"Often literally. My enemy often eat people. You say check, here. Soup fix hungry."

"Uh, check. Yes, soup kitchens feed people... It's not that they're worthless. Not starving is good. But they won't fix things. The rich have mercenaries, have the Army. The state of Ohio beats down on the big corps who beat down on little corps who beat down on cartels who beat down on street gangs who beat down on you and me. And ever level of the shit cake uses what they have to stay on that level or go up one or stab people who might shove them down."

Blai gets out of check. "Iomedae says - well. Hard to English it. Tomorrow."

"The words of Iomedae and six bucks will get me a cup of coffee. Check again."

"Iomedae got you a leg." He has a legal move but he's gonna lose; he tips his king over.

"...Yeah, I guess. It was kind of you though."

He gets real quiet for a minute, taking deep breaths.

"But the med-techie who sews up a leg owes some kind of credit to whoever runs the factory that made his kit, I guess."

"It was She. By myself I do only the this." He holds up the king, disintegrates it into nothing.

"You coulda kept to yourself, head. Let me suffer. If you shoot someone, did the gun do it, or did you?"

"If I do bad things She will take the magic back."

"That's just having a boss who gives a shit."

"Different magical bosses give different shits," shrugs Blai.

"And you picked the one who wants to heal people so it's fine."

"She picked me."

"Close enough. You got recruited for it. Better the police or Saint Joe's than the Sevens- A cartel. Or a NaaS hit squad."

"I do not understand this planet very much. It is why I am here and not in Cinci."

"It takes a native, sometimes, I guess."

"It takes a native where?"

"To understand the society."

That's not a place. English is complicated. Infernal is complicated but that's because it's out to get you, which is kind of like having an underlying logic, and as far as he can tell English isn't out to get him, it's just crazy. "...my magic of understand is away now."

"Your understanding magic is gone. It expired? Expired might be the word you want. You said 'it will end in forty minutes' and you knew it would. Like a battery.

'Takes' in that context, the way I used it, meant 'requires' or 'needs'. I don't know why. Words mean different things in different contexts."

"Words do that!" agrees Blai, setting up for a new game.

"...The world is such a damned mess, head. I dunno how people stand it. And here I am, throwing my own mess on the pile..."

"Mess?"

"Mess is chaos. Everything, everywhere, too much to keep track of. Like someone throwing the board around the room," he points to the board and mimes an angry table-flip.

"And you have an it?"