Chương 575: Day Five Hundred And Seventy-Three

Dear Diary, I may have mentioned this before, but I'm really not sure. If not, I guess I ought to, and if so, then it bears repeating. Expectations really change results. Not just in that 'oh, if I'm expecting an ass whupping and get a caress it's that much better than if I'm expecting a caress and get an ass whupping', either. Like, that is definitely true. If you're expecting a prize and get a punishment, that shit hurts way deeper than just a regular smackdown would.

I think, maybe, that it's because at that point there's a certain sense of betrayal involved. Even if the person who was supposed to give you props didn't show up, and you wound up getting beat down by some other asshole, there's still a sense that life itself betrayed you. Okay, it works that way for me at least.

I definitely know that when I'm expecting to get beat down by life, or think somehow I've already signed on the dotted line to receive the pain, if somebody comes up and hands me a reward it's absolutely mind blowing. Even if the reward itself wasn't that much, it's still gonna keep my feet from touching the ground, and if the reward is something I wanted, especially something I desperately wanted, that will leave me flying high for days. I kinda think that's what happened after the Batlle of the Walls, really.

After thinking Saffron was dead, then going ham on New Amsterdam, expecting to come back and have to do shit like getting tried for war crimes, burying a body, or just mourning next to a big hunk of rock, she was there. Still there. Still alive. Still mine. Now that I'm thinking about it with enough emotional and temporal distance to think anything like clearly, I think that's why I was the voice of reason when it came to the negotiations. I had my Kitten.

They'd seen what would happen if that changed, and I had my wife back. I had no need to put anybody else down, because I had Saffron. Always Saffron. But I was thinking about more than that with the whole expectations thing.

If you're expecting something bad and get something good, even if it's imperfect you're gonna be happy about it, and if there's any kind of other person involved, they're gonna see that, and most people who aren't complete assholes will maybe put a little extra effort into fixing up some of those imperfections before they hand your prize over.

If you're expecting something good and get something bad, or even less good than you think, that's gonna show, and again anybody else involved is gonna see that, and not appreciate it, especially if they worked hard to get you the thing you thought of as less than you deserved. There's a whole 'nother layer when it comes to things where you see the fail warnings while you're still working for your win, because morale is a thing.

Same goes for seeing a success flag when you thought you were losing; it will turn your whole attitude around, and that in and of itself can pull victory from the esophagus of defeat. Laid around most of the day yesterday letting Maze read to me. I know it was Pratchett, I know it was a Witches book, but I couldn't tell you which one. I mean, I could ask her, but that would spoil the illusion that I was hanging on every word, which I absolutely was not.

I was more enjoying the sound of her voice, laughing at the way she did voices for Granny and Nanny and Magrat. Now and then explaining something when I laughed and she hadn't caught the joke; most of those required explanation of some minor 'adult' thing, like the difference between 'martial arts' and 'marital arts'. Which I'd made myself, come to think of it. Every time she just rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently, like the adults were the silly ones. Maybe we are.

When I explained I was resting up for my nine days of working, the ladies took turns knocking me out. I think they'd started some shenanigans of their own before I was properly asleep, but fuck it, that was a pleasant sight to fall asleep to. Dreamt of all of my ladies singing lullabies as they knelt in a circle around my Maw. Woke up early and got to the high table in the Dining Hall just as it opened.

Don't know whether or not the rest of the Maids were irked at me cutting the line, but if they were they managed to hide their booger looks. Also, I got my own modest trays of spicy eggs, jalapeno scrapple, and sausage links. Marie is capable of turning anything in the world into haute cuisine, but I think those three things have become my go to comfort food, hands down. Co-Located up to the Practice Yard as I started eating.

Yeah, I'm sure they're all onto my Translocation shenanigation by now, but it's traditional. Also, it let me take my time finishing off the pancakes Marie brought me when I finished everything else. Syrup. Butter. Good. Ran the Cadets through a ten mile warmup, which had all of them at least a little sweaty. Okay, most of them were a lot sweaty, even in the cold of the morning, and a couple of them were positively wheezing.

After like half an hour of stretching, I counted out the four wheeziest and had them run laps around the westernmost 'basketball court'. The four least wheezy I set in pairs and had them practicing their long distance shots for the rest of the morning. Everybody else played four on four, just like we had the week before. Lunch wasn't Salisbury steak. It wasn't meatloaf.

It was something not quite either; I think it may have had some chicken in it or something, because the taste wasn't anything I'd had since I arrived. Like, all the flavors tasted like something I recognized, I think, but all together it just wasn't anything I remembered. Tasted really fuckin' good though. Almost forgot to Co-Locate back up before the Cadets got there. So, y'know, really good. I blame the gravy.

That literal awesomesauce was savory, salty, just the tiniest touch sweet and sour, and flowed like honey. Maybe it was honey, I dunno. If it was, I feel kinda bad for not having Saffron get Devorah any, but then I didn't want her to think I thought she needed help. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

When the Cadets all made it back up to formation, and at this point even if I'm not gonna say anything to them yet lest I jinx it, I definitely need to give some internal props to the terrible trio, because unlike Larry and I, the three of them seem to have decided to channel every little bit of their aggression to Sundays. Like, they obviously don't like one another much, but at worst they're chilly polite.

More often, they're doing that subtle one upmanship thing, which in my book is the best kind of competition, where you're actually driving your opponent to be better than they were. Okay, for games and sports. For actual combat, which is neither a game nor a sport, I prefer my opponents just lay the fuck down and surrender. Failing that, I want them to die fast and easy. At any rate, once everybody was lined up, I called out, "Okay, Cadets.

I want to know which of you just wanna play some ball and maybe have a little fun working up a sweat, and which of you want to get really good at this. Before I ask for a show of hands, don't feel like you've got to raise your hands here. This is Physical Training, not some kind of sports camp. So long as you're working your Endurance and Agility when you play, I'm golden with that. So, who just wants to have some fun in the Practice Yard this afternoon?" Most of their hands shot up.

"Okay, put 'em down. Who wants to get good at this?" A quick count showed me seven hands.

"Okay, you guys, down to the east court." I looked around for a second, then called out, "Vickerson, join them." Like most of the rest of the class, she'd already started to drift west.

"But I..." To her credit, she barely muttered that before calling out, "yes, Ma'am!" I held up a hand.

"Wait. What were you gonna say? Seriously, no penalty here, just out with it."

"I was gonna play with my normal squad today?" I nodded.

"Hey, loyalty isn't a bad thing. Nor is working on your teamwork. But here's the thing; if you only ever work with that one team, you're actually gonna wind up less useful than somebody who's worked with different groups through their training. Yeah, your squad knows your weaknesses and can cover for them, but they also don't push you past them. You also don't get a feel for learning new people, for spotting the flaws and strengths of new allies, and learning to become a team faster." She nodded.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for explaining, Ma'am." I smiled.

"No worries. Besides, if you'd been on your period or otherwise less than really ready to train, I might have swapped you out. But for now get on over there." I turned to the 'playtime' Cadets and said, "Okay then. I'm gonna be watching, I expect high energy on the court today! Get to it!" I Co-Located one of me to the center sideline of each court, just to keep an eye on them, both to keep them moving and in case someone had a close personal encounter with the pavers.

The last of me grabbed the fourth ball, Co-Located it a half dozen times, then tossed all the balls to Cadets and collapsed back to just one of me on that court.

"Okay, Cadets. First thing I'm gonna do is teach you all a new game. Kinda related. Called 'horse'. It's all about getting the ball in the hoop." I spent about five minutes going over the rules and having the first couple get started, then I pulled half of them to the other end of the court.

"Okay, while those guys are practicing their shots, you guys are gonna be practicing something each and every one of you kinda sucks at. Passing the ball." So while most of the class played, the eight I worked with got better at passing, at shooting, at guarding. I even had them practicing dunks and layups, because they hadn't really grasped that yet. So far, while the game had been high energy, it had been like watching those old black and white sports videos of the NBA before they recruited any Black guys.

Only worse in a lot of ways. Just dribble down the court, shoot a shot, then dribble back. Back and forth, high speed, but very little actual coordination, real teamwork, or skill. When we had about two hours left, I set them to playing, putting their new skills to use. When they chose up teams, because of course both Hildegarde and Citron had said they wanted to 'get good', because I knew going in it would be both of them or neither, Vickerson wound up on Hildegarde's team.

Okay, it technically wound up Hildegarde on Vickerson's team, since Hildegarde herself had about as much in the way of leadership ambition as Siobhan. Less, really, Siobhan stood up and took charge of the Infirmary when she had to. Not to mention leading the Mana Network during the Liberation of Calverton.

Weirdest moment had to be right after Hildegarde, who was not exactly a tall woman, drove forward and leapt to dunk, and Citron, who had to have at least six inches on her, went up to block, and she straight up powered the ball through his fuckin' hand. Like, she got more air than he did, so she had the leverage, and she brought the ball down hard enough it would have shattered one of those glass backboards from back in the day. Shit, she might have shattered a wooden one. She sure as shit shattered Citron's wrist.

But that's not the weird part. That came after, when he fell, clutching at his arm, slamming his shoulder and the side of his head into the paver as he curled around it. Before I could even get there, she'd rolled him over and stood with him in a princess carry. Without using either of his hands, he definitely didn't have the leverage to fight against it, either. I Assessed him, and it called for some kind of 'Carpal Alignment' Shape, which I sure as shit didn't know.

Since he wasn't bleeding out or anything, I thought, Marie? and a moment later when she appeared next to me said, "could you please get Cadet Hildegarde through the Dormitory Ward?" She nodded, and, waving Hildegarde to follow, started for the nearest doors. As they walked away, I distinctly heard Citron sneer, "why?" Hildegarde muttered her reply just loud enough I could make it out.

"So you can't whine about your arm not working right when I break it tomorrow."