aware by that point that she's practically staring, Ema slides a bookmark into her novel, and deposits it back in her backpack so as to be able to at least watch properly. Her eyes traced the arc of the ball as he struck it, with the foreknowledge of a physics student that it's going 'out', assuming Isaiah's boundaries were the same as her own.

'Foul ball, damn...'

And after a shrug, Ema thought "Well, guess I owe myself a tenner now.", withdrew her book once again, and continued to read where she'd left off.

Isaiah turned to his left and glanced at the ginger girl on the bench. He expected a sarcastic remark to be fired at him.

The silence made him feel more uncomfortable than usual. He didn't mind people watching his performances, when they were good. He glanced at his watch, one of his nervous ticks. Why should I care what this white girl thinks?

He retraced his steps back to the pitching machine, dodging another ball as it was fired into the high net behind him. Once upon a time he would have fallen over or tried to catch it, but no cigar.

Another ball was released and Isaiah swung his bat, hitting the ball late this time, causing it to swing to the left. He didn't sprint and his mouth fell open. The ginger girl screamed as her book was knocked clean out of her hands.

'Oh man... Sorry!' he yelled, jogging towards the girl in an attempt to pick up her book.

As she saw Isaiah intended to get the fallen book for her, Ema decided to focus on assessing what had happened. Nothing major, really; she'd taken a stinging hit to the left shoulder, but it would be a bruise at the very worst, and probably wouldn't even hurt for long. The novel had seen better days too, but a few bent pages and a bit of dirt hardly rendered it 'broken'. So with a casual shrug, Ema simply replied that it was "No big deal, I should've known not to sit so close."

Hey Syph, just a friendly reminder from the staff to avoid godmodding, which includes controlling other people's characters or "calling shots" (stating whether someone is hit, their reactions, etc.) without approval from the other handler in question. If the other handler has given you permission, please put something to the tune of ((GMing of Ema approved)) at the start or end of your post. You're not in trouble; we'd just like to make sure you're up to speed on the rules. Thanks!

'No big deal, I should've known not to sit so close.' the girl replied.

Isaiah felt very bad, an overreaction that he had developed from his Christian upbringing. He needed to make the right. He leaned the bat against the bench and took a seat next to the girl. He picked up the ball and dropped it by the bat.

'I'm sorry again, girl. My swing should be better. Erm... I'm Isaiah...'

(GMing permission granted and whatnot.. I mean, it's just a baseball.)

'I'm sorry again, girl.'

She didn't find it annoying, not really, if anything it was a little bemusing to see an imposing, muscular black guy, over a foot taller than her, making such a fuss to apologise. But her reply feigned annoyance, her usual way of subtly trying to get someone to stop. "No, seriously, it's okay, don't worry about it."

After a short pause, most likely of awkward silence, Ema added "Eh, and I'm Ema, by the way.". Anyone with a sense of nationality would probably have noticed by now the girl's profound accent - not just the occasional word with a twang, no, she made a point of sounding Irish, not 'very' Irish, so to speak, just noticeably. It was one of those things she just did, subconsciously, out of some semi-conscious dislike of having moved to the States, along with obstinately using metric measurements, UK-English spellings and day/month/year dates. If she'd only been here a few weeks, it might be understandable, but after about four months, the point is pretty clear to anyone looking for it.

With a non-committal shrug, Ema decided to try to change to subject to something more casual and less apologetic. She nodded to Isaiah's bat, and noted "Nice bat. You're really into baseball, I guess?"

'No, seriously, it's okay, don't worry about it.'

The conversation was more awkward than he had anticipated, very much awkward. He didn't want to look bored or apprehensive considering he'd hit her with a baseball.

'Eh, and I'm Ema, by the way.'

He forced himself not to smile or chuckle. Ema... what a name. Her accent was distinctly different from what he expected. Isaiah thought quickly to make a guess. 'Do Europeans talk like that or is she from Boston?' Then he realised his thought process had been dreadfully slow.

'Nice bat. You're really into baseball, I guess?'

'Yeah, I am. It's was one of my childhood 'tings. I don't suppose that your a.. Red Sox fan, you err... sound like a Red Sox fan. I mean... you would be a Red Sox fan with your accent... what are you reading?

Choosing, probably for the best, to politely disregard the ramblings for now and instead just answer the last question, Ema tilted her book to show Isaiah the cover, and explained "World War Z," - with a 'zed', as opposed to a 'zee' - "It's about a zombie pandemic, really good if you're into the genre.. kinda disturbing otherwise. Heck, it's pretty offputting even for me."
She shuddered for a moment, casting her mind back to that delightful chapter concerning the cannibal campers, before changing the subject to something a little more palateable. "But yeah, I'm more of a tennis person, myself. I never really liked other sports all that much, but tennis keeps my interest." She pondered for a few seconds, clearly trying to remember something else to say, until she finally adds "Aren't the Red Sox the ones that memetically never win the series?"

Isaiah was a little taken aback by her response. He had of course read one or two books on the subject but hardly expected a girl like her to read it. She was very well read, in fact, her vocabulary forced him to concentrate more one what she was saying.

'Yeah, that book seems pretty spooked for me to read. My Pa would not approve! Do you play tennis professionally then?'

Isaiah had not met anyone who had played tennis, there were few players or courts in St Paul.

"Professional? Yeah, that'd be the day. Do I look like an athlete to you?" Ema replied, near instantly, and rather scathingly too. Hastily clarifying, she added "Nah, I just follow it, I used to try playing, but I sucked." She sighed then, looking up at the thin sheet of white covering the sky. She truly had tried to be good at something other than being a science nerd, but it just didn't seem to work for her. The negative response to not even trying seemed much milder than to failing as abysmally as she had in the past, so it made more sense to her to just give up.

Lifting a hand to throw some shade on her pale face - as the sun had just emerged from behind the clouds, shining in a most unpleasant manner into Ema's eyes - the small girl tried to change the subject, not really one to enjoy dwelling on her athletic failings. "So, your 'Pa'.. he's not such a horror fan then? Why not?"

((Belated Edit.. no offense, but this thread really has died a death.))

And conveniently - or not, depending on your angle - fate would have it that mere moments after the question passed her lips, Ema's phone buzzed in her pocket. After a hasty "Sorry, I just need to.." and a few seconds of rummaging, she withdrew the handy gadget from her pocket and checked it. A text message, so nothing urgent, unless...
"Sorry, I've gotta go, important stuff." she explained, well, hardly an explanation if it's that vague, but nonetheless, 'important stuff' is more descriptive than nothing at all. And so the girl gathered up her belongings, put the bookmark into World War Z, and hurried off towards the school's main building.

((And so, Ema Ryan continued in the magical land of elsewhere.))