39 Ymiden, 724
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The vortex inside the double-paned glass continued to spin with every flick of his wrist. He pictured a tornado, imagined it emerging from his drink and filling the tavern in a wake of alcoholic destruction. Everyone catching up, gossiping, laughing and struggling to keep their libido in check before the end of the night would all be nothing other than collateral damage. Kotton didn’t want that to happen, per se, but it would have made for a highly entertaining story. He had wanted to be someone to make a story containing as much craziness as possible whilst still being informative and factual. It was this subtle line between fantasy and fiction that had been causing difficulty for him. He couldn’t find the sweet spot between realistic and absurd. He wasn’t out to grift someone of their sense of understanding, rather he just wanted to be that person who could make his reader’s think twice before contemplating whether what had been written was of genuine truth or not. And since he had fallen short in doing so not just once or twice, but three times, he had tied himself to the bar, babysitting a drink he had sworn would be of the non-alcoholic variety, but had nonetheless made itself to contain an ounce or two of vodka.
He cursed his lack of discipline, but not without first taking another sip. The vortex inside his glass had long since stopped spinning, the tornado long passed its prime of setting havoc amongst the rest of the crowd. He needed to stop whilst he was ahead. Clouding his brain this early would only end in disaster, such as past experience had reminded him. As he set his glass back down against the smooth granite countertop, he took notice of the natural swirl that had formed from his backwash. It reminded him of the waves of the ocean. He hadn’t visited the beach in some time. He hadn’t much glanced upon the tides as they wafted in and out against the sand like fumes from a cologne shoppe. Was he missing out? Was he stifling his need to explore and venture into things other people his age often did? Was he just another dead beat, chained to the job he had been offered since graduation? He felt so old already, on the cusp of entering his third decade since being born. He felt like he had lost crucial time just bobbing from theory to theory, point to point, experience to experience, because all the bobbing he had been doing was between patient to patient. Immortals forbid he touch sand every now and then.
That thought earned him another sip of his drink, even if it was less of a sip and more of a gigantic swill. It coated the back of his throat like the sting from a venomous snake. Wasn’t he trying to quit? Cut back at least? He touched the the rim of his glass and uttered a pitiful, yet thoughtful sighed. He was in no state of mind to intuitively think about the future. He wanted to, yes, but that would have sent him spiralling down a rabbit hole he just wasn't wanting to- there was a tap on his shoulder.
“Wha-?”
“Hey stranger,” said someone who was no more than a silhouette against the flame of the candlelight at his side. They quickly took a seat before drawing their head closer until it was in focus.
Fysha.
Kotton instantly smiled. “What awe you doing hewe?” He continued to prod at the lip of his drink, trying to make that whining sound everyone seemed to hear, but he couldn't.
“My brother,” she started, looking towards the wall that held all the liquors the world could ever imagine. Kotton wished she hadn't, since that made it more difficult for him to read her lips, but, would it have made a difference since he was already tipsy? “He’s decided he wants to make a game. And he has, with his friends.”
Kotton squinted one eye and pushed his drink up the counter, a gesture that meant he was finished. “And?”
Fysha looked back at him and sighed. She tossed her shiny hair behind her left shoulder. It had been dyed silver and curled since the last time the two of them had crossed paths. Yet her eyes were still the beautiful bronze he had initially been charmed by during their first encounter. “I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. You know. Every player needs a partner or so he says.” She gave an awkward chuckle that gave insight as to the reason to her request.
Normally, Kotton would have flushed with the galvanization that formulated happiness at having been chosen to be Fysha’s partner, but the excitement quickly wore off based solely on that awkward chuckle. She was desperately looking for a partner, had most likely spoken to several other people, and had been most likely denied. This was all obvious by her body language- the way she wrung her hands, the way her eyes kept flickering left to right, the way she emphasised certain words so they seemed important and enticing, even the way she raised her eyebrows and feigned a smile that only a fool could have valued as genuine.
But come on, what had Kotton to lose? He was at a bar, toiling away in the mental garden of his thoughts and the fucks he had yet to give, and had not found it barren, as shocking as that was- there were way too many fucks he still had to give, but he was working on that. His garden needed weeding.
“Suwe, why not?” he announced though with as little to no emotion as he felt appropriate to someone who saw him as a last resort. Nevertheless, he had a contrite heart that necessitated the need to make another happy. Whilst he relished another drop of liquor, kicking himself for declaring him done with his drink, Fysha had other plans and they were plans that were surprisingly more interesting than being sloshed in a flute of mixed drinks.
Her explanation of the game was redolent of the one he had participated in during last Saun, when Fysha had also been his partner. He couldn’t help but smile at her expression of great enthusiasm when she began introducing him to the terms of the game.
“Great, so my brother has decided to include the use of plastic figures- each figure is a representative of a team instead of our actual selves? But whatever. And there’s this board-”
“Boawd?”
“Yes, he’s drawn on a board a lot of squares that make some sort of circle? And we’re supposed to roll a dice to determine how many squares we can move? But whatever.”
Fysha was a semi-competent tutor, but there was a lot Kotton had to do himself in order to understand the fundamentals of the game, especially since he wasn’t actively there to hear from the game master themselves the rules of how to play the game.
“Anyway,” Fysha continued. “It’s all about tactics and logistics, or so I have figured from his vague explanation, you know, plot of the game and all.”
Kotton kept his tongue from spouting out objections or issues for that matter, anything questionable or contradictory just by listening to the game’s dynamics. He shouldn’t ask questions until he had fully understood the rules, because who knew? Maybe they would be addressed at the end.
“Logistics and tactics then?” he asked, bringing the glass he had pushed to the front of the counter back within reach. Maybe he would be given a refill or maybe he wouldn’t, it didn't matter. His gesture alone gave him some semblance of comfort even if it was just his hand stroking an empty container.
“Right,” Fysha stated. Her eyes were as lit as the moon during an uncloudy night sky. “If we can figure out how many spaces he has made in his game, then maybe we can come up with a plan on how to win.”
Whilst one of Kotton’s eyes had made itself into a squinting slit, it took little to no effort for his other eye to follow. “We can apply a cunning manoeuvre that limits ouw opponents plans.”
“How so?”
“Awe thewe othew pieces of the game youw brother has established?”
“Cards.”
“Cawds?”
“Yes, cards. There are cards that declare fortunes or misfortunes. But…” finally she had caught on to what the young man was trying to invoke within her. “He’s also implemented the use of a “pick and draw” actin where every party is supposed to draw from a hand to figure out what their next move is.”
Kotton could work with this. With the little time he had spent at a casino with his dear old companion Miss Iona, he had come to learn the ways of cards and the simplicity of their practicality via numbers and shapes and colours. Since he wasn’t knowledgeable about anything more specific than that, he was at a loss, but he decided to turn to Fysha for that remaining information. With two people, they still had a chance at winning this thing.
“I’m not entirely sure how every person’s turn goes, but I’m sure we can form an operation that gives us a step ahead of the others.”
“How so?”
Kotton prodded his idea with the sharpest tool he had in the stable. He wanted to ensure his theory was impregnable. “I suggest we assume the wowst of ouw opposition's tuwn. Theiw rolls, the spaces they move, the cawds they might pull... and we countew evewy step of the way with a defensive measuwe wather than an offensive one. This, hopefully, will give us the ability to meticulously plan and pwoactively implement countew solution.” He paused, clearly out of breath since he hadn't wetted his lips with another sip of sweet vodka. "What do you think?"
Fysha was still wringing her hands, but this time it was not with the fear of trying desperately to locate a partner for her to play the game with. No, she wrung her hands with equal parts excitement and anxiety at the prospect of a plan that had yet to be put into play.
Kotton released his hold on his glass, which had no potential of being refilled, before staring directly into Fysha’s wavering eyes. “We have a plan of opewation, a goal to which we will move ouw plastic piece to victowy. We have a stwategy, thoughtfully planned out in advance, and we will use it based off ouw knowledge of ouw opponents and we will nullify the strengths they may pwesent eithew by instinct or fowce. Defensive? Offensive? I’ll leave that to you. But I assuwe you, whilst you may have chosen me as partner out of a lack of option, you chose wight.”
Fysha’s eyes grew large, her cheeks flushing the shade of a ripened peach.
“Yeah, I figuwed,” Kotton said without irritation. “What matters now is that we beat youw bwothew and his fwiends in this game he has cweated. You wemember evewything I just said?”
Fysha, still awestruck by the sudden confidence and determination she had originally thought impossible of Kotton, nodded her head and adjusted her shoulders so they were positioned forward in a position of proper posture. She then gave him a smirk bestowed with absolute pride.
“I remember.”
“Good.” Kotton took a deep breath before looking toward the front of the tavern. “Then let’s get to playing.”
He cursed his lack of discipline, but not without first taking another sip. The vortex inside his glass had long since stopped spinning, the tornado long passed its prime of setting havoc amongst the rest of the crowd. He needed to stop whilst he was ahead. Clouding his brain this early would only end in disaster, such as past experience had reminded him. As he set his glass back down against the smooth granite countertop, he took notice of the natural swirl that had formed from his backwash. It reminded him of the waves of the ocean. He hadn’t visited the beach in some time. He hadn’t much glanced upon the tides as they wafted in and out against the sand like fumes from a cologne shoppe. Was he missing out? Was he stifling his need to explore and venture into things other people his age often did? Was he just another dead beat, chained to the job he had been offered since graduation? He felt so old already, on the cusp of entering his third decade since being born. He felt like he had lost crucial time just bobbing from theory to theory, point to point, experience to experience, because all the bobbing he had been doing was between patient to patient. Immortals forbid he touch sand every now and then.
That thought earned him another sip of his drink, even if it was less of a sip and more of a gigantic swill. It coated the back of his throat like the sting from a venomous snake. Wasn’t he trying to quit? Cut back at least? He touched the the rim of his glass and uttered a pitiful, yet thoughtful sighed. He was in no state of mind to intuitively think about the future. He wanted to, yes, but that would have sent him spiralling down a rabbit hole he just wasn't wanting to- there was a tap on his shoulder.
“Wha-?”
“Hey stranger,” said someone who was no more than a silhouette against the flame of the candlelight at his side. They quickly took a seat before drawing their head closer until it was in focus.
Fysha.
Kotton instantly smiled. “What awe you doing hewe?” He continued to prod at the lip of his drink, trying to make that whining sound everyone seemed to hear, but he couldn't.
“My brother,” she started, looking towards the wall that held all the liquors the world could ever imagine. Kotton wished she hadn't, since that made it more difficult for him to read her lips, but, would it have made a difference since he was already tipsy? “He’s decided he wants to make a game. And he has, with his friends.”
Kotton squinted one eye and pushed his drink up the counter, a gesture that meant he was finished. “And?”
Fysha looked back at him and sighed. She tossed her shiny hair behind her left shoulder. It had been dyed silver and curled since the last time the two of them had crossed paths. Yet her eyes were still the beautiful bronze he had initially been charmed by during their first encounter. “I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. You know. Every player needs a partner or so he says.” She gave an awkward chuckle that gave insight as to the reason to her request.
Normally, Kotton would have flushed with the galvanization that formulated happiness at having been chosen to be Fysha’s partner, but the excitement quickly wore off based solely on that awkward chuckle. She was desperately looking for a partner, had most likely spoken to several other people, and had been most likely denied. This was all obvious by her body language- the way she wrung her hands, the way her eyes kept flickering left to right, the way she emphasised certain words so they seemed important and enticing, even the way she raised her eyebrows and feigned a smile that only a fool could have valued as genuine.
But come on, what had Kotton to lose? He was at a bar, toiling away in the mental garden of his thoughts and the fucks he had yet to give, and had not found it barren, as shocking as that was- there were way too many fucks he still had to give, but he was working on that. His garden needed weeding.
“Suwe, why not?” he announced though with as little to no emotion as he felt appropriate to someone who saw him as a last resort. Nevertheless, he had a contrite heart that necessitated the need to make another happy. Whilst he relished another drop of liquor, kicking himself for declaring him done with his drink, Fysha had other plans and they were plans that were surprisingly more interesting than being sloshed in a flute of mixed drinks.
Her explanation of the game was redolent of the one he had participated in during last Saun, when Fysha had also been his partner. He couldn’t help but smile at her expression of great enthusiasm when she began introducing him to the terms of the game.
“Great, so my brother has decided to include the use of plastic figures- each figure is a representative of a team instead of our actual selves? But whatever. And there’s this board-”
“Boawd?”
“Yes, he’s drawn on a board a lot of squares that make some sort of circle? And we’re supposed to roll a dice to determine how many squares we can move? But whatever.”
Fysha was a semi-competent tutor, but there was a lot Kotton had to do himself in order to understand the fundamentals of the game, especially since he wasn’t actively there to hear from the game master themselves the rules of how to play the game.
“Anyway,” Fysha continued. “It’s all about tactics and logistics, or so I have figured from his vague explanation, you know, plot of the game and all.”
Kotton kept his tongue from spouting out objections or issues for that matter, anything questionable or contradictory just by listening to the game’s dynamics. He shouldn’t ask questions until he had fully understood the rules, because who knew? Maybe they would be addressed at the end.
“Logistics and tactics then?” he asked, bringing the glass he had pushed to the front of the counter back within reach. Maybe he would be given a refill or maybe he wouldn’t, it didn't matter. His gesture alone gave him some semblance of comfort even if it was just his hand stroking an empty container.
“Right,” Fysha stated. Her eyes were as lit as the moon during an uncloudy night sky. “If we can figure out how many spaces he has made in his game, then maybe we can come up with a plan on how to win.”
Whilst one of Kotton’s eyes had made itself into a squinting slit, it took little to no effort for his other eye to follow. “We can apply a cunning manoeuvre that limits ouw opponents plans.”
“How so?”
“Awe thewe othew pieces of the game youw brother has established?”
“Cards.”
“Cawds?”
“Yes, cards. There are cards that declare fortunes or misfortunes. But…” finally she had caught on to what the young man was trying to invoke within her. “He’s also implemented the use of a “pick and draw” actin where every party is supposed to draw from a hand to figure out what their next move is.”
Kotton could work with this. With the little time he had spent at a casino with his dear old companion Miss Iona, he had come to learn the ways of cards and the simplicity of their practicality via numbers and shapes and colours. Since he wasn’t knowledgeable about anything more specific than that, he was at a loss, but he decided to turn to Fysha for that remaining information. With two people, they still had a chance at winning this thing.
“I’m not entirely sure how every person’s turn goes, but I’m sure we can form an operation that gives us a step ahead of the others.”
“How so?”
Kotton prodded his idea with the sharpest tool he had in the stable. He wanted to ensure his theory was impregnable. “I suggest we assume the wowst of ouw opposition's tuwn. Theiw rolls, the spaces they move, the cawds they might pull... and we countew evewy step of the way with a defensive measuwe wather than an offensive one. This, hopefully, will give us the ability to meticulously plan and pwoactively implement countew solution.” He paused, clearly out of breath since he hadn't wetted his lips with another sip of sweet vodka. "What do you think?"
Fysha was still wringing her hands, but this time it was not with the fear of trying desperately to locate a partner for her to play the game with. No, she wrung her hands with equal parts excitement and anxiety at the prospect of a plan that had yet to be put into play.
Kotton released his hold on his glass, which had no potential of being refilled, before staring directly into Fysha’s wavering eyes. “We have a plan of opewation, a goal to which we will move ouw plastic piece to victowy. We have a stwategy, thoughtfully planned out in advance, and we will use it based off ouw knowledge of ouw opponents and we will nullify the strengths they may pwesent eithew by instinct or fowce. Defensive? Offensive? I’ll leave that to you. But I assuwe you, whilst you may have chosen me as partner out of a lack of option, you chose wight.”
Fysha’s eyes grew large, her cheeks flushing the shade of a ripened peach.
“Yeah, I figuwed,” Kotton said without irritation. “What matters now is that we beat youw bwothew and his fwiends in this game he has cweated. You wemember evewything I just said?”
Fysha, still awestruck by the sudden confidence and determination she had originally thought impossible of Kotton, nodded her head and adjusted her shoulders so they were positioned forward in a position of proper posture. She then gave him a smirk bestowed with absolute pride.
“I remember.”
“Good.” Kotton took a deep breath before looking toward the front of the tavern. “Then let’s get to playing.”