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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Freddie rolled his eyes. "You love chess." He leaned forward. "You lying sack of shit. You don't love the game. You sabotaged it and yourself." Funny how all of their arguments ended up in the same place. Right back here with him saying that Sergievsky was an idiot for throwing the game.

Anatoly hit the table with his fist, making the captured pieces shake. He wanted nothing more then to leap over the table and throttle Freddie senseless, but he knew how much of a bad idea it would be. He had to rein his temper in, he had to be the better man. He had to succeed this time.

"That game in Bangkok was hardly a true game and you know it. It was all politics. Molokov and de Courcey didn't truly give a damn who won, as long as they got what they wanted."

He took a deep breath, trying and failing to calm down. "But then, I loved her. More than you ever did, if you would tell me you wouldn't throw a game for her sake."

One of these days, someone was going to stop them from this and maybe arrest them if they had that kind of thing here, but Freddie couldn't convince himself to care. Instead, he threw the board away, sending the chess pieces sprawling. He lifted his fist and it hit Sergievsky's face with a satisfying smack of flesh against flesh.

"You don't know what I would have done for her. But you, you seduced her and twisted her against me." The Florence he knew wouldn't have been happy being the 'other woman'.

With a sense of déjà vu, Anatoly watched Freddie toss the chess board aside. What wasn't so familar was the punch in the face, and he rocked back with the blow, barely managing to keep from falling out of his chair.

"I did nothing," he shouted, ignoring the coppery taste in his mouth in his anger. "You told her to get out, remember? She cried in my arms for hours when she came to me, and all I did was hold her and try to comfort her. You have only yourself to blame."

"Nothing? My..." He couldn't come up for a proper word for what Florence had been to him that didn't sound like he was some sappy teenage girl. "Florence was cuddling up to you. And don't tell me it was just some sort of meeting." It was more than that and he'd seen it, known it, and had had his assertions proved true mere weeks later.

He saw red when Sergievsky mentioned holding her. "Get out. Get the fuck out."

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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