Jan 25, 8:20am
Based upon requests of various interested persons, I've started a diary of my experiences
after the EVENT. Hopefully they well help other centaurs with problems. And, of course,
any others who have other problems that need solutions or have alternate suggestions
should feel free to contact me at mwbard@transform.to.
And, since I at least try to write, I've tried both to keep true to my experiences, and
make it at least a little enjoyable to read.
Oh, and (of course) places and names of others have been changed to protect the innocent
and all that. So let's get started and complete an entire day! See, things are going
faster (although this is about twice as long as the earlier entries. Oh well).
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Wha?
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
RING....
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
It was the door buzzer and the phone.
Yes, I know I said that I could sleep and work through almost anything, but then I also
said that I have certain key sounds and phrases that, I guess, my subconscious keeps an
eye on and lets me know if they occur. The smoke detector beeping was one. The phone was
not - that's why I have an answering machine. But the door buzzer was.
BZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
I stumbled to my feet scattering the cushions and blanket, staggered backward, bumped my
rear thigh (although I think that anatomically my rear legs had the thighs and hips and my
fore legs the arms and shoulders but those might not be the best terms anymore) on the
chair, stopped and rubbed my eyes and then stretched.
BZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Ah hell.
At least mostly conscious, I backed up, rotated around, and made my way to the speaker and
reached to press the talk button and then stopped.
Who would be buzzing me now? And what time was it?
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
I backed up and leaned down and checked the clock on the VCR. Eight twenty-three.
Eight twenty-three?! In the morning?!!!
Angrily I spun back and clomped back to the speaker and twisted until I faced it. My
friends know better than to call on me in the morning. And, anyway, they would think I was
on my way to work.
BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Instead of pressing the talk button, I pressed the listen button. At least it cut off the
buzzing.
"...ot here."
"Nobody's seen him leave so he must be. And I'm going to interview him."
Futz. I took a deep breath to try and keep some kind of calmness in my voice and then
pressed the talk button. "Yes?" Somehow I managed to make my voice almost sound
sweet.
"Mr. Bard, we..."
"Do you know what time of the morning it is?"
"...CFMT news and..."
I released the button. Reporters. Well, some other stations I would have just screamed at,
but CFMT did pick up the last season of Babylon 5 so... I pressed talk again. "Can
you come back later?" And then I pressed listen and waited.
"...like to..."
"He just said something."
I sighed through my breathing slits - it seemed that I'd picked up a new habit. -and then
I pressed the talk button again. "I'm trying to be polite - can you come back
later?"
Pressed listen: "But it's after eight in the morning. I'd just like to talk to
you."
Oh God, morning people. I shuddered. Pressed talk: "I was awake until 5am this
morning and am extremely tired. I would like to sleep some more."
Pressed listen: "But I want something for the noon news and I need to get it in by
ten."
Leaning my forehead against the wall (which was a bit uncomfortable when combined with the
almost 90 degree twist at my waist) I sighed through the vents. They weren't going to let
me go back to sleep. Then I straightened up and, after pressing talk: "Ok. Give me
half an hour to get ready."
Pressed listen: "But you're a centaur, what do you have to get ready for?"
I released the button. God, why me? I thought reporters were only this stupid in Winds of
Change stories. Sigh. Patience was good. It was only the second day. Pressed talk: "I
will not go on camera nude and messed up. Half an hour."
Pressed listen: "Ok. Half and hour." And then the sound of the door opening and
another voice: "Steve, are you..." Then a shout. "I'm from Global - we want
to talk to you!"
More. Pressed talk: "In half an hour."
Pressed listen: "I'll pay you $50 for an exclusive." Another voice.
"$100" I released the button.
This had possibilities. Normally I'm not too greedy, but converting to a centaur lifestyle
wasn't going to be cheap. I'd spent over $100 on food yesterday, and based on the
information I'd seen last night I was looking at something approaching $400 a month just
to be shoed. If I went with the 'sneakers' (rubber soled shoes you put on a horse as
required) they would probably last longer, but it was going to cost over $500 (US) to get
the mold and then get one set of shoes made.
Pressed talk: "Stop."
Pressed listen: silence.
Pressed talk: "I'll make a deal. There's just the two groups there right now,
right?"
Pressed listen: "Err...three." It was a new voice.
Pressed talk: "I'll let you all ask questions but it'll be $200 a station. Except for
CFMT - they can do it for only $100. After all they put the last season of Babylon 5
on."
Pressed listen: "What?!" "Outrageous!" "Well, we were
first." "$700 for exclusive." "You're mad."
Bidding was getting hot but I didn't want it to get out of hand. Pressed talk: "One
hundred and two hundred are my only offer, and it will apply to all. And you can all pitch
in together to buy me some breakfast down at the Coffee Time. Any group that doesn't pay
won't have any questions answered. I'll be ready in half an hour."
Releasing the button, I backed up and rotated around and then made my way into the bedroom
for my glasses, and then into the washroom. Behind me the buzzer started going but
eventually it stopped. Meanwhile I relieved myself, and washed up. I was too big to take a
complete shower but I did at least clean my hair in the sink (which was really
uncomfortable as I had to twist and bend). Then I dried and combed my hair, shaved,
brushed my teeth, and did all the other stuff. Finally I backed out, took off my glasses,
put on the sweater which was still mostly on the chair, grumbled, put on my glasses, and
went back and combed my hair again.
Smiling not that I was finally finished, I backed out into the living room and then
rotated around and walked to the speaker which had been silent for a while, and pressed
talk: "Hello?"
Pressed listen: Silence.
What? Did they all leave? Had I charged too...
Hold it. Probably somebody went out and they all slipped in. I twisted around and leaned
down and looked out the peephole in the door.
Yup, there were a bunch out there. Oh well, here we go.
Putting on my coat, I grabbed my shoulder bag, tossed in my wallet, placed the shoulder
bag over my left upper shoulder (I REALLY need better terminology) and grabbed the keys.
Then, I took a step back, pulled open the door, ducked, shoved my way into the crowd,
"Excuse me," and let the door slam behind me pressing my tail against my you
know.
"Mr. Ba..."
"In a couple of minutes. I need to lock up first." Then I rotated around, gently
pushing some people out of the way (there were ten total), and locked the door. Then,
rotating back around until I faced the stairs and gently pushing people out of the way, I
continued. "Shall we go for coffee and doughnuts then?"
"How..."
"I will answer no questions until we are in the coffee shop and have some room, and
until my fee is paid." I smiled. "You might as well start paying now."
And pay they did, a total of $350 which would help cover my food expenses for at least a
couple of days. They did grumble about the doughnuts though, although they did take
pictures, as I went through half a dozen DOZEN doughnuts (that's seventy-two for you
calculator cripples). I stuck with plain because I wasn't sure about how my stomach would
handle chocolate. It was nice not to worry about calories for a change - since I could
still see my lower ribs I knew I needed additional food.
And then it was time for more questions although was nothing that special about most of
them. You know, questions like what do I eat, do I know what happened, do I know anybody
else who changed (I knew OF but didn't really know them as persons), what was I going to
do now, how did I like the change (I'm not sure, I'm still working out exactly what I can
do and what I can't), is the government going to help me adapt to my new body (not that I
know of, but an interesting thing to look into), and things like that. A couple questions
asked about friends, where I worked, etc., but those I refused to answer. The one slightly
disturbing question was asked by a young lady from the CBC.
"Did you ever imagine being a centaur before this event occurred?"
I frowned. Well, I guess I had, I'd at least written about it. And yes, I'd wondered, and
thought of what it would be like. In fact I'd been working out some details of a story
sequel on the Tuesday before this started. I'd been depressed about work and about life in
general (January and February tend to do that to me) and I'd daydreamed about how much
better it would be. Yea, right. Finally I answered, "A little. I fiddle with writing
and was working out a story involving a centaur just before this. Why?"
"Well, it seems that a lot of the others claimed that they'd always dreamed of the
form they turned into."
"They did?"
"One, I believe a horse man of some kind in the states, said that his new form was a
perfect amalgamation of all the things he'd ever dreamed of."
Interesting.
Anyway, there was one other question of note which was interesting because of the way it
was worded. Someone from CFMT asked, "How does it feel to be a Centaur in a Man's
world?" You've already read my answer, which I paraphrased, but the wording stuck in
my memory. It was a great title, for something anyway.
By then, it was almost 10:00 and they turned and left after thanking me, so I turned and
trotted back to my apartment. I made my way up the various staircases and squeezed back
into my apartment. First I grabbed another two-litre from the fridge (it wasn't really
coke, just a no-name substitute that cost a quarter the cost of the real thing) and backed
up and made my way into the living room. Having learned from this morning I leaned down
and moved the cushions from in front of the couch over to in front of the computer,
straightened them, and lay down. Then I turned on the computer and while waiting for it to
boot picked up the phone.
Yup, messages.
I entered the code (forgetting the 416 and getting the stupid voice again) and started
going through the messages. First though, I was warned that the message box was full. Then
I started on the messages. Stranger, delete. Stranger, delete. I didn't even listen to
them. They were all like that until the fifteenth or so, and that was from my mother. She
asked if I was all right and what had happened. After another seven messages she'd called
again and stated that she had seen the news - was that really me?
After checking and deleting the last two messages after my mother's second message, I
called back home. Everybody was at work so I stated that yes I was a centaur, yes I was
fine and doing all right, and that she better tell whoever was hosting Easter dinner to
have a BIG meal ready.
By then the computer was up.
First I went back to the book-marked site for the stables and called the number. I had to
wait a bit for the farrier, but then she came on and I talked a bit and explained my
problem.
"I don't believe you," she said.
I sighed. Ok. "Can you take credit cards over the phone?"
"Yes, but."
"Fine. I'll give you my card and you can take $200 out. If I am not what I say I am,
then you will still make money."
A pause. "Ok."
And then we worked out the details. We talked for over an hour, first agreeing to meet at
the park behind the North Toronto Metro Community Centre so that she would have lots of
room to work and park (apparently she traveled with a portable propane fueled forge) and
then I asked some basic personal questions. Important things like how much walking was
safe on pavement (as little as possible given my record so far), some things to look out
for (make sure to dry the hooves and remove any snow from within them) and general things
to think about such as health and future plans. She asked if she could take pictures and I
said sure, why not. Then, just before the end, I also asked her to bring whatever other
basic horse care stuff that she could spare as I had nothing. She was surprised by that
until I reminded her that I didn't really plan this transformation.
On to the next task. I looked up Medic Alert on the internet, and found out that I could
register either by an internet form, or over the phone. I figured that with my unique case
I should call. The idea for this was from the farrier and the reason she gave was that if
I was ever injured, it would probably be useful for the hospital or paramedics to be able
to see what kind of blood I needed (human, horse or other), where critical organs were
(such as my heart), etc.
Apparently my case was a little unusual, but as they only provided a database they weren't
fanatics about double checking the validity of the information (after all you paid the
administration costs, and they simply recorded the data you supplied - if you lied, than
that was between you and the emergency services). I did pay extra to get the bracelet
couriered to me tomorrow. I also set up the basics so that my doctor could call and
provide the information.
The next call was to my doctor to arrange a general check up. It was too late today, but
since I claimed it was an emergency (well it was, sort of. I would really like to know
what I could eat safely...) I managed to get booked in tomorrow afternoon. Of course, I
did tell the secretary the real cause but she didn't believe me - apparently she hadn't
seen it on the news - but she wrote down 'centaur' as the reason anyway. Well, at the very
least tomorrow I could tell my doctor that I did warn him.
Finally, out of curiosity, I went to YAHOO and searched for CANADA and DISABILITY. I did
find the applicable government pages, but the only information I could find was temporary
disability compensation for those injured at work. Figuring that there should be some kind
of financial support for requirements for those permanently disfigured (such as
wheelchairs, or special shoes) I sent off some queries (not specifying too much
information) to see if such support did exist. If I could get the government to pay my
farrier costs, that would go a long way towards solving my sudden expenditure increase.
Finally I checked the e-mail and the on-line news sites. There wasn't much more.
Apparently some people had returned to the list as they had been having problems since
they turned almost fully into animals (one person, an eye doctor, changed into a raccoon
with a slightly larger head whilst examining a patient). The news didn't have any other
new information, and didn't even mention me, but did mention a large dragon had appeared
and became the mascot for one of the universities in the states.
At that I could only shake my head.
Finally, I sent an e-mail to my friends who were a part of the modern age and described
that I was a centaur, that I was the one on the news, and that I would like to change my
roleplaying character race in the D&D campaign we were starting.
By then it was three o'clock and I knew I needed a break. And I knew what I wanted to do.
Every Thursday the GW store in the Eaton's Centre (background link -
http://www.games-workshop.com/40kuniverse/40kuniverse.htm) has a 'Veteran's Night' where
you can come in and play 40K with others. I'd been working on finishing some special
projects to go this week, and had finished them on the weekend and, by God, I WAS GOING.
The question was how?
Remembering what the farrier had mentioned, walking downtown didn't seem to be a smart
idea. A taxi simply wasn't physically possible, and I didn't think I could fit in the
Yonge bus. But there was the Yonge subway. Remembering the recently widened doors I was
certain that I could fit in, and as I would be going south instead of north I would avoid
the northbound rush hour sardine can.
I would do it.
It took about half an hour to print out the army list, pack up the figures I'd need, pack
the dice, pack the measuring tape, pack the templates, and then, finally, the rulebook
(the store used to supply most of the other stuff until some putzes had started stealing
and breaking them), and then I was ready. Everything fit into my shoulder bag except for
the actual figures which were all in a foam-lined carrying case. Then, after using the
washroom, I tossed the two empty two-litre bottles into a spare grocery bag, grabbed the
rest of my supplies along with my coat, and squeezed out the door and locked it behind me.
Making my way down the stairs I got out on the driveway, turned left and walked down and
tossed the bottles into the recycle bin, and then rotated and made my way back up to Yonge
St. Once there, ignoring the pedestrians who stared and commented, and the odd honk of a
horn, I walked north (I felt like trotting but I'd been warned against it as unneeded
extra stress on my hooves), waited for the light at Lawrence, crossed, and then entered
the Lawrence subway station. Making my way down the long staircase, I walked up to the
ticket agent.
Ignoring the people staring and whispering, I put down the figure case, fumbled in my
shoulder bag for my wallet, found it, opened it, and pulled out my Metropass (the pass for
the TTC system) and held it towards the attendant. "I'm just going to use the gate to
get in. Is that ok?"
To keep the time that the attendant kept staring at me from getting boring, let me explain
to you what I mean by gate. All of the main entrances to the TTC subway stations have two
portions (of the fence that stops people from entering without paying) that can be opened
up by just pulling up a latch and swinging two gates open Some of the busier stations have
them open during rush hour with an attendant, but here I'd only seen them used by
travelers with heavy bags coming from Union station or the airport.
By about now the attendant finally relaxed enough to speak. "I'm sorry, but, ah, you
can't use the, ah, system."
"Can't use the subway? Why?" Now I was annoyed. Not angry, but annoyed. I was in
the right, and when I know that I'm in the right I can get very, very stubborn.
"Well..."
"Well let's go through the bylaws then, shall we? Do I have a legal pass?"
"Err, yes." His voice changed into a whisper.
"Is it all filled out correctly?"
"Yes."
"Does the picture of my face on the pass match my actual face?"
"Err..."
"It only shows my face and that is the only thing that we are concerned about here.
Does the picture match?"
"Yes."
By now a crowd had gathered to watch.
"Am I smoking?" Smoking anywhere on the TTC is illegal.
"No."
"Am I trying to bring on a pet or large baggage?" Riders are not allowed to
bring on pets or large bags during rush hour for obvious reasons, although seeing-eye dogs
and other such things are exempt. I wondered if seeing-eye horses were.
"Well..."
I lifted my shoulder bag up in my hand so that it hung between us. "Is this a large
bag?"
"No."
I let the bag thud back against my upper side and then held up a figure case (it's about
3" thick and about 14"x8"). "Is this a large bag?"
"Err..."
"I've taken both of these things together on the subway hundreds of times without any
problems. Have your bylaws changed?"
"No." I put the figure case down.
Somebody in the crowd snickered.
"Well I give up, I can't think of any other reasons."
"It's, err, it's you."
"Me?"
"Yes."
Now I was getting angry. "Are you saying that I can't use the system because I'm a
centaur?"
"Well, yes."
Now I had him. "So, the TTC does practice racial discrimination."
"No, we..."
"Give me a break." I stepped up until I my face was about a foot away from the
glass of the booth and I glared at him as I continued. "You are a human, a member of
the human RACE. I am a centaur, a member of the centaur RACE. You just told me that I
couldn't use the system because I was a centaur. A different RACE then you. Thus RACIAL
discrimination. Q.E.D." I took too way many math courses in university - especially
calculus which is a wonderful and fascinating subject.
"Well, err, no. It's not because you're a centaur."
"It's not?"
"It's because you're too big."
"Are you saying I'm fat?" I heard a guffaw behind me.
"No, err, well..."
"Are you saying that if an overweight HUMAN tried to use the system, you would
prevent him from boarding? That you would discriminate against him because he was
overweight?"
"No, well, err..."
"Then that puts us back to RACIAL discrimination, doesn't it?"
He was finally speechless. Behind me I heard somebody dialing a cell phone. Good.
Hopefully this was being passed on to some of those annoying reporters from this morning.
They would have loved this.
After a minute I asked, "Well?"
He squeaked, "Just a minute please," and then turned away and picked up a phone.
He dialed and then I could see he was whispering. Another minute passed and I started
tapping my right fore hoof.
It was almost another minute before he finally hung up, swallowed, and then said, "I
can't let you on because you're not properly clothed."
"What?"
"You are not properly clothed."
Was he referring to the good old 'no shoes, no shirt, no service'? I could sort of
remember that being in the bylaws. The shoe point could be a problem since I technically
didn't have any shoes on. I unbuttoned my coat and pinched a piece of my sweater between
my fingers and pulled it a little towards him. "Is this sweater close enough to a
shirt, or are you going to say that people wearing sweaters can't use the system."
"Err..."
I let go my sweater and then raised my right fore hoof and clomped it against the side of
the booth, just below the glass.
I may have done it a little harder than necessary.
"This is a hoof." Behind me somebody laughed. "The legally correct footgear
for a hoof is a horseshoe, generally quite appropriately named." The crowd was
getting quite large. "When a horseshoe is nailed to a hoof, the hoof still looks
like, well, a hoof."
"You're still not properly clad."
I wondered how much pressure the management had put on him, or maybe it was just that he
was stubborn. "In what way am I not properly clad?"
"You're not wearing pants."
I carefully and slowly looked down past my sweater to my forelegs. "By God, you're
right. No pants."
"And..."
"Are some people allowed to wear turbans on the TTC?"
This took him aback. "Yes, of course."
"And wasn't there a decision on the Bill of Rights about two years ago that forced
organizations such as the police and RCMP to allow people to wear headgear, such as
turbans, if their religion required it?"
"Yes."
"So the TTC does support religions clothing freedom."
"Well yes, of course, as long..."
"If a pregnant woman came on wearing a loose fitting pregnancy dress, would you allow
her on?"
"Of course."
"So the TTC does support special medical clothing needs."
"Err..."
"Yes, or no?"
"Yes."
"Can you imagine a horse wearing a pair of pants?"
More laughter.
"No."
"And would I not look silly wearing a pair of pants?"
"Well, I guess so."
"In fact, wouldn't I have trouble walking, and be likely injure myself if I tried to
put on a pair of pants and walk anywhere? Wouldn't I risk tripping, falling, and breaking
a leg?"
"Well, yes."
Hmm, now what. Ah ha. "People with casts don't have to wear pants over top of their
cast, correct?"
"Not generally."
"And can they use the subway?"
"Well, yes."
"But as you've clarified they would have to wear pants to use the subway. Now,
couldn't wearing pants cause them to trip, or fall, or maybe delay their leg
healing?"
"I guess so."
"No room for guesses here. Yes or no."
From behind, "I'm a doctor, and tight pants could delay or even harm the healing
process."
Twisting around, I called out, "Thank you," and then twisted back to face my
victim. "And the TTC does not require those in casts to wear pants on their legs, or
shoes on their feet for this reason, correct?"
"Of course we don't."
"So, since we agree that my wearing pants could and likely would injure myself, then,
"I paused, "why do I have to be wearing pants."
At this point I noticed some TTC security coming up off the escalator. My victim must have
called them but I beat him to the punch. Turning to them I called out, "Oh good, I'm
glad you're here. This person won't let me enter the system even though I do have a valid
pass and am correctly attired."
"Well...," one began.
I didn't let him continue. "Let me sum the situation up for you. I've established
with this gentleman," I pointed to the booth, "that the TTC does not practice
RACIAL discrimination, so I cannot be prevented from using the system because of the fact
that my RACE is centaur. We've also agreed that the TTC does not practice SIZE
discrimination in that they would not prevent an overweight or pregnant HUMAN from
entering, and hence my SIZE cannot be a problem; we've agreed that my bags are not too
large for rush hours; we've also agreed that I am properly attired, because the TTC does
NOT discriminate against the wounded who do not wear shoes over their foot in a cast since
such an action would prevent the foot healing properly. Are you with me so far?"
"Err..."
"And we've gone through the rest of the bylaws. I have a valid pass and photoID. I'm
not smoking and I am not trying to bring a pet on board. Now," I smiled, "I'm
not a vindictive PERSON so I'm not going to press any charges against this
gentleman," again pointing to the poor ticket taker, "or the TTC in general for
DISCRIMINATING against a PERSON such as myself."
"Ahh..."
"But I would like to use the TTC, so can I take my VALID pass and USE the
subway?"
"Err..."
Somebody walked up beside me. "I'm with the Globe and Mail and I'm sure a lot of our
readers would be interested in any kind of discrimination."
Ah, an ally from the press, and about time too. "So can I use the subway?"
One of the security officers quickly shuffled over and opened the gate so I picked up my
miniature case, rotated, and stepped through. "Thank you."
Behind me I could hear clapping from the crowd.
After that the rest was easy. I skipped the escalator (I knew they wouldn't fail given the
number of people they carry but I wasn't sure enough of myself to trust my balance) and
made my way down the stairs, across the lower bus platform, and down to the subway
platform. Fortunately the exit from the Queen station that I wanted was at the same end of
the platform as the main Lawrence exit (there was NO way I could fit through the
comparatively tiny turn-styles in the other entrance) and so I waited. A few minutes later
the train came.
DING!
I stepped across the gap and in. The TTC had recently widened the doors so I had no
trouble getting through and the passageway between the seats was wide enough so that I
didn't have any trouble turning to the left and standing in front of one of the seats
along the side. The bench that I had carefully chosen was one of those that could be
folded up to make room for a wheelchair, so I dutifully skimmed the instructions, leaned
down, folded it up, and sidled into the open space left behind. I had to duck to get under
the hand bar near the roof, but the car was just high enough for me to stand with the hair
on the top of my head just brushing the room.
DING..DANG..DONG.
The door slid shut and the train started south.
Note: If you want to hear the three notes that the subway plays when the doors close, then
go to http://www.city.toronto.on.ca/ttc/index.htm and the three tones play as the web page
opens up. Personally, I thought it was a little TOO cute the first time I went to their
web site. Only the first tone is played when the doors open. Back to the diary.
As the train moved I found that having four legs made keeping balance much easier than
when I had only two. I reached down and grabbed one of the free subway papers somebody had
left behind (today's Metro) and started reading it. Hmph. I didn't make the front page
although I did make the second. Then at St. Clair, a mother and her daughter got on and
the daughter ran over to me.
"Look mommy, a horse!"
"Get away from..."
I lowered the paper and offered the girl my hand. I first called to the mother,
"Don't worry, I won't hurt her," and then I looked down at the little girl,
"I'm not really a horse, I'm a centaur.'
"Sentarr?"
"Cent, like in a penny, and or."
"Ohhh." Her eyes were wide.
She remained silent for about a minute as the mother looked increasingly nervous until the
train reached Summerville. There the mother grabbed her daughter's arm and pulled her
daughter off the train.
I watched the daughter wave good-bye as she was dragged away.
Sigh. Through the slits again.
Nothing else happened before I got off at Queen, and I made sure to pull the bench back
down before the train stopped. I got out without problems and made my way through the
gate, nodding to the attendant there.
He didn't look impressed.
Ignoring him, I walked out, my hooves loud in the silence that seemed to be spreading
through the station, and went to the up escalator. I figured I'd have to see if I could
handle it sometime, and up would certainly be easier than down.
It wasn't bad at all.
Then it was a turn right, a short walk through the entrance to the lowest level of the
Eaton's Center, and then I was at the GW store. Checking my watch showed that it was
4:33pm so I turned and walked in and made my way to the front counter (fortunately near
the entrance.
"Is the sign-up sheet ready yet?"
"Mich...?" The manager, who knew me by name, started looking up and then stopped
speaking, although he kept looking further and further up.
"Yes, it's me. I want to sign up for a game tonight."
"Err.."
I sighed through my slits. "Oh come on, I'm here, ready to play, with everything
needed. You know me."
"Well, you sound a little different."
Different? My voice didn't sound different to me, but then recordings of my voice had
sounded different to me compared to the way my voice sounded to me when I was speaking.
Did my voice change? "But you do recognize me?"
"Well, most of you."
He slid over the sign up sheet.
"Which table is by the entrance this time, one or two."
"Er, two."
I signed up and checked my opponent. Futz, Chaos. I hate Chaos.
Anyway, the rest of the evening went not too bad, although it was depressing at first.
Usually I only get one game in, and the first game against the Chaos player was not fun at
all. Not only was he one of the younger players (which isn't necessarily a problem), he
didn't know the rules that well (which isn't usually a problem either), AND he had one of
those win at all costs mentalities. As an example, his greater demon fought my command
squad and I lost (no surprise) but my morale held. The next turn, when I asked him to
check something else before I finished moving, we discovered that if a unit loses a combat
against a greater demon, then they automatically fall back from the combat. If my command
squad had fallen back then I could have shot at the greater demon with ranged weapons. So
I asked if we could go back and do that since it would probably have a large affect on the
game and was easy to fix. But nope. Last turn was done, too late now.
So he won. I hope he's happy.
After the first game was finished I stayed a bit to talk to some other others there that I
knew. The store was less crowded than usual with players, although there was a larger than
normal crowd outside the store, and I could see flashes going off. Thus there was space
and I was invited for a second game which ended up being a really fun game against a Space
Wolf player. And fun is the important part after all.
In hindsight, I probably got the second game because I was attracting a crowd and the
store wanted to take advantage of it, which was fine with me. I could here the manager
explaining the game to the crowd while I played.
Finally the game ended though, and at about 8:30 I left. I had no trouble getting on to
the subway this time (although I had to go down a narrow stairs, under the tracks, up
another narrow stairs, and then rotate around to get the northbound train) and was home by
9:00. Making my way out of the station, I turned and went home. Once there I put my
baggage down and away, straightened the cushions, started the computer, ordered some more
vegetarian pizza (at least I knew that was safe for me to eat), pulled my last two-litre
pop out of the fridge, and once the computer had booted checked my e-mail.
Again there wasn't much, and the TSA list was almost suspiciously quiet. I did get a reply
from my friends about Friday night regarding food so I sent back that anything vegetarian
was probably fine, and warned them to make sure there was LOTS of it. Fortunately two of
them are vegetarians so we always just order or cook vegetarian food to keep life simple.
When I was finished this time I kept the empty bottle and filled it up with water, half
from the Brita jug I have, and half from the tap to top it off, and left put it in the
fridge to stay cool. Then it was a last trip to the washroom, glasses off by the CD
player, moving the cushions so that they were in front of the couch and straightening them
out, turning off the light, wrapping the blanket around my upper torso, laying down, and
finally going to sleep.
And I did get to sleep fairly quickly - even though I kept getting flashes of fear about
tomorrow.
For tomorrow nails were going to be driven into me feet, er hooves.
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claim or infringement is made on any copyrights or trademarks legally held.
There, that takes care of the legal stuff.
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