Write Weds - Cordate Pt 2
Last week I put the first chapter of a thing out in the ether. This week allow me to preface what Cordate is. Everyday Combat is a series I learned so much about storycraft from. I wrote, rewrote, and edited this version of the story. After three passes and rejection from publishing agents I started rewriting the entire saga. That’s for later though.
Every Wednesday I plan on releasing 2-4k words at a time of this slightly incompetent and amateurish mess. While things are mostly realistic in this post-modern setting, think of everyone as a character in a game with hit points. Because let’s be honest, our heroine should have been dead before the first chapter even began if things were too realistic.
[Ch. 02]
In the interest of fairness Andy took about two thirds, leaving Mandy with one third. It was a cupcake. Her cupcake, that he bought her for her birthday. If anyone was ever as obnoxious, Mandy was sure they would find their way into her life.
Art class is where they met almost six months prior. Paired together even though neither had a lick of creative talent. They kicked off and were passing because they were trying. Art teachers were always like that; 'You gave it your best shot. Here's a B.' Mandy was a straight A student. So they had spent the whole afternoon of her birthday deciding on how to pass the art final.
It took a month for the sophomore and junior to not only warm up to each other but to understand why the class was paired up when art is generally a singular thing. When the teacher told them ideas blossom better when discussed and bounced back and fourth, they Andy and Mandy agreed. From then on they disagreed. On everything.
Opposites attract, though. And five months later Andy and Mandy were not only spending more time together than either would have expected, but sharing Mandy's birthday.
Andy was a brand of handsome similar to enjoying wines and beers to their fullest; an acquired taste. There was nothing wrong with Andy, just nothing remarkable. Pushing being overweight, a brain too big, and a mouth too loud. Bad qualities aside, Mandy found his cheekbones adorable, and his flamboyant hair-sprayed bedhead unique. Fabulous hair wasn't the end, Andy dressed in a neo-vampiric-emo-goth style that corroded at Mandy's sense of style. She couldn't understand why a high schooler would spend his allowance on dry cleaning to have perfectly pressed pants and spotless silk shirts.
But her inability to understand him was another part of the charm. As if he had almost forgotten among his involvement with exchange students and all the video games he talked about, Andy presented the pastry an hour after they started working on the final. In spite of being a little perturbed, Mandy was happy to have received the fraction of a cupcake. It was a disgusting thing, cinnamon cake, simple butter-cream frosting and flakes of bacon on top.
The delight in her golden eyes contradicted the disgust she voiced. That was the attribute Andy liked most, Mandy's eyes. Not to say that was her best attribute, simply the first everyone noticed. Mandy was a beauty that bloomed late. The stress in her early teens over fitting in with beautiful America lead to the prominent complication in her family life. Andy only met her in the last leg of recovering but was easily the best person to motivate her to eat.
The stigma around her at school was quick to evolve over the school year, from prep to vomiting mess to stoner. Andy did not get it, but as he told Mandy, the high school experts would view those four years as the best of their lives. It put the friends who stuck by her in perspective. They did not have anything meaningful to say, and what they did talk about was all meaningless gossip.
That afternoon after deciding on a pasta portrait they joked on their way to the grocery store how the next label would be whore or grave robber because of their growing relationship.
[Ch. 03]
Bandages obscured half the vision of my right eye and completely covered my right ear. The light through the cracks in the curtains drew long shadows. Spring in this city isn't as cold as Earth's rotation suggests it should be. Which was fine for it's inhabitants and meant I hadn't lost a whole day.
Finally when my stomach screamed at me I gave the effort to get up. The assholes moved me to the medical bed. My realization didn't end there, Tourn got carried away and hooked me up to his EKG machine as well. An unpleasant nickname slipped out of my mouth as I pulled the patches from my skin.
I might be a little judgmental of people. Tourn knew his stuff, he just had a peculiar way with people. His being here lies in a court case that stripped his medical license from him. The ruling was malpractice. His testimony was a confession that his temper got the better of him because of his nurse and the patients' family. With a slip of his hand a surgery turned into a nightmare for all sides.
Finding my balance was nearly impossible. I knew what to expect from my first concussion but you can never fully be prepared for the floor to cascade and ebb like waves. I had only planted both feet on something solid when I threw up. I was so happy that there was a little sink on the side of the bed. I may have clogged it though.
Forgoing the dizziness I found a couple pain pills, and washed them down with some more glorious water. Before the seeping smell of bile could make me vomit again I moved out of the Study.
Rooms away the guys were around the dining table discussing the future of Royal We. Hearing my name I stopped in the kitchen to listen.
“-Cord has brain damage?” Tourn’s voice was tight and tired, “Then what?”
“Voyeurs like underdog. Elbo sees no problem,” the stress he put on 'no' made me smile. I could almost see the gesture that went with the word.
Regency's disgust was obvious, “And if the rumors are true? If the Voyeurs, cut off our pay for being so low in the standings for so long, then what?” A few papers shuffled, “Between the match tomorrow and the new guy I think we're gonna fall off the radar if Cord isn't awake to give us a hand.”
“Rumors are rumors. No one knows what happens to teams that have stayed in the bottom for so long,” Tourn's voice was growing in volume. “And Cord shouldn't be much more then God damn walking for the next two weeks. How the fuck do you expect her to help us tomorrow?!”
I didn't think we were that far down for too long.
A chair scraped on the tiles, “We can't do shit with just the three of us! Don't matter how basic tomorrow's match is, bloke. We have to get out of the bloody bottom before we get too far into this season!” Another chair scraped as Regency rationalized our placing. “Or are we all still waiting for her to decide when we stop loosing?! We ain't loosing because we want to, we're loosing 'cause we can't fucking win!”
Whatever Regency was saying made no sense.
“Men! Sit down! Last game was won. We have chance to pick ourselves up! Fighting not helping.”
Everything went silent when I entered the dining hall.
Elbo grinned and poured a shot of vodka, “You look like hell, Quarda,” he rumbled as he shoved the glass in my hand. No words game to mind over everything I heard, so I nodded and downed the shot.
Everyone stayed quiet and kept a straight face as they all returned to their seats. Even after that spat, above their reddened cheeks I could see them smiling with their eyes that I was up.
The Brit was the first to speak up, “Haven't seen you eat in almost four days. Gotta be damn near starved.” He and Tourn exchanged a long look before Regency went to the kitchen.
More shots were poured as I sat down. Tourn didn't hesitate to down his shot.
I watched my little glass of clear liquid. It was tradition to drink the night before a match. It was a way, vodka wasn't my thing though, “Whiskey?”
“Spent most of our extra cash on blood, morphine, and drips for you,” Tourn reported as he slowly spun the shot glass. “Know how long you were out?”
I lifted the glass and nodded, acknowledging their conversation made it clear that it wasn't the afternoon of the same day I staggered home, “Think so.” My words were a slur still so I left out my guess of two days.
Tourn sighed, “You were under for two days.”
I nodded guessing his next words mentioning the match the next day.
“We've got another game tomorrow. It should be a simple one.”
I smiled, wanting to know about this new person.
Elbo must have seen me looking at the papers around the manila envelope on the table, “We have new member tomorrow, also.” I shot my liquor. Tourn braced himself. And the big guy explained, “Can Quarda pick him up? We can take match with three of us.”
“Simple 'nough,” I affirmed.
Dinner came soon after. It was mediocre. I can't blame Regency for being distracted, but I didn't even know Spam still existed. The best part of the dinner was Elbo ranting about real meat. Tourn was mostly quiet through our half star cuisine.
I figured the guys had already gone over all versions of their plans to account whether I would be available or not. My mission was simple, pick up the newbie at the station, get some lunch and discuss where he fits in. The discussion part worried me, there wasn't a need for me to say more than a handful of words since the motion blur of steel cracked my head, but I could feel that it wouldn't be something so simple to do.
The chatter calmed down at the end of our meal. We all silently acknowledged how things had changed since the summer. When I first joined Sand the dining room was constantly filled with laughter, stories, cards, liquor; all amounting to a ritual of celebration as if each match could be our last. All lost to the toll of our battles, the loss of our friends.
Royal We would make our comeback with the new day. I stood up and poured everyone a round. Elbo liked my idea, took his shot glass and stood with me. Regency shook his head with a smirk but stood up as Tourn did.
We all lifted our shots and cheered, “Light it up!”
The remainder of the night I typed up everything I would need to convey to our newbie. Before I turned in I found my phone on my nightstand. That was refreshing, the phones we use for Sand, Navipalms as the Scorekeepers named them, have several extra applications for matches.
The sleep I got that night was the best I think I had since the week before Vizy's Ban. Dreamless dark sleep that only broke when the sun poured through the curtains the next morning.
After showering and redressing my temple I spent an extra half hour practicing vocabulary to my reflection. I told myself I made no sense. And that my uneven hair was going to need to be redyed within a week. Sunshine eyes narrowed in my reflection, “Cor'ey, your gon' hav' to foc's.” With a sigh I gave up.
I dressed in my usual style, black slacks, a white button down shirt and my purple blazer. Breakfast was quick, the guys were heading out the door before I finished. All of the tension from last night was replaced with optimism. I was in no rush, but I gathered my Navipalm, my crowbar and my notes for the newbie and left.
The train station is where all new players enter from. And players are the only ones who really come to the city. Outsiders don't visit and the citizens use alternate means. It's like the general public has this vague idea that the Game is happening, but the Scorekeepers keep a good enough charade going around us that they can't quite pinpoint what's happening.
In my eyes, that's what I believe really got Vizy Banned. Cracking open a Scorekeeper base threatened the delicate balance of Game and Reality.
It doesn't take much to blind the public though. I've looked dozens in the eyes while in the middle of burglaries. Each one had turned the other cheek. If it's a girl picking the lock on a car, or setting charges to destroy property, or running her ass off with a duffel bag away from three different sources, they pretend not to notice. Threatening the illusion of the citizens' Perfection, California is nearly impossible, short of telling them, which I had never done.
That forenoon I wasn't a player though. Just a light sensitive and bruised person. Average enough to the normal populace and to the elderly man who joined me on the platform. His questions about my head and my reason for being there were a nuisance, and all unanswered. So, he went on to talk about a battle he was in in his younger years and the shell shock he suffered.
Being an average person was a pain. Next time instead of casual business I'd dress mafia. A chick in pinstripes carrying an ooze is pretty menacing. Never mind the low velocity rubber rounds, this old man wouldn't know the difference even with his war history.
At last the train pulled up as he began describing the intimate smell of sulfur and how close he came to the devil's maw. One man disembarked. I sized him up to my age bracket. His hair was black, straight, and just long enough to mostly cover his ears. While his face reminded me of a rock star his jaw had your typical superhero shape. Just what we needed in Royal We.
This was the first newbie I'd ever picked up, but given that he had the same expression I thought I had on when I stepped off that train it seemed common to know you're walking into promise. What that means is uncertain until you're thrown in. Sand wouldn't be as transparent as it is if players were recruited with all of the details.
He nodded offering a, “How's it going?”
I gestured for him to follow with the folder in my hand, “How's th' nap?”
“How'd you know I napped?” his voice had a quality to it that turned him from rock star to emo singer.
Instead of telling him everyone is lulled to sleep on the train ride I glanced a smile to him and gestured for him to follow me out of the station. The old man sighed as he bid me audeu. Our destination was a restaurant not too far away.
“Whoa, what happened to your head?” his question was rough around the edges.
I pulled my crowbar out of it's belt loop. Made sure he saw the dent, then made the motion of it striking my skull. I didn't feel much better then I had the night before but the ground wasn't wobbling. With all of the useless practice talking that morning I wanted to say as little as possible.
“Fuck.. What the hell happened for you to get hit with a crowbar?”
I shook my head as I put the steel away.
“Well, what's your name?”
“Cordeyh..” I tried.
“Coh-what?” He stepped ahead of me to get a look at my lips. There was no need to repeat myself, we were at the restaurant.
Shu's Thai was just the place to get out of the blinding sun and discuss his new life. Self seating, private booths, dim atmosphere, and less antique Asian crap for the modern touch of drapery everywhere.
I found a booth off to the side, sat down and leaned my head back. I felt like I could fall asleep if not for the tremendous throbbing between my eyes.
The new guy sat across from me and stayed quiet. I already liked him. Silence is only in the footnotes of Regency and Tourn's dictionary. Crunch was a quiet one too. Elbo.. Well, he's too to the point to talk any more than your average person. Visitor and Ani spoke their minds, but not nearly as much as the two loudmouths of Royal We.
A woman's voice broke the silence. Something about drinks.
There was an uncomfortable silence before I opened my eyes. The new guy was waiting for me, he looked a little concerned too. The woman, who's name tag read 'Kim' had set down menus and waited patiently looking between us.
“Wine. House.” Nice simple syllables. I closed my eyes again. The joke here is that I wasn't legal, but Kim didn't ask to see any identification.
The new guy tripped over his selection, “Uuhh I'll.. Just a C-no, root beer. Yeah. Root beer.”
The splendor of silence took over once more. It may have been uncomfortable for the newbie, but I could have cared less. The dim lights and near rest were doing wonders for my head.
I suppose our server returned with our drinks, I heard her asking what we wanted. I just waved my hand without opening my eyes, what I was waiting for was her to leave us be so we could get down to business.
The new guy ordered, and I heard Kim's voice turn as she said she'd bring that right out.
The lights in the room seemed brighter when my eyes opened. With a gulp of wine I forced the pressure behind my eyes away. I had work to do since the guys were out in a match.
I moved the folder from my lap to the table and opened with the first page facing him. It read, “First, what's your Tag going to be?”
He looked at me, sipped his soda and clasped his hands. “I thought about it. I don't know if it's good though.”
I spread my hands, asking 'so, what is it?' with my gesture.
“Mars.”
“Huh.” It wasn't terribly creative, but it wasn't simply terrible. I pulled out my phone and opened the registration application.
Mars's food was set down as I set up a file for him. Kim wanted to know if we needed anything else. So I sucked down the rest of my wine, set the glass on the edge of the table and replied with, “Please.”
Free of waitresses once more I turned to the next page in the folder. He read the words, “Whatever your name use to be forget it. Fill in all the fields I left blank then take a picture of yourself.”
I set my unlocked Navipalm on his side of the table, spun the folder around and scribbled on the paper, “And let me have a few bites off your plate.”
Kim was quick with my wine. Mars didn't glance her way as he scanned my handwriting and raised an eyebrow, “Really?”
I smiled pulling the plate towards me. I was paying so I felt he could shove his discontent with the sight of me eating a fork full of noodles.
The first bite was half chewed when something near the door fell. Several months of living this life trained me to be on alert immediately. I snatched my phone from Mars's hands, downed my wine and sneaked out of the booth behind the chairs and tables along the center row.
Crowbar ready I peeked out. The wine was helping, the lights of the restaurant weren't physically painful, but the sunshine from the front windows was a wall of blurry hard light. Not enough so that I didn't see a figure moving quickly from the door.
Mars was looking at me like I'd lost it. He'd learn quickly to stay on his toes. Until then I motioned for him to grab the folder. The last thing we needed was the Vigilantes turning my documents in and setting Royal We back right after finding a passion to pick ourselves back up.
That's when I saw her. Looming in the shadows over the booth in her cat suit. Watching Mars like an arachnid, waiting peacefully as the unsuspecting fly meandered around her web. The shape of 9's wooden sword attached at her hip, and bobbed hair were the only prominent features of her silhouette.
There was no telling if 9 saw me, so I had to act fast. My heart raced as I moved around the table, trying to flank her or get behind her. Kim wandered back into the area as I mounted the table to find the Nippon missing.
I was more prepared for the chain of events than I would have expected.
Kim's shocked words of, “What are you doing there?” turned into a shriek as a strap slipped over my head.
9 is good, but all of us are human in the Game, leaving a margin for error. Her mistake was overestimating my movements and catching my crowbar in the strap. After whapping my face in surprise I recovered quickly and pushed with both ends of the steel. I gained little leverage before she planted a knee in my back, pinning me to the seat and pulling harder to get the strap to my throat.
Something filled me as the faint scent of talcum powder reached my nose. It doubled my frustration, and confused me. I felt like we shouldn't be fighting. I couldn't make sense of it before white flashed my peripheral.
The whooshing empty gust of a missed strike blew over me. The strap uncoiled from my neck, allowing me to turn just in time to see Mars crack the plate on 9's heel. Her next hop missed and she fumbled to the ground from the table tops.
Mars didn't let up, though he was a little slow. His next strike fell on the back of a chair, shattering what remained of it.
By this time the cook in the back was scurrying out yelling Asian words at us.
Ignoring him, I wasted no time marching down the aisle as 9 retreated. Her lead was already too large. So, I wound up and chucked my crowbar at her, adding the battle cry, “You Cunt!” It made a lazy arc due to it's new aerodynamics, but damn was it satisfying seeing it smack her in the hip. Immediately following that satisfaction I was impressed that training with Elbo was paying off that well.
Her gimp-sprint brought a smile to my lips.
I turned gave Mars a firm handshake, “Welc'm.” That was all we had time for. The cook was approaching us and in the back I saw Kim with a phone to her ear.
“'S'go,” I tossed a bill large enough to feed three at Shu's down, took the folder from Mars and grabbed my crowbar from where it landed.
We weren't suppose to rendezvous for another hour, but nothing ever quite goes to plan. My blood was pumping and it wasn't a throbbing in my skull. I figured we could lend a hand if we could catch up to the guys.
“What was that? Initiation? A hit? Part of the Game?” Mars searched for the right question as he kept up with me on the street.
“Juss'uh bi'ch,” I spat. “Some'in's up. Goin' fin' the guys.”
On my Navipalm I opened the map. It's one of the most useful tools we have in Sand. The maps offer accurate positioning of teammate Navipalms, information on the match area (be it objectives or waypoints), and the ability to mark the map with various information.
The match was still under way, and things didn't look that great by what I saw. “You given uh phone?” I picked up speed.
“Yeah,” Mars matched my pace and had an eagerness about him.
“You're noh in thuh sys'em yeh. The opponen's can see our team.” I held out my phone so he could see the marks indicating Elbo, Tourn, and Regency. There were two more blips showing that they believed they were surrounded. The twist to the technology is earning Perks, things with the capabilities to let you see enemy positions, or listen in on enemy channels, to name a couple.
“So,” he nodded, “you want me to flank them.”
“Flank them,” I said with him. “Gimme your cell.” I added my number and Regency's. Marked out the path he should take, and added the one I was going to use. “Can' be on our team chan'l yeh, but call me or Regense if yo'r in chruble.” Channels are conference call like ways to communicate. If I were more daring we could have used a public one for Mars to talk to us through, but I had confidence that he wouldn't hesitate to contact me or Regency.
“I don't have a weapon. You don't think I can just go in and-” I slugged him in the shoulder before turning to go my direction.
“San'box, California's our play'round. Claim some'in'. Ehs yours.” I pulled a bluetooth piece out and stuck it in my ear.
“What are we, pirates?”
“Ten min's tops,” I gave a thumbs up as I picked up more speed. “We'll wai' for your mark.”