pitythetrumper | (no subject)

Entry tags:

anatoly,
chess

(no subject)

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.

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He hadn't meant to flirt with Florence at that meeting in the Merano Mountain Inn, but she had seemed so sad. A beautiful woman being so sad was simply not right so he'd tried to make her smile. He'd never bargained on falling in love with her, but he had and even after all that had happened as a result, he wasn't about to apologize for it.

"I am quite content here," he asserted, standing his ground. His jaw hurt and he needed to get some ice for it, but he wasn't going to hand Freddie any kind of victory. "You leave."

"Not a chance. I was here first. I was the one who was playing a game when you interrupted me." He ignored entirely the fact that he'd tacitly offered Sergievsky a game. Clearly he was mad to have thought that they'd be able to play without killing each other. "So why don't you go and stop following me around."

"I am not following you around," Anatoly said. "Do you really think I have nothing better to do than follow you around? Don't flatter yourself."

He must have been insane to think they could play a game. Hell would have to freeze over first, it seemed.

"I don't know, you seem to be everywhere I turn. When I show up, when I'm at the party, in the shower. Even when your boyfriend shows up trying to beat the living shit out of me." Freddie shot Sergievsky a glare. "Thanks for that, by the way. Bet you two got a laugh out of that one. Just fuck off. I don't need your abuse. I have enough shit to deal with."

Anatoly flinched at the mention of Roger. Though he knew he'd done the right thing by leaving, he couldn't help but feel spectacularly guilty. It'd been a bad conversation all around.

"He's not my boyfriend," he said, running a hand through his hair and looking away.

"Oh no?" Freddie laughed. "Did he finally dump you because you kept thinking about me during sex? I'll bet that dampened the fun."

He had to leave or he was going to do something extremely regrettable that would require the IPD to intervene.

"Go to hell, Trumper." With that, Anatoly turned to leave, shaking with anger.

"You first," Freddie muttered. He turned his back on Sergievsky, just in case the man decided he was going to come back. What kind of a hell had he been thrown into if he couldn't even manage a simple game of chess. Chess had been the only thing in common and he'd hoped that now that they didn't have Walter or Molokov whispering in their ears. Apparently, he couldn't even manage that much. Fuck, he needed a drink.

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