39 Ymiden, 724
.
Continued from here.
Fysha was already at the house where the game would be played, prompt and prepared as usual. She was waiting for Kotton to arrive, having latched herself preternaturally to the only window in the room. It was raining out, and thus did it blur her vision of any passerby, partner or not.
Kotton was late, which was definitely not something he liked being known for. He was a strong proponent of punctuality and promptness. So why was he trailing behind the time? He could only give excuses and none of them would mean much other than being what they were- excuses. He hadn’t thought of the weather apart from it's ordinary sunniness, so he hadn’t thought to take out his raincoat or rain boots. He hadn’t thought that Spirit wasn’t a big fan of taking a pee outside in the backyard when water was falling at high speed from the sky, so that took a little longer than anticipated. He also hadn’t figured that Twig’s stomach demanded sustenance based solely by the way the clouds had oriented themselves amidst the hidden sun.
“Fucking eggs?”
“Yep,” Twig answered with a shit eating grin.
He was so close to losing it- throwing the pan across the kitchen and leaving his companion to fend for himself- but the thought of Twig trying to figure out how to use the hot plate made his skin crawl. So, whatever frustration resided within him would have to be calmed for the moment. At least for as long as it required Twig to learn how to make his own breakfast and thoroughly check that the front door was locked.
“I’m so sow-” he had started, hoping he hadn't kept anyone waiting on his presence. He was still trying to shake out the droplets of rain that had made it inside the folds of his raincoat before he was interrupted.
“Save it,” Fysha finished for him as she linked her arm with his and led him down the hall into the foyer. “Here!” she declared with a modicum of annoyance. If Kotton had been looking at her, he would have noticed an eccentric eye-roll. Thankfully he hadn't since that might have swayed his mood for the rest of the day.
The young man offered an embarrassed half smile, less to the group and more so to his partner, but he would receive no response. It didn’t take long before what he assumed to be the game master announced himself to the crowd. After introducing himself (yes, he was indeed the one who had created the game, aka Fysha's brother), he read aloud the rules of the game in a sonorous and musical voice that Kotton couldn’t keep himself from envying. Why couldn’t his voice be like that? Why was his voice instead tainted with the irritating slur of syllables that made him sound like a dense and idiotic fool? You might be thinking, how could a deaf man hear the pitch or octaves given from someone speaking? It took practise. That was the only answer he could give. The way the mouth formed, the gestures made, the body language and respiratory rate viewed... it all cumulated into a central observation that Kotton was able to recognise.
However, coming back to the current matter as to why his voice couldn't be so gentle and melodical- he had tried to get past all the rude and disrespectful comments regarding his speech impediment and for the most part, he had been able to brush everything off his shoulder and send it into the rubbish bin where it rightfully belonged. However, seeing and experiencing something other, first hand, did a number on him that made the agitation and grief and melancholy all the more real. Dial it to ten, he often told himself. He had disciplined himself enough, or so he thought, to work with this theoretical “dial it to ten”. Overthinking and creating scenarios that may never be true were a lot of help during those days that dared declare them darker than others. He valued what traits he held pertaining to his ability to deal with whatever would be thrown his way.
But reality was always so much different than what was imagined.
Once the rules had been announced in generous detail, Kotton swallowed hard. He wasted no time finding his partner's eyes. Was she still mad that he had taken forever to get here? She didn’t seem to be what with the way she sauntered toward him with a half-grin. This, at least, took pressure of his shoulders.
“Ready?” she said with a joking tone.
“Yup,” Kotton replied, eyes wide with the anticipation he had first felt during his joining of the crowd at the heed of the game master.
“Roll the dice.”
Since Fysha was first, she did as was instructed of her. Her knuckles bent and shaped without method until they cracked and crippled with the sounds of a corpse's dying breath. Then, did she dare roll and she rolled a six, which landed her and her team an extra six steps across the game board. This was great until the sixth step landed on a square declaring she draw a card. Kotton knew drawing cards were of means to indeterminate fortune/misfortune, but it was all part of the game. Still, he bit bottom lip with anticipation.
Fysha drew from the deck that had been laid out in front of her and announced, “take an additional two steps. You’ve managed to slay the bridge troll!”
Kotton was already able to see the barriers that may be in the way. He could practically see the obstructions that kept his team from reaching their destination to victory. As it stood, their piece on the board was two paces away from another card drawing, three paces from stopping on a tile that stated their movement back two additional spots, and four spaces away from reaching the tile that declared they fight off an angry grizzly bear in order to move ahead some even numbered spaces.
The complexity of the operation he had originally suggested to Fysha was not that complex. But that didn't mean it wouldn't be tested during the length of time of which they both decided to play the game. Surrendering to the voices that whispered defeat would not pervade his mind on this trial. It took merely a couple minutes before he became agitated by just how long it took for him to sort out plausible strategies determinable by each team. The best he could do in order to be proactive in his weak contemplation of the future was to remain aware of the many sides of the dice. There were six sides, which meant there were six sides for it to land on. This meant that every team had one in every sixth chance at landing on any number. The probability of landing on the same number was double that, thereby making it even more uncommon than by rolling it once. He had yet to map out the structure of the game board, but thus far it seemed that every even numbered roll guaranteed drawing from the deck of cards.
He was thinking long and hard as to how he would use what he already knew so that it was conducive to his winning this game. The phrase two birds with one stone came to mind as he was also trying to make a good impression on Fysha. He wanted to see her smile at having won something she had originally held so much doubt over. He wanted to earn her admiration since she had come to him last, out of many other candidates, to be her partner. He was already besotted by her, and it wasn’t just her hair or her eyes. It wasn't simply the way she moved about so confidently, although the way she threw her hair behind her shoulder in irritated was definitely mentionable. It wasn’t her smile nor the way her ears flexed backwards every time she heard something that made her feel pleasingly embarrassed. It was something else, something he could spend hours trying to explain but would never be able to. His observation, the details that became of it, everything, would be left inside his head, forever unable to be expression in the way he wanted it to be. There was frisson between him and Fysha, even if he wouldn’t dare to admit it.
But now wasn't the time. He needed to focus on strategy. He needed to concentrate on the here and now and direct his attention on the matter at hand even if it didn't mean anything other than the potential for a high five and otherwise frivolous praise.
“What should we do now?” Fysha had turned to him during his internal monologue. Her eyes were wide, similar to the size of the platters he had at home, brimming with question. Their colour was incredible. Had they always been so...
He bit his lip again, though much harder this time, and dared let his inner mind cry at the inability to express what he was truly feeling that very moment. The party that followed them had made an impressive five spaces against the game board. They had also drawn a card that stated they move a singular pace in the wrong direction, but that was negligible for what Kotton thought. He wasn’t worried though, but he also wasn’t entirely in the game either. His mind was still discombobulated, attaching itself via thoughts of Fysha's appearance.
After retracting his mind from any and all previous distraction, he licked his lips of all its dryness and said, “they can’t have any other attacks planned given their position in the game. It’s likely they're trying to recoup and think about what they want to do next.”
It was a half-arsed answer; he wasn’t sure that was what they were doing at all, but it made as much sense to him as it did in the moment, and Fysha didn’t have any disagreement with his observation. He had delivered this observation with that much confidence.[/knowledge]
Finally, it was their turn again. Fysha was cracking her knuckles one at a time just as she had before her last turn. First the pinky, then the ring finger, all the way to the thumb. But she didn't just stop there. No, it wasn't just the thumb knuckle she crunched but the point where the thumb connected with the rest of the wrist. Kotton made a face when he saw her do that.
He had been making a mental list of the strategies they’ve been employing up until now. He had painstakingly been memorising not only the methods they were using, but what the opposing teams were using in tandem. It was a lot to think about and even more to remember, but Kotton endured through it. He easily forgot details here and there, but felt somewhat self-assured that he was ultimately keeping close enough attention (apart from the whole 'look how pretty Fysha is right now bit) to how the game was being played.
Before the game had begun, he had whispered to Fysha a request, asking her to be on the lookout for any tells or bluffs other teams may make since he had already self-appointed himself the task of laying out the game and all its potential directions (bless the mental landscape in his head). He leant toward her just then and held his hand up in front of their lips so no one besides him could read their lips. He wanted an update. She looked at him and mouthed, “nothing” in regards to those tells and bluffs that may have happened over the last several minutes since the game had begun.
He sighed, relieved. For whatever reason, he really wanted to win this game, like the last one last Saun. Whilst that had been a scavenger hunt and less a board game, the desire was palpable.
The time ticked by, second after second, minute after minute, every team playing their cards (so to speak) until the last moments revealed themselves. All three teams were neck and neck. Only a few tiles were left until the finish line. It was still anyone’s game. Kotton’s hopes for victory had sorely been cut down. Their last turn was rather injurious to what they had held as a lead. Now, it was the next team’s turn, and they were uncomfortably close to the end.
Bottom lip tightly clenched between chattering teeth, the young man watched the drawing of a card. His heart pounded in his ears with such voraciousness it felt like a thunderstorm raging between the walls of his skull. The card slowly flipped over. He was on the edge of his seat. The card had finally turned face up to reveal… a singular space forward.
Party hats, filigree, confetti and everything in between ignited between himself and Fysha. But it only lasted so long because now it was the last team’s turn. They rolled the dice. It landed on a one. Kotton quickly made mental calculations. They had four spaces to move until they reached the finish line and they had just rolled a one. Subtracting four from one, that left them three additional spaces to move before they proclaimed victory. However, they still had yet to draw a card.
The anticipation wasn’t as long or drawn out as it had been the previous turn. In fact, neither Fysha nor Kotton had the chance to buckle down and truly experience impatience before the card was flipped. And it was not a heavenly sight to behold. The card read, ‘move four spaces’. No repercussions, no side quest, nothing. They had only needed to move three spaces before being announced winners.
Fysha’s eyebrows instantaneously casted downwards. It was followed by a brief but rather obvious temper tantrum; she brought her fist down- hard- against the game board, no sense of embarrassment for having performed such a childish action to be found. But Kotton could help but feel what she felt. However, he concentrated less on the feeling, and more on the fact. They had lost. Whilst losing instigated pessimism (no one liked to lose), Kotton chose this moment to view it as a learning experience. He had watched the winning team play from start to finish. Maybe they had made more advantageous moves and had conspired more intelligent decisions than either he or Fysha were able to.
Ultimately, Kotton took it as a semi-win. They would have been second place anyway, so shaking hands with the team who won first prize didn’t bother him. He had sportsmanship and a win was a win.
“Well, that was fun,” the young man announced as the game board and all its associated pieces were packed up.
Fysha just growled and begrudgingly muttered, “yea, sure.”
Fysha was already at the house where the game would be played, prompt and prepared as usual. She was waiting for Kotton to arrive, having latched herself preternaturally to the only window in the room. It was raining out, and thus did it blur her vision of any passerby, partner or not.
Kotton was late, which was definitely not something he liked being known for. He was a strong proponent of punctuality and promptness. So why was he trailing behind the time? He could only give excuses and none of them would mean much other than being what they were- excuses. He hadn’t thought of the weather apart from it's ordinary sunniness, so he hadn’t thought to take out his raincoat or rain boots. He hadn’t thought that Spirit wasn’t a big fan of taking a pee outside in the backyard when water was falling at high speed from the sky, so that took a little longer than anticipated. He also hadn’t figured that Twig’s stomach demanded sustenance based solely by the way the clouds had oriented themselves amidst the hidden sun.
“Fucking eggs?”
“Yep,” Twig answered with a shit eating grin.
He was so close to losing it- throwing the pan across the kitchen and leaving his companion to fend for himself- but the thought of Twig trying to figure out how to use the hot plate made his skin crawl. So, whatever frustration resided within him would have to be calmed for the moment. At least for as long as it required Twig to learn how to make his own breakfast and thoroughly check that the front door was locked.
“I’m so sow-” he had started, hoping he hadn't kept anyone waiting on his presence. He was still trying to shake out the droplets of rain that had made it inside the folds of his raincoat before he was interrupted.
“Save it,” Fysha finished for him as she linked her arm with his and led him down the hall into the foyer. “Here!” she declared with a modicum of annoyance. If Kotton had been looking at her, he would have noticed an eccentric eye-roll. Thankfully he hadn't since that might have swayed his mood for the rest of the day.
The young man offered an embarrassed half smile, less to the group and more so to his partner, but he would receive no response. It didn’t take long before what he assumed to be the game master announced himself to the crowd. After introducing himself (yes, he was indeed the one who had created the game, aka Fysha's brother), he read aloud the rules of the game in a sonorous and musical voice that Kotton couldn’t keep himself from envying. Why couldn’t his voice be like that? Why was his voice instead tainted with the irritating slur of syllables that made him sound like a dense and idiotic fool? You might be thinking, how could a deaf man hear the pitch or octaves given from someone speaking? It took practise. That was the only answer he could give. The way the mouth formed, the gestures made, the body language and respiratory rate viewed... it all cumulated into a central observation that Kotton was able to recognise.
However, coming back to the current matter as to why his voice couldn't be so gentle and melodical- he had tried to get past all the rude and disrespectful comments regarding his speech impediment and for the most part, he had been able to brush everything off his shoulder and send it into the rubbish bin where it rightfully belonged. However, seeing and experiencing something other, first hand, did a number on him that made the agitation and grief and melancholy all the more real. Dial it to ten, he often told himself. He had disciplined himself enough, or so he thought, to work with this theoretical “dial it to ten”. Overthinking and creating scenarios that may never be true were a lot of help during those days that dared declare them darker than others. He valued what traits he held pertaining to his ability to deal with whatever would be thrown his way.
But reality was always so much different than what was imagined.
Once the rules had been announced in generous detail, Kotton swallowed hard. He wasted no time finding his partner's eyes. Was she still mad that he had taken forever to get here? She didn’t seem to be what with the way she sauntered toward him with a half-grin. This, at least, took pressure of his shoulders.
“Ready?” she said with a joking tone.
“Yup,” Kotton replied, eyes wide with the anticipation he had first felt during his joining of the crowd at the heed of the game master.
“Roll the dice.”
Since Fysha was first, she did as was instructed of her. Her knuckles bent and shaped without method until they cracked and crippled with the sounds of a corpse's dying breath. Then, did she dare roll and she rolled a six, which landed her and her team an extra six steps across the game board. This was great until the sixth step landed on a square declaring she draw a card. Kotton knew drawing cards were of means to indeterminate fortune/misfortune, but it was all part of the game. Still, he bit bottom lip with anticipation.
Fysha drew from the deck that had been laid out in front of her and announced, “take an additional two steps. You’ve managed to slay the bridge troll!”
Kotton was already able to see the barriers that may be in the way. He could practically see the obstructions that kept his team from reaching their destination to victory. As it stood, their piece on the board was two paces away from another card drawing, three paces from stopping on a tile that stated their movement back two additional spots, and four spaces away from reaching the tile that declared they fight off an angry grizzly bear in order to move ahead some even numbered spaces.
The complexity of the operation he had originally suggested to Fysha was not that complex. But that didn't mean it wouldn't be tested during the length of time of which they both decided to play the game. Surrendering to the voices that whispered defeat would not pervade his mind on this trial. It took merely a couple minutes before he became agitated by just how long it took for him to sort out plausible strategies determinable by each team. The best he could do in order to be proactive in his weak contemplation of the future was to remain aware of the many sides of the dice. There were six sides, which meant there were six sides for it to land on. This meant that every team had one in every sixth chance at landing on any number. The probability of landing on the same number was double that, thereby making it even more uncommon than by rolling it once. He had yet to map out the structure of the game board, but thus far it seemed that every even numbered roll guaranteed drawing from the deck of cards.
He was thinking long and hard as to how he would use what he already knew so that it was conducive to his winning this game. The phrase two birds with one stone came to mind as he was also trying to make a good impression on Fysha. He wanted to see her smile at having won something she had originally held so much doubt over. He wanted to earn her admiration since she had come to him last, out of many other candidates, to be her partner. He was already besotted by her, and it wasn’t just her hair or her eyes. It wasn't simply the way she moved about so confidently, although the way she threw her hair behind her shoulder in irritated was definitely mentionable. It wasn’t her smile nor the way her ears flexed backwards every time she heard something that made her feel pleasingly embarrassed. It was something else, something he could spend hours trying to explain but would never be able to. His observation, the details that became of it, everything, would be left inside his head, forever unable to be expression in the way he wanted it to be. There was frisson between him and Fysha, even if he wouldn’t dare to admit it.
But now wasn't the time. He needed to focus on strategy. He needed to concentrate on the here and now and direct his attention on the matter at hand even if it didn't mean anything other than the potential for a high five and otherwise frivolous praise.
“What should we do now?” Fysha had turned to him during his internal monologue. Her eyes were wide, similar to the size of the platters he had at home, brimming with question. Their colour was incredible. Had they always been so...
He bit his lip again, though much harder this time, and dared let his inner mind cry at the inability to express what he was truly feeling that very moment. The party that followed them had made an impressive five spaces against the game board. They had also drawn a card that stated they move a singular pace in the wrong direction, but that was negligible for what Kotton thought. He wasn’t worried though, but he also wasn’t entirely in the game either. His mind was still discombobulated, attaching itself via thoughts of Fysha's appearance.
After retracting his mind from any and all previous distraction, he licked his lips of all its dryness and said, “they can’t have any other attacks planned given their position in the game. It’s likely they're trying to recoup and think about what they want to do next.”
It was a half-arsed answer; he wasn’t sure that was what they were doing at all, but it made as much sense to him as it did in the moment, and Fysha didn’t have any disagreement with his observation. He had delivered this observation with that much confidence.[/knowledge]
Finally, it was their turn again. Fysha was cracking her knuckles one at a time just as she had before her last turn. First the pinky, then the ring finger, all the way to the thumb. But she didn't just stop there. No, it wasn't just the thumb knuckle she crunched but the point where the thumb connected with the rest of the wrist. Kotton made a face when he saw her do that.
He had been making a mental list of the strategies they’ve been employing up until now. He had painstakingly been memorising not only the methods they were using, but what the opposing teams were using in tandem. It was a lot to think about and even more to remember, but Kotton endured through it. He easily forgot details here and there, but felt somewhat self-assured that he was ultimately keeping close enough attention (apart from the whole 'look how pretty Fysha is right now bit) to how the game was being played.
Before the game had begun, he had whispered to Fysha a request, asking her to be on the lookout for any tells or bluffs other teams may make since he had already self-appointed himself the task of laying out the game and all its potential directions (bless the mental landscape in his head). He leant toward her just then and held his hand up in front of their lips so no one besides him could read their lips. He wanted an update. She looked at him and mouthed, “nothing” in regards to those tells and bluffs that may have happened over the last several minutes since the game had begun.
He sighed, relieved. For whatever reason, he really wanted to win this game, like the last one last Saun. Whilst that had been a scavenger hunt and less a board game, the desire was palpable.
The time ticked by, second after second, minute after minute, every team playing their cards (so to speak) until the last moments revealed themselves. All three teams were neck and neck. Only a few tiles were left until the finish line. It was still anyone’s game. Kotton’s hopes for victory had sorely been cut down. Their last turn was rather injurious to what they had held as a lead. Now, it was the next team’s turn, and they were uncomfortably close to the end.
Bottom lip tightly clenched between chattering teeth, the young man watched the drawing of a card. His heart pounded in his ears with such voraciousness it felt like a thunderstorm raging between the walls of his skull. The card slowly flipped over. He was on the edge of his seat. The card had finally turned face up to reveal… a singular space forward.
Party hats, filigree, confetti and everything in between ignited between himself and Fysha. But it only lasted so long because now it was the last team’s turn. They rolled the dice. It landed on a one. Kotton quickly made mental calculations. They had four spaces to move until they reached the finish line and they had just rolled a one. Subtracting four from one, that left them three additional spaces to move before they proclaimed victory. However, they still had yet to draw a card.
The anticipation wasn’t as long or drawn out as it had been the previous turn. In fact, neither Fysha nor Kotton had the chance to buckle down and truly experience impatience before the card was flipped. And it was not a heavenly sight to behold. The card read, ‘move four spaces’. No repercussions, no side quest, nothing. They had only needed to move three spaces before being announced winners.
Fysha’s eyebrows instantaneously casted downwards. It was followed by a brief but rather obvious temper tantrum; she brought her fist down- hard- against the game board, no sense of embarrassment for having performed such a childish action to be found. But Kotton could help but feel what she felt. However, he concentrated less on the feeling, and more on the fact. They had lost. Whilst losing instigated pessimism (no one liked to lose), Kotton chose this moment to view it as a learning experience. He had watched the winning team play from start to finish. Maybe they had made more advantageous moves and had conspired more intelligent decisions than either he or Fysha were able to.
Ultimately, Kotton took it as a semi-win. They would have been second place anyway, so shaking hands with the team who won first prize didn’t bother him. He had sportsmanship and a win was a win.
“Well, that was fun,” the young man announced as the game board and all its associated pieces were packed up.
Fysha just growled and begrudgingly muttered, “yea, sure.”