Dungeons and Dragons – Page 2 – A Piece, of the Sky

I made the argument, before Bay’s eviction, that it would be in production’s best interests, to keep an HG with a power, even a power everybody knows about, over an HG, who will go up multiple times, as a goat, only to be finally evicted. Well, it looks like this is the time that RS finally gets evicted.

It was another week of another terrible Foutte HOH. You could argue that Angela was still under the influence of Tyler, but at least, she got out her desired backdoor target, on the other side of the house: Bay. (Foutte still doesn’t even know Level 4 exists!).

Bay got out a member of Level 6, but only because Rachel managed to tick Tyler off. Kaitlyn was controlled into backdooring a member of her own alliance (Swaggy C) – and what do you know? RS might just go home during Hay’s HOH week.

Only Scottie has done the right thing, on the Foutte side, and still has the best HOH week, of the season. This pawn nonsense doesn’t work! Sure, Tyler could have jumped in the Cloud – but let the chips fall where they may! He then wouldn’t be able to use the Cloud, during the POV ceremony. And Tyler wouldn’t have won OTEV, without RS stupidly comparing answers with him.

Hay is proving that her intelligence only extends to competitions. She tried to promise Tyler safety, from her HOH bathtub, after chugging almost a whole bottle of her HOH wine (Sam WOULD NOT approve). Noah, much?

But naturally, Tyler is never going to believe Hay’s pitch in a billion years, because 1) when Hay was the Hacker, she put Tyler on the block, and 2) during Hay’s fiasco of a house meeting, she further explicated that Tyler had been her target for weeks.

If that was the case, why put up Angela and Kaycee – Kaycee who only wins a hacker comp based on furniture, Kaycee who also yells at RS, (right before OTEV, after the feeds cut) Kaycee’s elder by ten years, a mother of three, not Kaycee’s peer, and also a someone weaker than herself. (Pick on someone your own size – or bigger!)

Speaking of looming threats, no tiny David, seems to be able to slay the Tyler Goliath. There’s no St. George, for this dragon, except maybe JC. Stupid Foutte is getting wiped off the board, as JC and Tyler, move around their chess pieces, toward the final showdown.

It’s not so much that I want to root for the underdogs – Foutte and Sam – but that as a super-fan, virtually playing in the house, myself, I want to see someone take down Tyler. I want to know that it can be done.

Right now, to use video game lingo, particularly from “Super Smash Bros: Melee,” it’s like the rest of the HGs are a bunch of NPCs (non-player characters) running around, with the intelligence of 1 or 2, all fighting against Tyler, an NPC, with an intelligence of 9. Of course, the NPC with an intelligence of 9, is going to beat a bunch of n00b bots, running around with the intelligence of ants.

When Tyler is the king of the ant hill, shining a magnifying glass down, and torching those morons, it isn’t very fun. So, let’s see if Tyler continues to be overpowered and destroy the game. As long as he wins every single POV, it doesn’t really matter who is HOH. Shake things up Grodner.

Alli met Jeff on a bustling, hot, sticky night in New York, at the Blue Fin restaurant in Times Square. She was eating a few bar peanuts before Jeff arrived. Jeff was a djinn, specifically an afrit.

No one would have been able to tell, unless they were looking for the signs: the deep, ruddy color of Jeff’s tawny hair, the slight, maroon shade in his otherwise brown eyes. On closer inspection, his fingernails tapered into sharper points, than normal, and his teeth, beyond the front ones, seemed to be all canines.

Alli knew these details already and rose up to hug him, when he appeared, like a whirlwind coming through the door, all swirling overcoat and long, dark blue scarf.

“You look just like Aro said you would,” Alli exclaimed, “You look great!”

“So do you,” Jeff, the afrit, answered humbly, “It’s an honor to be able to meet the new Sky Avatar.”

Embarrassed, Alli waved the compliment off, “What are you having?”

They ordered a large set of California rolls to share, and a couple of glasses of Chablis.

“Where have you been recently?” Alli asked, before using the chopsticks to pop a sushi piece, with avocado, into her mouth.

“I am staying in the Yale Club, not too far from here,” Jeff mused, dipping his roll, in a minute dish of soy sauce, “You are right: I do look windswept. I have been jumping all over the Near East – Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey, Dubai, the Empty Quarter – what one might call ‘the Bible Lands.’ Old World deserts.”

“Your passport must have a ton of stamps on it,” Alli observed, as she dipped her roll in the smidgeon dash of wasabi, on her plate.

“Yes, I am originally from Bristol,” Jeff explained, “but I’ve bounced around for most of my life: India, Tanzania, you name it.”

“‘Jeff’ isn’t your real name, is it?” Alli commiserated, in a lower voice.

“No,” he confided, picking up a delicate sliver of sashimi, “The moment before a djinn is born, The One whispers his or her true name into one ear.”

“No one else can know that name, except trusted folks, because that name, can be used to bind you, correct?” Alli whispered.

Jeff nodded, eating another roll. He chewed thoughtfully and then continued, “Humans don’t know their true name, which, to me, is rather dangerous. Someone could call you and you would come hither, and you wouldn’t even know that you were being called.”

“It’s quite odd, indeed,” Alli agreed, “Aro says now that I know I am an Atevar, my true name will come back to me.”

“Yes, it will,” Jeff seconded, “and when it does – I can’t be too dramatic on this – guard it with your life.”

“Naming takes on a whole new importance, doesn’t it?” Alli looked up.

“Djinn have half a dozen different names at any given time. For example, ‘Jeff’ is the name only you will call me by, the moniker only you will know me by,” Jeff further explicated, “This is not a slight; it can happen even with long-running relationships. Did Aro tell you the real reason I am moving around so much?”

“No,” Alli shook her head.

“My ‘Reginald’ up and left, late last year. Just left,” Jeff growled, “The engagement didn’t matter or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Alli murmured, taken aback. She set her chopsticks down.

“Don’t be, don’t be,” Jeff squeezed her shoulder, “‘Reginald,’ huh? Not ‘Reggie,’ just ‘Reginald.’ Very stiff, isn’t it? I should have known from the start.” He smiled, despite himself.

Alli turned around, on her stool, facing him front-on, “I recently broke up with someone too, someone who reminded me of an old flame, who was never coming back. I have grieved and mourned on my own, tried to not let my new girlfriend, Page, see.”

Jeff gave a rueful smirk, “We’re not too different, you and me? Aren’t you glad Aro introduced us?”

They raised their glasses and clinked them. Beyond the crowded restaurant and the storefront glass, taxi cabs whizzed by in the blue evening, throwing up jets of water, torn from puddles, left by the afternoon rain.