#first base

The story starts out with the MC complaining about their college life, finding it boring and deciding to go out to more college events to put themselves out there. They end up waiting out in the shade at a baseball game before nearly getting hit in the face with a baseball. They are saved by Dakota, the star baseball player who starts to flirt with the MC afterwards which leads to a date with him. After accepting (either immediately or with a bit of coercing), the two of them decide to meet up for lunch the next day, realizing that they have a crush on him. They read a copy about The Taming of the Shrew as they judge the characters for being so easily manipulated with all the characters being bad people, not understanding the controversy that it talks about. The MC greets Dakota outside of their house with Dakota driving the two to a cafe nearby called the Brookbread Cafe. The two order their foods (with Dakota ordering the same as the MC). The two chat about things like how Dakota would eat pretty much any food before talking about how he got into baseball. We learn from Dakota that he got into baseball when his dad introduced him to a lot of sports when he was younger, until he discovered his natural talent for baseball, to the point where even his major is related to baseball. After getting the two's food, we learn that the MC is majoring in psychology, and starts to analyze Dakota's body language, seeing him as confident, however, that he either might be nervous/defensive but was trying to hide it before turning and stating that it could just be a comfortable position when seeing Dakota's face turn dark. You can either talk about your hobbies or ask about Dakota's. Asking about Dakota's, we find that he doesn't really have any hobbies outside of baseball, and the MC suggest the two go axe throwing, leading them to exchange numbers. Afterwards, Dakota drives the MC home and while there, Dakota asks for a second date which the MC happily obliges to. Dakota gives the MC flowers before leaving the MC happy about their date.

Like I said, I played this demo the first time that it came out, but it didn't have anything I could really talk about (it was pretty much just the scene where he catches the baseball before asking the MC on a date), so now it's nice that there's more to talk about. For Dakota, there's not a whole bunch on the yandere side, just lines of him wanting to to know more about the MC, but the sentiment is still there, I suppose. I think this will likely be more of a slow burn since we don't get to see that much of it as of current, though I'm not sure what the game will lead to in the future.

The MC is pretty standard as things go, tired of school, instantly falls for Dakota, that kind of thing. I will say that the part where they are actually in psychology is probably the most interesting part, seeing that they're able to analyze (and pretty accurately too) Dakota's behavior just from one single body action. I hope that this kind of thing comes into play later because I feel like that might be really good for if Dakota ends up doing anything to the MC (such as kidnap or drug them) since they might be able to notice it. I think currently that's the trait I'm most interested in, so seeing that be echoed throughout the rest of the game later on would be really cool. Since I did like the MC in the creator's previous game, Bleeding Canvas, I'm hoping that this one will be the same (though probably not a cannibal like in that game).

As for Dakota, we get to learn a bit more about him as well. It seems like his entire life is pretty much just focused on baseball, with very little else that occupies his time, and we get to learn how he got into it in the first place. I think it would be neat if perhaps this is played into his reason for being a yandere for the MC, like he's sick of baseball or he finally is able to get the same type of fulfillment that he has towards baseball that he does towards the MC. Something that could save him from the life he knows kind of thing. I might be looking a bit into it since he does seem to try to act confidentially towards the MC, but as they reveal, perhaps he might not be as confident as he tries to make it out to be. Could be an interesting point to explore in the future.

If you asked Diego, he had ruined his chance at a story, right from the start of it. Five basic questions. Five basic questions, and you could spin a story from almost anything. Six, if you were willing to do some legwork. But could he answer them? No.

Who? Diego and… someone else, presumably. Not anywhere in his field of vision, but there was no better theory. Only way he could explain the “what” of his current predicament.

What? Rope, mainly. Diego flexed against the binding around his chest—not struggling, yet, just a test. Snug, but not painful. Hands bound behind him, tighter. Could still feel his hands, though. That was a plus. Nothing removed from his person, but he had been traveling light, so there was nothing much to take. No gag, and no blood behind his teeth. Courteous of them, really.

When? Hard to tell a specific timeframe. If there were windows, they shone no light into the space. Nighttime, then? No. Too many assumptions, not enough facts.

Where? Well, that was the thing about a kidnapping. Or was it an abduction? Diego had always been a little fuzzy on the technical difference. This was definitely a secondary location, as they went. Not like he knew Wicked’s Rest well enough to guess at where he had been taken from.

Why? Million-dollar question. Thanks for asking. Try back later.

How? Diego thought. Thought hard. Gave himself a low, thrumming headache from the effort to bring up a single memory of how he had gotten into this particular situation, but nothing. Nada.

So, where to start? Which of the questions was most crucial for building this out, piecing together his memory? Well, that was simple enough. Diego had to find out who was playing opposite him in this little tableau. 

Diego cleared his throat, hoping to draw attention from wherever they were lurking. His voice, though, caught on an attempt at a word and came out rough, balanced between coughing and choking. Alright, first, maybe another, more important question: “Could I have some water, please?”

—

Siobhan had one chance. You couldn’t exactly kidnap someone twice, that was embarrassing. Or, was this an abduction? The semantics were unimportant, the facts weren’t: her last two kidnappings/abductions/amputations were disappointing. Sure, she had fond memories of the agonized screams of an old man, but what she wanted was his utter submission to her. What she got was his leg. She did not have fond memories of the leprechaun and she had even less to show for that kidnapping. This time, she wasn’t interested in limbs. This time, she wasn’t shoving him into a closet. This time, she’d get someone to beg. 

She picked this one carefully: someone who was normal enough, new enough to town, young enough to care about his life. She watched him, not through his windows—she had standards—but around town. He had a nice smile, she liked that about him; she wanted to see how nice his frown was. How nice could she make it? He seemed so regular to her, and the regular men cried the loudest. How loud could she make him? When he was desperate to do anything, what could she make him say? She was going to turn this boy inside out. 

It would start like this: in the old factory, with the windows boarded up, the doors shut so the stink of rot and iron lingered, the purr of an old generator and a black cord twisting up to a single lamp pitched over a table full of metal. Knives, saws, needles, pins, wrenches, hammers. Siobhan believed in ceremony; she didn’t pluck him from the street like some common abductor, she didn’t pick him at random like some half-rate serial killer. She had one chance and he was going to give her everything she wanted. 

Siobhan kicked a bucket forward, water sloshing over the rim as it teetered to a stop a foot away from his chair. The chair wasn’t tied to anything; she liked when they wiggled. “Since you asked so nicely,” she said. 

She stepped forward. The lamp wasn’t pitched high enough to show her face but just so to catch her long, bare legs trailing into her short, black dress and the blue, latex gloves dangling in her hand. She hoped all of her rehearsals were paying off. It was all about the ceremony. 

“I imagine you have questions,” she said. “I’ll let you ask one.” She smacked the gloves on her open palm. “If I find it boring…” She started pulling the gloves on. 

—

One question? Only one? Well, damn. Diego wanted to make it count. Had to, if the woman was to be believed. He was grateful, in a way, that she had not held his question about water against the count. Still, he had to think about it, if only to stall, take in new information.

He regarded the bucket.

… The bucket was a bit much, right? There was a theatrical appeal, he supposed, but surely the bucket itself cost more than bottled water—and it had to be carried from a spigot. What if his abductor slipped on the water? It seemed like a lot of effort for a minimal return. And did she, what, intend for Diego to get to his knees and lap the water up?

Oh. Right. She did. Interesting. Curious, even.

Well, he was a beggar, not a chooser, and he was certainly not the one leading the charge, here. Diego kicked his heels against the floor, pushing the chair back, forth, and back, again, before letting gravity carry him—and the chair—forward onto the ground. It groaned in protest, or maybe that was Diego. Inching forward, he squirmed for a better angle, frustrated at the chair impeding his movement. He was usually much more flexible in these situations. Absurdly, Diego hoped that this part was still fun to watch, even for a potential aficionado like her. How would she find him? Amateurish? Lacking?

He considered his approach, face-to-face with his prize. Kitten licks? Or would she prefer sloppy, but enthusiastic? Normally, he would ask for feedback, listen and switch it up. But maybe in this case, it would be best to…? No. No faltering. If his abductor leaned theatrical, commitment was key, no matter the choice.

Diego dunked his face fully in the bucket.

When he came up for air, he landed at a strange angle, half-hunched. His eyes trailed up her pale legs to the swell of her— Well, it was a bit difficult to see from this angle, actually, but all information, all evidence, was pointing to one conclusion. Diego blinked up at her, smile growing. Now, it was a fifty-fifty on if the water dripping from his face was working for him, he figured, but there was something to be said for enigmatic allure. His abductor knew that, knew that her face would turn this all more definite. Best to preserve the fantasy. The question crystallized, stunning in its simplicity.

“So… Come here often?”

—

The reactions were always a little different; each human had their own unique way of begging for their lives that revealed their values. She’d been offered cash, told about children, screamed at, given outlandish promises to have her every wish obeyed. But push a human to the edge of their meaningless life and boundaries suddenly evaporated, identities shattered and all that was ever left were the same crying husks begging to be spared. In the end, they were all animals. It could start in a different place but it never ended that way. 

She’d start with the knife: it was sensible, sharp, good for cutting things off. Then she’d see if he was ready to start playing with her. She didn’t want to kill him. Killing was boring—and anyway, killing was work. This wasn’t a work call. She didn’t want to hurt him either, not exactly, but who could blame her if she got carried away? Look at that adorable face. Look at that adorable face…coming closer? Moving on the chair. Going down, face first into the bucket with what could only be described as enthusiasm. Siobhan lurched forward, reflexively darting to pull his face out before he drowned and robbed her of the privilege of doing it herself. 

He pulled his face out, water dripping down his scruff. There was something artful about the way he managed to flip his wet hair out of his face, and something alluring about watching a defiant strand slip from the top of his head and fall back on his face. Siobhan blinked at him, wide-eyed. Fates, she’d caught a weird one. This happened on occasion; throw a hook into an irradiated lake and sometimes you pulled up a fish with three eyes.

Quelling her surprise, she realized she’d stepped fully into the light and ruined at least twenty steps of her careful plan. Well, she’d always preferred to improvise anyway. “As a matter of fact I do,” she said. “It’s the ambiance; helps me answer those boring emails.” She leaned down and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, embroidered with her initials in the Victorian fashion: Siobhan Asphyxia Dolan. She typically forwent mentioning her middle name.

Siobhan held his chin gently in her hand, angling his face to her, as she wiped the water away. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?” You had to talk to the weird ones softly, they were prone to getting confused. 

—

The water was working for him—the wide-eyed look on his captor’s face told Diego that he had won that particular coin flip. And what lovely eyes they were, brown approaching black in the dim light, set in a face that, in his (correct) opinion, needed to be carved into marble by a true craftsman. He had lucked out; her mistake was only to his benefit, if she would have him.

And she was funny, too—what a delight! He held back his laughter, not wanting to ruin the moment. Diego had never considered it before, how you might go about arranging this sort of thing, but emails would have been… lower on his list of guesses. Too easy to trace back to a source, for one, and he would imagine a degree of anonymity was part of the thrill. How else would he have ended up in this situation, if she had known exactly what her partner was supposed to look like? 

Still, to actually answer emails here? It was dark, of course. Quiet. Easier to compartmentalize, keep all elements contained to the room where “it” happened, so to speak. And, well, Diego could not begrudge her for not wanting to take all of this, as intriguing as it was, into her home out beyond these derelict walls. While he had always had trouble sorting the many facets of his life into separate boxes, exceptionally likely to mix the personal, professional, and pleasurable, it did not mean others were so burdened.

Diego took note of the handkerchief, a tender touch amid the rough scene that had been laid before him. Embroidery spoke to sophistication—a high-class woman, then, not eager to show this side of her personality to a world that would not understand her proclivities? If that were the case, it was especially important that she know, before this went any further, that he was not—

Her hand on his chin, damn. Diego had always been weak for that. And, well, he was only human. It had… been a while since he had been in this position. Or any position, for that matter. Thoughts of an explanation drifted from his mind, briefly carried away by her careful caress, sparks licking up the base of his spine. He pressed his face into her hand, eyes fluttering, breath caught on a pleasant hum. But, no. No! He had to resist. 

“I do,” Diego said, finally. “I do know why I’m here.” He was not strong enough to push away from her, so instead pressed his lips to her palm, a soft, mute apology, before meeting her eyes, hoping to etch sincerity into his every action. “But there’s another who’s meant to be here tonight. And as happy as I am to play his part—and, really, I am—I think it’s important that we get off on the right foot if this is going to continue.”

Please let it continue.

—

Siobhan was rarely surprised; at over a hundred years old it was hard to be surprised by anything. Surprise bore novelty and the flame of novelty was one she could never ignore. Burning her metaphorical wings on the fire made her feel like something. It wasn’t that she couldn’t describe it, it was exactly that: she felt like something. Often she felt that if she reached her hands down inside of herself, she’d fall inside and fall for the rest of time surrounded by an empty abyss. The man said something that none of her branching possibilities accounted for, after he’d done something that she hadn’t expected him to do; suddenly, he was interesting and that was a terrible, terrible thing.

She squished his cheeks so his lips puckered like a fish. Three eyes, she thought. He kissed her hand. Perhaps he was a little more than weird. Siobhan dropped his face and shook out her hand as though she’d been burned—she was burning. Burning with curiosity, burning with suspense, burning with suddenly wholeness in her bones. She was feeling things. 

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Her voice cracked—she couldn’t help it. She had the sudden, stabbing desire to unscrew the top of his head like a bottle; skip the line and read his mind directly instead of flapping on the end of his hook. Of course, if she did it, she’d only find wrinkles and brain juice. Today was not a brain juice sort of day. “You’re the one I wanted,” she said, her voice cracking again. She forgot where she was and what she’d abducted (kidnapped?) this man for. Her big brown eyes were wet; her long lashes fluttered.

He was going to give her something new: a new game to play, a new way to forget, a new way to live. She quivered, ever impatient. He needed to speak soon before she ripped the words out of his throat. 

—

Diego had not expected her to drop her hand from his face. Irrationally, he missed the touch. But, once boundaries were discussed, it would return; the absence would only make its reappearance sweeter.

“I mean,” he said. “I’ve put it together. All of it.” Diego took the crack in her voice for what it might be—breaking character, unsure if this was an elaborate bit. It was nothing close. There were few moments in his life that Diego could recall approaching with more gravity than this. (Though his head throbbed when he tried to recall them. He would note that, maybe, if he were less absorbed in the moment.) “I know we haven’t established safewords, and I wouldn’t usually break the scene, but let’s talk person-to-person. My color is yellow, not red.”

Despite that assurance, Diego worried that she would take his caution for cold feet, and so rambled on, tone thoughtful, “You’re newer to all of this, I guess? I do not mean that as an insult; it just means you’re bound to make mistakes. But it doesn’t seem like this is your first time doing a scene. I mean, I feel the thrill of it all, the excitement. And your ropework is exceptional. Honestly, when we’re finished here, I’d love for you to teach me. I’ve always wanted to learn. Again, really, I am sure that he would have had a fantastic time. I can see why he was drawn in.” He flashed her another smile. The big reveal was coming, time to face the music. “But, ah, I did not set this up. Whoever you, um. Whoever you had been talking to? He’s still out there, waiting for you to sweep him off his feet. Literally, I guess.”

He held his breath for a moment, and then added, a little self-conscious of interrupting the mood, “Usually, I mean, if I’m looking for a night of fun, even a particularly kinky one, I visit a bar, or a club. No judgment, of course! I know it must be hard to meet people in a small town. Especially for something like this. And if you’re good to continue, so am I. But we should hash out a couple of details. Safe, sane, and consensual, right?”

—

The light had never left Siobhan’s eyes as quickly before. She’d expected nothing and yet disappointment hardened to a stone in her stomach, urging her to curl up on the ground and scream. She had just enough propriety left to stay standing, albeit a little wobbly around the knees. She felt as though her skeleton had packed up (bindle over its scapula) and clomped away. It would not be coming back. “Yes,” she said, more than a little dead inside. “You’re right.” 

She did not explain that, had kink been her plan, she would’ve… well, the set-up would’ve been similar, she gave him that. She was known to love a little roleplay. Siobhan reached down, picking up his chair and by unfortunate circumstance—as he was tied to the chair—the man as well. “It is my first time,” she said, walking behind him, hoping that her frown couldn’t be heard through her voice. “Was I so obvious?” She swung her knife down, slicing through the ropes that bound him. He was free and she was embarrassed. 

All she could do was agree with him; his theory was outlandish but no more so than her true reasoning. In fact, his harebrained, horny concoction made more sense. She wanted him to surprise and he’d done just that, and yet, he’d hollowed her out. This wasn’t what she wanted, but all rebuttals and explanations had evaporated from her mind. She didn’t know what to do. She felt foolish. If she turned around and told him that all she wanted was his fear, he’d think it was an aspect of their “scene”. If she put her knife to his throat, he’d probably tell her that he liked knifeplay, actually. Siobhan had kidnapped this man but she was the woman trapped. 

“Go,” she said, turning to him; her shoulders were sagged into her body. “Run along.” Siobhan couldn’t even look at him. “It is really hard to meet people,” she said dejectedly. She was thinking about how perfectly she felt that she’d plucked this man: he was new, he was young. How silly she’d been. “I didn’t have your consent from the top; it would be wrong to continue. I’d like to do it right,” she said. She was thinking about kidnapping someone else, but suddenly the idea was as fatiguing as a mountain climb. “I’m sorry. Go.” 

She couldn’t look at him and she wanted him out of here when she started to cry. 

—

Ah. There it was. The moment, dead and decomposing on the concrete between them. Diego itched to reassure her. Surely, this was not the first time this had happened to someone! But, for once, he kept his mouth shut. The woman had made a decision; that decision was to release Diego, to send him into the night with nothing but the memory of her touch. He would respect that, respect her.

Even if the rejection stung, just a bit, behind his temples and in the soft beating of his heart.

Diego rolled his wrists as she cut him free, stiff from the held position—an unwanted reminder that his body had limits. He patted himself down. Phone, wallet, keys, all accounted for. Not that he had expected her to strip him of his effects, but it was a reminder of the care she had put into this. Diego lingered at the edge of the small circle of light cast by the lamp, basking in the last drops of her consideration of him. I’d like to do it right. “I don’t need an apology. Just, if you…” A pause as he turned to the darkness, not brave enough to face her reaction. “If I ever see you again, I’ll give it—my consent. We could do it right.” And with that, he began to put one foot in front of the other, lest he embarrass himself further.

It was not a walk of shame, not really. Diego, as a rule, felt very little shame. And even if he had? Here, stumbling in the dark, there were no onlookers, no prying eyes. Further, nothing had happened. Nothing. He would push aside the disappointment—of course he would—but he deserved to sulk, a little, at this branch of possibility snapping beneath his feet, right when he had dared to reach upward. 

Or perhaps it was not a branch, but a two-by-four, the same one that Diego had just tripped over. It broke him from his thoughts, interrupted the rhythm of his too-confident steps, and he plodded senselessly forward, trying to regain his balance. Damn. How run-down was this place? A hard step, pain lancing through his foot as something pierced it, going straight through his shoe. On impulse, he yanked his foot back, before his brain could remind him of all the ways that could make it worse.