(Theodore Cervantes has been Released.)
(Lil' Pitchy has been Released.)
(The story of Theodore Cervantes is not over. It will need to learn how to live in a world without its one, eternal goal.)
(But that's not my story to tell.)
(Thank you, everyone, for reading.)
(Quick update: Cerv's wiki page has been updated! I went through and did some editing and added information about all the stuff that's happened since Season 3. Hope you all like it. :3 https://t.co/oAfQiNGYdh)
Nineteenth: Cerv tried video game speedrunning once, but was embarassingly bad at it. It mostly plays idle games, and it has a save of Kittens Game going since 2018.
OOC: I won't be tweeting much from this account for a while. Cerv deserves a bit of a rest after all it's been through. Hopefully I'll be back in a few weeks. And keep an eye out for the Season 24 Millennials Weather Report!
OOC: Thank you for reading my half man-half pitching machine content over the last few months. Running this Twitter has been a wonderful and positive part of my Blaseball experience.
OOC: Rping Cerv has helped me in a lot of ways, not least of which is that I now use it/its pronouns just like my favorite player does. Exploring my own feelings and baggage through public Rp like this has been super helpful.
In this moment of apocalypse where the world falls apart at the seams, a moment of grace: The Pitcher is reunited with the Fax. They twirl together as they sink deeper past the Event Horizon, together forever.
As Battin' Island lifts higher, as the stadium groans and fails under the inverse weight of the Black Hole, as the bases and dugouts and cheap seats fly away around him, Cerv sees it.
There, keening for it in the middle of the maelstrom.
Cerv leaps before it knows what it's doing. It grabs flying pieces of the stadium tossing them down to accelerate upwards. It leaps off masonry, discards seating, upwards, upwards upwards...
[Cerv hears something, a distant sound from the Black Hole.
It leaves the lockup, and wanders to the pitcher's mound in the empty stadium.
It looks up at the blackness covering the sky, and waits.
It hears it again: a high-pitched warbling keen. Static. Familiar.]
[It barely notices the faint blue flame that surrounds it now. It is a machine for pitching, and machines don't notice things.
It knows deep down that to acknowledge the outside world right now would be to weep and never stop.]
[Cerv leaves the equipment lockup to pitch. It leaves to eat, to take care of the biological parts that sustain the machine. It hears the excitement of the team, but it doesn't listen long enough to find out what's happening.]