Word: Vector

vector

[vek-ter]

noun

1. Mathematics.

   1. a quantity possessing both magnitude and direction, represented by an arrow the direction of which indicates the direction of the quantity and the length of which is proportional to the magnitude.

   2. such a quantity with the additional requirement that such quantities obey the parallelogram law of addition.

   3. such a quantity with the additional requirement that such quantities are to transform in a particular way under changes of the coordinate system.

   4. any generalization of the above quantities.

2. the direction or course followed by an airplane, missile, or the like.

3. Biology.

   1. an insect or other organism that transmits a pathogenic fungus, virus, bacterium, etc.

   2. any agent that acts as a carrier or transporter, as a virus or plasmid that conveys a genetically engineered DNA segment into a host cell.

4. Computers.,  an array of data ordered such that individual items can be located with a single index or subscript.

 

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Kevin loaded up the game as Sarah sat next to him. He still felt a little odd about her being there, but he was also not going to complain. After all, what self-respecting guy would complain about a pretty woman taking interest in video games?

“Are you sure you want to watch?” He asked. Sure he might not complain about her presence, but he would not want her to force herself. “It won’t be much fun just watching.”

“I know. But I’m sure your color commentary will make up for it. Besides, you’ve started learning about my hobbies. It’s only fare I do the same for yours.

“If that’s how you feel about it, I won’t stop you. Anyway, let’s get started. This game is called Nova Wars. Basic spaceship battle. Each player builds a ship and controls them to fight. It’s a simple enough premise, but with the number of parts available, there’s a lot more depth than you’d think.”

“I’ll take your word for it. So, are you going to play a few rounds?”

“Yup.” Kevin said, even as he queued up an online match. The call to battle was answered fairly quickly.

“So, can you tell what the opponent has?”

“Yes and no. You don’t get any info given to you, but each part has aa unique look. So, a skilled player can tell what they’re up against just by looking.”

“Skilled, or just logging way too many hours?”

Kevin smirked at her joke. “It can be both. Anyway, let’s see. Hmm...”

“What is it? Is this a guy with a strong ship?”

“No, actually. From his loadout, he’s pretty weak. Nothing bad, but nothing great. And he’s actually using a V-Cannon.”

“V-Cannon?”

“It’s short for Vector Cannon. It has a fast-moving projectile that deals a lot of damage. The problem is that it can only travel in a straight line and the fire rate is slow. Because of that, it’s easy to dodge for a skilled player. Which means there are only two kinds of players who use it. Newbies who don’t know any better, and pros who are just messing around.”

“And which is this?”

“No idea. I don’t see anything on their ship that tells me which one it is.”

Sarah’s brow furrowed in thought. “So this match is either going to be an overwhelming victory, or a complete and utter defeat?”

“I mean, that’s how it is for every match, but I get what you’re asking. And the answer is not quite. If it’s a newbie, then yeah, I’m definitely going to win no question. But if it’s a pro things get tricky. With a low spec ship, but an expert player, I’d say I have a 50-50 shot at winning.”

“Well then, let’s hope it’s a new player, right?”

Kevin nodded, but he was not so sure that was what he wanted. The best victories were those that were hard fought. He almost hoped it was a pro in disguise, just so he could have a good match. He would find out soon enough though. The prep for the match ended, and the game began.

Word: Fantasticate

fantasticate

[fan-tas-ti-keyt]

verb (used with object)

fantasticated, fantasticating 

1. to make or render fantastic.

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                James looked over the sketches. Dozens of them littered his desk. And none of them was enough. All he had drawn so far was a few dresses and skirts. Good, yes. But not what he needed. The people expected more of him than a few common outfits. His works needed to be more.

                He needed to really Wow the people. Give them something exciting. Something truly fantastic. What he was making needed to go beyond mere fashion. But at the same time, his designs needed to actually be wearable. Those ridiculous clown outfits his contemporaries made were beyond him.

                But he had hit a stumbling block. All the best ideas had already been done. It was the struggle all creatives went though. There truly was nothing new under the sun. So how did he make something amazing? Something that was not just sticking random bits of cloth or, heaven forbid, plastic to a model and calling it an outfit had no appeal to him.

                As James poured over his drawings, his eyes landed on one. Not one that he had drawn that day, or even that week. It was one of the first sketches he had ever made. One that he kept on hand as a reminder of where he started and where he was now. It was of a plain, simple affair. Just a blouse and skirt. The kind one could find anywhere. Boring, really.

                But something about it tugged at his mind. It was such a simple design, but could he not work with that? Build off the most basic of basics. Elevate the mundane to the fantastic. Turn the boring into the extraordinary. Yes. Yes, that was what he needed to do. That was the key to his next great work.

                It would not be easy, of course. Such a simple design had been used for all manner of designs. But James was not stranger to hard work. He drew a slightly elevated version of his first sketch. It was nothing, really. But it was a start. The first of many. He would iterate. He would alter and innovate. He would push the limits of what could be done with a simple blouse and skirt.

                He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He needed to clear his mind of all the ideas that had come before. Everything he had done so far would be tossed out of his mind. Only the newest would exist there. Once that was done, James picked up his pencil, opened his eyes, and drew.

                He quickly lost track of time. He stopped counting how many drawings he made. Each one having tiny alterations. Small changes that would add up over time. Some were rejected, others improved upon. Each one closing in on his glorious vision. After who knew how many sketches, James stopped.

                He looked at the latest iteration of his design. There was something about this one. It spoke to him. On the surface, nothing about it was special. But there was something about it. Something that told James he was on the right track. That he was getting closer than he had ever dreamed. But nothing he thought of could improve this one design. Was this it? Was this what he wanted? No. It was not there yet. He was just getting tired of the day’s work.

                Yes, that was it. James stood. When he did, he felt the exhaustion wash over him. He was tired. He would rest. He would dream. And tomorrow, he would create something truly remarkable.

Word: Ambsace

ambsace

Or ames·ace

[eymz-eys, amz-]

noun

Archaic.

1. the lowest throw at dice, the double ace.

2. bad luck; misfortune.

3. the smallest amount or distance.

 

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                A bead of sweat ran down Tim’s back. He rolled the cup, hearing the two dice clatter inside. His opponent grinned. The missing teeth made him look more like a wild beast than a man, and the scars he had worked into his many tattoos did not help correct that impression.

                Tim took a deep breath and tipped the cup. The dice fell still. He peaked under it, and his blood ran cold. Three. Between the two dice, he got nothing but a three. It was not the worst thing he could have rolled, but it was close. The only way he could win was if his opponent had even worse luck, and given the rest of the rolls so far, that was probably not going to happen. Tim suspected the man was cheating, but he could not prove it.

                The man smirked and took up his own cup. Technically, the two were supposed to flip cups together, but Tim was not going to correct the man on his play style. The large man languidly rolled his cup, rattling the dice in slow, lazy loops before tipping it over. The dice went still and the man peaked at them.

                There was nothing on his face. Just that same confident smirk. Then something. It was a tiny thing. The barest twitch of the eye. It was barely there, and Tim had no idea whether it was his eyes playing tricks on him, or maybe even a ploy. But it was the only thing he had to go off of.

                “Twenty.” The big man said, dumping the number of chips on the table between them.

                He had done so with no hesitation. No hint that he was bluffing. But Tim had to take a risk, or else he was going to lose. And that was not something he could have happen. The two armed men behind him ensured that.

                “Thirty.” He said, pushing the chips in. His opponent grinned.

                “Seventy.”

                Tim blanched. That was only a little less than what he had left. He would need to put everything he had left on the line. A single roll of the dice, where he had miserable numbers. If he went out now, he would still have enough for one more roll. Maybe a luckier one. But was it worth it? Even if he won the next roll, so what? He would still have so much more to go, and the odds were slim. No, he had to bet it all on this roll. On that one tiny twitch of the eye.

                “All in.” He said. He hesitantly pushed the rest of his chips in.

                The tattooed man snorted. “Bold. I like it. Sure you want to do that? Seems like you don’t got the numbers to back up the bet. It’d be smarter for you to save some for the next roll.”

                “I...I meant what I said.”

                The man shrugged. “Too bad.” He said, matching the final bet. “Sure you don’t want to back out now? I’ll be nice and give you another chance. I’d hate to end this too soon. It’s just getting fun.”

                “Let’s...let’s just get this over with.”

                The man’s eye twitched again. And once more, it was a subtle, tiny thing. So fast and small that Tim could not be sure it was there. But after the second time, he was more confident in his choice. Not by much, but any little bit helped.

                “Too bad. Okay, show ‘em.”

                Tim took a deep breath and raised his cup. He heard snickering at the pathetic roll.

                “Oh, that’s a shame. Looks like I win.” The man said, reaching for the pot.

                “W-wait! You...you didn’t show your dice.”

                “You rolled a three. Just accept it. You lost.”

                “No. Show...show them. Show us your dice.”

                “Don’t need to. I rolled a seven.” I win.

                Tim felt his blood run cold. A seven. That was disturbingly likely. The most likely, in fact. But the fact that he hadn’t shown them yet...Tim acted on his hunch. Before anyone knew what happened, his hand darted out and snatched the scared man’s cup. Under it were the two dice. But they did not show a seven. They showed a two.

                “S-snake eyes.” Tim said breathily. “You lose.”

                “What? No. I...that’s...”

                The other men in the room looked nervously at each other.

                “I win this roll.” Tim said. He reached out and scooped up the tokens. His heart beat in his chest. He still had a long way to go, but at least now he had a shot. Not much of one, but he had one. It was more than he’d had all night. “Next..next roll. The game is just getting started.”