Who knows where some of the junk people have lying around came from, really?

His opponent mutters and hesitates a lot. And is only moderately good.

That's okay, he will checkmate the guy quick and then start the next game with some of his pieces missing.

That makes him mad. Which makes him impatient. Which makes him worse, though also less predictable.

Oh no, mad in a - fun spirit of competition way or not so much?

Mostly fun spirit of competition way? Probably? He advances a bishop, impetuously, lancing Blai's knight.

That knight was defended by this here pawn, and its capture means it's gotten out of the row that Blai's rook threatens and the king is in check!

Bishop blocks check.

He loses the second game as well. Then calls over someone else. "Kenny! Kenny, you're good at chess, right? Come beat this guy!"

Kenny is a middle aged bearded guy with an obviously artificial eye. It moves and focus with a faint mechanical whir. "Sure, I'll play one game of chess. But it isn't my fault if you're no good, Leo."

...Kenny proves to be startlingly good at chess. It's just that every move he makes somehow puts him in a better long term position.

Oh yay! That means he has so many things to think about to eat up the omnipresent anxiety!

After a long match, Kenny checkmates him. He doesn't really want to play a second round, though, muttering about how he has to go deal with unreliable fixers and sketchy customers.

What a pity.

The other kid comes back with a chess book on his phone and frequently consults it, grumbling and trying to get better. Or at least to keep the handicap from growing...

Blai has been doing phone related stuff a lot for language study reasons and can find the timer app. He can have a lesser piece handicap and a greater time handicap? Can he get that across?

...Sure, that works.

Eventually, a bit after sunset, the boss guy Marek wants to chat again.

"Hey, head, I just want to tell you... Look, we're nice, because it turns out killing strangers and taking their stuff makes you feel like shit in addition to making everyone else want to kill you in self defense, but you absolutely shouldn't trust most groups out here. You need backup or an escape route, head. Maybe you have one and are wisely keeping it quiet? Just a word of advice."

Awkward shrug.

"Yeah, that's that. Good night now."

"Good night."

He tucks himself into his shelter.

There's the clatter of them tearing down and the rumble of engines as they depart much later. Early, predawn.

Oh no, he wanted to make them breakfast. Oh well.

He's not bothered except by a wild dog sniffing around for the rest of the day.

If the wild dog doesn't attack he will let it be.

If nothing else happens he will proceed with a protocol of studying the Acts, studying English, practicing Prestidigitation uses other than making objects (starting with cleaning), and, every other day when he's not Creating Food, adding to his church, wall by wall.

He gets a few visitors, and a few more people passing nearby but deciding to avoid him or not even noticing.

Though people are growing less wary over time when they pass again and he's still there. Mostly individuals or pairs, no hedraldry. Some ask to buy food or water off him, presuming he's got a source since he lasted this long.

He doesn't always have food but when he does he'll hand it out, and he does always have water.

About half of people insist on paying. The dust storms continue; A particularly nasty one sends a chunk of rebar flying hard enough to put a small hole in the wall if it's too thin.

And then one day he has a man riding a dirt bike spin out and crash right under the overpass, shortly followed by two more bikers with a three vertical lines heraldry. The two approach the downed biker and pull guns, sneering and not in a hurry.

Does he have any previous knowledge of the three vertical lines heraldry group?

They're called 'Red Treads' and someone said they mostly come from down south and called them 'mutie-lovers'.