A challenge.  The familiar chill crept over Annette,
settling deep inside her soul.  Another challenge, so soon. 
What would happen to her, if she lost this time?  She had
two Cards left, but one of those was her own.  If she lost
her sole Minion, Patchwork, would her Card be enough to
sustain her?  She remembered, vaguely, the consequences of
her loss to Talia -- the horrible churning sensation, then
her muscles beginning to strain as though being stretched, a
sickening twisting...

	No, losing was not an option.

	Unfortunately, her chances didn't look good.  Her
opponent wasn't, as she'd initially feared thanks to
Tyrell's earlier musings, Chase Campbell -- and she was
grateful for that, at least -- but his Rank was still over a
thousand points above her own.  Not that that was terribly
difficult, given her abysmally low level, but it meant his
Minions had, in total, twice the power hers did.

	She'd better talk to Tyrell later today.  He couldn't
directly help her in the fight, she knew, but he might be
aware of some strategy that could help.  And if not, at
least she'd have some moral support.

	But first, she had the early shift at work to get
through.

============
High Stakes
Created by NeoVid

Starring:

Annette Jackson

and Tyrell Morgan

Chapter 11: House Rules
By Scott Schimmel

============

	"Please," she whispered.  "People are staring..."

	"No, they're not," Tyrell assured her.  "And if they
are, so what?  Let them."  He smiled, continuing to hold the
chair for her, until, acquiescing, she sat.  He sank into
the seat across from her.  "I've got to say, it's not often
I get to eat at places this fancy.  What's the occasion?"

	Annette cast a quick, guilty glance around the
restaurant.  Tyrell was overstating the case -- La Trattoria
was a nice place, but hardly the fanciest one in town -- but
he was right.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd
been to a real restaurant for no particular reason.  "Me,
either," she agreed, shrugging.  "But then, it's not often I
get a fifty-dollar tip."  That had been a surprise, all
right; usually, she earned little more than that for an
entire shift.

	"Huh.  I guess all the Player's luck that's been
missing you just hit all at once."

	"Yeah.  Or maybe the Cards decided to give me a last
meal."  Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she glanced at
her wristwatch for the third time in ten minutes.  "In a
little over two hours, I've got a match."

	Tyrell became deadly serious now.  "So soon?  Who is
it?"

	"Christian Wilcott," she responded automatically.  Not
a Player she'd ever heard of, but the challenge was firmly
engraved in her memory.

	"Hmm.  Sounds familiar, somehow."

	"Do you know anything about him?"  Annette clutched at
the faint stirrings of hope.  "Anything at all?  All I know
is, he's twice my rank..."

	Deep in thought, Tyrell closed his eyes, lightly
pinching the bridge of his nose.  "I think," he slowly said,
"I do.  Chris Wilcott.  I might be getting the name wrong,
but I think I ran across him before."

	"Really?"

	Just then, the waiter interrupted, inquiring as to
their choice of drink for the evening, and whether they had
decided yet upon a main course.  Annette listened
impatiently to the short man's recitation, then ordered a
ziti dish -- the first thing her eyes had happened upon when
she'd opened the menu.  To her annoyance, Tyrell was more
careful about considering his selections, but, soon enough,
the waiter was dispatched to the kitchens.  Annette wasted
no time in returning to the subject.

	"You were telling me about Christian," she prompted.

	Tyrell's hand dropped back to the table as he nodded. 
"I only remember it because he was the youngest Player I'd
ever seen... just a kid, really.  Couldn't have been more
than twelve or so."

	"A... He's a child?"

	"It's been a couple of years, but I doubt he's old
enough to drive yet," Tyrell confirmed.  "He's a pretty
sharp kid... had to be, I guess.  I don't remember anything
special, though, sorry."

	"That's okay."  Annette shuddered.  "God... a child. 
What am I supposed to do, Tyrell?  I can't lose, but..."

	"But if you win, you're bringing him a step closer to
losing his life."  He sighed heavily and tried to continue. 
"I know, it's a hell of a choice--"

	"No!"  Her outburst attracted some attention, and
Annette blushed and hunched over, lowering her voice to a
near-whisper.  "Or rather, yes.  I don't think it's his
life, Tyrell."

	Implacably calm as usual, he merely arched an eyebrow,
waiting for her to continue.  A quick glance confirmed that
the other patrons were no longer paying any undue attention
to their table.

	"I've been thinking about what you said last night,
about that Russian guy--"

	"Shirokogaroff?"

	"-- Yeah, that was it -- and the shamans.  And... well,
I think you were on the wrong track."  She chewed her lower
lip nervously, uncertain how Tyrell would take this
criticism.

	She needn't have worried; his only visible reaction was
interest.  "That's entirely possible.  What makes you think
so?"

	"Well," she began, only to be silenced by a gesture
from Tyrell.  She blinked, but the explanation arrived a
moment later in the form of the waiter, bearing a large
tray.  Its contents were efficiently transferred to their
table, and he was off again after a few pleasantries. 
"That... was fast," she remarked, turning back to her
companion.

	He smiled, agreeing, "Impressive service.  Looks good,
too."

	"Tastes good, more importantly."  Annette found that
she had an appetite after all.  "Not as good as Steve's
chicken alfredo, though."

	"Ah, but what is?"  He winked, and she laughed.

	"I hope he's not one of those waiters who interrupts
every five minutes, though.  It's been twice already..."

	Tyrell shrugged.  "We'll see.  I'll keep an eye out for
him and try to warn you.  Anyway, you were about to tell me
why I was wrong," he added, a good-natured smile spreading
across his face.

	"Oh... right.  Well, you said that the cards could be
spirits from other worlds... sort of a heaven and hell."

	He nodded.  "Not quite how I would have put it, but
it's an accurate summary, I suppose.  As long as you realize
that they're not exactly the same as the common Christian
concept of heaven or hell, just the homes of good and evil
spirits."

	"Okay.  But if the Minions are spirits and the Players
are shamans, there's something you can't account for."  With
a furtive glance to assure herself that nobody was watching,
she held up a cupped hand to display a Card:  Annette.  "I'm
pretty sure I'm not a spirit, and I doubt that guy Steve
beat was one.  But when we died--"  She shivered again,
suppressing the memories that welled up.

	"Are you all right?"

	Pleased as she was by the concern Tyrell had shown,
Annette ignored the question.  "Tyrell, I think... we're not
just playing the Game for our lives.  We're playing for our
souls.  I think the Cards are souls."

	A momentous silence reigned for an eternity of seconds. 
Tyrell pushed aside his ignored plate of food, resting his
elbow on the table as he leaned closer.  "You could be
right," he acknowledged.  "Nobody seems to know where the
Cards came from... funny thing, though."  He scratched his
chin thoughtfully.  "Before you, I never heard of anyone
becoming a Card, and I know that quite a few Players have
been knocked out of the Game.  Now, people like you and me
wouldn't want to use them or even talk about them much, but
you'd figure someone like Campbell would've gotten his hands
on one by now, you know?"

	Annette deflated slightly, picking at the remains of
her ziti.  "I don't have a solid explanation for that," she
admitted.  "But I've been thinking... those Cards aside, we
know the Minions aren't anything from this world.  Maybe our
Cards were going to someplace else, like their Cards were
coming here?"

	"But there haven't been any new Minions since the game
began, at least as far as we know."

	"Like their Cards used to come here, then."  She shook
her head.  "Or maybe they were in safekeeping, somehow, or
they just happened to go to people who wouldn't use them...
or they wouldn't let themselves be revealed," Annette added
in a sudden burst of insight.  "And the way Player's luck
works... the last person left would have things go pretty
much however he wanted.  He'd be a god.  And he'd have all
the souls, to keep him company..."

	"Like Talia, you mean?"  He chuckled.  "That might
explain the odd behavior of her Minions.  They'd act the way
she wanted..."

	"Yes," she answered firmly.  "Did you see how many
Cards she had?  I don't think she's just a Player... I think
she might have been the winner of a previous Game."

	"So... Talia is god?"  Tyrell slowly shook his head in
bemusement.  "I have trouble picturing that."

	"Was god, maybe.  What if she had all the Cards, and
she's the one who... no, never mind.  She wouldn't go
passing them out.  I'm just getting paranoid now."

	"Not entirely without justification."  Tyrell
considered.  "There might be some truth to your ideas. 
They're not as different from my own as you might think,
either," he opined.  "A lot of the, if you'll pardon the
term, 'primitive' shamanistic societies believed that the
spirits of the dead took their places alongside the spirits
of nature..."

	Annette's watch chimed, cutting into the flow of
conversation.  She habitually checked it.  "We've been here
for an hour?" she remarked, surprised.

	"Doesn't seem like it," Tyrell agreed.  "Too bad we
can't do this more often.  We'd better go get ready for your
match, though."

	Annette nodded.  "As soon as we get the check.  Never a
waiter around when you need one," she joked, flashing a
quick smile and drawing another quiet chuckle from her
friend.

				*		*		*

	The night was clear and warm, and, following the
prompting of Annette's Cards, they walked toward the park
along streets that were more crowded than usual.  That
restricted their topics of conversation to normal matters,
for the moment, and Annette was grateful for the respite --
although, having unburdened herself, she no longer felt
quite so much fear as she had.  Tyrell, on the other hand,
had become even quieter than usual, answering her with
brief, distracted phrases.  Was he thinking about her
theory?  The match?  Or did something else occupy his
thoughts?

	Annette turned onto a side street, escaping the crowd,
and tried to think of a way to ask.  She settled on, "What
happened to Katsuya?"

	"Hmm?"  Tyrell blinked, dragging his thoughts back to
reality.  "Oh, Katsuya?  He's spending most of his time at
the hospital lately.  Visiting," he added, seeing Annette's
expression.

	"Ah."  She wasn't at all sorry that he'd decided not to
come; something about the young man was... creepy.  "As long
as he's okay..."

	Tyrell shrugged.  "As well as usual."

	There was little she could say, after that, and they
crossed the remainder of the distance in silence.  Reaching
the park, Annette, without hesitation, led Tyrell along the
course of a bike path.  Five minutes in, she stepped off the
path and began threading her way through the trees.

	"Well, at least it'll be private," Tyrell said, ducking
beneath a branch as he squeezed in between a stand of trees
to enter the clear area where Annette had stopped.  "Are you
ready for this?  You don't look so good."

	"I'm all right," she lied.  "Anyway, I don't have a
choice.  I can't forfeit..."

	"Why?"  The reedy voice came from behind them, and
Annette whirled, heart jumping into her throat.  It was a
boy, a teenager -- short and squat, dressed in baggy pants,
a sweatshirt, and a black leather jacket, backwards baseball
cap perched on his head, battered backpack slung over one
shoulder.  "You down t' your last card?" he asked
laconically.

	"No."  Her voice was colder than she'd meant, but she
couldn't help it -- he might be young, but he was still a
Player.  She couldn't afford to trust him.  "I've got two."

	A frown crossed the boy's face.  "Least I won't be
takin' your last one, but 's dangerous.  I should let you
win."  He sounded genuinely concerned, and Annette allowed
herself to relax just a little.  "But I've only got two left
m'self," he finished, dashing her hopes.  "Sorry."

	"No... oh, no..."

	"'S how the Game goes," Christian said with a
philosophical shrug and a fatalistic half-smile that made
him seem old beyond his years.  "'S almost time.  Better get
started, 'less you're gonna forfeit after all."

	Annette tremulously nodded, drawing her Minion's card. 
"Patchwork," she whispered, not trusting her voice.  The
roiling brown ooze flowed out and coalesced into her
gorilla-like Minion, which lumbered forward two slow steps
and raised its arms in challenge.

	"700/900," Christian remarked, studying his own Card. 
"'S pretty good.  All right, then."  He held the Card up. 
"Hemophile, let's go."

	A beam of light shot out of the Card, and Annette
recoiled as a fountain of blood burst up out of the ground
where it struck.  The ghoulish display ended, leaving
Christian's Minion -- a spindly and twisted thing whose body
was like that of a human pulled and stretched to twice its
normal length.  Elongated arms and fingers ended in sharp
claws; long, stick-like legs with two joints rather than one
supported the gangly monster.  It might have been ten feet
tall, if it stood straight, but it hunched, limbs folding
and back slouching, to barely over half that height.  Worst
of all was the head, which was almost entirely human, save
for the empty eye sockets and the mouth filled with twin
rows of stiletto-like teeth, fixed in a constant rictus of a
grin.  The thing constantly dripped blood, though it had no
visible wounds, and a small pool had already formed at its
feet in the short time it had been standing there.

	It was, in short, the most hideous Minion Annette had
ever seen, and she instinctively shrank from it.

	"You can go first," Christian offered, with a bit of a
smirk.  Annette's eyes narrowed; for all his apparent
concern, he was just like those others.  He was trying to
tak advantage of her feelings -- first, maternal instincts,
now, with this choice of Minions, squeamishness.  Well,
she'd see about that.

	Tyrell interrupted with a gasp.  "230/1485... and it's
a pure Blood type?  What the hell...?"

	Christian favored him with a confident smile.  "They're
pretty rare.  Most people merge Blood types, since they make
other Minions stronger.  But there's a certain advantage to
leaving them... as you'll see, if your girlfriend ever
decides to start."

	That did it.  "Hydro Cannon!" Annette snapped, using
the first attack she could think of.  Patchwork raised the
stump of its left wrist and fired a blast of water at the
blood-drenched Minion.  To her surprise, Christian didn't
order any defense; Hemophile took the brunt of the attack. 
Her eyes flicked to her card; Hemophile had a devastating
attack, but its defensive stat was so low that she was sure
the teen had made a serious mistake...

	Her heart skipped a beat as she read the Card's report. 
Patchwork's attack had caused only five points of damage. 
She heard Tyrell curse softly under his breath, but she
couldn't take her eyes off of the numbers.

	"See," Christian explained, "Blood by itself is strong
against everything.  If you merge it, it's still strong, but
a little weaker against some elements.  Not like this.  Now,
then... Hemophile, Bloodlust."

	The monster howled silently and darted forward faster
than Annette's eyes could follow, outstretched claws driving
relentlessly toward Patchwork.  She desperately ordered it
to defend itself, but the other Minion was already on it,
its claws tearing out huge chunks of flesh, staggering
Patchwork.

	*Patchwork can't handle him.*  She wasn't sure whether
that was a thought, or she had spoken out loud.  But she
couldn't give up.  With a mental order, Patchwork began to
fight back, its massive paws battering the berserk Hemophile
with great, powerful swipes.  The damage it did was so
little, and the damage it took was so great... but Hemophile
was so low to begin with that she might have a chance.  She
couldn't afford to give in to fear or doubt...

	*That's the spirit.  But Patchwork still can't win. 
Let us do it.*

	It was then that she realized -- some of her thoughts
weren't exactly hers.  The voice, the one she could almost
hear, wasn't hers either...

	The distraction cost her.  "Hemophile, Vampirize,"
Christian declared, and the monster sank its fangs into
Patchwork's throat, bearing her Minion to the ground.  Its
life went from 85, to 100, to 135...

	Patchwork was dropping just as rapidly; it lay on the
ground beneath the bloody Minion, feebly batting at its
attacker.  Its strength was fading fast; in that position,
it couldn't flap its wings to use its dark wind attacks, and
the physical ones were getting nowhere.  At this rate...

	*Call him back.  Let us do it.*

	"No," Annette moaned.

	"Annette!  What are you doing?" Tyrell screamed.

	*Let us do it.  We can take him.*

	"I... can't..."

	"Think!  If you don't switch, you'll have to use the
Card next time anyway!"

	"...no..."

	"I am sorry about this," Christian remarked
conversationally.  "Hemophile, Blood Requiem."  The enemy
Minion fully extended both arms over its head, and the blood
that seeped from its every pore began to flow upward,
defying the pull of gravity, to gather into a sphere between
its palms.  Annette thought there was a faint, barely
audible, crackling -- but she might have been imagining it.

	*We'll die!  Let us free, or we'll die!*

	"Annette!"

	"RETURN!" Annette screeched.  Patchwork oozed away
barely in time to avoid Hemophile's mortal attack, which
tore a deep three-foot-long rent into the ground instead. 
Silently, still grinning its sharklike grin, the Minion
regained its feet.  And waited.

	It was back up to 200, she distantly noted.  Almost at
full power.  And... and now she had to...

	Christian folded his arms impatiently.  "C'mon and
switch, before you end up forfeiting by default."

	That jolted her out of her indecision; she hadn't come
this far just to sacrifice Patchwork, and the time limit for
switching Minions was growing close.  She could feel the
vague warning her Cards projected.  Reluctantly, she grasped
her other Card, holding it up.

	*At last.  You and me, kiddo.*

	"Annette," she choked out.

	"What?" Christian asked.

	She barely heard.  The Card's light was washing over
her, and it felt as though every cell in her body had
individually been set on fire.  She screamed, but there was
another sensation beneath the pain -- a calm such as she'd
never felt since becoming a Player.  An almost... pleasure. 
A... power.

	Annette opened her eyes, grasping her bow; she'd never
held one before, but this felt comfortable in her hand.  It
belonged.  It was a part of her... like the calm, like the
confidence, like the power she felt waiting to be released. 
She fixed Hemophile with a stare... and a confident smirk
flitted across her face.

	"That's... that's not possible!" Christian screamed.

	She ignored him, focusing instead on her opponent. 
"Think you're scary, huh?  We've faced tougher than you." 
Speaking the words, she somehow knew them to be true, even
as she knew at the same time that they were not.  She raised
the bow, touched one hand to the string, and suddenly an
arrow was there, nocked and ready to be drawn.

	"Hemophile--" Christian began.

	"--Die," Annette interrupted.  One practiced, fluid
motion sent the arrow on its way.  The projectile buried
itself precisely between Hemophile's eye sockets.  Without a
sound, the monster slowly toppled backwards to the ground;
its body collapsed into a pool of blood, seeping into the
soil, and its Card took itself from Christian's hand,
floating toward her.  Annette, still smirking, turned her
attention to her opponent and opened her mouth to speak.

	But suddenly the Card's light flooded through her
again, and blackness swum over her.

				*		*		*

	She opened her eyes, and instantly regretted doing so
as the light stabbed into her pupils.  "Urgh..." she moaned,
quickly closing them again.

	A hand lightly touched her shoulder.  "Are you all
right?"  She'd begun to recoil, but the voice was Tyrell's,
and it stopped her.

	"What--"  She licked her lips, continuing slightly less
hoarsely.  "What happened?"

	"You won," Tyrell answered.

	"I..."  That meant that the monster was hers now. 
Lovely.

	"Yep," he confirmed.  "You beat Chris.  I want to talk
to you -- and maybe Steve -- about that, but it can wait
until you've rested."

	Annette nodded.  "Thanks," she whispered.

	"Hey... it's nothing."  She heard movement -- Tyrell
shuffling from one foot to the other, she guessed.  "Two
things, anyway.  One, I figured out something... that
Annette Card isn't counted toward your rank."

	She nodded briefly; she hadn't thought about that
before, but it made sense.  "And two?"

	"Two... I don't think you should merge that new one. 
You've got two Minions now, so with luck, you won't need to
use that Card again."

	"Yeah," she agreed sleepily.

	The tone was not lost on Tyrell.  "Well, I'll let you
get some more rest... you need it."  She murmured an
incoherent protest, and he added, "Don't worry.  I'll be
here when you wake up."  She smiled slightly.

	A moment later, she heard a door close.  It occurred to
her that she hadn't asked where she was... Tyrell's place,
maybe?  Well, it wasn't important.  She yawned, rolling
over.

	Never need to use her Card again...

	But she remembered that feeling -- the power, the
confidence, the control...  Never again...?

	She was still smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

				*		*		*

Author's notes:  Well, I think that mostly speaks for
itself.  My apologies to Katsuya and Rachel fans; I didn't
have room to do anything substantial with them in this
chapter, so they're not here.  

Why "House Rules" as a title?  Well, because this was an
Annette chapter, and because what she said in an earlier
chapter is true:  She -isn't- just a Player any more, and
she's not entirely subject to the same rules.  Rest assured,
though, she's not invincible; the Annette Card is powerful
(especially since it's her that's using it), but it's not
without its flaws... but I suppose that's for another author
to explore.

Great thanks to Ardweden for prereading my rough draft; I
doubt I changed as much as she'd have liked, but the chapter
would be worse without her comments.

Good luck, Kate. ^_^

Scott Schimmel            Ex ignorantia ad sapientium;
                          Ex luce ad tenebras
"You really aren't normal, are you?" - Miki Koishikawa


Beware the Radish
http://www.mit.edu/~johne/btr/
4/14/00