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There were only a finite number of things you could do on this island and, for the most part, Freddie was okay with that. But there were the times when he was reminded of Prior or even of Florence and he recalled that there was something he was missing. And it sucked. But he could lose himself in this small crowd as much as he could lose himself in a city full of people since he hadn't gone out of his way to know more than a handful of people here. There were no admirers here, but neither were there the relentless hounds of reporters who just wanted a piece of him. Pieces that he was willing to sell off bit by bit.

It was days like those that he ended up crashing a party or heading to the bar or even gambling as much as he could even if losing did mean that he'd have to work his ass off. There were certain people he was never telling that he lost at anything.

And, surprise, surprise, one of those people was walking into the bar. "Off your leash?" he muttered to himself and then ordered a vodka which he set down at the seat next to him. He didn't offer an invitation and he didn't even look at Anatoly, but the alcohol was there. They weren't friends. They were enemies. Enemies who drank together.

He could taste the lie. They were still rivals. As long as they played chess, as long as they had this history between them, they would always be rivals, but the idea that they were enemies out to destroy the other, that no longer ringed quite as true as it used to. They had other history between them now. History that meant that the drink sitting next to him probably wasn't quite as much a surprise as it would have been a year ago. He took a sip of his own drink and waited. It was possible Anatoly wouldn't even notice him.

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Freddie Trumper: Council Bid

There were very few things that could keep Freddie from the chessboard for long. In fact, until the first time it had happened, he hadn't thought there was anything that could keep him from the rec room and the board. And then Prior got sick. He was still adamant that it didn't make things different, but he couldn't help but be a little bit of a mother hen. He hated the thought of Prior being sick and his only options were either ignoring it entirely or doing something about it.

Fear suggested the former, but common sense demanded the latter.

Prior had a fever and so Freddie left the front door open in the hopes that they could get a breeze through the hut. That was the one problem with living out here. There was no air conditioning outside of the Compound, at least as far as he knew.

"What else can I do?" He was hovering and he knew it, but Prior was in no position to argue.

Freddie decided that it could only be a dramatic exit if Prior left alone and he had no intention of letting Prior leave alone. Of course, he didn't let Prior know that right away. Instead, he waited until they were outside before catching Prior's arm at elbow to stop him. He hadn't even stopped to consider Lex or his taunts. His eyes were for Prior alone.

"As far as I could see," he said once he'd stopped Prior, "you were the one doing the provoking." His voice was low and the look he was giving Prior was intense.

Freddie had more than his share of bruises, but he was actually feeling a little good about them. Funny, he'd never thought about actually forming any kind of relationship with Anatoly and yet here he was, becoming the man's confidante. The more he thought about it, though, the more he kind of understood that their shared history made it so they understood each other when many other people might not, even the people closest to them.

The idea of going home, of seeing the people that mattered most to them, Freddie understood that intimately. He didn't have a family, but he knew how he would have felt going home to see Florence if Florence had still been on speaking terms with him. He'd had never wanted to leave.

It was because of all that that he had a smile on his face when he walked into Prior's. A small smile. He didn't want to hurt his split lip.

Freddie was almost coming to terms with Anatoly. It was an overly frustrating feeling because Anatoly was who he always took things out on. Whenever he was in the mood to yell at someone or bother someone, he always took it out on Anatoly. He always made the man's life a living hell mostly just because he could but also because it helped him feel a little better. But now...he almost empathized with the other man.

For the last two days, he'd been on edge. He had been waiting to get into a fight. Unfortunately, Fight Club had already happened for the month and it wasn't likely there was going to be another one any time soon. Plus Anatoly was the only one he got into it with on a regular basis.

He walked along the boardwalk and tried to ignore the way that it felt like someone was itching underneath his skin.

When Freddie had walked into the rec room this afternoon, he found something strange. For all intents and purposes, it was a chessboard. It was also unlike any chessboard he had seen before. It wasn't just a single layer, it was many. He thought, at first, that it was some new-fangled game that someone had created in the last few decades, but then he began to remember some new stir in the chess world. 3-D chess. He'd never played it, of course, but the pieces that had come with the set were definitely chess pieces.

In fact, the entire set was unusual because it wasn't built out of wood or any kind of sturdy material. Instead, it was built out of glass. Clear glass for white and gray-colored glass for black. He couldn't help running his fingers over the pieces as he unpacked them. It was a beautiful if precarious set and it was almost too bad that it wasn't going to last past his first or maybe second fight with Sergievsky.

Maybe he could get someone to make him a replica in wood. He could keep this away from the Russian and only play with...well, play with who?

He ignored the card, unread, that fluttered to the floor as he finished unpacking the pieces: For: Freddie Trumper.

Freddie had gone for a long walk after the movies. He couldn't believe some of the things he'd seen. In one, things had happened mostly like he remembered. More than that, Anatoly hadn't lost. He had won...for chess. Freddie didn't know what to think about that. He didn't know what to think about the other version. The one where he'd become the champion again and Anatoly had deliberately lost against him. Was he just supposed to accept that win? Had he known?

Finally, he headed back to Bohemia and his feet led him automatically in their usual direction: he headed to Prior's.

He headed inside quietly, in case Prior was asleep, and started removing his clothes.

Vodka. He had a bottle of vodka from Trixa and Freddie wasn't sure what to do with it. Drink it or smash it. Well, drink it. Of course drink it. It wasn't like the entirety of Russia was evil. Even if vodka tasted like horse piss. It was still alcohol and Trixa was offering him a drink. It took him all of a minute and a half to get the bottle, see the note, and decide to head over and knock on her door.

"Hey, you home?" Of course she was home. He hadn't been gone that long, right? Except that it wasn't like he was spending as many nights at home anymore.

Mailbox for Freddie Trumper

Freddie was grateful that Prior's place wasn't very far. It meant that he could stumble his way from Trixa's place over to Prior's without falling into the snow more than once or twice. He was brushing his face off by the time he finally crashed against the door and he didn't bother to knock before opening it and making his way to the bed.

"Hi honey, I'm home." He laughed at himself and planted facedown on the bed. It was only when he felt the cold draft that he realized he'd forgotten to close the door.

( Read more... )

It was pouring and he was drunk. Those were the only two thoughts he could keep in his head. No, three things. Pouring, drunk, and the fact that he fucking loathed Sergievsky. How Florence could have put up with him at all was something he didn't want to think about. It was lucky for him that he couldn't think. All he knew was his next destination was home, or at least what passed for home.

Nothing looked right, though. That cluster of trees. Wasn't it supposed to be over there? Or was he supposed to walk through them? Hell. He should have brought a drink back with him.

He closed his eyes, leaned back against a tree, and closed his eyes. He'd just stay for a little while. A few minutes.

Two days after his confrontation with Lex and his bruises had turned interesting shades. Purples and blues and greens and all kinds of shades that shouldn't be on human skin. Still, it wasn't something that he regretted. The only thing that he did regret was that he'd lost. Still, it had served to get a little of his agression out, which meant that for the first time since he'd arrived here, he felt calm enough to sit down at the chessboard. The pieces were set up from memory as he played out one of Sergievsky's games with Viigand. It was that damned King's Indian Defense. That and the fact that Sergievsky didn't appear to remember any of it. That or he was lying or, as he so colorfully suggest of Freddie, he was crazy.

"I'm not crazy," he muttered under his breath, forcing his brain to return to the game instead of some crazy Russian.

Three days and Freddie had been studiously ignoring Sergievsky. Any time he saw the Russian, he'd turned his back and walked the other way. There was no way that he was letting either of them analyze the random kiss he'd given the other man. No way at all. Instead, he waited for the Russian to leave before looking to see whether there was more than one chess board. He wondered briefly if Prior would be interested in learning. At least it would be something to do.

He only found the one. Damn. He wondered whether the Russian would kill him if he took it and whether he should take it anyway, knowing what would happen. Especially since he'd know who'd taken it.

His hands smoothed across the board and he smirked. Definitely worth it.