Deadlands - Heading West

Intro

A few weeks ago, we took a break from Pathfinder to return to Deadlands. The game started on 7th September 1879 with us heading west by train to the City of Lost Angels in California. Sitting in a carriage together, the guard recognised Carson and asked after his brother. Before Carson had time to respond, an alarm sounded, shutters closed over the windows, and the guard retrieved a gatling rifle from under a seat...

Cast

'Tesla' - a young English lad travelled over to the States after becoming rather obsessed with a promising young scientist he's heard of... a bit on the chubby side and very pale skinned with dark hair and moustache styled like his hero. (played by Bells aka Aaron/Tanna/Adam/Kito)

Carson - acting as his tour guide, but usually a bounty hunter. Handy with a gun. Seems to know the world a bit better than the rest of us. Early 20's, Boston accent, sun-bleached brown hair and sunburnt skin. (played by Rich aka GM for Pathfinder/PathfinderInterlude/Aberrant/Exalted)

Steve - also a gunslinging type, but more of a PI than a bounty hunter. Wants to be a lawman. (played by Paul aka Kieran/Sam)

Solomon - young woman, maybe 18 but looks younger. Plays guitar. Doesn't like to fight. Darker skinned than the others, with black hair. Missing her left eye. Always looks like she's standing in shadows. (played by me aka Svetlana/Jvala/Chrissie/Taji).

Story

Steve and Carson drew their guns. We peeked through the blinds and saw a load of Native Americans running at the train, whooping and hollering and brandishing fierce weapons. Looked like Apaches to me - not that it matters, they clearly weren't happy with us being there. Huge explosion rocked us to the core and the carriage wrenched, twisting and tipping and screaming. So much screaming! Inhuman: ghost rock screaming. We recovered from the shock to find the train guard was in literal pieces: we grabbed our stuff and started to make our way back, away from the engine. I scooped up the gatling and handed it to Carson; I have no idea how to use something like that!

When we got to the luggage carriage at the back, Steve forced open the door. Sunlight poured in, blinding us from the shutter-darkened train. As our eyes adjusted, we saw another group of Apaches tearing towards us. Steve started firing as I tried to hide. Carson joined him, then as the Apaches arrived, Tesla pushed through the others to fire lightning into the attackers! Seems he has more in common with his namesake than we realised. The burst took out most of the attackers, leaving just the Chief. He was powerful enough, slashes at Tesla in a spray of blood. As the others failed to hit him, I realised I was going to have to help. Look, it's not that I'm a coward; I just don't want to fight unless there's really no other option. I drew my rifle, held it in front of me as I burst from my hidey hole and charged, screaming, at him, plan being not to hit him, but to surprise and scare him enough that he'd hopefully run away (often works on beasts, but not always - hence that missing eye), or at least be distracted enough the others could hit him. It worked for a moment, but then he was on me, smashing me with that axe of his. I didn't realise until then that he'd also hit Carson.

They killed him, and Carson beheaded all the bodies. Didn't say why, just that it was important. Tesla drew out what looked like a cattle prod, only when he pressed it against his wound we could see the skin knitting under the blood. Tried to charge Carson and I a dollar each to treat our injuries the same way - Carson pointed out the other Apaches he'd spotted on the hill who'd be heading our way soon and Tesla zapped us. It hurt, like a sustained static shock and this tingling all through where I'd been cut. Efficient, though.

The only way we could think to go was deeper into the hole where the train had fallen. Tesla's mule walked with Carson and I through the train, being surer-footed than Steve's horse, which he had to ride in the trains shadow. Fortunately both beasts were well enough trained to go into the hole's darkness. 

Carson and I made several torches from the wreckage. The hole led to a tunnel laid with traintracks. None of us knew of any tunnels here; there was nothing in Tesla's guidebook. Still, with Apaches behind us we needed to keep moving, and with where our train was we could only really head one way, so off we walked. And walked. And walked. We'd spent over half our torches when we heard, of all things, a train behind us! Stood to the side as it raced past, and we kept going, trying to ration the torches more carefully. All the same, the last one was starting to gutter when we finally found something. Ahead, the sounds of people working, picks against stone. In front of us, some strange device, about 10ft high, two legged but not human-like at all: made of metal. A mounted turret with a claw one side and a gatling the other. We froze as it swung towards us, but it swung away again a few heart-pounding minutes later. 

"Automaton" whispered Carson. Tesla seemed excited; guess the word means something to him! Carson threw a rock: it tracked it, but made no aggressive move. Tesla crept closer and it still didn't react so we all crept past. A sudden nosie made us look back: Tesla, instead of following us, had gone even closer until it had raised the claw. He scuttled to join us.

Round the next corner was the train that passed us. A group of men unloaded boxes labelled 'Wasatch' and seemed quite friendly: they were surprised to see us and explained they'd simply barged our train out of their path, assuming no survivors.The foreman, Charlie, explained what we were seeing was very secret so we couldn't leave until they'd finished laying the line to Lost Angels.

Hellstromme hadn't withdrawn from the railway race, merely taken it underground!

Charlie reckoned the line would take another week or 10 days to break through and led us to a particularly richly decorated carriage, where Dr Darius Hellstromme himself was engaged in conversation with Epitaph reporter Lacy O'Malley. Dr Hellstromme reiterated what Charlie had said - that we couldn't leave until Lost Angels - and asked that we help out in return for bed and board.

O'Malley showed us round the site. The 'Hellbore' digging machine was particularly impressive, though very noisy. As we headed back to the main camp, we saw Charlie and the guards heading to the machine - "Trouble's coming" - and shortly after the workers ran by from the other direction. Although we all turned to follow the guards, seems I was the only one who'd heard the shout of "Hegerty's trapped in the machine" as the others joined the guards. Was surprised to see O'Malley heading the same way, camera out. 

I ran to the Hellbore, thinking to free Hegerty. Carson wasn't far behind and gave covering fire: a hole had opened in the ceiling and from it poured creatures the size of a large dog, but looking more like giant centipedes. They were swarming over the machine so I redoubled my efforts to get there, vaguely aware of O'Malley taking photos, of Carson's gunfire, of the guards shouts and shots. Steve and Tesla were frozen in terror, though I found that out later. Now, I was focused on my target. A small group of the creatures ran at me as I ran at them, and I could see some disgusting ichor drip from their mandibles. As I dodged my way past, I heard a bullet from Carson take one out, and shortly after Steve and Tesla joined him.

I reached the machine. The sides were slick with coal dust and unexpectedly warm to the touch, and I had to struggle my way past more of these creatures who didn't seem affected by the slippery surface: I saw the tail of one skittering inside as I arrived, which at least helped me pinpoint the way to Hegerty. He was held to seat by restraints that had stuck: he struggled against them and lashed out at the 3... no, 4 creatures in the cabin. I realised why he was the one driving this thing: he was the shortest person I've ever seen, and the only one who could fit in the cramped seat. I shoved a giantipede out of the way so I could reach a harness-strap, and started sawing with my knife but it was tougher than I expected. Hegerty, seeing me, shifted his attention to smashing the creatures to protect me as I worked, but I felt one bite against my arm. Fortunately, it wasn't strong enough to break through my leather coat. It exploded in a spray of stinking gore as Hegerty smashed it in the same instant I finally worked him free - I swung my knife wildly to try and clear a path and landed a lucky blow to take out another. The remaining creatures ran.

Hegerty and I helped each other down and headed to the others, who'd cleared most of the creatures. As we returned to camp to clean up, Charlie explained a bit more about what we'd faced. They're known as 'tunnel critters' and are very common in these parts, but only underground. From time to time, the crew will disturb a nest like this, and we were lucky here: the parents weren't home. Adult tunnel critters are far more dangerous, though the babies aren't without risks: he warned us that if we'd been bitten they'd have laid eggs inside. I checked myself very carefully in the shower, just to be sure, but there was only a slight bloom of bruising where they'd tried to bite my arm.

Round the campfire, Hegerty was grateful enough to share some of what seemed rather expensive fire water he'd been saving. I plucked my guitar as people sang. O'Malley was very impressed with the way we'd charged in on hearing there was danger, and particularly with me in getting to Hegerty. The glow of the fire, the fire water and the praise made for a very pleasant evening. I've never been called a hero before.

Time passes differently underground without the sun to guide you, but Dr Hellstromme's crew were disciplined and stuck to a daily pattern that helped. 

Dr Hellstromme invited us to eat with him on occasion. To begin with, he'd been a bit cautious around Tesla, whose behaviour was verging on idol-worship. After that attack, though, when Tesla's gadgets proved themselves, his attitutude changed; he seemed more relaxed and even explained why he'd chosen to take his rail-race underground: on the surface, there was sabotage and warfare, but no one knew he was underground so he was safe from that. The distractions of the surface railroad wars were so significant, in fact, that even with the extra time required to carve the passage, he was confident to finish faster this way.

The violence of the railroad wars clearly distressed him: he was eager to reach the City of Lost Angels to put an end to the suffering and death that had arisen. The sooner someone - anyone - won, the sooner the violence would be over, and by going underground he was confident he would win sooner.

We got a taste of that violence a few days later. 

When we finally broke through, the sun was blinding bright and Dr Hellstromme congratulated each person individually. We'd arrived somewhere in the Californian desert, and Dr Helstromme asked that we join him to seek out his locally-based team: not knowing exactly when or where we'd arrive, they hadn't met us. So he set us up in the second carriage of his rail-less train - "The Good Intentions" - while he, Charlie and O'Malley took the front. After finding his team, it would take a few days to lay the last of the track, then he'd need to fight his way in to actually win: Rev Grimme, leader of the City of Lost Angels, seemed to be backing other Railroad Barons and hadn't exactly given consent.

As we travelled, an explosion rocked our carriage. We looked out to see some kind of gliding device dropping bombs beside us. Two steam cars flanked us and a load of Chinese fighters leapt to board, whilst gatling guns fired from their cars and a blue-skinned giant of a man jumped onto our roof to cut his way in with a broadsword. He grabbed my hair, tried to pull me up by it. I managed to break free, but the shock of it (and his yellow-fire eyes) left me shaken. Through our damaged roof, I could see a gatling gun fire from atop Dr Hellstromme's carriage, until the giant threw some kind of glowing ball he created from nowhere at it. The gun was destroyed.

It was tight, fighting in that carriage. The giant accidentally beheaded one of his own guys and in the confusion I saw - thought I saw - a figure made of glitter. It seemed to be on our side, or at least the Chinese fighters viewed it as a threat. Tesla's electric bolt device took out a guy beside me and the smell of singed hair brought me back to the fight. I grabbed a curtain to throw over another, giving Steve a clearer shot (and felt my stomach churn to know I'd helped kill once more). The giant swung at me and somehow didn't cleave me in two - a miracle sent to remind me it's ok to kill in defense, perhaps? A round of bullets landed in its crotch, and the huge man fell. As the last few fighters died or fled, it disintegrated until not even dust remained. No trace. No sword. No clothes. Nothing. No one from the other carriage had seen it, but the roots of my hair still stung and my side was still bruised so I knew it had been there.

Dr Hellstromme warned us the attack was likely from Warlord Kang, owner of the Iron Dragon railroad and I understood why he was so keen to get this war ended before more died.

A Brief Note on Brexit

24th June 2016 was not a great day for me.

I don't feel that this is an appropriate place for me to rant about everything because the purpose of this, really, is to be cheerful and geeky and share love for my hobbbies. However, I am hurt by what's happened and the impact it's having and I want it recorded for whatever posterity a blog like this can achieve that not all Brits were happy with the result, that despite the media and politicians saying that Britain has clearly spoken, a lot of us don't agree with the outcome and I, at least, don't agree that you can call 51.9% "a clear, decisive majority".

I'm angry. I love free movement of people (so am pleased to hear we're likely to keep that, assuming we're not going to abandon the single market). I don't know much about economics, but I know we trade outside the EU but more favourably within: not because the EU prevents us trading outside, but because it provides favourable rates to its members. I know we have laws coming from the EU, but these are good things, like protecting equality for women and ensuring holiday time for workers and restricting the working week and (actually most importantly) protecting the environment. I don't believe that us leaving the EU is going to plunge us immediately into global war, but I do believe the EU is the reason there hasn't been war in Europe for decades.

(Which segues nicely into a Kipling line recalled to me as a result of the Chilcott enquiry: "If any question why we died,// Tell them, because our fathers lied.".)

It was also the day I got formally diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hypermobility type) and mild fibromyalgia (overlap with chronic fatigue syndrome). So all in all a very stressful, emotional day I'm still coming to terms with. 

Stats for Solomon (Deadlands Character)

We recently started playing Deadlands again, and I'm playing a storyteller called Solomon - you can read about her upbringing here. I realised that I've left a few bits out - like her appearance and stats, so that's what I'm sharing here.

Solomon is about 18, the short end of average height with a wiry frame. The iris of her right eye is so dark it's hard to distinguish the pupil; her left eye is hidden by a black leather patch, with fresh scars emerging - souvenirs from the puma she's lucky to have escaped. Her hair is obsidian black: its length gives an indicator of how long she's been in the wild, as she cuts it short when she comes to town to try to look presentable. Her skin tans very easily, further indicating a mixed race heritage - it fades to fair, so there's definitely European blood in there. The orphanage she grew up in still holds half a piece of fabric, and somewhere out there the other half is kept by someone who could tell her more, but she hasn't needed to find out.

She's recently come into some money: the starting funds the game gives you is way more than I needed for equipment and is significant enough I want to justify why she has so much. I haven't figured it out yet - I wondered if maybe Nancy had died and left her some, but I don't think that's it. I think it's more likely she saw something and someone paid her to go quietly away  - I just don't know who or what. Otherwise, maybe someone paid her to go west and investigate California? Again, I don't know who, nor why picked her...

We're using the current Savage Worlds ruleset, and did character gen using the card-based variation. I drew two jokers...

Name: Solomon Ruth Blackbird

Occupation: Drifter

Agility: d8

        - Riding: d4

        - Shooting: -2 (one eye)

        - Throwing: -2 (one eye)

Smarts: d12 

        - Notice: d8

        - Survival: d6 +2 (wilderness man)

        - Tracking: d6 +2 (wilderness man)

Spirit: d12

        - Guts: d6

        - Intimidation: d4 +2 (Joker: Queen)

        - Persuasion: d8 +2 (tale teller)

        - Perform (Music): d6 (we added this skill)

Strength: d4

Vigour: d8

Hindrances: 

        - One Eye (right) (-2 to anything involving depth perception and a negative to charisma)

        - Minor Pacifist (won't fight unless in defence of self or others; will never kill a prisoner)

       - Seven of Jokers: blackouts (started after the puma attack. Presumably some kind of response to her terror)

       - Queen of Jokers: night terrors and always wreathed in shadows (-1 fate chip; +2 to intimidate. Also started around the time of the puma attack. She has no idea why this has happened to her)

Edges:

        - Tale Teller (+2 to persuasion and possibly something else I didn't write down that makes it easier to reduce the fear level of an area)

        - Wilderness Man (+2 survival, +2 tracking)

Gear:

         - Winchester '76 with 50 bullets (to use to scare people); rifle holster + gun belt

         - Bowie knife; wood axe

        - clothes, hat, duster, chaps, boots

        - backpack with bedroll, rope

        - mess kit including 200 matches, 2 canteens of water, 4lb of coffee, a bottle of 'the good stuff' and 28 days of trail rations (she knew she was coming to a region suffering famine)  

        - lockpicks

        - guitar

Dinero: 104 Yankee Dollars

Looking forward to telling you about her adventures! (Also, we're nearly a year into our Exalted campaign and I've given you one session, so I'll need to correct that at some point...)   

'Glorious' weather

They stand by the window at work, looking out. "Isn't it glorious?" they say.

They don't see what I see: the pollen, the burning sun, the heat so thick it feels like you're wearing it. I'm quite happy inside with my fan, protected from that.

It's better here than where I worked before, at least: at least here I'm not seen as some kind of dirty deviant for not liking the sun. At least here I'm not the only one who prefers the cold.

There's plenty of things I don't like about the winter, but at least if it's cold I can do something about it. If it's too hot... well, there's only so many layers you can remove before you're tearing at your flesh. I complained to Husbit that it wasn't fair men can cycle topless and I can't. "You could," he replied, "I'm sure no one would complain." It's not the complaints that put me off. Also, I burn easily. I didn't until a couple of years ago: the sun would leave me as milky white as it found me, but now it scars me strawberry red, fading to honey if I'm lucky.

I miss the rain. It feels like a thunderstorm, but nothing's come yet: it's like waves of pressure building then partial release but no storm.

And I love plants and appreciate they need to breed, but do they really have to do it in my face and in my lungs? I'm taking an antihistimine every 12 hours at the moment, and my steriod inhaler, and I still feel puffy from my naval to the top of my head, and I still need my ventolin inhaler from time to time. At least I'm not trying to claw my eyes out, but wearing contacts is very uncomfortable.

And every time I've been on antidepressants it's been hard to convince my GP to take me off: in the summer, my mood plummets so they won't take me off and in the winter they won't take me off "because everyone has a lower mood in the winter." I've usually ended up walking out without making a repeat appointment, coming off the AD's myself, and then not going to the GP again until I've moved house as an excuse to change surgery because I'm embarrassed to admit I've taken myself off against their advice. And I thought it was depression related, but it's happened this year and last year too, and my depression has cleared up. And I thought it was just me, but I've spoken to other people and it's not.

And it's too hot to move, let alone sleep. Bah.

And I'm tired of being told to call weather I don't like "glorious" and weather I love "terrible".

Anyway, really this post is just an excuse for not posting real posts recently. Sorry.

Luck

A quick aside re bendiness: the physio wanted me to see a rheumatologist, which I'm very lucky work will pay for, but from a GP referral, not my physio. So I had to see my GP, who sent me for blood tests - I've ended up having three lots. She also put me on amitriptyline, which, now I've been off it for most of a week, I have to admit did reduce pain and improved how much I slept and took away my IBS but at too high a cost: I fet drugged and dopey all the time and couldn't think and had splitting headaches and nearly told my project manager to fuck off because I couldn't remember how to politely point out I was busy and now was not a good time for small talk. I also had really vivid dreams, which I'm never sure whether to put as positive or negative effect. Anyway, she let me come off after a fortnight so it's been out of my system nearly a week. I feel so much better and I am in a writing mood.

I want to talk about luck.

I trained as a maths teacher (although never went into teaching for a long list of reasons that protected me from the horrible realisation I wasn't emotionally strong enough to go into the profession I most admired), and remember being asked by one of the people training us if we believed in luck. I was the only one who said yes. Cue surprised looks, until I explained it depends how you define "luck": they were defining it in the superstitious sense, whilst I was using it as shorthand for startling coincidence or a statistically unlikely streak of events. 

It makes sense to me to use it this way: I know that you can roll a d20 three times in a row and get a 20 each time (and stick your crossbow bolt right through the big bad's head for an auto kill in the first round of combat - paragraph 8 of Absalom), or reach 40 on an exploding d6 (and find a replacement for that monofilament whip the bad guys took off you earlier). The laws of probability demonstrate that someone, somewhere in space and time is going to roll a balanced d6 and get a 6 every single time - hell, in an infinite universe, there'll be a planet somewhere whose laws of probability look very different to our own because the 6 will come up every time. 

I also know that, short of using weighted dice or learning to trick roll (which apparently isn't particularly great anyway), there's not really anything you can do to manipulate the chances of getting the result you want: lucky underwear might give you the confidence to approach that new friend, but it's not going magic the dice into doing what you want, so is manipulating luck the realm of superpowers?

It's certainly a very cool superpower, one I'd love. Control over chaos and entropy would be incredibly powerful and could stand in for most other powers - in fact, could be used to increase your chance of having any other power consistent with the rules of the universe you occupy. It's a power I'd be interested to explore in a supers game one day.

In fiction, I've only come across this idea a few times: the character Misadventure in City of Heroes (how I miss that game!) and Aornis Hades (spoilers in link), from Lost in a Good Book. Interesting that both are villains - maybe it's too much of a deux ex to give to the protagonist, but is interesting for them to overcome. Supporting this, the only times I can think of heroes having access to extreme luck is for short periods, such as the luck virus in Red Dwarf, or Felix Felicis in the Harry Potter series.

You can manipulate luck, and black cats and ladders have nothing to do with it. I'm thinking about Blood Bowl, where a good tactic is to force your opponent to rely on luck. You can buy rerolls and use up to one a turn to reroll a failed attempt (or if a ball is bouncing around and the wrong one of your players catches it, a successful attempt), and many skills you give players give them built in rerolls for certain types of skills, that can be use the same way. So when I take halflings to a tournament, I tend not to bother taking rerolls of my own (playing without rerolls takes practice but is worthwhile) and instead take an inducement called the halfling chef, who has the opportunity to remove up to 3 rerolls from your opponent and give up to 3 to you in each half (roll 3d6 during the first kick off of each half, and each 4+ is a reroll given to you and a reroll taken from them - it used to be a stolen reroll, so if you rolled 3 and they only had 2, you only got 2. I prefer the new way!) Immediately, you've manipulated things to fall in your favour, as the likelihood is your opponent is used to relying on those rerolls so their play style will be affected (one reason why learning to play without rerolls is so useful). You can also position your players to force your opponent to make the highest number of dice rolls you can - particularly if you can manipulate it so the types of rolls aren't favourable to them: halflings dodge everywhere on a 3 with a built-in reroll, so forcing them to dodge is less frightening for them than forcing them to block opponents, where their low strength means they'll probably be rolling two dice with the opponent choosing which outcome applies.

You can do it in roleplay games, too, playing to push odds in your favour. You might struggle to hurt a dragon, but creating a dragonbane net may at least snarl it up enough to make it easier not to die in the attempt. Lords of Gossamer and Shadow takes this further, removing the element of luck altogether and encouraging the players to find ways of bringing the odds into their favour.

In real life, we can't remove the element of chance so easily, but we can still stack the odds in our favour, or find the odds stacked towards us by chance. Research has shown that wealthy people are more likely to become more wealthy not because they are greater risk takers but because they have the money to take those risks. My intelligence, creativity and appearance are all quirks of genetics that have nonetheless given me benefits in life, along with being born into a loving, inquisitive family (although that may be tied to the afore mentioned genetic quirks). It spirals too: I got a job I love by the luck of intelligence and knowing the right person (my brother, in this case), but being in a job I love and am good at has helped me gain confidence in my abilities so that I am better able to take opportunities that arise: now I've found a path I'm happy on, I'm manipulating things to keep the luck that got me there flowing.

Optimism and pessimism also come into play. I'm generally considered an optimistic person: for instance, I feel very lucky to have a job with insurance that will cover the cost of me seeing a rheumatologist; I don't feel unlucky to have been born with a condition that requires the visit, or if I do, I do so by focusing on the parts of the condition that I like having - the suppleness, the youthful appearance, the high pain threshold - and still consider myself fortunate. My younger sister is a better example: some of her friends think she's very unlucky because bad things always happen to her but I think she's very lucky because sh's always fine. (She shared that opinion until the parachute accident: she accepts she's lucky to be alive, but the dislocated shoulder had long term repercussions on her career.) My anecdotal experience suggests being optimistic doesn't come from having good luck, but rather the perception of being lucky comes from being optimistic.

Luck is the way random chance falls. You can manipulate it, but never completely eliminate it. It affects you in ways beyond your control but the most important part of whether you are lucky or not is how you see the world.

Show, Don't Tell

When it comes to writing, one of the things I find most difficult is giving information through natural description and action rather than clunky exposition, so thought I'd share my day to try to practice this. Oh, and there is talk of blood and needles, so if that is something you struggle with but you still want to read, stop reading after I get the cat home.

***     *****     ***

***     *****     ***

There was a fox in the front garden when I left my Dad's this morning. I pointed it out to my stepmother.

"It must be for Kieran," she told me. My sister had said her husband would arrive sometime this evening, but I wasn't sure why a fox would be coming to see him.She'd misheard me, thought I'd said 'box'.

He - the fox - visits them often and looked up at me as I passed. I crouched down and extended a hand, though he was too far away to sniff it and seemed disinclined to approach. Healthy looking, he was remarkably calm, not flinching as I moved closer on my way to my car.*

The ride home was lonely, and reaching my flat was worse: no kitty to greet me, and, strangely worse, no litter tray, no food bowls, no toys. Set up my work's laptop, to be greeted with the same frustrating messages as the last time I tried to connect remotely. Tried the fixes we'd suspected last time, to no avail. The IT support department in my company is not great, but the individual support guys in my building as fantastic and tried something else out, but that didn't work either.

The Freeholder's surveyor arrived**. I hovered, nervously, then left him to take measurements. Returned to my laptop. Tried more fixes: still no joy. Still no return call from the IT guys, so popped a quick email with some of my findings and got an email back: he was on a conference call and suspected I needed different software. Could I pop into the office today? Turns out, the software download would take half a day, and I had a blood test shortly so wouldn't have time. Grr.

Went to pick up Cat. She was very pleased to see me, let me pick her up and even leaned into me when I did so! Demanded my sister pet her.

My sister does not like cats at the moment. One of the tests they do when you're pregnant in China (and foreign and paying) that they don't do in Britain is for "that cat parasite" (Toxoplasma gondii). They don't do it in Britain because it gives a false positive about a third of the time, so my sister wasn't too worried at the first result. When the second test came back, she was less happy. The test can pinpoint when you were infected by looking at your IgG levels, which is very cool, so we know my cat's not to blame. And anyway, my sister says, Kitty is more like a dog than a cat. She petted her. Cat calmed. She washed her hands and returned. Cat wanted more petting. She refused.

Even my Dad likes Cat, and he hates cats. She ignored him the first few times they met, but when he was ready to be introduced she came running straight away. She knows how to charm people.

When I dropped her off, she jumped on the utility room work surface and gave her pathetic mew to my stepmum, stood nearest. I said she wanted to be petted, and my stepmum said she (stepmum) would pet her (Cat) once she (Cat) was comfortable but that she'd run away if she (stepmum) tried now - and put her hand out to demonstrate. I smiled as Kitty rubbed her face all over the hand.

The second ride home was less lonely. I had a few scrapes on my wrist where she'd reached for me every time I changed gear or touched the handbrake on our way over, and she was worse on the way back. Whenever I was stopped in traffic, I rested my fingers inside the fretwork of her carry-case door. The first time, she was so desperate to be petted she clawed the back of my hand trying to draw it closer. I snatched it away, and she was more careful after that, but every time if I couldn't feel her breath it was because her fur was pressed against my fingers.

She was delighted to be home, less pleased when I raced straight out for my blood test. 

The nurse greeted me and smiled when she knew I was ok after I, clumsy as ever, attempted to trip myself up as I stood from the plastic waiting room seat. Led me through to her room and explained it was only the coeliac's test they needed to redo, because the lab hadn't done it (which was reassuring, because part of me was worrying that this time they'd managed to find something wrong in that battery of blood tests). A slight scratch - a stronger scratch than most blood tests, but her cheerful demeanour more than compensated for the blood that didn't make it into the needle - and I was done.

I walked home with a pleasant endorphin buzz that led me through the graveyard instead of round it. The cherry blossom was beautiful and I went to take a photo before remembering I have loads of photos looking up at cherry blossom. Could I get a photo looking down? Sadly, neither of the neighbouring trees had limbs in reach for me to climb, so I abandonned the idea and went home: probably for the best, as my lunch hour had been rather a lot longer.

I might not have been able to work on what I'd been intending, but I was determined to do something so Cat spent the afternoon helping me type, from memory, a guide for one bit of software I'm working on. It's full of mistakes and needs screenshots, but it's something that had been put off for lack of time so I don't feel completely useless. I was surprised when Husbit phoned to see if I'd picked up bread - partly because I hadn't noticed we needed any, but mostly because I hadn't realised it was nearly time to finish for the day. 

After dinner, walked over to Bells's to give him a key - he's Cat-sitting next time we're away. You'll know him better as Adam/Hyperdrive or Aaron or Tanna and soon Kito.

Walking back, spotted a couple of guys lounging on grass. Had spotted them on the way over, too, and was half expecting some comment this time - they looked the type, but they stayed quiet. I never know whether to smile when people are sat there looking through you. I smile at most people, so I gave a half smile neither of them saw, but which in my mind was mysterious and would leave them thinking I know something they don't.

Which is probably true. I know the square root of 169 and that 170 doesn't have a rational route and what rational means when applied to numbers. I know Juliet doesn't wonder where Romeo is, but rather why he has to be one of her family's sworn enemies just because of his name: I know Shakespeare should be lived and performed, not studied as a dead text, which is a better knowledge. And I know people love me and care for me, which is the best knowledge of all.

*I saw a fox once as I cycled to work. It was trotting along the pavement, half a chicken carcass in its mouth, and no one else batted an eyelid. It even paused to wait for a car to pull out of a driveway, then carried on as if humans and foxes had always lived a convivial shared existance. I wondered if this was a fox with such a high bluff skill he'd tricked the other humans into thinking he was one of us, but I'd fluked my sense motive.

**I probably didn't need to de-cat the flat: they're a contractor, not the Freeholder themselves, and I'm sort of allowed a cat. It's like this: the Lease says I need Freehold consent for a pet, but they can't unreasonably withhold that consent. The people we bought the flat from took it from someone else who'd applied for that consent, and decided to assume they'd bought the consent along with the Lease, and we made the same cheeky decision because most Freeholders don't mind. Only since then we applied for consent for alterations that also can't be unreasonably withheld and, turns out, the Freeholder's interpretation of 'reasonable' isn't the same as mine, nor (from talking to a friend who's a legal secretary dealing with such things) the legal definition. When I challenged them, the response was "take us to Court and prove it," which we couldn't afford to do and they knew it.