31 Saun, 723
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This time, Kotton grabbed his partner’s arm and led toward the direction of their next objective. The creepy alleyway to the left of the tavern they had just exited would give anyone with a right mind the heebie jeebies, but the game’s instructions had been clear. And Kotton wanted that damn prize so bad, he could taste the dark bitterness on his tongue.
“You’ve got balls,” Fysha stated. Kotton, on a rampage to finish first, wasn't paying attention. His focus was on the alley and the alley alone, thereby making the words his comrade had said unacknowledged.
It took less than a few seconds for them to arrive at their next destination. Kotton promptly brought the instruction manual up to his nose and began to read the following set of steps.
“Once you find this bawwel, you will awso find two buttons. Press bowf buttons at the same time to initiate the next step.” Kotton shrugged. It seemed simple enough to him. He regarded his partner for her input. But her reaction was not the one he was expecting.
“Why do you say it like that?” she inquired. Her nose was scrunched. But was it with disgust, confusion or a mixture of both?
Oh great, and the focus sways…
Kotton watched intently at the consonants and vowels that drifted off her lips. He knew what she meant, but he didn’t want to submit to the embarrassment and insecurity that had already been building up inside him.
“Like what?” he asked, playing dumb. He looked to his feet for a moment, scuffing the tops of his shoes with loose gravel.
“You don’t pronounce your ‘r’s and stuff. Are you slow?”
Kotton bit his lip but resigned himself. Whilst he wanted to yell at her for her ignorant assumption, he held back. His voice remained tight with frustration, but he refrained from any other form of aggression. He was used to this after all. Sometimes he just had to remind himself of this and politely remind others that it wasn't nice to say things like that.
“No,” he said slowly, forgetting the fact that being slow meant you were mentally inept. He cleared his throat and quickened the pace of his words. “I just can’t heaw vewy well.”
Fortunately for him, Fysha was a little more understanding than most folk. “Oh okay,” she contended, a perplexed expression still hinting at her lips. But her face softened, and that gentle anecdote made all the difference to him.
Kotton, wishing to move on from the trivial interruption, gestured toward the singular standing barrel in front of them. “Shall we pwoceed?” he asked, an edge to his tone. He hadn’t meant it, but it seemed to his fortune that it went unnoticed. Fysha nodded in agreement and pounced toward the barrel with a dispensable amount of excitement.
“So we just have to push these buttons at the same time?” she reiterated rhetorically, observing the two haphazardly crafted mounds on top of the barrel. He didn’t know how trigger systems worked but they seemed like they were connected to something inside the barrel. Maybe by pushing them, it would create a domino effect, causing something else to happen? He didn't care to observe his surroundings to prove his theory, his mind occupied with other things.
Kotton shrugged. “I guess.”
He positioned himself on one side of the barrel, his right hand outstretched and hovering above one of the buttons. He watched as Fysha found her spot on the other side, mimicking his movements.
“Weady? One, two, fwee!”
Nothing happened. Kotton squinted in confusion. “What happened?” he asked aloud.
“You went too early,” stated his comrade.
“What?”
“I was waiting for the ‘go’. It’s ‘one, two, three- go.’”
Kotton rolled his eyes and repositioned himself. “Okay fine,” he muttered. “On go. Weady?-” he levelled his hand- “one, two, fwee- go!-” and sent it hammering down.
In a flash, a wooden arrow shot between them and into the wall to their left. Something had gone unnoticed before- a string against the wall. It had now been cut by the arrow. A series of events transpired after the string had been severed. A loud bang resonated across the ground as a large rock fell from above. Below the rock was a plank. On one side of the plank was a bucket of paint. How had he totally missed that? Once the rock had hit the opposing side of the plank, physics took over and sent the bucket sailing across the alleyway into the adjacent wall. It coloured a piece of paper with its vibrant green acrylic. But wait- was that piece of paper there before? Or had they been too tied up with other priorities to notice? Was he experiencing some sort of situational blindness? He smirked- cool.
“Look,” Kotton announced, pointing at the piece of paper that had been doused in fluorescent paint.
Fysha smiled proudly and shimmied over to their next clue. She read aloud, “What’s two plus two? Now, look at your answer upside down.”
The pair instinctively took a step back and furrowed their eyebrows. What the hell did that mean? The riddles had been somewhat easy so far, but this one? It posed a problem.
Kotton read the sentence over and over again in his head. He knew two plus two was four. But he was supposed to look at the answer upside down? Was the four supposed to be in tally mark notation? No. Was it in written format? But the way he wrote it didn’t make any sense. Wait- he tentatively drew a mental image of the number four. He looked to the ground and succumbed to using his finger to draw out the number four in the dirt. Afterwards, he scooted one hundred and eighty degrees to view the number from the other side.
“It kind of looks like a chair,” Fysha offered, thumbing her lip. Her eyes gleaned a beautiful green.
Kotton agreed, studying the picture he had drawn a little while longer. After a few moments, he looked up and surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing to his left that suggested anything chair related. There was nothing in front of him that did either. But upon turning to his right he saw exactly what he was looking for- a chair. It was so oddly positioned, he kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. But would anyone else have unless given obscure suggestions from a piece of papyrus?
He made his way for the clue, clutching the game’s guide in his hand with strong vigour. He saw his partner follow his gait. Once the two of them had made it to the chair, they came across a small etching of the words, ‘follow the yellow brick road’ engraved onto one of its legs.
Fysha pursed her lips and squinted with irritation. “This is getting more and more fuc-”
“That way!” Kotton exclaimed, witnessing a thin line of yellow paint in the distance. It curved into another alleyway, inviting them to yet another part of complex mystery. He beckoned his friend to follow and thus began to make strides to the next junction of adventure.
They were suddenly stopped by a wrought iron fence. Through the holes in the fence, Kotton could see another team steadily traipsing toward the next challenge. He grit his teeth; the prospect of free beer way too tempting to accept defeat. If his eyes could ignite in a blaze of anger, they would. He needed to increase his level of discipline and strengthen his efficacy if he wanted to win.
“What’s the next step say?” he demanded, his line of sight never straying from the threatening opposition behind the fence. His view had become reddened at the peripherals, so much so that he hadn’t noticed he was the one still holding the instruction manual.
Fysha fished the paper from out of Kotton’s hardened grip and began to read, “Head to your left until you reach the small lake just outside of town.”
Kotton knew that the reason neither of them hadn’t scanned the entire list of steps was one of many.
There were large spaces between them, but having a precognition of the turn of events would steal the joy of the game. He speculated if the reason he had seen so many teams in front of them was because they had “cheated” and read the steps beforehand. He and Fysha were pursuing this game at a great pace, so it was only logical to assume that a lack of ethics was one of the reasons they were falling behind. It didn’t really bother him though. Sure, it irked him that people were cheating, finding loopholes and shortcuts to the finish line, but he was so enraptured by the adventure, that his frustration found a shallow grave quickly. His unnending desire for justice would be pushed to the back for now.
Fysha and Kotton nodded to one another in unison. They had already become quite an effective pair. They turned to head toward the lake at the border of the city, both admiring their progress in their own ways.
Once they had passed the last of the suburban houses, they were faced with the next remonstrance in the game. A small lake glistened in the sunlight, its stagnant waters crowded with dragonflies and water spiders. A few ripples oscillated from the breaching of minnows, but otherwise the view was placid.
“What’s next?”
Fysha looked at the list. “One of you must cross the lake to the other side and retrieve a blue-painted rock. Underneath the blue-painted rock is your next set of instructions.”
Kotton blanched. He didn't know how to swim, like, at all. He quickly raised his gaze from Fysha’s lips to her eyes. Hers also seemed filled with concern.
“Please tell me you know how to swim,” she stated rather than asked.
Kotton gave a nervous smile whilst shaking his head. “I can’t even heaw. How do you think I’m gonna swim?” He meant it as a joke but it wasn't met with laughter.
Several emotions panned across Fysha's face, each one trying their hardest steal victor in the battle. He noticed confusion, frustration and anxiety, before she begrudgingly found acceptance. She took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. ascertaining a look of false confidence.
“Alright,” she declared, nodding her head as though trying to reassure herself more than him. “I can do this.”
Kotton sighed with relief and gave her a toothy grin. He held up both thumbs- a sign of encouragement. “I will wescue you if you dwown,” he assured with a jesting tone.
Fysha rolled her eyes, but mustered a grin. “That blue rock better be worth it,” she muttered before taking off her shirt. Kotton blushed and looked away. It was just a bra that she wore now- but he had a strong relationship with decency and privacy.
He felt droplets of water land on his cheek. They gave him the signal he needed to look. Kotton watched as his comrade swam, floundered, but progressed slowly, doggy paddle style, across the dark waters of the lake.
“You’ve got balls,” Fysha stated. Kotton, on a rampage to finish first, wasn't paying attention. His focus was on the alley and the alley alone, thereby making the words his comrade had said unacknowledged.
It took less than a few seconds for them to arrive at their next destination. Kotton promptly brought the instruction manual up to his nose and began to read the following set of steps.
“Once you find this bawwel, you will awso find two buttons. Press bowf buttons at the same time to initiate the next step.” Kotton shrugged. It seemed simple enough to him. He regarded his partner for her input. But her reaction was not the one he was expecting.
“Why do you say it like that?” she inquired. Her nose was scrunched. But was it with disgust, confusion or a mixture of both?
Oh great, and the focus sways…
Kotton watched intently at the consonants and vowels that drifted off her lips. He knew what she meant, but he didn’t want to submit to the embarrassment and insecurity that had already been building up inside him.
“Like what?” he asked, playing dumb. He looked to his feet for a moment, scuffing the tops of his shoes with loose gravel.
“You don’t pronounce your ‘r’s and stuff. Are you slow?”
Kotton bit his lip but resigned himself. Whilst he wanted to yell at her for her ignorant assumption, he held back. His voice remained tight with frustration, but he refrained from any other form of aggression. He was used to this after all. Sometimes he just had to remind himself of this and politely remind others that it wasn't nice to say things like that.
“No,” he said slowly, forgetting the fact that being slow meant you were mentally inept. He cleared his throat and quickened the pace of his words. “I just can’t heaw vewy well.”
Fortunately for him, Fysha was a little more understanding than most folk. “Oh okay,” she contended, a perplexed expression still hinting at her lips. But her face softened, and that gentle anecdote made all the difference to him.
Kotton, wishing to move on from the trivial interruption, gestured toward the singular standing barrel in front of them. “Shall we pwoceed?” he asked, an edge to his tone. He hadn’t meant it, but it seemed to his fortune that it went unnoticed. Fysha nodded in agreement and pounced toward the barrel with a dispensable amount of excitement.
“So we just have to push these buttons at the same time?” she reiterated rhetorically, observing the two haphazardly crafted mounds on top of the barrel. He didn’t know how trigger systems worked but they seemed like they were connected to something inside the barrel. Maybe by pushing them, it would create a domino effect, causing something else to happen? He didn't care to observe his surroundings to prove his theory, his mind occupied with other things.
Kotton shrugged. “I guess.”
He positioned himself on one side of the barrel, his right hand outstretched and hovering above one of the buttons. He watched as Fysha found her spot on the other side, mimicking his movements.
“Weady? One, two, fwee!”
Nothing happened. Kotton squinted in confusion. “What happened?” he asked aloud.
“You went too early,” stated his comrade.
“What?”
“I was waiting for the ‘go’. It’s ‘one, two, three- go.’”
Kotton rolled his eyes and repositioned himself. “Okay fine,” he muttered. “On go. Weady?-” he levelled his hand- “one, two, fwee- go!-” and sent it hammering down.
In a flash, a wooden arrow shot between them and into the wall to their left. Something had gone unnoticed before- a string against the wall. It had now been cut by the arrow. A series of events transpired after the string had been severed. A loud bang resonated across the ground as a large rock fell from above. Below the rock was a plank. On one side of the plank was a bucket of paint. How had he totally missed that? Once the rock had hit the opposing side of the plank, physics took over and sent the bucket sailing across the alleyway into the adjacent wall. It coloured a piece of paper with its vibrant green acrylic. But wait- was that piece of paper there before? Or had they been too tied up with other priorities to notice? Was he experiencing some sort of situational blindness? He smirked- cool.
“Look,” Kotton announced, pointing at the piece of paper that had been doused in fluorescent paint.
Fysha smiled proudly and shimmied over to their next clue. She read aloud, “What’s two plus two? Now, look at your answer upside down.”
The pair instinctively took a step back and furrowed their eyebrows. What the hell did that mean? The riddles had been somewhat easy so far, but this one? It posed a problem.
Kotton read the sentence over and over again in his head. He knew two plus two was four. But he was supposed to look at the answer upside down? Was the four supposed to be in tally mark notation? No. Was it in written format? But the way he wrote it didn’t make any sense. Wait- he tentatively drew a mental image of the number four. He looked to the ground and succumbed to using his finger to draw out the number four in the dirt. Afterwards, he scooted one hundred and eighty degrees to view the number from the other side.
“It kind of looks like a chair,” Fysha offered, thumbing her lip. Her eyes gleaned a beautiful green.
Kotton agreed, studying the picture he had drawn a little while longer. After a few moments, he looked up and surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing to his left that suggested anything chair related. There was nothing in front of him that did either. But upon turning to his right he saw exactly what he was looking for- a chair. It was so oddly positioned, he kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. But would anyone else have unless given obscure suggestions from a piece of papyrus?
He made his way for the clue, clutching the game’s guide in his hand with strong vigour. He saw his partner follow his gait. Once the two of them had made it to the chair, they came across a small etching of the words, ‘follow the yellow brick road’ engraved onto one of its legs.
Fysha pursed her lips and squinted with irritation. “This is getting more and more fuc-”
“That way!” Kotton exclaimed, witnessing a thin line of yellow paint in the distance. It curved into another alleyway, inviting them to yet another part of complex mystery. He beckoned his friend to follow and thus began to make strides to the next junction of adventure.
They were suddenly stopped by a wrought iron fence. Through the holes in the fence, Kotton could see another team steadily traipsing toward the next challenge. He grit his teeth; the prospect of free beer way too tempting to accept defeat. If his eyes could ignite in a blaze of anger, they would. He needed to increase his level of discipline and strengthen his efficacy if he wanted to win.
“What’s the next step say?” he demanded, his line of sight never straying from the threatening opposition behind the fence. His view had become reddened at the peripherals, so much so that he hadn’t noticed he was the one still holding the instruction manual.
Fysha fished the paper from out of Kotton’s hardened grip and began to read, “Head to your left until you reach the small lake just outside of town.”
Kotton knew that the reason neither of them hadn’t scanned the entire list of steps was one of many.
There were large spaces between them, but having a precognition of the turn of events would steal the joy of the game. He speculated if the reason he had seen so many teams in front of them was because they had “cheated” and read the steps beforehand. He and Fysha were pursuing this game at a great pace, so it was only logical to assume that a lack of ethics was one of the reasons they were falling behind. It didn’t really bother him though. Sure, it irked him that people were cheating, finding loopholes and shortcuts to the finish line, but he was so enraptured by the adventure, that his frustration found a shallow grave quickly. His unnending desire for justice would be pushed to the back for now.
Fysha and Kotton nodded to one another in unison. They had already become quite an effective pair. They turned to head toward the lake at the border of the city, both admiring their progress in their own ways.
Once they had passed the last of the suburban houses, they were faced with the next remonstrance in the game. A small lake glistened in the sunlight, its stagnant waters crowded with dragonflies and water spiders. A few ripples oscillated from the breaching of minnows, but otherwise the view was placid.
“What’s next?”
Fysha looked at the list. “One of you must cross the lake to the other side and retrieve a blue-painted rock. Underneath the blue-painted rock is your next set of instructions.”
Kotton blanched. He didn't know how to swim, like, at all. He quickly raised his gaze from Fysha’s lips to her eyes. Hers also seemed filled with concern.
“Please tell me you know how to swim,” she stated rather than asked.
Kotton gave a nervous smile whilst shaking his head. “I can’t even heaw. How do you think I’m gonna swim?” He meant it as a joke but it wasn't met with laughter.
Several emotions panned across Fysha's face, each one trying their hardest steal victor in the battle. He noticed confusion, frustration and anxiety, before she begrudgingly found acceptance. She took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. ascertaining a look of false confidence.
“Alright,” she declared, nodding her head as though trying to reassure herself more than him. “I can do this.”
Kotton sighed with relief and gave her a toothy grin. He held up both thumbs- a sign of encouragement. “I will wescue you if you dwown,” he assured with a jesting tone.
Fysha rolled her eyes, but mustered a grin. “That blue rock better be worth it,” she muttered before taking off her shirt. Kotton blushed and looked away. It was just a bra that she wore now- but he had a strong relationship with decency and privacy.
He felt droplets of water land on his cheek. They gave him the signal he needed to look. Kotton watched as his comrade swam, floundered, but progressed slowly, doggy paddle style, across the dark waters of the lake.