The Tournament Grinder (Also, the Prom Date)

Andromeda Saloman

“Good game.”

Andromeda holds her hand out to her final opponent for the day, who shows some poor gamesmanship by snarling away. Andromeda doesn’t get why they all get so mad when she beats them. It’s only a game, even if they are playing for major cash prizes. Sure, her opponent missed the top eight with his defeat at her hands, but the top 16 placement payout is not that bad.

Andromeda shuffles up her deck, being sure to pull out her sideboard cards before she forgets. Playmat rolled up, camera friendly dice already packed up, deck secured, the gamer girls stands up and stretches. It has been a long day at the tournament. She has Top 8 day to play in tomorrow. She’s hungry, tired, and ready for a long bath and then a good night’s sleep at the hotel.

Andromeda ambles towards the exit of the convention center, only to be stopped by her playtesting compatriots.

“Yo, Ro! Good job. Chuck is in Top 8, too. Wanna play some DDH? We were gonna get a couple of games in before heading back to the motel.”

Andromeda doesn’t like the nickname, but she tolerates it. Adrian lacks certain social niceties. The fact that he spoke his question towards Andromeda’s breasts reinforces the fact. The gamer girl answers, “No, thank you.”

“You can borrow my Jubilex deck. It’s kinda like your deck from today.”

Why is he wanting me to play DDH with him? It is an inferior format, based on suboptimal play. “No, thank you, Adrian. I should really get back to the hotel. I want to be fresh for the final rounds tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, okay, Ro. See you tomorrow?”

Andromeda nods, though Adrian is too busy staring at her breasts to see it. “Tomorrow, Adrian.”

The walk back to the hotel was uneventful. Andromeda gets some dinner, the first real meal since breakfast, at the hotel restaurant. Living off of protein bars during the tournament to avoid the overpriced convention hall “food” means a real dinner of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables is welcome, even if the hotel restaurant is also overpriced. She heads upstairs to her rented room. She starts a bath, adding some lavender scented Epsom salts. Sitting in tournament focus mode is stressful for both the mind and body. Stripping out of her blue leyline symbol T-shirt, jeans, and underwear, Andromeda sinks into the bath and luxuriates for a while. Her muscles relax, her mind loosens. The sigh of contentment echoes in the room.

Not quite willing to fall asleep in the bath, she eventually forces herself up. Slipping a bathrobe on, she stares into the mirror to brush her hair and teeth. Her caramel brown skin is still a little damp, her dark brown hair in wavy curls down to her shoulders. She puts it in a loose braid to keep it from tangling overnight. Chocolate brown eyes stare back at her, devoid of emotion.

Finding one of her oversized blue leyline symbol sleeping shirts and a pair of boyshort panties, she dresses for bed. The hotel sheets are slightly scratchy, but not so terrible that she can’t fall asleep. She wonders how her playtesting compatriots can handle the cheaper motel nearby. Those sheets have to be awful. The hum of the room A/C, blasting out some heat to fight the Chicago January chill, keeps her up for a bit, but she eventually falls asleep.

The Broadcast (Andromeda’s Dreamscape)

Andromeda finds herself in the tournament final, as she has visualized so many times before. Her deck is ready, shuffled and waiting for her opponent to appear. The timer for the match is starting; her opponent will forfeit if he or she does not sit soon. A disappointment.

“A last minute swap in both Saloman’s opponent and final’s match format. Coming into the Warlocks Made of Toast Deckcrafter’s Arena, it’s Tyalangan, 48th Queen of the Copse-Wood throne? What does that mean, Rubber Chicken?”

“No idea, Lonnie. Anyways, some kind of woman in an immaculate sea elf cosplay is sitting down across from Saloman, holding two decks? What is WmoT thinking?”

Andromeda finds her opponent fascinating looking. She moves with the surety of a champion. Andromeda is dissatisfied with the size of the decks. The voice of this Tyalangan melts in Andromeda’s ears. “Sorry for the format change, but it needs to happen for the analogy to work. One versus one DDH.”

One on one DDH? That is a format?

The room shifts, the commentary team’s chatter fades to nothing. It is only the two of them, the table, and swirling darkness. The cosplayer shuffles the absurdly large deck, presents it for cutting, and speaks, “You know those episodes of Oh-gi-yu where Ohgi has to play Struggle Anomalies against ancient Hittite gods? We’re kinda doing that. My deck’s deity has the hidden deity trait, so it remains turned face down until I first cast it.”

Andromeda shuffles the DDH deck, cursing the ninety-nine card (plus deity) deck rule, and hands it back. She slowly shuffles. “Oh-gi-yu is a trash turn zero game. And my deity is apparently...”

My prom date from sophomore year? Dressed up as an anime magical girl?

“...Magical Cutie Mona Cummings. A 5 leylines 0/1 with, ‘At the beginning of your upkeep, if you have assembled the power of magic and friendship, you win the game.’ What does that mean?”

“Sounds like an alt win con in the deity zone. You don’t get this card. You can have the start.” This Tyalangan cuts Andromeda’s deck by placing the top card of her library to the bottom. They both draw seven and keep. A basic white leyline, a basic green leyline, an Abrams tank (which is apparently a 7 leylines 10/10 vehicle with rampage 2 and crew 4), and 4 civilians (a 1 leyline 0/1, which is a terrible rate, with no feature other than a deck can have as many civilians in it as you want).

Andromeda plays the green leyline, casts a civilian and passes the turn. “This civilian card is terrible. Why would you build a deck around them?”

Tyalangan draws a card, responds with a colorless leyline, then passes with, “They are needed for the lesson.”

Another basic leyline drawn, then immediately played, another civilian cast. Pass the turn. “You couldn’t get me a more efficient one-drop? A Delver of Secrets, perhaps?”

The cosplayer draws a card, plays another colorless leyline, then passes with, “Do wizards that turn into giant flying bugs live in your world?”

Andromeda’s next card is an M-16, which is a +2/+0 piece of equipment that can only be equipped by soldiers. Currently worthless. Great. Last basic in hand played, then a third civilian. “I assume you gave me a deck that can possibly win, correct?”

Another drawn card for the cosplayer, then a non-basic leyline called Cultist Hideout. She taps all three leylines to make a 0/1 cultist token, then passes the turn. “You know how DDH goes, you draw into the right combination of cards and see what you can assemble. A little table talk helps things along.”

Cultist? Hmm... Andromeda draws a Cultivate. She casts it to ramp and not miss her leyline drop. She makes the drop, then casts the last civilian in hand. She can play Mona next turn, but has no idea if it would be worth it. “Table talk, huh? Pass the turn.”

Tyalangan draws a card, plays a wasteland, makes another Cultist token, and passes the turn. “You could tell me about the girl there. You recognize her.”

Andromeda draws an enchantment that gives her civilians +1/+0 for every soldier she has. With no soldiers in sight, another useless card. Having nothing else to do, she casts Mona. “A girl from high school. She was into me, we went on a date, nothing more. Pass.”

“And I win.” The deity Tyalangan flips is broken, even by modern DDH standards. A 20/20 creature for 10 colorless leylines that, on cast, requires all players to sacrifice all creatures (and the cost is reduced by each creature on the board to boat). Then, since Mona has all 5 leyline colors in her identify, the creature gets counters that grant Double Strike, Flying, Infect, Haste, and Trample. One swing and Andromeda loses in 3 different ways at once. And the art on the card? That will given Andromeda nightmares for a long time coming.

It is rare that Andromeda gets salty for a loss, but this is a time for it, “The fuck was that?”

“You shuffled during the game, so the card you were looking for is 37 cards down. It was the one I cut away. The solution to the problem. This? This is what’s going to happen to your world in a few weeks if Mona over there doesn’t find the power of magic and friendship by then. So, dear Andromeda, do you want to help Mona succeed, or just hope that she will?”

Andromeda found the card as the cosplayer spoke. Then, she kept digging. She found other named people, including a card for herself. The pieces that needed to be assembled for Mona to win are numerous (and required a dildo harness, for some reason). It’s going to require grand strategy and precise tactics. Frankly, it is beyond the girl she knew.

“If what you are saying is true, Mona is going to fail, hard, unless she has grown up considerably these last few years. Please tell me that she’s most of the way through a West Point scholarship.”

“Moved to Canada. Did college for half a semester. Dropped out. Devoted most of her time since then playing video games and eating cup noodles.”

“And SHE is the one to save the world? She needs help. She needs... supervision.”

The elf holds her hand out. “Are you on board then?”

Andromeda takes the hand. “Mona is sweet, but she’s not made out for this. I’m in.”

Andromeda

Andromeda feels very under dressed right now.

Mona is sitting on a throne in view of the hallway Andromeda finds herself in, dressed quite slovenly, but within the realms of decency. It’s been a couple of years since she’s seen Tegan and Kevin, in pajamas and an outfit appropriate for a honky-tonk bar, respectively, but they are covered. The gamer girl doesn’t recognize the criminal, but the old lady wearing sweats with the kind of dumb pun only a middle school teacher would ever be willing to be seen in has to be Ms. O’Connor-Peters.

Opposite them is a blue woman in a color palette swapped ringmistress outfit and the only one less dressed for the occasion than her.

Andromeda walks in, trying to keep her sleep shirt down. If she had known she was going to be stolen away in her sleep, she would have slipped on some pajama pants. Mona is staring at Andromeda’s thighs. Tegan sneers, then looks away. Kevin gives her a commiserating look, then tries to give her some privacy. The criminal guffaws. Ms. O’Connor-Peters speaks to the blue woman, “If you were my brother, you will stop embarrassing the girl.”

What?

A snap of fingers, and Andromeda is in some athletic shorts. Still skimpier than Andromeda would like, but within the realm of modesty. The gamer walks a little more sure of herself.

The blue woman speaks, “My apologies, Andromeda. And, before we move on...”

Another snap of fingers, and Andromeda recalls the dream. The game. And the picture. She shudders. Tyalangan invades Andromeda’s mind to project: “Mona isn’t ready for the severity of what she will face. Keep it secret from her, for now. And, when you need help holding it together, ask. Staring into madness has consequences.”

This is real. What I saw was real. I need to be strong, for the fate of the world is at stake. Andromeda shudders again, stronger.

“Andromeda, would you like to introduce yourself to the audience?” A series of questions flash in her mind.

“Hello, audience, my name is Andromeda Saloman. I do not like my name shortened. I am a professional Leylines: The Converging player, focusing on vintage and legacy, but will dip into modern during lows of my preferred formats. I also am attending college as a data analysis major. I am 19 years old and my body measurements are 36DD-26-37. I attended middle and high school with Mona, but I was a couple of graduating classes behind her. She asked me to be her date for her senior prom when I was a sophomore and I agreed. It was fine. I am not sure of my sexuality, but I am definitely aromantic; I apologize, Mona, for I did not figure that out until I got to college. I have had sex and enjoyed it, but the other participants always seem cease contact when I could not reciprocate feelings, if not before. Is that okay?”

Mona looks stunned. “Uh, yeah, Andromeda. I’m... we’ll talk, okay? Later, when it’s not all... public.”

Tyalangan smiles, “So innocent, Mistress is. And that is Andromeda. When contestants are selected in this fashion, usually the last slot is reserved for the ‘wildcard,’ a person the Mistress passes by in her usual day-to-day and has an attraction to. Unfortunately, as a virtual shut-in, Mona doesn’t exactly interact with people. But, we have the closest thing to that. Our final contestant, the neighbor, Craig Dougie.”

Andromeda stands by Ms. O’Connor-Peters, noting that the entrance to the throne room closes. She is mildly interested in who this “wild card” is. Hopefully, he will be helpful.