tl;dr: me write good book, pls read
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Good morning!
I'm willing to bet that most of you won't remember my novel's origin prompt, though you might recognize me from stories such as the one where a man must face four judges in the afterlife. After all, it was over four years ago!
This was the prompt, if you want to take a look and see how poorly I wrote back then ;)

”You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other."

It went from a terrible five part miniseries, to a Wattpad hopeful, to nothing as I lost motivation and drowned in work through the years, until finally I straightened myself out and rewrote the whole manuscript starting last year.
And now, somehow, here we are.
I'm both humbled and proud to present Lost in a Dream, a novel that actually adheres pretty closely to the prompt even after all of the rewriting and deep edits. Here is the blurb from the rear cover:

If dreaming is a drug, then I'm a junkie.
For most people, sleeping is an obstacle. Something to get out of the way, so they can get back to their life. For others, it's an escape to nothing; a blissful break from the wears of life.
It's the opposite for me.
I live so that I can dream. I trudge through work so that I can go home and close my eyes, awakening in the real world—one where dreams do come true. A place where I can fight a dragon instead of my ever-disappointed boss, where I’m a warrior instead of a glorified telemarketer. A place where I matter.
Tigers instead of taxes. Monsters instead of men with too much power.
Reality is just the word we came up with to accept a mundane life. A birthing place for grander ideas we so desperately wish could come true.
I choose to live in a world where they do.

I’ll also share a few quick bits about the book:
Lost in a Dream is a lovechild of literary fiction and fantasy; it's likely considered portal fantasy, but leans more toward the literary side thematically.

• The cover art was done by Flor Figueroa over at Fiverr - look into her work if you want awesome minimalist cover art!
• The novel is a shred under 74,000 words, so it's not a book you can club people with. Sorry.
• It is a standalone novel--there won't be a sequel. I do, however, already have my next books planned.
• Lost in a Dream is my first published work!

Here's a snippet from the advanced praise for Lost in a Dream:
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I picked it up and just couldn't put it down.
— Man with glue hands

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If you are interested in reading Lost in a Dream, then please visit you relevant Amazon marketplace:
Paperback:
US | UK | DE | FR | ES | IT | JP | CA
E-book/Kindle:
US | UK | DE | FR | ES | IT | NL | JP | BR | CA | MX | AU | IN
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As of right now, there is no hardcover--I couldn't get it prepared in time for my desired launch date. If you would be interested in a hardcover, please visit my subreddit launch post for more information + the mailing list.
The e-book is $3.99, and the paperback is $12.99. Since these are eligible for Kindle Unlimited, it will likely display the book as 'free'; if you look below the header, you can see a "Buy for 3.99" option. That's how you buy the e-book if you're not interested in KU.
Of course, if you do use Kindle Unlimited, feel free to just read it there :)
If you read and enjoy the story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, even a short one or just a rating! Those reviews can be the difference in coming months as people who aren't familiar with my shorter work decide whether or not to buy it; reviews are the foundation of an author's career, in a sense.
If you want to follow me for free short works, you can do so on several platforms. Check out my subreddit megathread, which has links to my Instagram, Goodreads, and website/mailing list.
I'll stop bothering you now and let you read the intro to Lost in a Dream so you can get a feel for the story :)
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You are a world of your own.
That’s not to say you’re extraordinary, necessarily—you might be. Chances are you’re more so than me, at the least, but that’s not much of a feat. Rather, we are each little universes of thought, infinite in expanse yet bound by flesh; pioneers lost in our own minds. Every human is a wellspring of possibility and impossibility, every breath a wish for something greater as we run desperate from the impending dark.
We are, in a sense, prisoners to ourselves. Slaves to dreams we may well never grab hold of, working to the bone so that one day the schism between what we want and what we have might narrow ever so slightly. It is no surprise that every night we shut down for a brief reprieve, where we get a taste of the strange workings inside our heads. A glimpse into the potential we each have, raw as it may be.
When we aren’t asleep, exploring our own dreams, we look to those of others. Snippets of what it’s like to live in someone else’s mind; pretty portals to vast, new, and often beautiful worlds, or ones so terrible and forlorn that anything seems tolerable when compared. Something—anything—to distract from the one that we’re in. To feel greater than ourselves.
After all . . . isn’t that why you’re here?

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Is it greed to desire something grand?
I often asked myself things like that as I killed someone.
Many lives have been forever reduced to similar questions that fade in and out like fireflies on a dark summer night—what’s ironic is that putting a sword through a neck is so much easier than finding the answers. It shouldn’t be, right? Just reach out and grab one of the little lightbugs and put it in a jar to study later . . . but every time I try, they vanish. All I get is a fistful of darkness.
By the time I was done thinking about all of that, there was only one other person breathing in the field before me: the man who had killed my family. My friends. My clansmen. I’d have cried looking at him if that well hadn’t dried up so long before; screamed if there were any leftover rage to burn.
"You're strong, Kinghunter," Ilhor Drago snarled, a hulking man in shimmering ebony armor patterned with wispy typhoons of cream and oxblood. He must’ve stood seven feet tall. "But this is my home, and I'll not die here like some flame you'd snuff out with a shovel of dirt."
He peered at me through two clusters of holes in a solid iron headpiece, describable only as a perforated bucket. The rest of his battalion littered the wood-lined meadow like smashed tin cans. They'd made quite a morbid medium for my art, shades of death tainting the lush, fertile forest around us, painting fern and flower slick with a contrasting crimson. In the holy glow of spring's sun, amidst a field paint-brushed with trampled fuchsia tulips and peonies that dribbled out of the treeline, the bloodied plants almost looked at home.
Ilhor charged at me, and I backpedaled toward the lake's muddy shore while keeping my sword raised overhead. Ilhor would be a challenge, no doubt—perhaps even worth three whole questions—but challenges are meant to be overcome, even if that challenge was once the most feared knight in any kingdom. A man known for cleaving children in two might terrify most, but I’d have fought God himself if that’s what it would’ve taken to put an end to Hadrian’s reign.
What will I do when all of this is over?
His footwork was perfectly placed with excellent tempo; he had the speed of a fox despite swelling with brutish strength, bowing the boundaries of human limits as if they physically couldn't contain his mass. Each swing of his enormous weapon left my own feeling heavier and heavier in hand, every metallic crack a seismic spasm that rang my soul like a church bell. I ducked and weaved through his razing, slowly backstepping to dodge; parrying had become too taxing on my aching palms. With each lurch forward, he churned huge piles of mud, flinging it around us. Though he was slowed, the length of his broadsword kept me from making a clean retreat.
Is there a place left in the world for someone like me?
Not only was I reduced to defense, but the stout cascade of steel he donned had virtually no openings, aside from under the armpits and a small gap beneath his helmet—one just big enough to slip a thin, thirsty blade into.
Another swing, another step, retreating further and further until I could avoid parrying no more and our swords locked with spark and screech. He grabbed me with a single hand that touched its fingers together at the nape of my neck, feet desperately reaching for the ground as he lifted me into the air. I must've looked to pedal myself airborne.
Why am I so damn good at this?
“Why did you come here?” Ilhor asked, though he didn’t care to relax his grip. “I defected. I defected!”
My words barely squeezed out between his fingers. “Hadrian wouldn’t let a defector live. Did you think an early retirement would save you?”
“How did you even find this place? He promised me it was safe!”
“Nowhere—” I punched at his giant gauntlets like a child, gasping. “—is safe.”
He grunted twice; once at me, and once at the ground.
With our weight combined, he sank past his ankles into the soft, dense mud that lined the lake's western shore. He dropped me, hoping it wasn’t too late, then yanked at them fruitlessly—an alligator has strength on the close, not open.
I lunged, but his sword slammed into mine and sent it flying further into the forest than reality should allow, nesting into the canopy with a grating buzz like a silver beetle. A pained screech and flurry of wings rang out, followed by a distant, wooden thunk. Before I could look back in disdain, his blade was thrusting straight at my heart. I ducked, twisting, and barely managed to get low enough for it to deflect off my mail, then grabbed his wrists and pushed forward with all my weight to outstretch his arms.
I only had a second before he'd overwhelm me, but that was all I needed. A small dagger, its polished gold hilt adorned with rubies, was partially hidden at his hip under a small flap of fraying linen. I let go of his off-hand, dropped even lower and grabbed it, then released his sword hand and pushed forward. In a blur of motion, I jammed the dagger into the thin gap between his helmet and breastplate just as his massive python of a left arm snapped at me again. A weary stumble backward was enough to escape his reach.
He struggled and sucked at the air, his words wet with blood. “I’m . . . not even . . . a king. . . .”
“How many innocent people did you kill for one?” I whispered, hacking off his head.
That was for you, Ophelia. For our little ones.
He plummeted into the coast, sinking into it a little bit. After a moment to collect myself, taking a few deep breaths, I was free to finally loot his body—a vulture hungry for the treasure I could smell on him. Out of a covered compartment at his right hip, I pulled out a golden scroll with reverence, cupping it in my hands and brushing my thumbs across its complex network of embossed vines. It was the fifth one I'd stolen, and it was every bit as mesmerizing as the first, glowing as though the sun itself had been laid out in my still aching palms. I knelt there for some time, drinking its glow, and aches melted to memory with each moment. Eventually, I found it within myself to forfeit worship and tuck it into a satchel at my waist.
My fugitive beetle-sword was stuck in a tree nearly twenty yards away, with traces of blood on and around it. Splintered branches and shredded leaves littered the area, but there were no signs of life—or death—anywhere. I yanked it out, apologized to anything I may have harmed in Dominaria Forest, and ran back to the lake's edge.
Hidden. No patrols, no shipments, no trade. Forest for miles on all sides. How ironic that your pet’s hiding place has become mine, Hadrian. It'll need a little cleanup, to say the least, but maybe this can be somewhere my roots can anchor.
A place to belong.
As I approached the castle, stepping over bodies like they were nothing more than fallen branches after a storm, a light, playful voice caught me off-guard.
"What a shame—I wanted to kill him."
I spun, reflexively unsheathing my sword to flare wary steel. A woman emerged from behind bark, crossing her arms and leaning lazily against the tree she'd been using for cover. Her weapon was unattended, dangling with a laxness inherited from its owner.
"I was rooting for you to lose, but your fighting skills are impressive. You're not like the others I’ve run into around here," she continued, her gaze sharper than a blade fresh off of whetstone, her lips hinting at a smirk.
I smiled as a cool breeze slid through thick trees, relaxing. "Yeah. You seem . . . different, somehow. You seem real."

The NBA Finals are underway, but there are now 28 teams sitting at home with nothing to do but twiddle their thumbs, watch LeBron, and wait for next season to start.
For their sake, we wanted to look ahead with the next edition of the OFFSEASON BLUEPRINT series. In each, we'll preview some big decisions and make some recommendations for plans of attack along the way. Today, we're looking at the Boston Celtics.
step one: don't flush money down the toilet
This is a difficult entry to write, because the Boston Celtics are a good team without any major problems hanging over their head. They were top 5 in W-L record, top 5 in point differential. They finished 4th in offense, 4th in defense. They advanced to the Conference Finals, knocking off a tough Toronto team along the way. If they rolled it back next season, they should be considered a top 5 team once again.
If you can nitpick, you can find reasons to quibble with some of their big splash free agency signings. Gordon Hayward got a huge contract and didn't sustain his All-Star level (for reasons out of his control.) Last offseason, the team gave out another huge contract to Kemba Walker ($32M + $34M + $36M + $38M player option), and they may be regretting that now. Walker never looked at 100% health and he got picked on some defensively in the playoffs. The idea of paying him that kind of money for three more seasons may be a little scary.
Of course, there's no use crying over spilled milk. Gordon Hayward will likely "opt in" to his $34M player option. Is that an overpay? Sure. Still, Hayward is still a solid starter with a balanced skill set. With another year removed from that injury, he may take another step up.
As for Walker, the hope is that he'll do the same with an offseason to recover and another year in the system. It can't be easy to go from the star of a franchise to the 2nd or 3rd option. In fact, most of Walker's offensive decline can be chalked up to a reduced role. His PPG dropped from 25.6 to 20.4, but that comes after his minutes dropped by 3.8 and his field goal attempts dropped by 4.4 per game. In terms of his efficiency, there wasn't a big difference. He actually scored a higher true shooting percentage (up from 56% to 58%). His offensive box plus/minus stayed near the same at + 4.9, which ranked as the highest on Boston's team.
Walker didn't look great in the bubble, but I'm going to chalk that up to some lingering injuries. He's still only 30 years old, so he hasn't gotten materially worse in a year. Will he get much worse by age 32? At 33? That's possible. But again, the Celtics have already committed to that. They can try to float trade packages for Walker to get off that contract, but I don't see teams beating down their door for it. If a team like the Knicks wants Walker, they may not offer anything back in return (aside from their willingness to take the contract.) Given Boston's situation as a team on the verge of the Finals, it doesn't make a lot of sense to take a step back like that just for cap relief.
step two: promote a temp to a full time desk
The Boston Celtics have a very strong "top six." You have the two rising stars in Jayson Tatum and Jaylen Brown. You have the two veterans in Kemba Walker and Gordon Hayward. You have the super role players in Marcus Smart and Daniel Theis. After that, it's more of a grab bag. No other player on the team averaged more than 20 minutes a night in the regular season, and no other player averaged more than 18 minutes a night in the postseason.
A team can make a deep run in the playoffs by going six strong, but it makes the margin of error narrower. When one of those players gets hurt -- like Gordon Hayward did this postseason -- it strains your depth. Beyond that, having an extra member of the full-time cast allows your players to take nights off and manage their minutes in anticipation of that deep playoff run. Hayward and Walker are both 30 now, so it's going to be important to keep them fresh.
Effectively, we want to take this "top six" and make it a "top seven." (Hence the post title.)
The top candidate for a promotion would be rookie PF Grant Williams. To me, Williams has more offensive potential than fellow forward Semi Ojeleye. After three good years at Tennessee, Williams dropped to # 22 in the draft based on the perception that he was more of a "college player" who couldn't keep up with NBA athletes. That didn't look to be the case so far for Williams (or for Cam Johnson in Phoenix, by the by.) Williams is a high-IQ player who can potentially play several different positions. He needs to keep increasing his range (25% from three), but he's been working toward that over his career. If he can take a leap next year, that'd be a major boon for the Celtics.
Fellow rookies Romeo Langford and Carsen Edwards may be slightly behind on the development curve, but it'd be great if they could get on the track toward the rotation eventually. Langford projects as a quality scorer who could potentially replace Gordon Hayward in the lineup in 1-2 years. Meanwhile, Edwards was a major shot maker in college who still has a lot of work to do. It may be too optimistic to think he could be a starter one day, but perhaps he could take the reserve role from Brad Wanamaker (a free agent.) If not, Tremont Waters (another rookie) may try to vie for that spot himself. It's not exactly Game of Thrones, but it's Game of Bench Seats. If nothing are ready for 15 or so minutes, then the team may need to re-sign Wanamaker or another filler vet.
In an ideal world, the Celtics would have faith that Robert Williams would be ready for an elevated role himself. They may lean more toward smallball bigs, but it's nice to have the option of a more traditional big at center as well. Enes Kanter has a player option for $5M that he may take -- he may not. He may try to finagle a longer-term deal somewhere. But if the team trusts the Time Lord, they can negotiate from a position of strength on that front.
No matter what happens, the Celtics will likely need their "7th man" to come from within. They have $120M committed on the cap for next season, so they're going to need to rely on internal improvements.
step three: bundle like the Big Short
If you thought the Boston Celtics had a lot of prospects in their "farm system" already, just wait. In this upcoming draft, they'll have pick # 14. And pick # 26. And pick # 30. And pick # 47.
Danny Ainge has always valued the draft and having a lot of picks, but we don't need this many. After all, we're trying to win the NBA title, not the G-League title.
The most obvious tactic would be bundling up these assets and trying to upgrade somehow. Like in The Big Short, perhaps a bunch of low-end assets can equal something of value. Still, the Celtics and their fans need to be reasonable here. They've tried bundling up lower draft picks in order to move for a while now, and always seem surprised when teams reject it (thinking of the potential Justise Winslow trade-up, primarily.) The truth is, these mid-to-late R1 picks aren't as valuable as many people seem to think. If the team packages all four of those picks together (14, 26, 30, 47) in order to move up, they may only land around pick # 9 or so. This isn't the NFL; NBA teams tend to value quality over quantity in the draft.
For a team that's already pretty strong and balanced, there may be a tendency to keep all their picks and just swing for a home run or two. The trouble is: there's only so much room on the roster. Consolidating (or pushing some of those picks back to future drafts) may be necessary.
If the Celtics can't move up and stay at # 14, they should have the option of getting another solid prospect. Some that may be intriguing to me personally would be Arizona SG/SF Josh Green ("Green"? karmic!), Villanova SF Saddiq Bey, or Maryland PF Jalen Smith. All three are quality prospects that project as rotational players in a year or two. A bigger home run swing may be Aleksej Pokusevski, the skilled 7'0" stretch big from Serbia. Pokusevski's narrow frame would make me nervous to bet on him if I was a GM on the ropes who needed to hit on my pick, but the Celtics have more freedom than that. They can take some chances if they want. Other upside plays would include PG/SG R.J. Hampton (U.S./New Zealand) and SF Jaden McDaniels (Washington).
With the # 26 pick, the Celtics could also get a decent prospect as well. You can never go wrong with a traditional 3+D prospect like SF Robert Woodard (Mississippi State). I also wouldn't rule out taking a traditional big like Vernon Carey (Duke). No one wants traditional scoring bigs anymore, but that's the reason that a player like that (who averaged 18-9 as a freshman) would slip down to # 24. In another era, the kid may be a top 10 pick. At the very least, he could replace the Enes Kanter role as a scoring sub.
step four: keep on truckin'
Hmm. Usually these offseason blueprints have 4 or 5 steps, but I'm running out of ideas here. As mentioned, things are running pretty smoothly for this franchise. I don't think Danny Ainge needs much help from reddit right now.
Still, I'll throw in some minor little notes that don't even merit a full section.
WHAT CAN BROWN DO FOR YOU? The Celtics have a lot of shot makers, but sometimes their offense can stall and fall into iso or hero ball. They need to keep pushing forward with ball movement and set plays if need be. One stat I noticed: Jaylen Brown is an exceptional shooter from the corner. He's at 43% from his career, and that swelled to 48% this season. Running action to get him more of those shots would be helpful.
REUNITE GERMANY. The team has a $5M option on center Daniel Theis that they'll definitely pick up. After that, Theis will be an unrestricted free agent. If I ran the team, I'd start talking to Theis about an extension. There may be a perception that the team can play any smallball center and save some money at the position, but I'd disagree. Theis is an underrated player that fits the modern NBA well. There may be a matchup here and there where he struggles, but overall he's a good starter and may need to be paid like one. He's still a little "under the radar," so perhaps they can get a team-friendly deal if they extend him now.
KEEP YOUR COACHING DEPTH STRONG. Celtics assistant coach Jay Larranaga is one of the better lieutenants in the game. He had been floated for some head coaching jobs in the past, but seems to have been lost in the shadows with all the major movement on the sidelines this year. Hopefully, for Boston's sake, Larranaga doesn't feel discouraged by that and doesn't start looking for head coaching opportunities elsewhere. His father is a good college coach, and he may decide to go that NCAA route eventually himself. The team should keep him well compensated so he doesn't feel the need to do that.
Overall, we're talking minor tweaks for this next season. The Celtics' chances of winning a title will hinge on how much they can improve -- both from their young stars and from their young bench.
other offseason blueprints
ATL, BKN, CHA, CHI, CLE, DAL, DEN, DET, HOU, IND, GS, LAC, LAL, MEM, MIA, MIL, MIN, NO, NYK, OKC, ORL, PHI, PHX, POR, SA, SAC, TOR, UTA, WAS

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      “Why don’t you go ahead and wish Tenna luck?” Sylnya suggested while she, Draevin and Peter headed down the hill towards the arena. “I still have some errands to do before the first match.”
      Draevin gave Sylnya a dubious look. “And by errands you of course mean you have bets you need to place.”
      “I don’t see why it’s any of your business what I do with my money,” Sylnya said. “You worry about seeing Tenna off and I’ll worry about me.”
      “What good would that even do?” Draevin asked. “And why are you so insistent?”
      “Because she was really upset after you blew her off yesterday. I’m sure she’d appreciate the encouragement.”
      “Hey, that wasn’t even my fault. Why don’t you blame Peter for that one? He’s the one that made plans with Faernyl for me.”
      Peter tried to slink back behind Draevin’s back where he would be out of sight. Sylnya glared at him. “That was kind of rude.”
      Peter looked at the ground and fidgeted with his glasses when they focused their attention on him. They were still walking toward the arena; Draevin led them around a gaggle of young gnome girls that sounded like they were gossiping about that self-righteous eldrin, Hanu. “It was a mistake,” Peter admitted to Sylnya after they passed by. “I’ll try not to impersonate him again but I didn’t think he’d actually follow through on those plans. How is that my fault?”
      Sylnya let out a weary sigh. “I don’t understand it, Drae, but that girl thinks the world of you for some reason. It would mean a lot to her if you wished her luck, and it would barely cost you a thing.”
      “I could do it for you,” Peter offered, “as a way to make up for the thing with Faernyl yesterday.”
      “No, no,” Draevin said. “I’ll do it. You wouldn’t know what to say, and I’d rather you not get in the habit of impersonating me.” Something caught Draevin’s eye and he tilted his head back to see a posse of eldrin approaching the arena from a different direction. The group was on a collision-course with their own and Istven was leading the way. “Though on second thought if you’re willing to keep Istven off my back for the rest of the day I’d consider us even.”
      “Deal,” Peter said without the slightest hesitation.
      Istven was striding confidently in his full battle-regalia. He drew quite a bit of notice and it helped that he was surrounded by richly-dressed eldrin nobles no doubt seeking favors in anticipation of his winning this year’s tournament. He wore a suit of custom-fitted plate mail that was burnished black with accents of polished silver gilding. The colors of his outfit mirrored his night-black skin, while the silver accents mirrored his argent white hair. The infamous black crown of King Haedril was mounted securely to the pauldron on his left shoulder.
      “Interesting,” Peter said. He already had a notepad out and Draevin watched the human’s dexterous fingers sketch out an approximation of Istven’s form remarkably quickly. Instead of the piece of charcoal Draevin had grown used to, it seemed Peter was now writing with a high quality pencil. Between that and the crystal engraving stylus Peter had to have spent a good portion of his winnings from yesterday; Draevin was just surprised he hadn’t upgraded his shabby wardrobe while he was shopping. “Is that really allowed?” Peter asked as he finished his sketch and tucked his notepad away. “A full suit of armor like that? It looks like he even has a sword at his hip.”
      “It’s allowed all right,” Sylnya told him. “You can bring anything you want into your matches as long as you can carry it. They only restrict you to one magical item.”
      “Is that why you let Kot jump up into your arms during your introduction yesterday?” Peter asked Sylnya.
      “I really don’t have time for a bunch of questions right now,” Sylnya answered. She turned to the path that led to the betting cages. “Go talk to Tenna, Drae and take Peter with you. I’ll meet you guys back at the booth.” She slipped into the crowd and was gone before Draevin could raise an objection.
      Istven was coming their way. “So was that offer real?” Draevin asked Peter.
      “Which?” Peter asked. He sounded a little uneasy. “The Istven thing or the Tenna thing?”
      “Istven,” Draevin said. He grabbed Peter by his shoulders and pointed him towards the approaching eldrin. “The guy’s unstable as all hell and dangerous to boot. Just convince him to leave me alone while still maintaining the Mutual Assurance pact we agreed to yesterday.”
      “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Peter asked.
      “Oh please,” Draevin said dismissively, “like your wheels aren’t already turning. I saw how quickly you adapted to the situation yesterday. This should be easy for you.”
      “No no,” Peter said loudly in a snobby voice Draevin didn’t recognize. “I’m quite all right thank you. You may leave.” He waved a hand at Draevin to dismiss him and Draevin recognized the hand. It was his hand. And he was wearing his face too! Peter had seamlessly transformed into a perfect copy of Draevin. Draevin looked down at his own clothes and saw that he was now in the purple robes of a Guild acolyte. Peter really did think fast on his feet.
      Istven marched right up to Draevin-Peter and said, “We need to talk.” The crowd of simpering eldrin nobles waited behind him.
      Peter-Draevin cleared his throat. “Public or private?”
      Istven looked pointedly at Draevin—the real Draevin—and visibly sneered. “Private obviously.” He pointed to acolyte-Draevin. “You. Leave us.”
      “Yes sir,” Draevin answered and was pleased to find his voice sounded different. It sounded feminine. He realized with a start that he’d been transformed into a copy of the nice elf girl that had helped them at The Pot earlier that morning.
      Draevin slipped away without incident, his only remaining concern being how long the disguise Peter had given him would last. It would be awkward trying to give Tenna some words of encouragement while wearing the face of another woman. When he got to the tunnel leading to the arena grounds the guards waved him right through without the slightest challenge. It was probably fine for him to sneak in like this, since as a fellow contestant he was allowed to enter anyways, but it still left him a bit uneasy. Was this what passed for security? They just let anyone wearing a purple robe into secure sections of the arena?
      He found Tenna pacing at the mouth of the tunnel. She was wearing pale blue Ice Armor robes with frozen spikes of hair in a blatant mimicry of Draevin’s own aesthetic. He couldn’t be too upset about it though since he was the one who had taught her those spells. When she saw him coming towards her she gave a frightened gasp.
      “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she started to say.
      “Relax,” Draevin told her, “it’s just me.”
      Tenna blinked. “You?”
      “Oh sorry, I probably look different. It’s me Draevin,” he told her. He wiped at his face, but it didn’t do anything about the illusion covering him. He realized that he didn’t actually know how to get rid of Peter’s illusion. The spell was probably weak enough that a little interference might be enough though. With an effortless gesture Draevin conjured a light mist of ice around himself and that did the trick: the illusion immediately collapsed.
      “Draevin!” Tenna squealed with glee. Her apprehension was replaced with excitement and she leapt on him and wrapped him in a hug. “It’s so nice to see you.” She hopped down and stepped back a pace. “What was with the disguise?”
      Rather than try to explain the situation with Istven, Draevin opted to simply tell Tenna, “I had someone dangerous looking for me.” Tenna got a worried look on her face when he said it, and he immediately regretted his choice of words. Even if they were technically truthful. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Really, I’m fine.”
      Tenna studied her boots for a moment; they were heavy duty, complete with spikes for gripping tight on icy surfaces. That was at least one change between their styles, Draevin preferred normal shoes that he could slide around in when he needed speed.
      “Nice boots,” he complimented her.
      Even though Tenna had been looking at them already, she started for a second and seemed to recognize them for the first time. “Oh, yeah. They’re—”
      Maeve’s announcement cut off whatever Tenna had been about to say. “The first match of the day is ready to begin, will the fighters please make their way to the stage.”
      “That’s me,” Tenna groaned. “I wish they’d let me go second today. I don’t feel ready!”
      Draevin patted the smaller elf on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine. You and Sharack are both registered with the Guild so you shouldn’t be in any mortal danger.”
      Tenna looked horrified. Her eyes practically popped out of her head. “Mortal danger?” she asked in a tiny voice.
      That probably hadn’t been the right thing to say. Draevin tried to salvage things and leave her with some actual advice. “Don’t worry about that. Just remember that Lizard-kin like Sharack usually open aggressively. They have big mana pools, but they don’t recover as fast as us elves. If you can hold back his opening attack it’ll only get easier. Did you eat?”
      Tenna frowned. “Nooooo,” she whined. “My stomach gets all queasy if I eat before a match.” She reached under her shirt collar and pulled out a necklace. At the end was a small bird seemingly carved from purple amethyst. “Won’t Tambril’s Magpie get me all the mana I need anyway?”
      Draevin shook his head. “It’ll help but usually not a ton. You’d be surprised how many people are able to avoid it. You’re going to have to get over those nerves. Having a full belly is going to be a big advantage. Do you think you could hold down some water?”
      Her mouth twisted up on one side in an uncertain expression. “Probably?” she said. Her upward inflection made it sound like a question.
      “Then here,” Draevin said. He handed her the water skin from his belt. “Drink this.”
      She looked at the skin and groaned. “All of it?” she asked.
      “Yes, of course! I’d have you drink three if I had three. Everything you can fit.” He patted his pockets to find something more he could give her but that had been the only thing edible. There was an old tip among elf wizards for eating non-food before a match if your nerves were bothering you, but he decided against suggesting it: the elvish stereotype of eating dirt didn’t need any reinforcement.
      Tenna finished chugging down the water and handed back the empty flagon. “My stomach at least feels full,” she said, clutching one hand over her torso. She looked to Draevin almost like the kid he’d first met almost a century ago. She’d been whining to her mom at the time that the ice cream stand had been out of Draesicles so Draevin had made her one on the spot. She had the same wide-eyed look now as she’d had then. Though he’d never had kids Draevin imagined this was something like the pride a father must feel on seeing their kid off to their first day of school.
      “Good,” he told her, “as soon as that match starts you cannibalize everything you’ve got and burn that water into mana as fast as you can. You’ll wear him down.” Tenna started to move in to give Draevin another hug but he was already patting her on the shoulder, so he just kept doing that and it caused her to flush pink in embarrassment. “Well. I think I better leave before I get you in trouble.”
      “Right.” Tenna nodded. “Thanks for the help, Drae!” She walked to the edge of her fighter’s box with a confident stride and waved to some fans that cheered upon seeing her.
      Draevin hurried to leave so he could get to his seat before the match started. On his way out he caught a confused look from the guard who’d let him past when he looked like a Guild woman. He gave the guard a grin and a wink as he went by.
      Fans were hurrying about with food and drinks in hand as they scrambled to get to their seats before the first match started. Draevin had to weave between them to get to his booth. When he arrived Maeve still hadn’t started the introductions. Peter and Sylnya were already seated, and Sylnya had a ticket from the betting house clutched tightly in her hand.
      The human and dryad were already in the middle of a conversation. “…adjust all the time based on how many people are betting on each side,” Sylnya was explaining.
      “So that means more people are betting for me this time?” Peter asked.
      “Hey,” Draevin greeted as he took his seat.
      “Hi, Draevin,” Peter acknowledged, while Sylnya just nodded her head.
      “Well, yeah,” Sylnya continued, “with that rumor going around that you’re secretly a demon more people are willing to take a chance on you.”
      “What rumor?” Draevin asked. Instead of answering Sylnya shushed him and pointed towards the field.
      “Tenna is an elvish cryomancer representing Caldenia.” Maeve began the introductions. Tenna waved excitedly from inside her fighter’s box in their direction. Draevin returned the gesture. “She is carrying Tambril’s Thieving Magpie, and her wish if she wins this year’s tournament is to liberate the people of Trenal from Eldesian Tyranny.” Tenna held up the glowing crystal bird from around her neck for the crowd to examine, though from this distance it just looked like a flash of purple light. “Tenna wants everyone to know that the war between Caldenia and Eldesia has gone on long enough and will go down as a blight on Eldesia’s history.”
      At her announcement nearly every eldrin in the audience went studiously silent as well as anyone that didn’t want to piss them off. The elves in the crowd cheered loud enough to make up for it though. Draevin stood up and added his own voice to the mix in a rare display of patriotism that had more to do with supporting a friend than a nation.
      Maeve gestured an arm toward Sharack and waited for the last of the chatter to die down before continuing. The big green lizard-kin sported a floppy ridge of spikes going down his back starting at the top of his head. He wore what looked to Draevin like a black bathrobe but that he’d been told was actually something called a kimono and he had some kind of long wooden pole strapped to his back.
      Peter was sketching a quick drawing of Sharack in his notepad, and asked a quick question without looking up. “Why is he dressed so differently than Korack was?”
      “Korack’s just more northernized than most lizard-kin,” Sylnya told him.
      “That’s a nice way of saying he’s totally disconnected from his own culture,” Draevin added. Sylnya just scoffed.
      “Sharack is a lizard-kin chronomancer representing Emperor Loktai of the Kingdom of Kreet,” Maeve announced. Being so far to the south, lizard-kin didn’t typically attract large groups of fans, but there was a smattering of applause at the mention of Kreet.
      Draevin overheard Sylnya tell Peter, “Chronomancy is time magic.” Peter nodded along.
      “As his item, Sharack has brought Musashi’s Katana of Piercing Death and his wish if he wins this year’s tournament is to end Kreet’s famine,” Maeve continued. Sharack grabbed the pole on his back and pulled the end to reveal an impressively long one-sided blade inside. As he continued drawing it out it quickly became apparent that the blade was longer than Tenna was tall. It sloped back from the handle in a graceful arch and gleamed in the light.
      “That’s impressive,” Peter said while many of the crowd murmured among themselves appreciably.
      “What’s this about piercing death?” Draevin asked in concern. He was suddenly a lot less confident that Tenna would survive.
      Maeve signaled the judges. The bell chimed and the match began.
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Hello, again, everyone! As before, I am a new writer to HFY, albeit a long-time reader. I have thrown a few stories out already, but I'm still very new at the whole thing. I've got another one-shot story for you today, although classifying it as such is purely due to the fact that I just... didn't write more. Creating stories comes easy to me, but I frequently find myself unable to continue them due to a lack of further inspiration. So, don't expect too much follow-through on this unless more inspiration is found.
I'm still writing quite a bit, and I'll try to publish stories with some sort of frequency, but I can't really promise anything. As always, feedback is not only welcomed, but enjoyed.
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The galaxy is a very busy place. It is impossible to know who was the first; life has existed here for almost as long as time. The oldest races had either died off or gone away long before our own home planets had even coalesced from dust. As the older races vanished, new ones always replaced them, and the cycle of replacement continued. In earlier cycles, older races had occasionally attempted to share their technology and knowledge with the younger ones. However, ancient knowledge without ancient wisdom was a recipe for cataclysm, and it was decided that the younger civilizations would get no help from their elders.
It is the year 148 of the 23rd era1. Currently, around 35,000 known space-faring civilizations actively reside within the galaxy, many of which harbor multiple species and forms of life. Around 300 of them are ancient species who have not yet died or left. Around 2,000 are extreme isolationists. Most of the remainder hold some sort of political ties, partaking in treaties, alliances, and various federations. Civilizations rarely concern themselves with more than their local region, as the rest are simply too far away to matter.
My own people, the Keldar Union, live in the 9th Orion Region2. The largest federation here is the Orion Pact, a loose collection of 638 independent governments. The Pact certainly isn’t a true union, however; it acts more as a system which efficiently organizes interactions between its members, and does not impose any regulations among its members. It’s only significant contributions are the Pact-wide communication network and their diplomatic assembly stations.
The human government, called the Terran Concordiat, had made first contact only 148 years ago, in 23/1, making them very, very young. Unfortunately for them, that contact had been with the Vriin Empire, who, in a move which surprised absolutely no one, immediately declared a war of subjugation against the Concordiat. As all Pact members are required to at the very least announce when they declare war, this was the point where the greater region had become aware of the humans. We all pitied their fate, briefly, before going back to what we were doing.
However, as time passed, some in the Orion Pact began to realize that the war was proceeding... unusually. The Vriin Empire loved their propaganda, and would tout their martial superiority to anyone who would listen. However, the broadcasts about the war had steadily dropped in frequency until, one and a half years in to the conflict, they had stopped talking about it entirely. This was, for the most part, simply noted as a curiosity. Around five years in, somewhere along the line somebody realized that the Vriin Empire hadn’t actually declared the war’s end, meaning it was easily the longest first contact war they had ever declared. This got the attention of quite a few governments, and many took this to be a sign of weakness in the Vriin Empire, that the military powerhouse had gone soft. Or, perhaps, another unknown power had come in and stomped on the whole affair. They were right about it, but for the wrong reasons.
In the year 23/6, six years into the war, the Korda State, looking to take advantage of the weakened state the Vriin were in, declared war on them, sending in 3 massive expeditionary forces into their territory. As the Vriin’s war had recently become a topic of greater interest for the region, a number of neighboring governments sent scouts into the conflict zone to see exactly what was going on. The Vriin and the Korda were among the most powerful governments of the Pact, and now both were fighting conflicts in the same warzone. Neighboring governments, duplicitous intelligence agencies, and barroom bet pools would be foolish to not take advantage of the situation.
Soon, the first news came from the Korda assault. They had already taken a handful of populated planets, having met absolutely no resistance from the Vriin Empire. In fact, the scouts which others had sent in could not find any evidence of the Vriin military. Word from the area was sparse for a few months, the most interesting info from the scouts being an inside look of the Vriin Empire that wasn’t propaganda. Then, suddenly, after a few months of this, all word from the warzones stopped entirely. All of the scouts went MIA, and all communication from the Vriin Empire ceased entirely. The Korda Nation still had some communications (or at least that’s what they let on), but had suddenly stopped saying anything about their war effort.
Over the next year, more scouts were sent in, and just as many went missing. This kind of thing had never happened before, and now the Korda, the Vriin, and that poor first contact race (if they were even still alive at all) were all stuck in some sort of silent hell. Nobody had any idea what was going on, which only fueled everyone’s curiosity further. Then, for but a brief moment, the silence broke. A border patrol fleet of the Feln Alliance (the unfortunate neighbor of both the Vriin and the Korda) made contact with a returning Korda expeditionary fleet, or rather, what was left of it. While the Korda Nation was extremely secretive and highly suspicious of others, being even more so with concern to their government and military, the tatters of the Korda 5th Expeditionary Fleet proved to be anything but. They freely described what they had seen to the Feln commanders, and from there, their words spread throughout the Pact like fire.
The Korda 5th Expeditionary Fleet had launched six months prior to reinforce the 2nd Fleet, who had managed to get a message through to command requesting urgent and significant support. By the time they got there, the entire 2nd Fleet had been destroyed, with a few survivors having been found on a barren world nearby. The fleet’s commander, a brigadier general, was among them. He took command and ordered the 5th to immediately retreat back to home space. Much of the fleet thought he had gone crazy, but they were quickly proved otherwise during their first engagement. They didn’t know who was attacking them, however, as no hostile ships could be seen. Rather, while the whole fleet was in fold space, a lone projectile intercepted them and created a momentary singularity which tore them out of FTL3. The violent deceleration caused numerous deaths and injuries throughout the fleet, while also causing significant damage to most of their vessels, and outright destroying a fair few, too.
As the fleet cannibalized a number of crippled warships to replenish crews and repair fold drives, a hidden attacker began destroying entire ships through massive detonations, one at a time. As fear crept in, the 5th Fleet began moving at sub-light as fast as they could to get away from the danger4. By the time FTL engines had been repaired, the 5th Expeditionary Fleet had only 19 warships left, a mere shadow of the 550 they had begun with. Just prior to crossing the border out of Vriin space, several sensor technicians across the fleet claimed that they had caught a glimpse of some sort of massive stationary structure sitting in fold space. Although such a report would normally be scoffed at as being outrageously imaginative, recent events left them unsure of themselves. Not that they wanted to find out, though. They were plenty happy to leave that hellish place and never look back. Beaten and broken, they spoke no more on the subject, and continued on their journey home.
This glimpse into what had now become known as the “Silent War” had sent a craze of curiosity and superstition throughout the region, reaching even past the borders of the Orion Pact and into neighboring federations and governments. Even the reclusive Strength Alliant and the expansive Velnar Star Empire both openly admitted that they were curiously observing the Silent War. Everyone hoped that this news was a sign that more would soon be heard, and they would not be disappointed.
Only three months after the 5th Fleet incident, the next major surprise blindsided the region. All at once, the swath of silence expanded to cover an alarming 22% of Korda Nation territory. Even the Korda’s facade of secrecy could not contain this news, as word soon slipped through that their leadership and military were in a complete panic. A week later, another word found a crack and got out: The Korda had consolidated their entire military and sent it into the new silent region. After only two days, the force reappeared in a total, disorganized rout, having already lost two-thirds of their entire military.
With its military in shambles and the facade of secrecy now shattered, the Korda Nation’s government dissolved mere days later. In the days that followed, the silence enveloped the rest of the former Korda Nation’s territory. For five long months, not a single word was heard from the Silent War, until the Drasst Union broke the silence and made a move. The Drasst, being optimists and egalitarians to the last, assembled a large civilian fleet of disaster relief vessels, prefabricated crisis response stations, and an experienced diplomatic envoy, and sent them into the silence, not to be seen or heard of again for seven tense weeks. This was widely regarded by everyone as an utterly stupid move, right up until it wasn’t.
When the civilian fleet finally re-emerged from the silence, they were entirely in-tact, declaring a successful mission. Word of this swept so far and wide, that it had even reached as far as the 10th Orion Region. Every government and news organization waited impatiently to hear the details, and the Drasst were happy to be the center of attention for once. And so, the fleet told their story.
Upon entering the silence, they found widespread destruction, but not widespread death. For the first two weeks, they rendered minor aid to colonies and outposts, and gathered information on what was going on. Apparently, all militaries within the silence had been completely destroyed, and the Vriin and Korda governments had dissolved as a result. However, populated civilian centers were left untouched, and civilian supply and transport vessels found themselves unharassed, even from piracy. The only other information had been the occasional reports of mysterious vessels, fleets, and signals seen in passing, as well as more reports of large structures seen distantly while in fold space. Through the next three weeks, the Drasst fleet collected more of these reports throughout the silence, and even recorded sightings of their own.
It was in the middle of week six when everything changed. While supplying aid to the survivors of a recently attacked Vriin military staging post, a single warship jumped into the sector and approached the fleet, declaring peaceful intentions. It identified itself as a mere patrol vessel, although it was easily the size of a larger frigate. It declined to identify its government or species, and asked that the Drasst fleet leave its territory in reasonable haste (allowing exceptions for rendering emergency aid when needed). The vessel further stated that it’s government would promptly dispatch an envoy in three week’s time to open diplomatic relations with the Orion Pact. Lastly, they promised to render aid to the post in the Drasst Fleet’s absence. The fleet had complied, spending the remaining week and a half returning home. The mysterious faction had named a sector of space where contact would be made, which happened to be deep into Pact neutral space, being only a few sectors away from the Pact’s main diplomatic center, Trellraven Station. Negotiations would be held at that facility, as their envoy and its escort would travel there from their designated arrival point.
The entire region was in a craze with the prospect of finally learning the mysteries of the Silent War, and every government in the Orion Pact (and a couple outside of it) sent envoys to the designated sector to meet the mysterious envoy upon its arrival, planning to then escort them to Trellraven Station. Over the next week and a half, hundreds of diplomatic vessels congregated in anticipation. Reclusive governments, whose ships had gone countless decades or centuries without being seen, sent envoys. Bitter enemies and close allies alike sent forth representatives. Wars were paused and negotiations were cancelled as the governments which partook in them agreed to go together in search of answers to the now infamous Silent War. Once their curiosities had been satisfied, and the diplomatic effects of the event known, they could safely return to their own dealings. They just had to know who was responsible for defeating both the Vriin Empire and the Korda Nation simultaneously. In a bid to see the newcomers, thousands of additional vessels made their way to the arrival point, as oligarchs, pleasure liner companies, and the curious crews of civilian transports and military warships alike all hoped to get a peek of the historic event.
As the many hundreds of thousands of beings watched from their thousands of ships, a massive fold interdiction field enveloped the entire sector. This had been expected, the mysterious faction had said it would be there to prevent an accidental collision with those waiting, and, albeit a strange method of going about it, nobody was about to complain. For two hours, they all waited in anticipation, until suddenly a truly immense anomaly of fold space formed at the arrival coordinates. They had arrived.
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As the incredibly immense structure decelerated into normal space, everyone present looked on in utter disbelief. Word quickly spread as an initial few realized they were looking at the very structure which fit the description of the mysterious station which had lingered distantly in fold space from within the silent territory. The station was truly massive, easily dwarfing every ship present, as well as a fair few larger space installations, too. A decent number of governments in the 9th Orion Region were entirely incapable of such an enormous facility, and those that were certainly couldn’t move theirs like this one had just been. On the side of the structure, a massive geometric emblem was visible, clearly the mark of its government, although who that was still remained unknown.
Before anyone present could fully grasp the situation, fold space rippled once more, and a fleet of 20 great warships appeared, each bearing the same emblem. Before the fleet’s arrival could instill any panic in those present, a smaller vessel exiting the station initiated a broadcast to every ship in the area.
“Greetings, everyone. Now that our honor guard escort has arrived, we are ready to proceed to Trellraven Station. We look forward to a more peaceful resolution this time; the Vriin Empire was rather rude about the whole thing. The Korda Nation wouldn’t even take us seriously until they suddenly collapsed over the issue. At that point, we felt somewhat responsible for the well-being of the Vriin and Korda peoples, and have been integrating them into our own society. We were happy to finally see someone friendly come around when the Drasst fleet showed up.”
As the hundreds of thousands of beings listened in stunned silence, all trying to understand what had just been said, the mysterious envoy spoke one final statement; a message which would ring throughout the entire Orion Arm, and would change the shape of the 9th Orion Region for millenia to come.
“My name is Ambassador Mason Tellman, and I represent the Terran Concordiat. We look forward to forging greater relations in the future.”
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Somewhere in the galactic core, an ancient civilization listened silently to all the happenings of the galaxy. Many before them and since had either died or left, but they had chosen to hide and watch. The old enemy had prevented them from conquering the galaxy like they had planned, and now they sat watching the events of their would-be domain. They had killed the enemy, and now waited for the time when they could rise once again. Among the billions and trillions of communications they listened to, they suddenly heard one which gave them pause.
“...orging greater relations in the future.”
Anger and fear filled the ancient Qaan in equal measures. How... how could this be? They were dead! The Qaan had killed them! How could they be here now?
In their fury, the Qaan realized that they were now working with limited time. Those damned things were back, and now threatened their plans. They would have to act earlier than they wanted to, and begin rebuilding their power immediately, ‘lest they allow the ancient enemy to grow powerful again.
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140 years later...
As I prepared to meet with the Concordiat representative, I idly shifted my lower arms. The Keldar Union was about to be at war. It would be hard-fought, but our victory would already be assured. In only 140 years of contact, the book on waging war in the 9th Orion Region had been completely rewritten. Where once the use of individual might, alliances, and tactics would bring victory, none of these things mattered anymore if the Terran Concordiat chose to take a side. Wars were won by the side who bought Terran weapons. They were won by those who hired Terran mercenaries. They were won by those who allied with the Terran Concordiat. The cost was never cheap, but what it got you made it well worth it.
We knew that the Zall Conglomerate was about to attack us, and we knew that, in our weakened state from the last war, we could not win alone. The Zall believed that we could not spare the expense of Terran aid. They were right, in a way; we could not pay the hefty resource prices they normally charged. What the Zall did not consider, however, was what we would offer instead.
In the face of Zall conquest stripping us of our rights, our freedoms, and our lives, we would relinquish our independence, forever becoming citizens of the Terran Concordiat.
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Annotations:
1 The shorthand for this is 23/148. The galaxy runs on a universal time scale, despite the vast distances which prevent widespread communication. 1 era = 50,000 years. Each year consists of 12 months, each lasting 30 days. The fact that the entire galaxy follows a Gregorian-esque calendar is intentional. Plot, y’all!
2 The galaxy consists of 4 arms, 1 splinter arm, and 1 outer ring. Each of the 4 arms (Cygnus, Perseus, Crux, Norma) is divided into 31 numbered regions. The splinter arm (Orion) is divided into 13 numbered regions. The outer ring (Monoceros) is divided into 4 cardinally-named quadrants. Higher-numbered regions are closer to the rim.
3 Being in foldspace required a fold drive, meaning that the projectile had to have one to do this. Following this report, a number of Pact governments would attempt to develop such a weapon, none of which succeeded, being deemed far too expensive for the damage their prototypes could dish out. Had anyone had the technology to weaponize singularities, this might have turned out differently.
4 After the war, it would become known that there was no active attacker. The fold space projectile was a snare trap which placed the 5th Expeditionary Fleet in the middle of a massive field of cloaked anti-ship mines. In their subsequent panic-induced acceleration, the 5th Fleet ended up hitting even more mines, causing far more damage than if they had simply sat still.
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After I finally finished writing this story 6 days ago, I began exploring other settings, topics, and tropes to base some one-offs on. Aside from what I've already produced, I think I'm going to try out some shorter comedy bits, and see how they play out. I also spent a massive overnighter writing a concept for a longer-ish story called "The Fallen", which has taken inspiration from "In the Hall of the Mountain King" and the game "Horizon: Zero Dawn". I need more inspiration before I can really write more of it, but I am incredibly proud of the concept and execution thus far.
I'll be trying to keep an eye on this post's comments for a while, as I love interacting with my readers (wow... I never thought I'd be saying that).
As a final note, I want to thank everyone again for the amazing reception of my last story. I love writing HFY stories, and to see people actually enjoying them is just... pure joy.

“What the fuck?” I asked, stepping back from my sock drawer as if it were an open flame. “Jessica, I’m definitely missing another pair.”
“What?” She asked. “How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know.”
And I didn’t. The whole thing made zero sense. When we first moved into our new apartment eight months ago, my socks took up the entire drawer. After three months, there was definitely some empty space. On that day, six months in, I only had enough socks to fill up half the drawer.
I turned on her, “If this is some kind of joke, I need you to come clean right now. This isn’t funny anymore.”
“Garret,” she said incredulously, laughing. “Why are you blaming me? I’m not doing anything. This is starting to get a little freaky but I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m gonna go get some water. My mouth has been so dry since I woke up.”
But what other explanation was there? We lived alone, and our apartment was fully furnished, meaning we had a working washer and dryer. We didn't do our laundry on the same day, and our clothes never left the place unless we were wearing them.
I followed her to the kitchen and took a deep breath, “Listen, baby, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out and it’s a little weird. Like, where could they be?”
“Well let’s count them,” she said, taking a long drink of water. “Every week when you do your laundry, count them before you start washing them, count them again before you put them in the dryer, and then count them again when you’re folding them. If we can narrow it down to when they go missing, we can figure out where they’re going. I mean things don’t just disappear.”
I did exactly as she said. That day, I counted eight pairs of socks, and I bought a notepad to keep track of the numbers. I bet I’m the first guy in the world to buy a notepad to record how many socks he has.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve done my laundry like this: every Saturday night, I wash my clothes, then put them in the dryer last thing before bed. In the morning, I let the dryer run for about ten minutes to get any wrinkles out, then I take out the clothes, fold them, and put them up.
For three weeks, I had eight pairs of socks every time I counted. I told Jessica that I must have just been misplacing them somehow, and now that I was being careful, everything was squared away.
She scolded me for making it a big deal and scaring her, but we started to relax about the whole thing. I mean, seriously, it was a few missing socks over the course of months. There was no reason we should have been scared in the first place.
But on that fourth week, things got a little weird.
Before I put my clothes in the washer, I had eight pairs.
Before I put them in the dryer, I had eight pairs.
Jessica stood by me on Sunday morning as I prepared to open the dryer and count my socks. It had become our weekly ritual, I was starting to feel like this guy my dad used to know who always made sure he had an even number of cheerios in his bowl before he ate them.
Usually, after I counted the eighth pair, Jessica would shout something celebratory like, “The socks are safe!” And then I’d pick her up, spin her around, and give her a quick kiss on the lips.
As I was counting, we were relaxed. She was on her phone and casually complaining that her mouth was dry again and she didn’t know why.
I knew that my sock problem was over, but it was merely routine. As I counted out four, I could tell she was getting ready to celebrate, but what she hadn’t noticed was that there were only two pairs left.
I counted to make sure, but yeah, six pairs. I was missing four socks.
“Jessica…” I said, my voice trailing off as I pointed down at the pile of socks.
She put her phone away and stepped closer, counting off the socks slowly, “What the hell?” She asked. “Are you joking?”
“No…”
“You had eight before you put them in the dryer right?”
“Yeah, I did. Um… maybe they got tucked away somewhere else?”
So we searched the dryer for any place they could’ve been hiding, and we checked all of my clothes to see if they’d somehow slipped into a collar, sleeve, or pocket. I even checked the lint trap to see if they’d somehow gotten inside there.
But no, they were gone. Had we just discovered that things can disappear? A magical dryer? Was someone breaking in every few weeks and stealing my socks?
And it was only my socks that went missing. Jessica hadn’t noticed anything wrong with her clothes, but then again, she did the whole thing all at once, never leaving clothes in the dryer overnight.
So something must have been happening in the time between us going to bed and waking up in the morning. That only made it scarier.
I looked at Jessica, she had gone so pale that her skin was almost matching the color of the white wall behind her.
“Baby,” I said. “It’s just some missing socks. We’re overreacting. Four weeks and I lost two pairs of socks. You know I’m an idiot sometimes, I probably miscounted at some point.”
I reached forward to pull her into an embrace, but she stepped back, slamming herself against the wall with a loud thud.
We stared at each other in silence for several seconds before she whispered, “Are you trying to scare me or something? Things don’t just disappear, Garret, You need to cut it out.”
“Jessic-“
“I gotta go to work.”
She stepped out of the laundry room and into the kitchen. Within ten minutes she was dressed and out the door.
\God,** I thought to myself. \Am I really gonna let some missing socks ruin my relationship?**
At first, I thought I’d just buy a bunch of new socks and forget about the whole thing. I wouldn’t even notice if a few went missing here and there. I guess that’s what most people would have done, it’d make both of us feel better.
It was just a bunch of missing socks. I didn’t care if the guy from *13 Cameras\* was breaking in at night, as long as he stopped with taking a couple of pairs of socks every now and then.
But then again, no one breaks into a house just to steal socks.
I was still pretty sure that I was imagining the whole thing, but I decided to call out of work and go buy two security cameras. If for nothing else than to ease my mind.
I set one in the corner of the laundry room, hidden between two towels. From there it could record the door, the washer, and the dryer. The other I perched just above the front door, looking down so that I would be able to see if anyone entered the house.
I connected the cameras to my phone. They came with an app that would let me view the entire video feed’s both current and past, and would send me an alert and a five-second video whenever motion was detected.
When Jessica came home from work, we made up. She said she was just feeling really scared about the whole thing and didn’t know how to react.
I explained what I did with the cameras, and told her that soon we’d feel safe in the knowledge that no one was breaking in and making off with my precious socks.
For the next six days, I did a quick check of both video feeds every night before bed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and I hadn’t received any notifications for movement that wasn’t attributed to either Jessica or me.
It was reassuring, but we both knew that the real test came on Saturday night.
It was 10:00 pm and we were lying in bed. I had started my laundry fifteen minutes prior, and as usual, didn’t plan on getting up to take them out until morning.
I know most people would have changed their laundry routine by then, but I felt that if I did I was accepting that there was something to be afraid of. And if there was something to be afraid of, then I should have been doing something, not hiding from it and waiting for it to get worse.
Jessica had, miraculously, actually fallen asleep. I stroked her hair absentmindedly with my free hand as I watched the video feed on my phone.
As the minutes ticked by I started to feel a sense of dread and uneasiness. I was scared to move, as if the world was waiting for me to turn my head just an inch and set everything in motion.
My jaw tightened, and my heartbeat quickened in my chest. It was suddenly way too cold but I couldn’t bring myself to move the blanket at all.
I just layed there, waiting for something.
Eventually, I guess exhaustion took me. Because I woke up at 6:00 am with my phone on the floor beside the bed. Jessica was still asleep. Careful not to wake her, I got up slowly and grabbed my phone.
I had five notifications of movement.
Video one, 3:03 AM: A large man enters the apartment by key.
Video two, 3:03 AM: He enters the laundry room and flips the light on. I can see that he’s smiling wide and literally jumping for joy. Giddy like a little kid on Christmas.
Video three, 3:15 AM: He’s exiting the laundry room. He has a sock on each hand and he’s looking straight up, breathing hard, but from the slow and relaxed way his shoulders fall, I can tell he’s feeling good.
Video four, 3:16 AM: He walks past the front door. Not out of it. Past it. The only room in that direction is our bedroom.
Video five, 4:05 AM: He exits the apartment slowly and casually, sniffing the sock on his right hand.
What was he doing in our room for almost an hour?
ABC

Roland Garros : Aviator Adventurer? Or Mythical Dragon? Let's look at the facts.
1) Pokemon named the dragon looking pokemon Garrados (or something like that). Where did they get that idea? hmm
2) If you rearrange the letters in Roland Garros you get Roslan's Dragon, so the real question is was Roslan an aviator? because clearly Roland Garros was not
3) Many people dispute the realness of dragons, but have you ever been to France? If not, I promise you they had dragons
4) 4
5) Where did people even get the idea for airplanes from? Answer : from dragons. Dragons are notoriously good inventors, ever heard of fire? hoarding wealth? let's be honest, humans are just dragon wannabe's
Here's some tennis :
Djokovic Berankis : Quick standard work from Novak in the first round. No one looks more perfectly effortless than him when he’s in control. Berankis did well to surprise the lackluster Dellien even though clay isn’t his best surface. Dellien will likely be off the tour next year without some major grinding on the challenger tour. This next matchup looked good for a while at the USO but will be a similar result and a faster one on clay. Djokovic in 3.
Galan Sandgren : Cam Norrie and Galan played one of the worst 5-setters you could see if you were betting on either one. Nonstop exchanges of multiple games and no one could really sustain offense. I had thought Galan would run away with this one as he’s such a specialist but Norrie (when he wasn’t making errors) had control here and was the only one who could really change the direction of the ball or serve aces. Just the same scorelines but completely different play in the Sandgren and Hurkacz match. Sandgren hung around in the first set even though Hurkacz was dictating. It appeared fairly obvious that Sandgren’s plan was to hang in rallies and not go for much, hoping for errors. When Hurkacz managed to get broken at the end of the first it began to look like that was a solid strategy.
Sandgren was constantly serving at duece, facing break points in so many service games, and genuinely did not win this match at all. Hurkacz will need time or a new mental approach, because he’s losing matches due to errors, and this is a baaaaaad thing on tour because so many guys strategy when things get tight is to “try hard hope to earn errors”. When you’re known for making them guys try harder, and then you’re in the rare prison of supplying all the offense to a match. Guys like Federer can play 3 sets of offense, most of the tour is going to need to play error-free tennis so that their opponents are forced to at least go for something. Sandgren turned the tide in the 4th and 5th and Hurkacz began facing break points in all his games. The heavy ball Sandgren hits translates to a slightly more annoying pusher style, as he can kinda go for big targets and rely on pace/weight of shot to earn the point.
This next matchup opened at -195 for Sandgren and I tend to disagree. Sandren played an exhausting match but has gone through a number of deep runs at majors before. He’s not mercurial by any means on clay but he’s been working very hard the past few weeks to get his game together. Where Hurkacz has the weapons to really hurt Sandgren, Galan relies more on work ethic and simple consistency to unseat opponents. Barring fatigue, I don’t see Sandgren losing this, and he’ll have ample opportunities to break. His movement isn’t as good as Norrie but his offensive/service game are world’s more reliable. Sandgren in 4.
Garin Polmans : Garin and Kohl played a pretty good match, and Garin’s returning was what really got him over the finish line here. A lot of deep placement kept the times Kohl broke him from becoming a major issue, as he did have his chances. Garin is a player who thrives on flow and the more matches he wins the better he performs. Polmans, well, Polmans partied all over Humbert today. It was one-sided from start to finish, with Humbert just reflecting the ball and Polmans driving it. Fatigue could be a suggestion, but if you look at the guys who came from the ultra-fast courts of Hamburg they all struggled early in their matches. Humbert is not quite the physical talent that Rublev and Tsitsipas are so he wasn’t able to turn the tide, but they all found their timing around the 3rd set. Humbert’s mom is still cool, and he still has a bright future. If you like Polmans’ wacky hat and vivid celebrations on court (he seems almost like he’s about to start awkwardly breakdancing while celebrating/lamenting shots), him notching a win at a major is great for his ranking.
Garin is a better Polmans. I don’t consider Humbert’s demise a total implosion, and Polmans will be involved in this contest, but Garin is a player who usually loses to bigger weapons, and while Polmans moves the ball well he isn’t overwhelming. He can win a set or two because Garin is still in somewhat a daze from Hamburg, but I think Polmans will play Garin into a rhythm and Garin’s precision tend to improve as he strings games together. Garin in 4.
Vesely Khachanov : Vesely is starting to look like himself. Originally the inspiration for some Geico commercials, his transition to tennis has been brilliant, and his serving combined with the fact that he’s a lefty mean his game gives him an edge against most lower-tier players. Khachanov was one of the better comeback stories you’ll ever see in a straight set win. Majchrzak led by a break in every set and just couldn’t keep it together. A hint of future brilliance, but again his biggest issue is not being able to distance himself from his opponents in matches. Once Khachanov buttoned up his errors when he was down a break, it became difficult for Majchrzak to win rallies. I expect something similar in this tie with Vesely.
Vesely’s backhand has been the side that makes errors during neutral rallies, and for a guy who crushes the ball this represents a big target. Vesely will need to serve well to have a shot at this, and while matches between two big hitters tend to never go in straight sets, Khachanov and Garin looks like an inevitability. Khachanov in 4.
Bautista Agut Balasz : I’ve never seen someone look so dominant while getting beaten down. In the first set RBA was broken at love multiple times. Gasquet hit a number of unreal winners down the line with his backhand and worked to earn points with 20 shot rallies over and over. He led 5-2 at one point, but RBA had barely missed a shot to that point, aside from a few backhands into the net. Gasquet was emitting a quality of sweat I recognize as deep deep swampwater, and I know when things are that humid that comebacks are not in the cards. Gasquet lost the 1st set tiebreaker and was just about done. Gasquet is French for something, and while he’s out of the tournament here, he certainly has a neat backhand and a cool name,
Balasz was one of the cheapest and most straightforward options of the day, and Uchiyama never really put up a fight. Balasz has an interesting game and is worth watching, but his tournament is likely over. Gasquet was brilliant in the first set and still only won 9 games. The heavier balls and slower conditions mean RBA has a tough time hitting through the court, but the flipside is it’s very difficult to find points against him. Balasz may confuse him for a while, but errors will come as he forces shots. RBA in 3-4.
Pella Carreño Busta : Busta busta busta, I made you out of clayyyyyy. I know Pella’s name is first but I was just so relaxed watching PCB play his first round. He really comes into a match with a complete gameplan and sticks with it no matter the scoreline. Unpopular opinion : I don’t think he was going to lose in any fewer than 5 sets against Novak in NY. When he’s fresh and not making backhand errors it becomes extremely difficult to beat him, and for a guy whose somewhat regarded as a defensive player he steps into the court and unloads for winners whenever it’s possible. He is what Sandgren is trying to be.
Pella and Caruso played what must have been a depressing match for Caruso fans. Endless rallies, great quality tennis, but no real way for either player to find clean winners. Matches like that are difficult to watch because your neighbor will hear 3 hours of grunting coming from your apt and also because you know a few random points at the end of sets are going to decide things. Pella won those points, and though he was down early breaks he looked like himself for the first time. I’m glad I announced he has a terrible injury; I now know how to summon top play from any opponent.
I don’t know exactly what to expect from this matchup. They’ve traded some wins on hardcourt, but have oddly never played on clay. PCB’s movement/stamina are the biggest differences between him and Caruso, whose game sort of broke down as things progressed. Pella certainly played well, and even in a losing effort he’s going to make you play a ton of balls. The edge has to go to PCB given their recent forms, but his proclivity for going to duece means this could go the distance. PCB in 4-5.
Struff Altmaier : Struff and Tiafoe, or Struffafoe as they’re known from now on, played a pretty good quality match. I once again feel Tiafoe needs better coaching, as he was winning a fair number of the baseline rallies but insisted on playing dropshots. They cost him this match. I don’t know a nice way to outline that winning on tour just isn’t easy. The mental lapses are always going to cost you at a professional level, but Tiafoe has shown great improvements following the tour’s break, and you can’t just summon the type of resolve/focus that Nadal has. It’ll take time.
Altmaier (whose name is super annoying to type) beat Lopez in straight sets but these two pretty much started every service game at 15-40. It wasn’t great, but the conditions were such that Altmaier was able to take deep return positions and frustrate Lopez into forcing offense. A good win, and the comfort level may be a bit higher here against Struff, which should benefit him a great deal. Playing on tour in a major after grinding the challenger tour is something that gives you adrenaline you just don’t need at times, so a bit of comfort is a plus. I see a lot of recent wins for Altmaier but he hasn’t really played someone the caliber of Struff, and Struff’s loss to Coria troubles me but in a 3/5 format and after the good quality rallies him and Tiafoe had, Struff should be able to find an edge here. Struff in 4 or losing because he’s Struff.
Harris Berrettini : Popyrin really struggled on serve at times, and didn’t seem like he’d been playing enough clay leading into this match. Harris seems to get most of his points on tour in the majors, which is interesting for such a young talent. Berretini beat Pospisil like he did something, and there’s not a lot to say about this next matchup. Harris is a great server but lacks consistency. Berretini in 3.
Medvedev Ramos-Vinolas : Oops. The strangest thing about Medvedev’s loss was how early he started complaining about it. Halfway through the first set he was down a break and already fullscale yelling at the sky/his box/local squirrels/some children/the moon/the ocean/a rock/some guy. It reminded me of Novak’s wild frustration early against PCB. These guys shouldn’t be stressing so early in a match, but I think sometimes they know the writing is on the wall and the thought is too much. Fucsovics is not really a household clay name, but he stayed composed and got the job done here. Medvedev just forced shots here over and over, and it’s strange because his serve works fine on clay and his defense is good enough to really grind points.
ARV vs Mannarino on clay is like Mannarino vs ARV on grass. These guys have such specific styles that they really can’t overcome a surface disadvantage. ARV is the sort of test that Medvedev should have been for Fucsovics once he went down a few sets; very solid defensively, doesn’t give you much to work with, and works multiple shots to earn points rather than just hoping for a W. I tend to think Fucs is up to the task, and while the “going to disneyland” notion creeps in after a big win, Fucs has had enough “almost” situations against the top 20 that notching a win won’t change his game. Both should be fresh for this one and it should be a clean, crispy tennis match. Fucsovics in 3-4.
Giron Monteiro : So many matches went to overtime this first round. Both Halys and Giron were up a break in the 5th set, which is a much different feeling from Monteiro’s day. Thiago (which is the coolest name in the draw) added to Basil’s woes, breaking early and often. He just came off a finals appearance at a challenger a week ago and continued his good form. Giron represents a tough test because his speed/forehand are a gamechanger at times, but he’s unlikely to get the job done unless he gets an early lead. Monteiro tends to get out to quick starts and is a brilliant frontrunner. I give Giron a puncher’s chance, but can’t really think of a way he can win unless Monteiro’s backhand completely falls apart. Monteiro in 3-4.
Lajovic Anderson : When I picture these two I always think of them sitting across from each other wearing black turtlenecks and evilly stroking cats. Lajovic had a pretty tough time with Mager, who crushes the ball and is a good indication that Anderson’s hitting (during the rally at least) won’t be too much of an issue. Djere refused to hold serve in this match, and that’s a bad decision to make against a server. They played much of the first stretch of their match in light rain, and Djere seemed visibly upset heading into the break. I would say this was an empty victory for Anderson, but he served well and he at some point, will find his former form since he’s not exactly too old for the tour yet. I feel the same about Nishikori but the question of when is a difficult puzzle if you’re not in his camp.
Being conscious of your biases in assessing matches is a useful tool, and I’m aware that I’d never be backing Anderson in this one with Lajovic in good form. Due to this, Anderson having actually beaten Lajovic on clay two years ago in Madrid makes me think this is going to be closer than I’d normally expect. Anderson at full health gives him a slight nod. Lajovic on a decent run gives it to him here. I wouldn’t bet against Anderson here, but Lajovic in 5.
Davidoch Fokina Rublev : First time watching Mayo and he has a really nice game. Good power, good forehand, pushes the pace well. He was up early in the 1st but once errors crept into his game it slipped away from him. There’s a big key in professional tennis and it’s being able to maintain a level throughout a match, even if it means playing slightly less than your all-out game throughout. Fokina is very solid and very comfortable. He seems like win or lose his expression will remain the same, and that’s more confidence than indifference. Rublev played one of the more difficult first rounds, as anyone who expected Sam Querrey to come out firing that well must have six magic 8-balls hooked up to a super intelligent iguana flying along a slip-and-slide on it’s way to Narnia. Querrey is a scary guy when he serves well and his forehand is a thing of useless beauty. Ruvlev/Tsitsipas/Humbert all seemed like their timing was poor early in the matches and Rublev was the first to turn it around.
Fokina would win the first two sets against the Rublev from the first two sets. There’s no intimidation factor and his backhand/movement are rocksolid which is good since that’s the thing Rublev attacks the most. I think this is a tighter contest than oddsmakers are predicting but Fokina’s ability to hit winners during these baseline rallies is something I think will be absent. Earning errors, fine. Winning neutral exchanges at net, I definitely think so. Finding his way out of baseline rallies without Rublev errors? Idk. Rublev in 4-5.
Shapovalov Carballes Baena : Shap played one of the least inspiring first rounds of the heavy favorites, trading breaks and looking at times like he wouldn’t be able to find the effort to hit through Simon. Simon was happy to move the ball around but really couldn’t find 1st serves at any point in the match. It was not a great match which makes the next round interesting. RCB had some injury concerns for me going in but eclipsed those, beating Steve Johnson 1, 1, 0. For those of you not familiar with tennis, these are not good scores. RCB represents the opposite version of Simon’s game. He is dynamic, has multiple names, and hits with pace. He doesn’t serve aces but he puts his 1st serve in at a good clip, and although Shap should win this matchup almost all the time, his struggles against the pusher style of Simon in the first round make me wonder how much patience/resolve he has left after a month and a half of nonstop tennis. Shapovalov is not the -660 favorite that he is priced at in the books, and I’d avoid this one entirely unless you’re looking at RCB or the over. Shap still did break almost at will, so I’ll give him the slight nod despite his issues holding serve/hitting the ball over the net. (for those of you not familiar with tennis, hitting the ball over the net is often an effective strategy) Shapovalov in 4-5.
Martin Dimitrov : Maybe there’s something about Tuesdays that make me nervous about upsets, but this is an interesting contest. Dimitrov is -700 in this one. I also think he’s playing great ball lately, but that is not the correct line. Dimitrov is a big market and people haven’t heard of Martin so it lands this way. Sousa didn’t particularly do anything wrong in his opener against Martin, except for doing each thing you could do wrong once. He just looks unlucky out there. He’s hitting well at times, but just seems to find an error or unfortunate way to lose the point over and over. Martin, on the other hand, was crushing the ball. He hit clean winners time and time again on Sousa’s second serve, and I think that while he isn’t expected to beat Dimitrov, his ability to generate offense during baseline rallies will give him opportunities in some spots.
Dimitrov rolled Barrere, but he served at duece in a number of games. Barrere is a nice hardcourt player, but really hasn’t won too many matches on clay. It became a perfect situation for Dimitrov, who looks great when things are going well. Martin is the type of player that clay tends to produce; not a dominant guy or a title-winner, but someone who is very comfortable with their game and who isn’t too troubled situationally (similar to what we saw from Munar today competing against Tsitsipas without too much mental duress). If this were 2/3 I’d like Martin. In 3/5 I think Dimitrov will have ample chances to break serve, and so will only lose in 5. Martin in 5.
Milojevic Bedene : Upset of the first round for Milojevic. He hit the ball solid and was proactive about his shot selection, hugging the baseline and taking time away. Krajinovic really never had a chance to breathe in this one and as a player who refuses to move off the baseline, Kraj made a number of errors on the backhand trying to stand his ground. Nothing really new from him, as he’s been great on clay and also struggled at times. Bedene was solid against Rinderknech, who reminds me a bit of Ruusuvuori and may make his way on tour in a year or two. Good groundstrokes, very fluid forehand, and just a bit less experience giving Bedene the edge late in the match.
This is another match where I lean towards the upset, but is the breakdown. Milojevic beat a superior player in Krajinovic, but a less consistent one. Kraj has had his fair share of struggles. Bedene isn’t a threat for deep runs in events, but gets the job done very consistently when he’s “supposed” to win. That’s a big thing on tour, as upsets happen. I did like Milojevic’s pace, and were he playing someone who has a bit more variety in their game, I’d think he had a better shot. Bedene tends to play a very similar game though, and the edge here will be very small. Milojevic elevating his game as the Kraj match progressed rather than barely getting across the finish line indicates to me fatigue wasn’t a factor and that it was just a one-and-done effort. Milojevic in 4-5.
Cuevas Tsitsipas : Haha they put the Uruguayan flag for both, I thought. But it turns out I am a muppet and have much to learn about the world. Many countries enjoy stripey goodness it seems. Cuevas was a bit too good today, negating the over of 35 games even while going to 4 sets. Laaksonen looked ok in the second but Cuevas’ loopy returns saw Henri making error after error. The ball hitting the net with an open court is something that seems to compound struggles on tour, and this was over quickly. The polar opposite of Tsitsipas’ war with Munar, which took forever and featured some of the most skillful exchanges of the first round. Munar is everything you want in a smol one. Unexpected dropshots, clean shots down the line, and the ability to transfer luck if you rub his head. Tsitsipas looked very impatient, and I feel for Munar who really never had a chance to win after Tsitsipas found form, but Stefanos making this comeback is a very good sign. He was drenched in sweat, struggling to put this away, and never really blew up.
Stefanos and Pablo played a week ago and although Cuevas was good, Tsitsipas seemed like he was able to defend the court well enough that Cuevas was only going to get the match with errors. I expect to see something similar here, although Stefanos won’t be able to afford the sort of slow start he made against Munar. Tsitsipas in 4 or Cuevas in 4.
Bublik Sonego : Bublik got the job done, and Monfils left fans wondering if he really wants to be out there fighting any more. Nothing wrong with losing to a great server whose career is on the rise, but Monfils seems like he’s not fully engaged out there, and so as a professional athlete, people are going to ask questions. Sonego and Gomez had a good contest, and while I think Sonego matches up well with Bublik, taking 5 sets with Gomez means Bublik will be able to find breaks of serve. There are likely to be some tiebreakers here, but given Bublik’s ability to serve out Monfils, he’s likely to win them. Bublik in 4.
Albot Fritz : If you read my predictions, you know what’s coming. Albot broke his slump by playing spirited ball again Thompson. It was one of the quicker matches in the first round, lasting just (insert however many minutes it lasted). Fritz Fritz’d it up, almost dropping the ball against qualifier Machac. Considering he barely snuck by, there’s reason to believe this will be a tough contest as well, even with Albot’s struggles. Albot tests his opponents movement, Fritz makes errors on the run. Albot breaks serve at a higher clip than most guys on tour, Fritz is mainly just a server. I think Fritz is the better player here, but I think that the lead will be very important for belief here, since Albot has struggled lately. I think Albot’s movement will be a key on the slower surface, but he’ll need to get off to a quick lead since Fritz (as many servers are) is a very dangerous opponent in a 5th set. Albot in 4.
Gombos Rodionov : Finally a good reliable favorite. I warned readers that Gombos is the Gombosiest, but they didn’t listen. Coric found out the hard way, and honestly there difference in this one was just ballstriking. Coric was moving the ball around looking to present the “you can’t hit through me” challenge, and while this is a good strategy in later rounds, guys really crush the ball in the first round and the pace is much quicker. Gombos almost snagged Cilic in the USO, and didn’t falter here. Rodionov waited as long as possible to get going against Chardy, going down 2 sets and only winning the tiebreaker 8-6. He served for the match in the 5th set 3 times, and had a very lucky day to be playing Chardy. Chardy just couldn’t keep the ball in the court on offense, and will have to earn his points in the indoor season this year.
Rodionov plays a solid game, and being lefty helps, but he lacks big weapons which is why he mostly plays on the challenger tour. Gombos has enough power to be able to dictate here, and Rodionov coming through the qualifier and played 5 long sets will make this an uphill battle. Considering Gombos hit through Coric, the defense is unlikely to phase him. Gombos in 3.
Giustino Schwartzman : Lorenzo Giustino and Corentin Moutet had played the match of the first round by the end of the 2nd set. Moutet was just in unreal form and dictating most of the rallies in this one. Where he suffered was in two patterns. Giustino hit his forehand with height/shape rather than pace into Moutet’s backhand. Once into this pattern the shorter Moutet tended to drive the backhand downward crosscourt and Giustino would execute the same shot. The backhand never broke down but Giustino was able to wear down Moutet’s patience, and he took many opportunities as the match went on to run around his backhand and hit the inside in forehand. Giustino hit this ball crosscourt every time, really not missing often. These are simple exchanges but it’s the same shotpatterns that Djokovic employs against Nadal. What transpired was Giustino’s speed being pitted against Moutet’s arm, and while it looked like Giustino wouldn’t find offense, Moutet’s forehand got more loopy and Giustino found winners crosscourt since he was able to drive the ball more, and Moutet’s backhand lost depth and Giustino was able to catch Moutet with the forehand down the line over and over. If people are looking for the way to beat these lefty patterns this was a great example.
I had hoped Moutet would win, as his offense would be able to trouble Diego a bit more. Schwartzman beat Kecmanovic easily, and Kecmanovic had that “this draw sucks and I’m already thinking about the next tournament” glazed look in his eyes throughout this match. Giustino has to be exhausted at this point, after qualifying and playing an extra 2 sets of tennis in the 5th. Diego is the wrong opponent to try to outlast, and I think unfortunately Giustino will be more error prone here which will drive Moutet insane from wherever he’s watching. Schwartzman in 3.
Wawrinka Koepfer : Mats Wilander’s comment that Murray should leave these wildcards to younger players has some validity, but his presentation is part of what is wrong with social media. If he really had this concern, he could send Murray a message and offer some perspective. Maybe the clay tour isn’t really where Murray needs to play at this point. Posting these “open letters” and private messages as tweets is a really bizarre way to posture and the messages tend to be more about the person writing them than the issue at hand. Now, unfortunately, Mats Wilander (who I have never heard of) is an official douchenozzle in my mind. Unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as Murray/Wawrinka not giving us the classic we were all hoping for. Wawrinka has stumbled so badly recently that him playing his normal solid top 10 clay court tennis was unexpected. Murray’s movement was poor, but most players are going to lose to Wawrinka when he plays well.
Koepfer looked solid against in dispatching Hoang, and there’s something to the idea that this next contest will be tricky for Stan. There’s always the crisp shotmaking and overwhelming power, but Koepfer is not really looking to win the hitting contest anyway, and instead thrives on scrambling rallies and working his opponent’s backhand. The outcome here depends entirely on Wawrinka, as Koepfer is likely to be steady throughout. I expect at least one set to go the German’s way, as he has proven to be an extremely difficult out. Wawrinka in 4-5 but I would avoid backing Stan here if you like dollars, especially since he’ll likely show his level and have a more predictably simple match the next round against Nishioka. With guys who are good for deep runs in tournaments if they’re playing well, it often helps to gather information rather than let that fear of missing out have you backing question marks.
Gaston Nishioka : Lefty fiiiiiiiight! Gaston won the all-French affair pretty comfortably and Nishioka’s quality in his win over FAA was completely ignored. FAA can’t serve! FAA so many errors! Part of this is inconsistency but part of this is Nishioka being a wall and constantly moving his opponent. Gaston will be at a disadvantage here experience-wise but lefty vs lefty is always a difficult task for both, and Nishioka has been a mixed bag on the clay so far this season. Very tough to know how these two will match up, but the pre-match edge has to sit with Nishioka. Nishioka in 4.
Ruud Paul : Pretty simple victories for both of these two, and this will be a great match to watch. Paul has shown he can compete at the top level, but watching him in his doubles match today he didn’t seem to be serving great. His partner Monroe is a great player to watch at net which is why I caught it, and inferences from doubles aren’t the most reliable, but I think Paul will need to avoid long rallies with Ruud, who has been improving every week since the restart. Pretty similar styles at different points in their career. Ruud in 4.
Sock Thiem : Sock had some genuine emotion winning games against Opelka, and it’s nice to see him visibly motivated after his chubby troubles. Thiem looked like there wasn’t much adjustment to clay in the first round, and he was extremely composed/reserved while beating Cilic. Cilic isn’t in great form, but beating him so easily is a real testament to Thiem’s solid position in the top 2-3 players in tennis. Sock’s skill and whippy forehand allow him to match up better against the top tier than the results will indicate, but with Sock’s backhand still a liability this isn’t a spot where Thiem will struggle too much. Thiem in 3 and let the inbox threats begin, he is my pick to win this tournament.
Zverev Herbert : Zverev continued his slow start strong finish method against Novak. Once he locks down the errors he becomes a very tough out and he hits the ball with such reservation during rallies that when he does finally go for a clean winner his opponents almost don’t move. In Serena’s age of dominance she’d often lose the first two games and then break back and her opponents level would fall and Zverev’s slow starts give me the same sort of “accidental or genius” psychological strategic vibes. It’s more likely it’s just tall players start slow. Herbert beat Mmoh, who is somehow a pusher that makes errors. I’d like to see him (Mmoh) go a bit more offensive for a season, as looking to be solid from the baseline just isn’t enough to win on tour.
The Herbert Zverev matchup is an interesting one since Herbert’s game has the things that traditionally would snag a player who starts slow. Herbert is an old-school serve and volley player who is adept at adjusting his strokes to keep the ball in the court. Zverev is a bit too crispy at the moment to expect a bit blowup, but Herbert having a higher caliber of offense than Novak (who plays a bit too straightforward to really beat the mid-top tier guys) gives him a better chance. Zverev in 4.
Londero Cecchinato : Londero flipped the result against Delbonis, who he’d lost in straight sets against in their previous meeting. It’s nice to see him back in the win column, as he plays a very unique game, going for accurate offense and looking to test his opponents speed. If it weren’t for fatigue, I’d think he were a decent favorite. Cecchinato has been great though, and murmurs of his previous French Open run were flying with his snowball beatdown of De Minaur. De Minaur isn’t the best on clay, as many pointed out, but he has some notable wins in his past including PCB, and beating him is never simple. Cecchinato’s power gives him an edge here if Londero is tired. Slower legs will leave more short balls and Cecchinato can really dictate. He’s also fairly deft at using the dropshot which can wear his opponents down. Where I hesitate to just hand him the win is that these new wins have been out of nowhere, and he hasn’t played a real top level player yet. Londero is the first such test, as his claycourt game can threaten all but the top 10-20 guys at the French. No pick here, but if either is able to win this quickly then Zverev is in for a difficult 3rd round.
Paire Coria : Local kumquat Benoit Paire played quite well, beating Kwon in straight sets. There wasn’t a lot of hope for Kwon, and he struggled with his serving throughout. Paire, whose attention span is that of a drunk raccoon, will be a small favorite in his next round against Coria, but Coria is the quintessential villain to beat Paire. Coria lacks offense, but is a venerable wall. The errors Kwon made will be less available, and with Sinner looming in the next round both guys will know this is their last chance to advance. I expect Paire to either find great form here or lose. Finding great form isn’t what I expect, and if Coria is able to earn an early lead this could be over quick. Coria in 4.
Bonzi Sinner : Bonzi played great against Ruusuvuori, and I got that match completely wrong. Sinner’s defeat of Goffin coupled with his 6-2, 6-2 loss to Cilic a week or so ago makes me think Goffin is either a bit injured or just not fully engaged in this clay swing, but Sinner looks great. Sinner in 4.
Kukushkin Martinez : Fognini Fognini’d all over the place. He seemed to hurt his ankle during the 3rd set tiebreaker, and for a guy who lacks a bit of self control he shockingly did not withdraw. This seems to be one of his principles, as he’s finished matches injured before. Good win for Kukushkin, who hung around until he was given the match. Martinez on the other hand went out and earned it, downing the hard hitting Vukic in straight sets.
Martinez and Kukushkin are unlikely to have huge edges against each other. Kukushkin does his best work at majors, but not really on clay, and Martinez is a claycourt expert, but generally earns errors/preys on his opponents inconsistency. I expect long rallies, and I expect Martinez to gradually pull away in this one. Martinez in 5.
Korda Isner : I’m gonna have to be honest. I completely missed Isner’s match. It didn’t seem like Benchetrit was returning much, and Isner is generally the same. That being said, I regret this because Korda played very well in defeating Seppi and I’d like to be more confident about defending his chances here. Korda plays very well at net, and while he’s a bit green, he’s been losing in the qualifiers on tour for a few seasons now. Him starting to win matches now means we can expect a solid performance from him. He’ll have the edge in baseline rallies, and given they’re from the same country, he’ll be somewhat familiar with Isner’s game. This will come down to Korda’s ability to avoid bad service games, and whether Isner’s serve is unreturnable or not. These are question marks, and I’m starting to hate question marks. Not as much as I hate people bouncing the ball between their legs before their serves though. Korda in fourda.
Nishikori Travaglia : Clay Nishikori is back! A late 5th set victory against Evans saw many bettors writing creative words into the livestream chat, and if you’ve never been called an assfish, you can only imagine how upset Dan is tonight. Kei was happy to get across the finish line, and he has to feel like he can breathe a sigh of relief. Travaglia beat Pablo Andujar, who I have been instructed by my attorney to point out is not from Colombia and does not live in the jungle and does not train jaguars and does not sleep in a cave and does not channel magical eagles and definitely does not possess the ability to call the wind from within his lungs which are definitely not made out of the spirit of a cursed python. Andujar had been on a tear, and beating him in straight sets coupled with Travaglia’s serving prowess mean I make him a slight favorite to beat Kei in this matchup. Since Kei is struggling to find length and rhythm playing a big hitter is likely a bad situation, and I give Kei a good chance since he’s such a difficult defender to beat but he really will be behind the 8-ball in his service games. Travaglia in 4-5.
McDonald Nadal : Nice win and some much needed points and bucks for Mackie. Nadal didn’t look great against Gerasimov but Egor was hitting some great offense and Nadal doesn’t exactly need to press early. Nadal in 3 and the next round against Travaglia will be a good look at Nadal’s level.
​
Finishing up the women's now. Should be up in an hour or two. <3

"King-high diamond flush," I said boldly as I laid my cards out on the table.
Despite my strong hand, my heart still thumped in my chest as I waited for the only other player in the hand to reveal his cards. Although my odds of winning were good, I was nervous. If my opponent had the ace...
"Ace-high diamond flush," my train of thought was disrupted and heart my sank. My opponent had the goddamn ace.
Unlike any other time I had played Texas Hold 'Em at a casino, I had no idea what to expect. See, I wasn't at a normal casino. I was at the Holy Grail Casino, where one does not gamble with money.
My opponent had wagered a finger, and I thought that that had been some colloquial way of making a small bet. Just as we frequently say "an arm and a leg" figuratively for an exorbitant cost, I thought that 'finger' was being used in the same context. I was proven brutally wrong when the dealer, without a hint of emotion, pulled a large knife out from some concealed location and chopped my pinky finger off.
I screamed, both in pain and disbelief. I had been expecting the most intense gambling experience of a life time, but I hadn't imagined anything of this magnitude.
I had finally found a form of gambling even I balked at.
I'll come clean and say it, I'm a compulsive gambler. I've had an enduring fixation on Lady Luck as early as I can remember. As a child, I loved making bets - even small and petty ones - with my peers.
When I was eighteen, and had my first job, I squandered a bigger portion of my very first paycheck than I care to admit on scratch-off lottery tickets.
With my addictive proclivities, I ignored the glaring net financial loss that this incurred, instead gravitating to the mere twenty dollars I did win with those tickets.
Now you can tell me that my gambling winnings are heavily outweighed by my losses over the years, and you'd be right. It's a stubborn fact that cannot be truthfully denied.
But it didn't matter to me. I was addicted to gambling. I was always convinced that the big, life-changing win I needed was right around the corner. It is this lifelong habit that has not only brought about a life of financial strain, but which, I fear, has brought about my imminent appointment with my own mortality.
You see, my gambling problem reached its zenith last year after I cajoled one of my poker friends, Dallas, into taking me to a secretive and high-stakes casino that he frequently spoke of, and this is as good a place as any to begin telling what happened.
"So, is this the night you're finally going to accede and tell me more about the mythical 'high stakes venue' you claim to frequent, Mr. Big Shot?" I asked my friend Dallas.
Dallas was a pro at gambling. At least, he swept the floor with the competition nine times out of ten and the backroom card games we frequented.
Dallas groaned loudly in the passager seat.
"Come on bro," I said doggedly, "you can't just set something up on a pedestal like this and not expect someone to persist."
"I don't know man. This isn't kitty shit. This is the big leagues." Dallas answered.
"I'm not a lightweight." I objected.
"No...but this is way more than anything we'd ever bet back there," he said, referring to our backroom games, one of which we had just left.
"This is the real shit. Hard-fucking-core. This is the most hardcore gambling around." Dallas continued.
"Like what, Russian Roulette?" I joked.
"Nah man." Dallas said cryptically.
"Look man, I give you rides to these games every week. You owe me." I was getting seriously annoyed at his reticence.
"Fine," Dallas groaned, exasperated.
I couldn't believe it. I had actually worn him down!
"But I'm warning you. This is serious shit." Dallas said sternly.
"I want to go." I said firmly.
Dallas reached into his wallet and handed me a medallion.
Upon inspection, I saw one side was affixed with the design of an ornate, bejeweled chalice with the words 'Holy Grail Casino' written above it. On the other side, written in elegant calligraphy was the phrase 'omnem marmora' - "all the marbles" in Latin.
This certainly bore the look of a ritzy and exclusionary place. I had a feeling I'd either win the jackpot of jackpots or end up homeless on the street. The reality would prove much worse than the latter.
Dallas was looking at me oddly, almost as if he was worried. But he could tell he wasn't going to be able to talk me out of it. I still hate him for his acquiescence to my pestering.
"When can we go?" I asked excitedly.
"I was planning to go tomorrow-," Dallas started.
"When I should I pick you up?" I interrupted.
"That's...not how we get there." Dallas answered.
"What-," I started, but it was Dallas' turn to interrupt.
"When you go to bed tomorrow night, write your full name on a piece of paper, then put it and the medallion in your pocket when you go to sleep."
I looked at him incredulously. Had he been fucking with me this whole time?
"Look...just trust me. Either do it or don't, but that's how you get there." Dallas said matter-of-factly.
I looked silently at the road as we neared the place where Dallas lived. Dallas seemed to be pensively looking out the window, as if he was debating whether or not he should have give me the medallion.
I dropped Dallas off without a word and raced home. I don't know why I was such a hurry - I guess I wanted to start waiting for tomorrow night as soon as possible.
After a torturous day of waiting, the next night finally came. Remembering Dallas' instructions, I wrote my full name on a slip of paper and placed it, along with the medallion, in the pockets of my sweatpants that I was wearing to bed for that purpose.
I could have sworn that I had heard my name being chanted as I drifted off to sleep, but the authenticity of those sounds is still ambiguous. What is not ambiguous is the fact that, shortly after falling asleep, I found myself in an opulent red-carpeted casino.
I was in a lobby of sorts, at least I think that's what it was. I was in a large, marble room with Greco-Roman style columns flanking a plush red carpet that led to two magnificent ebony doors, which boasted intricately carved ivory handles.
As I was soaking in the amazing luxurious sight, a man in a suit briskly approached me.
"You can't go to the floor dressed like that!" He admonished me, pointing to my sweatpants and white t-shirt.
"I'm sorry-," I began sluggishly, a bit confused by everything. Was I honestly expected to go to bed in a suit in order to gamble here?
"No worries sir," the man had a rather upper class accent, "we will get you outfitted here free of charge."
A short while later I was sporting a fine burgundy suit, a white dress shirt, and black loafers, and being led by the casino worker back to those grandiose doors. He stopped in front of them, held one of the doors open, and ushered me in.
"Enjoy your stay sir," he said as he closed the door behind me.
I took in the even more impressive sight that was the gambling floor. I stood at the top of a red-carpeted staircase with gilded railing, looking down at a large room. On the far end, the words 'Holy Grail Casino' were displayed prominently on the wall, illuminated by spotlights.
Like the lobby, a red carpet ran through the center, bisecting the impressive layout of games and tables. Interestingly, there didn't appear to be any slot machines- there seemed to be exclusively traditional games. Poker tables, blackjack tables, roulette wheels, and craps tables I all recognized.
Finally, I descended the stairs. The patrons and staff paid me little attention as I set foot on the floor. I briefly scanned the floor for Dallas but saw no saw no sign of him.
I shrugged and decided to jump into the games. All around me, finely dressed patrons were engrossed in their games, and others stood to the side, nursing cocktail glasses or puffing on cigars.
I had never had much of an affinity for roulette or craps, and I avoided blackjack like the plague (it's definitely rigged for the house). Accordingly, I quickly settled on poker.
After eyeing several tables I settled on a table occupied by just one patron - an uninterested old man in a black suit.
"Can I join here?" I asked.
The dealer replied affirmatively.
I sat down and noticed there were no chips in sight. I thought it had been odd that I hadn't received any, but I had just figured they would be given at the table. Curious, I asked.
"First time?" The dealer raised an eyebrow.
"Yes."
The old man sighed, annoyed. What the hell? Shouldn't a patron at such a purportedly high-stakes venue be eager to have fresh meat?
"Well, the rules state that one's first game is one round of betting only." The dealer said in a monotone voice. No wonder old man was annoyed.
I nodded and sat down.
"But the chips-," I began to inquire.
"We don't use 'em here." The old man spoke for the first time.
Before I ask what we did use, the old man placed what would apparently be the sole bet of this hand: a finger.
Had I heard him right? He couldn't actually mean-
"Bet is one finger." The dealer said, interrupting my thoughts.
As I stated in the beginning, I assumed that 'a finger' was being used in the same figurative context that one often uses the term 'an arm and a leg.' I called the bet.
The cards were dealt, and I felt confident as I laid out the King-high flush I spoke of in the beginning. But then came the old man's ace-high flush, and then came the chop.
I screamed. To my shock, none of the other patrons even looked up from their games at the sound of my screams and the chop. Was this an ordinary occurrence?
Before I could get up from the table, the dealer also procured some sort of ointment and quickly dabbed some on the nub where my finger had been. The bleeding instantly stopped, and the pain eased, but I was having none of it. I got up from the table and began to run back to the doors. This was too much. I had to get out of here.
I heard a despaired howl coming from the direction of the roulette wheels as I made it back to the center of the floor, but didn't dare look back at the source. I stepped onto the carpet and set for the stairs when I nearly collided with Dallas.
"Hey you made it!" He said. "Oooh tough break with the finger," he indicated my hand.
"How have you never lost anything?!" I asked pointedly, barely resisting the urge to shake his shoulders.
"Well I have," Dallas smirked.
"You-you have all your digits." I sputtered.
"Well that's cause I won them back." He said.
"You can win them back?!" I was in disbelief.
"Of course, they'll reattach it if you win one."
I should have just cut my losses. I shouldn't have been swayed by temptation. But if you know the rabbit hole that is gambling, you'll know how much people put themselves in the hole vainly trying to win back a negligible loss, all the while turning that negligible loss into something substantial.
I was still weighing my options (stay or quit while still ahead) when a booming voice disrupted my deliberation.
"Attention floor! We have a class ten loser! Death!"
He couldn't actually mean-
Before I could make any kind of move, the patrons become a mob, and the wave people pushed Dallas and I to the center with them.
A man, who I noticed was already missing an arm, was on his knees sobbing. An emotionless casino dealer stood before him, holding a sword.
"Everyone c-cut y-your loss-losses," the man stuttered through sobs.
Before he could say anything else, the sobs were cut off by the slice of the sword, and the poor man's head hit the floor and tumbled, landing at my feet.

Do you ever wonder why on some days you seem to be able to play the best poker of your life, and why that can shift overnight into playing some of the worst you’ve ever played? It’s amazing to be in the flow of your A-game, noticing every tell, taking the right betting lines, making big laydowns when beaten – yet it’s followed at some point by being totally off with your reads, playing too aggressively or too passively and somehow deteriorating from your A-game into C-game or something even worse.You might be a very skilled player technically yet a complete mental game fish at the same time. Being able to deal with both upswings and downswings is something that all elite players have in common. There’s no past, no future – just the hand you’re in right now, and making the correct decision in this one is the only thing that matters for now. But why do so few players achieve that then?The answer to this question is so complex you can’t fit it into a single book, let alone an article. How about fitting only the 2 most crucial strategies into an article then? That should be doable, so lets try.

Injecting logic when you lose a big pot

The first strategy to improve your mental game is straightforward but rather hard to execute at first. With enough repetition it should become your second nature though!Injecting logic can be used in many situations you face in poker, and the most beneficial situation to do that is when a big pile of chips is drawn away from you. When you lose a big pot, you might respond with anger, apathy or frustration. However, there are other ways to respond too after you learn this strategy. Let’s take a look at how injecting logic works:You’re in a heads-up pot on the river with a fairly innocuous-looking board of J♠ T♠ 4♣ 8♦ 5♥ holding J♥ T♥ and you get raised after betting out. Losing just a few combinations, you make the call and get bad news after your opponent tables pocket fives for a rivered set.
Here’s how the train of thought usually goes for most players:‘What was this guy thinking about, calling with a pair of fives on the flop? I can’t believe he got so lucky on the river, I should have won that pot!’When this happens a few times in a row, it’s pretty hard to be playing your A-game anymore. The solution to this problem is injecting logic by changing your inner dialogue into something like this:‘That’s poker, two-outers will happen at times. Now I know my opponent doesn’t need much of a hand to call on the flop, so I will adjust my play by decreasing my low-equity flop bluffs and increasing my bet sizings when I have a value hand. I can definitely get this guy long-term by continuing to play solid poker.’See the difference? You’re focusing on how to maximize your future EV based on what you just saw, instead of dwelling in the bad beat. At first you will still experience the same emotions, but it will gradually start to change once you inject logic with the new dialogue inside your head in these situations.

Using a strategic reminder when you fall off your A-game

For experienced players it’s somewhat easy to recognize when they fall off their A-game. Some common routines players use when they notice that include taking a break and doing a few deep breaths, but these routines might not cut alone every time. If you’re very familiar with how your B-game and C-game differ from your A-game, using a strategic reminder in the middle of a session can prove helpful.How does a player use a strategic reminder in practice? Once the player notices losing a bit of focus, getting slightly distracted or going on autopilot in spots where you could win more EV by taking a different line, they might try reminding themselves of the lost components of their A-game. Using a strategic reminder might look something like this:‘My A-game is very relaxed and calm. I don’t force any decisions, but let them come to me through the extensive practice I’ve had both on and off the tables. My mind is super sharp, and I notice many tiny bet sizing tells and patterns that reveal the strength of my opponent’s hand. I see the action very clearly and make every decision with a confident state of mind.’As you can see, using a strategic reminder requires you to have a picture of your A-game so that you can remind yourself what the different elements in your game look and sound like. If falling off your A-game is an issue that occurs often when you play poker, I recommend you to take the following steps:

• Step 1: Make a list of elements that your game consists of when you are playing your best.
• Step 2: Write down a draft for the strategic reminder that describes all these elements. Aim for 4-6 sentences total.
• Step 3: Memorize your strategic reminder.
• Step 4: Next time you play poker, every time a full orbit of playing at the table has passed ask yourself ‘Am I playing my A-game?’
• Step 5: If the answer is no at any point in the session, repeat your strategic reminder in your head. If you don’t know that by heart yet, you can look it up from your smartphone or notepad on your desktop. After reading your strategic reminder, take a deep breath and re-focus on the game you’re playing.

When you repeat steps 4-5 enough times during your sessions, you will start to notice returning back to your A-game goes smoothly. There’s also the extra benefit of being more aware of your state of mind during play, allowing you to keep playing when on your A-game and quitting when you seem to slip to your B-game or C-game continuously (which will save you money since very few players can win playing their C-game). Now you should see why getting a clear idea on how your A-game really looks like and using a strategic reminder during sessions will put you far ahead of your competition in the mental game of poker!

Final words

While poker requires tremendous practice in the area of technical skill if you want to succeed, one of the quickest ways to boost your win-rate is working on your mental game. Start with the exercises presented in this article so that you get the ball rolling, and your bankroll will thank you later. If you manage to align working on your mental game into improving your technical skills, that’s even better. I wish you eye-opening moments with working on your mental game and good luck at the tables!PS: If your interest in learning more about how much impact the right mindset can have on your game, consider reaching out to me – I’d be happy to answer your questions!

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I'd never been very fond of tea. Iced tea, sure. The Arnold Palmer was probably my favourite drink in the world. But actual proper tea? Well, I wasn't a fan of hot leaf water, thin and unsatisfying as it was.
But after the incident with Will, Valentine had suggested that I take a break, try some of the tea. It felt an awful lot like being sent to my room, but I didn't argue, embarrassed as I was. So I'd found the set of punch cards, picked the tea I'd disliked the least, and a moment later a stream of hot black tea filled the tiny porcelain cup.
It was all I could do not to crush it to dust in my fist. My anger at Will had burned itself out, leaving only frustration. Simon had seen me lose it, and Valentine had seen me lose it. Damn it all, getting hauled off to another world was supposed to be a chance for me to start over. And here I was falling back into the same old destructive patterns.
I looked up with a start as the latch clicked open, and Valentine appeared in the doorway. Still at the threshold, she took a deep breath before stepping inside and closing the door.
"Good," she said pleasantly, "It doesn't smell as if you're about to tear someone limb from limb, anymore."
"Yeah..." I said slowly, "Sorry about that."
Valentine frowned in confusion for a moment, before rolling her eyes and sighing in exasperation. She came over to the couch I was monopolizing, sat down in my lap, and put an arm around my neck.
"You thought I'd be angry with you?"
"Yeah, I did kinda lose my shit at Will. And I-" I hesitated, "I've really liked, you know, this," I said vaguely, gesturing at her on my lap, "And then, well, I went and did what I did."
Val absently flicked her wrist, "You didn't throw me in a river- today -and besides, you said it yourself. Like it or not, by taking the hotel we've made ourselves the local rulers, and I can only imagine what the baroness would have done had someone disrespected her in the manner Will did. And Temerity? If she were feeling merciful, perhaps she'd have him flogged, though death would not be out of the question. This world is crueller and harsher than the one you left, a leader cannot accept such disrespect, lest they not remain in power for long."
She patted my cheek, "But you did make two mistakes. Will did need to receive his comeuppance, but it should have been better reasoned. Thankfully I don't believe Simon saw much of what happened before the human struck the window, so as far as he knows, it was well reasoned."
"What about Matt?" I asked, "The gynoid?"
"Neither of them is of any consequence. But there is still your second mistake. I am not a reward for good behaviour," she intoned, her voice a near growl, “You beat the hell out of someone, whether they deserve it or not, and what, I'm supposed to scorn your affections to teach you a lesson? Or perhaps you carry a dozen orphans from a burning building, am I to swoon and throw myself at your feet? No," she growled, "If I want you, I will have you. Or perhaps I'll decide that men are not to my taste, and I'll invite girls from The Blushing Maiden to warm my bed. Whatever I choose, it will be that way precisely because I am the one that gets to choose, and not because the gods are rewarding you with a pretty toy," she held up a clenched fist, "Forget that, and I'll thump you until you remember."
I cast a side-eyed glance at her delicate little hand, and when my gaze returned to her face, I found her smirking.
"I know," she agreed readily, "I'd probably break my hand, and then wouldn't you feel terrible."
I raised my hands, "Okay, okay. Please, no thumping."
Val hopped up, "I'm glad we've had this talk. Now if you're finished sulking, the gynoid and I finished the puzzle. The penalty timer should be almost over, and we're only a few minutes behind Simon. Come now, I imagine the two of us will need a translator for this next puzzle, and you'll have to do."
"Amazing."
Valentine dropped her arms to her sides and gazed up at me with a degree of exasperation in her eyes that had only previously been achieved under laboratory conditions.
I gave her a wry smile and a shrug.
Valentine looked over at the gynoid, "I could have half a dozen of The Blushing Maiden's most inventive girls at my beck and call, and instead I'm following this idiot around."
Unable to understand Val's words, the gynoid furrowed her brows in confusion, "Your presence clearly arouses the small purple woman, but your words appear to frustrate her. Perhaps you should consider remaining silent more often."
Val raised an eyebrow as my face began to flush, and she glanced between the two of us.
"Excuse me?" I demanded.
"My programming is tuned to recognize certain physical signatures," the gynoid explained, "Pupil dilation, firmness in certain areas, rate of breathing, dampness in others-"
"I get it! You can tell we're horny. I don't need the details!"
"Well, not yourself. You seem much more temperate, at least where Valentine is-"
"So the rules for this one are really simple," I began loudly, in Elvish, and the gynoid subsided demurely, "Finish the maze as fast as you can. It's dark inside, which is why we've got the oil lamps there."
Val smirked, "Anything else?"
"That's it."
"You certain?" She asked, nodding towards the gynoid, "Because it feels like there's a little more going on."
"Maybe I'll swing by The Blushing Maiden and scoop up your favourite girls," I glowered, "Then I won't need to put up with your nonsense."
The rulebook hit the lectern with a thump, and I bent to scoop up a lantern. I lit it, stuffed the box of matches into my pocket, and strode into the maze.
The threshold of the maze was more of the rough masonry work that I'd by now grown familiar with, and I was careful not to catch a toe on the edge of a flagstone as I strode deeper into the maze.
The wavering lamplight reflected dully off the stones, with none of the wet sheen I'd come to expect. The smell of damp was still in the air, but faint, and I could hear no rushing water.
The harsh edges and square corners of the corridor gave way to a winding passage of raw stone. Beyond excavating the passage, little work had been done to finish it. Here and there I could still see the tool marks left by the miners' picks. The girls caught up with me only a moment later, Val close at my right, and the gynoid behind my left shoulder.
The sinuous passage carried on for only a dozen or so strides before it shifted back into a dead straight corridor of worked stone. I lifted the lamp, and could just make out the ghost of a T-junction another dozen paces further. Turning around, I realized why they'd left part of the entrance in-the-raw, as it were. The curves were enough to hide the light of the maze's antechamber, and I suspected that if I were standing at the junction, that the way back to the entrance would look like any of the others.
"Have either of you got anything to mark our path with?" I asked, once in Elvish and again in French.
"I have a pen here somewhere," Val muttered, digging around in her pockets, "It's not meant for hard surfaces, but the ink glows in the dark. It could work."
"I have an internal compass," the gynoid provided, "Though I'm not certain how much use it will be."
"It'll keep us pointed in the right direction at least. With the entrance behind, an exterior wall and Simon's maze to either side, it stands to reason the exit is that way," I pointed out.
"Ah, here it is."
There were a couple false starts as Val worked to get the pen to write on the stone, but in short order, she'd managed a little sketch of a door on the wall of the corridor.
We paused at the junction, and I considered our options while Val knelt to scribble on the floor. The lanterns weren't dim, not by any means, but even so, it was hard to make out much of consequence. One corridor looked much like another.
I still had one of Val's magic torches on me, and they were a lot more durable than the oil lamps, so I took it out, flipped it on, and threw it down the corridor to our right.
"Hey!" Valentine protested.
"What?" I retorted, "Now we can see what's down there, come on, give me yours, and we can see what's down the other one."
"Or we could just walk over there," she insisted, pointing at the torch I'd thrown.
It had come to rest a fair ways off, inside what looked to be a chamber of some sort. The floor was made up of large stone boards, for lack of a better term, and I saw an opening in the far wall.
"Unless you plan on leaving the torches where they lay, we will need to fetch them back."
Ah, yeah, that was a good point.
"Alright, I'll-"
There was a huff of breath, of the sort you might expect from something as large as a horse, or a bull. I raised the lantern, but needn't have bothered. Down the left-hand passage, nearly at the level of the roof, could be seen two burning coals.
The creature's footfalls shook the floor, and as it emerged into the lamplight, I made out the shape of a bull's head atop the body of a giant. Its chest and abdomen were well-muscled and tanned to a bronze sheen. Its wicked horns pointed forward and gleamed like steel. Its breath steamed in the air as it drew nearer, and the red-hot eyes seemed to pulse with every heartbeat.
"Bugger me," Valentine breathed.
"Merde," the gynoid agreed, both of them already backing towards the other corridor.
I reared back and pitched the lantern at the minotaur. It caught the creature in the upper chest, just below the neck, and shattered. The oil inside spilt across its chest and burst into flame, but still, the creature came inexorably onwards.
I had broken into a run even as I'd thrown the lantern, and now fought for more momentum as I charged the minotaur.
The flames might not have fazed the creature, but in the darkened corridor, they were enough to blind it to my approach. I caught it utterly off-guard as I struck it about the waist, hard enough that my teeth clacked together and my head rang with the impact.
We went down in a clattering heap with me atop the thing, and I scrambled for purchase as it thrashed under me. My left hand found one of the horns and held fast. With it for leverage, I pulled myself up to kneel on its chest and drove my fist into its snout with all of my strength. The shock travelled up my arm, a lance of pain that seemed to start at my fingertips, burn through the marrow, and spread across my chest.
Still, it thrashed, so I hit it a second, and then a third time. The pain grew more distant with each strike, and I was about to hit it a fourth time when the gynoid called out.
"Wallace, enough!" she shouted.
I looked up at her, arm cocked to punch the thing, my other hand still gripping its horn as it thrashed about. In the light of her own lantern, she seemed concerned, but not overly worried. I returned my gaze to the creature and understood why.
Its horns and skin didn't just look like polished steel and bronze. They were steel and bronze. It was another automaton, not as complex as the gynoid maid, but certainly a cut above the guards in the first room.
I'd pounded the thing's snout inwards, and it looked as if I'd turned its face inside out.
Valentine came to stand beside the gynoid, "You big wonderful moron," she sighed.
"Hey, you thought the thing was for real at first too," I protested.
The gynoid took my hand gently, even as I argued with Val, and began inspecting it.
"Yes," Val replied primly, "And then I recalled the rules, as you told them to me. Am I mistaken, or wasn't it made clear that nothing here would harm us?"
I let go of the automaton's horn. I'd clutched it so tightly that my hand felt stiff, and I clenched and unclenched it to work the stiffness out of my muscles. Oil had stuck to me in a few spots, though it was nothing serious, and I patted the flames out with my free hand.
I shrugged lamely, and Val leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. Even kneeling, I was tall enough that she had to go up on tiptoe.
"I'll see if the beast you vanquished was guarding anything interesting," she promised, "And if anything frightens me, I'll throw my lantern at it."
I pushed myself up and off of what remained of the automaton, its movements finally slowing, careful to keep my hand steady so that the gynoid could finish cleaning the wound.
She had her nose close to the wounds across my knuckles, to better inspect them in the poor light, but peered up at me as the light of Val's lantern receded.
"Poorly thought out heroics seem to be effective," she remarked.
"What are you, my wingman now?"
She shrugged, "I only wish to be helpful, in whatever manner I may."
"You know, I think I'm good."
"Ah, perhaps she is the one that requires my assistance."
"What's that supposed to mean- Ow!"
"Just a disinfectant. Nothing's broken, but even you may be brought low by infection."
"I found something," came Val's voice, echoing down the hall, and her circle of lamplight joined with ours a moment later.
She held an old fashioned key, large and bright red. It looked more like a prop than the sort of thing that would unlock an actual door.
"It was just around the corner, waiting on a pedestal," she explained, and I muttered a translation to the gynoid as she spoke, "But from the look of things, we were meant to approach from the other side."
"Oh?"
"Yes, the pedestal faces a large blue door. It has a keyhole of the right shape for this," she explained, gesturing with the red key, "But it doesn't turn in the lock. I imagine we were supposed to find a blue key, and use that to get behind the minotaur."
"Sounds like we found a sequence break."
"Hmm," Val mused, "I suppose that's a fair term for it."
"How much you want to bet we'll find a blue key near a red door somewhere down this way?" I asked, jerking my chin towards where I'd thrown the torch.
"Let's hope we've made up some time. Now, how's your hand?" Val asked as the gynoid finished tying the bandage.
"I'll probably have some scars, but it'll be fine," I assured her, "Come on, if we have made up some time, let's not waste any more."
It was as we approached the room with the stone boards that I finally began to hear the rushing water I'd been expecting. I held out a staying hand, and the others slowed.
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder, "We were meant to be running scared through here," I said simply.
The gynoid prodded experimentally at one of the stone boards with the toe of her shoe, and it shifted as she put her weight on it. She leaned into it a little bit, and this end of the board tilted down while the other swung up, and the sound of rushing water filled the room. Not a room of stone boards then, but a room of seesaws.
They were staggered, left, right, left, right. Someone who tried to walk, or more likely, run, across would find themselves always stepping upon the inside edge of one or another.
"There's no pattern here, as there was in the other room," Val frowned.
The gynoid pressed experimentally on the only other board she could reach and watched as it moved.
Then she stood, and outlined her plan, "You see how they alternate? Each set must have its own fulcrum, a bar running the length of the chamber. If we stay near the pivot point, the boards shouldn't rotate much if we are quick enough in the crossing."
Valentine nodded along as I relayed the gynoid's explanation, "Sensible," she agreed, once I was done, "She and I shall go first, now behave yourself and stay here till we're safely across."
"Behave myself?" I growled, but she was already giggling and prancing away with the gynoid close behind.
The two couldn't even speak to one another, and it still felt like the two were conspiring against me.
I smiled despite myself. I was glad they were getting along. I was a little worried that the shapely gynoid would inspire jealousy in the waifish Valentine. But who knows, with Val's tastes being what they are, maybe I was the one that should be jealous, lest the gynoid steal her away from me.
"Catch," Val called, and with a flick of her wrist, the torch flew from where it lay in the centre of the room, to strike me lightly in the chest.
I caught it before it hit the ground and waited for the girls to make it across. It wasn't possible- at least for them -to step directly from the doorway over to where the fulcrum for the one set of boards seemed to be. But a little hop got them close enough, and the boards themselves were heavy enough that they didn't move very quickly under the weight of those two, particularly with them staying near the pivot point.
Considering that this was a game, not a proper deathtrap, odds were good that they might have made it across fine even if they'd gone straight down the middle. Presumably, the creators of the game didn't want it to end with an anti-climax, and an entire team getting dunked in the river would be kinda lame. No, I bet the first couple people would make it across okay. They didn't need to be faster than the automaton, just faster than their slowest friends.
I braced myself on the doorway, and took a wide-reaching step that put my foot just shy of the pivot, and then pushed off the wall with all my strength. I couldn't swing my leg over far enough and ended up with both feet on the near side of the pivot, and my stomach lurched as the board began to tilt inwards.
I didn't bother trying to balance on it. I just started running. It was a clumsy, halting run, as I made sure each step came down on the right set of boards. One wrong step and all my weight would land on the very tip of what was, in essence, a very large lever. The other end would probably cut a gouge into the roof with all the force I'd be putting on it, and I'd end up in the water. Maybe I could catch myself, but the very idea made my elbows hurt. I'm stronger than I look, and I look really fucking strong, but I was still made of meat. I might be able to lift a small car, but that didn't mean my elbows were meant to endure the strain of catching half a ton in free fall.
I veered back towards the centre of the room as I neared the far side. I wouldn't be able to set up my jump as carefully as I'd done the first time, but I had a hunch.
I leapt. Not as far as I could, but as high as I could. And when I landed, it was with both feet planted and legs locked. I didn't crouch to absorb the shock, that would only spread the impact over a longer period, and I needed all of the force to come down in a single instant.
The fulcrum did what I expected it to do, and what roughly made bearings tend to do when they are shocked. It locked in place. Only for an instant, but it was enough. I bent my knees for a second leap, and threw myself through the doorway and right into Val and the gynoid. Val yelped as I bowled right through them, but to my relief, I didn't land atop either.
Val was back on her feet in an instant, "You made it," she cheered.
I brushed the dust from my jeans and straightened, "Yeah yeah, no time for teasing. Come on. We need to hustle."
I broke into a fast walk, and the others jogged to keep up.
"Of course, you can give me my comeuppance later," she agreed, bobbing along at my elbow.
The next junction was, less than simple.
"My my," the gynoid breathed.
"Backtracking through this is going to suck."
We'd emerged into another room, and now stood on a platform six or so feet above the rushing water. There were two raised paths stretching out across the open space, each leading to a separate opening in the far wall. The left way was made up of a large drum that stretched the length of the room. There were no obstacles, but we'd need to walk across the top of it to get across, and I guessed that it would start to rotate as soon as we set foot on it. This was another problem that the girls would find a lot easier than myself, Val in particular. She weighed less than a tenth what I did, and was quite a bit quicker. She'd make fewer mistakes, and they'd cost her less. While one wrong step from me would set the thing rotating rapidly to one side and I'd be thrown off into the water.
The path to the right looked more promising, however, as it was a test of timing, rather than dexterity. On the right was a series of swinging blades, a classic honestly, though the blades were foam, painted in an exaggerated style, rather than sharpened steel.
Finally, at the beginning of each path, was a small pillar with a slot atop it. A slot, very much like the one in the tea vending machine back in the break room.
The gynoid produced three cards from a pocket in her blouse. Two held stylized depictions of piled coins, while the other had a book on its face.
After a moment's thought, I grimaced and shook my head, "We should save it if we can."
"Left, or Right?" Val asked, slowly and carefully.
I frowned, but the gynoid answered, "Right," in elvish.
Clumsy as her pronunciation was, I could understand her at the very least. Which is to say, Val could understand her.
"Oh, don't look so surprised," Val mocked, "The two of us aren't helpless."
"Would you please tell her that the right-hand path is the most likely to bear fruit?" the gynoid requested, "Of both paths, the left is most likely to lead back to the blue door, and we have no need of that now. Besides, I foresee you having difficulty making it across. The right hand then is the easiest for you, and the least likely to send us back where we already were."
"Maybe you should give her the necklace," Val suggested, once I'd finished relaying the gynoid's reasoning, "She seems capable, and I'm not certain what we need you for at this point."
"Maybe I take the key and the gynoid and chuck you in the river," I retorted, "Not certain what we need you for at this point."
"Please, enough flirting, time is of the essence," the gynoid called back.
She'd already made it through the first two swinging blades, and she beckoned us forwards without taking her eyes off the one in front of her.
"Is she chastizing us?"
"Yup."
"Mmm, maybe she'll give me my comeuppance," Val mused.
The timing was simple, and we made our way through with little difficulty. The pattern for the blades was simple and unchanging, and as long as you paid attention, there was plenty of warning before one came down.
The relative simplicity made me wonder if perhaps the automaton had been meant to still be chasing us, or maybe I was merely familiar with this sort of obstacle. Every dungeon in Skyrim seemed to have something like this, after all. The players this maze had been intended for may have looked upon the series of swinging blades with a little more trepidation.
The gynoid was several steps ahead and didn't wait for the two of us to finish making our way through before she slipped through into the passage beyond.
I felt a flash of annoyance. She was doing it wrong, she should be waiting for me, and what if there were traps she didn't spot it in time?
I growled and forced the thought away. The gynoid didn't need my permission to scout ahead. At this point in my life, I'd grown used to being let down in group assignments. And while I'd been out of university for a couple of years now, the memory remained. Which meant I usually did my best to take the reins in matters such as these, and being eight feet tall, people tended to let me. But the gynoid, as well as Valentine, knew what they were doing. I let out a long breath and took a step forwards just as the next blade hit the bottom of its travel and arced out of the way.
The gynoid reappeared only a moment later, holding a green key. Despite her composure, I got the sense that it was all she could do to keep from jumping up and down as she bade us forwards.
"I've found the red door, and this was sitting in front of it," she explained, "Quick, quick, the red key!"
The gynoid's energy was contagious, and Val skipped through close behind as I finished navigating the swinging blades.
There was a sharp right turn, a short length of corridor, another left, and then we stood before the red door. Val drove the key home, and it turned with a laborious ratcheting sound. The key withdrew, and there was a slow clank, clank, clank, as the door began retracting with fits and starts into the floor.
Then the gynoid did start jumping up and down, and I found myself chuckling as she all but bounced off the walls.
"Now what do you find so amusing?" she demanded.
"You're just not what I expected," I replied.
The gynoid pulled up her skirt and swung her legs over the half-open door, "Am I unlike the gynoids on your world?" she asked.
I stepped over after her and reached back to give Val a hand.
"There are no gynoids on my world," I admitted, "Maybe that's why you're not what I expect. Plenty of fictional sentient machines, but no real ones. Like Commander Data from Star Trek. Man, I wanted to be Data when I was a kid."
The gynoid glanced back as she reached the next intersection, saw that we were both close behind, and took the right-hand path. I kept after her, and Val paused only to mark our way before rushing after us.
"This Data, he is a military man, and an officer no less? I'm afraid that such things are not permitted where I come from. And I doubt that any young man wishes he were a combat android."
"Data was the second officer on the Enterprise, the flagship of The United-" I stopped myself, "Well, I thought he was cool at the very least. And as a kid who found the emotions of those around him utterly incomprehensible, he was pretty relatable. He also seemed to know everything, which was pretty cool. Now I don't have any idea if you know everything, but you're a lot warmer than Data. Jumping up and down, bouncing off the walls, eager to win the contest, and most likely plotting my demise with Val."
"I've decided that I like puzzles," she replied, "And I've never won anything before."
At each corner, we'd take the right path, and while we hit dead ends twice, and once found ourselves looping back upon our path, Val's marks made matters clear. Short of running pell-mell down the halls, getting lucky at each turn in the maze, we were making fine time.
"I hear water once again, another puzzle, or perhaps the end?" the gynoid guessed.
"Looks like both," I observed, as we rounded the last corner and stepped out into the final chamber.
The floor of the chamber was a sheet of ice, or very nearly ice. The look was right, it was even as slippery as ice when I knelt to touch it, but the temperature was all wrong. It certainly wasn't warm inside the maze, but it wasn't anywhere near cold enough to keep anything frozen.
Dozens of blocks of ice seemed to grow up out of the sheet, blocking off the direct path to the far side, and forming a sort of mini-maze of its own. This chamber had another pillar waiting to accept the hint card, and I squinted at the maze, trying to figure out what it might do.
To either side of the puzzle were open drops, back down into the river. If I wasn't carefully navigating it, I could slip right off the side and into the water, with nothing to catch myself on.
And on the far side of the icy maze waited a pair of massive stone doors, set with three-
"Damn," I breathed, "We need that blue key-"
Like it or not, we'd seen most everything on this side of the red door. Which meant we'd need to backtrack all the way to the room with the swinging blades and spinning drum and take the other path. That would have been the 'ideal' path, had I not clobbered the minotaur, as it would have led the players through the back way to get at the red key. In fact, the green door was probably over on that side as well, since we hadn't yet run into it.
That drum was going to be a problem, and I didn't know how the hell I was going to make it across. I tried to recall how close together the two exit doors were for that room. Maybe I'd be able to jump across? If not-
"Solve this nonsense," the gynoid urged, interrupting my train of thought, "I will fetch the blue key."
And then she left at a dead run, taking both the green key and the hint card with her as she did.
I felt that flash of annoyance once again, but realized she'd made the right call. Odds were good that she had a more time-consuming task. Whatever the hint card did, it was essentially a time saver. As we were running at the speed of the slowest group it was only sensible she be the one to use it, whether that be on the room we'd seen or another puzzle that might be between her and the blue key.
I turned back to my task and trusted she would see to hers.
"I wonder if a fabric could be made of this material," Valentine pondered.
She was kneeling to inspect the material as I had, though her expression suggested a different set of potential applications than had occurred to me.
"One track mind," I muttered, busy inspecting the puzzle before me.
"Not one track," she protested, "Two, the second one is food. And, well, it's not as if I can eat this, now can I?"
"There is more to life," I remarked.
"Mmm, doubtful."
I swept my gaze across the field of icy blocks, a plan beginning to form in my mind, "At least you know what you want," I replied.
"Yes, now what about this distraction? Have you a way through?"
"Still working on it, but I think I've got a general idea," I assured her, "Hold on, I'm going to try something."
I stepped out onto the not-ice and pushed off the solid stone behind. I began to slide, relatively quickly, towards the row of blocks a few yards off. Try as I might, I couldn't get any lateral motion. Even when I hit the wall and came to a stop, trying to pull myself along the floor was fruitless. Nearly frictionless, I doubted that real ice was anywhere near this slippery. Only pushing off the icy block gave any purchase, and sent me sliding back over the Valentine.
"Alright," I decided, "I've seen this sort of puzzle before. I remember them being a pain in the ass as a kid, but it's actually somewhat simple."
Valentine furrowed her brows, a look of evident concern on her face, "You were faced with such travails as a child?"
I waved a hand, "It was a game, god damn ice gym leaders always had something like this. The point is, the maze we need to solve is not the maze before us."
She quirked an eyebrow, "Do elaborate."
"I mean, it looks easy, the whole thing is laid out in front of us, and that's the trick. It looks like a maze, but if you try to solve it like a normal maze, by tracing the path and trying to follow it, you'll just end up sliding all over the place. No, better to think of it as a series of linked points. The first point is right there," I pointed, "The one place you can reach by sliding across through the gap in the wall. From there, the next set of points are the only ones you can reach by pushing off one of those two walls, and so on, and so on. That keeps you on the right track, and out of the drink."
"Mmm, I think I see what you mean."
"Of course, the real trick is to solve it backwards, since we can see the end from here."
I outlined the path I'd come up with, and once Valentine agreed that it seemed to make sense with the rules I'd outlined, we put it into action. I lead the way, with her one position behind. That way at least she could backtrack if I accidentally put myself in an untenable position, or ended up sliding off the edge. But my reasoning was sound, and the two of us made it across safely.
Valentine was quick to try the red key, but while it turned in the lock, as expected, nothing happened while the others were absent.
"You know, they could have done us the favour of providing somewhere to sit," Valentine said, watching contemptuously as I took a seat on the flagstones with my back to the wall.
I yawned and stretched my arms, "It's a good thing this isn't too comfy, or else I think I'd fall asleep."
She placed a hand on my shoulder to steady herself, and sat across my lap, "Maybe you should have taken more of the tea."
"Not much of a tea drinker," I replied, "Never liked coffee either. Hot chocolate is pretty great, though."
Valentine's eyes grew wide and desirous, "Might such a beverage be created with the ingredients at the hotel?"
"I think I can figure something out," I promised.
Val put her arms around my neck and drew herself in close to kiss the corner of my neck, just below my ear.
"You must realize," she murmured, "It takes some of the fun out of trying to tempt you when you're just so agreeable. A wiser man would make the task seem much more arduous."
I set my jaw and tilted my head to look her in the eye, "I believe you already promised me a rather spectacular kiss."
Val bit her lip and grinned. She shifted in my lap to straddle my hips, instead of sitting across my legs. Tilting her head forwards, her hair fell to cover her face. She reached up to the neck of her flight suit and drew the zipper down to her navel, revealing a silken shift beneath. She filled the air with the aroma of her pheromones, and I felt myself relax as they did their work.
She slipped her hands underneath my shirt and ran them across my abdomen, "Awfully tense, aren't we?"
Even as I watched, beads of moisture began to form on her bare skin, and the already heady scent of her grew almost overpowering.
She ran her fingers through my hair, and with the other, cupped my cheek lightly. Stirring her hips slightly, she drew me in. Lips slightly parted, she pressed hers against mine, and damn, was she ever a tease. She'd draw back, just a little, as I tried to press closer. And each time she would pull away slightly less, slowly giving in, but making me work for it.
I'd slipped a hand in the front of her jumpsuit and under her shift. She never seemed so very small as she did now, with just one of my hands very nearly able to circle her waist. Even with all her enchantments and attitude, I was terrified of hurting her. With Will, I'd lost control for only a moment, and that had still been nearly enough to cripple the armoured man. But with Valentine, even an instant of anger-
She seemed not to care. With the length of her tiny body pressed against my chest, she didn't stop. I was drawn this way and that, as she'd pull back just a little, only to draw me in once again.
It was only once we heard the gynoid's rapid footsteps that we drew reluctantly apart. I helped Val to her feet, and she gave me a wicked grin as she zipped up the front of her flight suit.
Not a moment too soon, as the gynoid appeared at the edge of the icy maze, lantern still swaying too and fro from the jostling it had gotten on the way.
"I have them," she shouted and flung the keys in a high arc.
Green and blue thumped against the door, and they'd not even stopped clattering around on the ground before Valentine had scooped them up and driven them into place. The doors began to move apart, sliding into the walls at either side and as they did, I busied myself guiding the gynoid through the field of ice.
By the time she'd made it across, Val had already slipped through the growing gap and disappeared.
Valentine was not the first into the treasure hall, but judging from the state of things, we'd not been far behind.
The treasure hall ran the width of the building, with a high vaulted ceiling that was held up by pillars so thick I could not circle them with my arms. There were windows at either end of the hall, high in the wall, above the doors that led outside. It was dark beyond those windows, though there was just enough light from the streetlamps outside to show the swirling blizzard that was kept at bay by half an inch of glass.
Behind me stood the exit door to the maze, one of three set into the wall at my back. Ours was still clanking open, and while the centre pair of doors stood empty, those at the far end of the hall remained silent and shut.
Two shallow pools, fed by water flowing out from underneath the wall, stood between the three exit doors, and I was glad to see that Will was not laying face down in either of them. I still felt anger festering in my gut, but I didn't want to kill the man. I was somewhat concerned to see the trail of droplets and wet footprints that suggested someone had dragged themselves from the pool and gone out into the cold, but hopefully he was smart enough to get somewhere warm in a hurry.
Across from the maze exits were another trio of doors. The largest of which was directly across from us, with a gold number one scribed above, nearly a foot tall. And, unfortunately, they were already open, or nearly so.
It looked like something you'd expect to see on a hangar, with an opening nearly fifty feet wide. The doors hadn't quite finished clanking open, but Simon and his 'angels', as the gynoid had called them, were already picking through the treasures beyond. Jankin stood by the door, standing guard for all the good it did and muttered something at our approach.
Simon glanced up and spread his arms wide, "Hey, you guys made it."
"Anything interesting?" I asked grudgingly.
"Eh, kinda. I bet the intended players would be stoked to win all this," he shrugged.
Simon swept his hand to encompass the furniture, clothes, appliances, and general bric-a-brac piled behind him, "But I'm pretty sure the main ingredients in all this crap are asbestos, lead, and arsenic."
I pointed at the comb that the small and slim one was holding, "At least that comb won't poison anyone. Might explode though."
"What?" Simon demanded.
"Yeah, it looks like ivory, but I'm pretty sure that's celluloid. A whole lot of this junk is celluloid, actually," I realized.
"Celluloid as in film?"
"Celluloid as in the thing made with the same process that creates nitrocellulose. As in guncotton."
Simon switched to Elvish, "Cilla darling, please put that down," he urged, "Everyone, just, maybe don't touch anything."
"Was there any coin?" Valentine sighed.
"Actually, yes. There were several dozen coin purses full of shillings. They're the only thing I'm sure won't eventually be the death of me."
"Do you have any idea what sort of mana there is in arsenic?" Val inquired.
Simon nodded, "I do."
I rolled my eyes, "Feel like sharing?"
"No, not really."
"After I was so kind as to warn you about the celluloid? A great many Victorian and Edwardian women died or were disfigured when celluloid combs and hair clips ignited and set their hair and scalp aflame."
Simon was about to speak, but paused as tall and busty- I think that made her Victoria? -approached and whispered in his ear. Simon frowned, shrugged, and then nodded.
"Tell you what, I won't share what I know about arsenic, but I'll offer a trade. I'll hand over everything in here that's got enough lead in it to be useful, and in exchange, you give me everything in your prize vault that's got at least some arsenic."
I glanced at Val, "Fire, Mind, and Weaken," she provided.
"Deal."
Continued in comment