Your Move

"That can't be legal."

Egil raised an eyebrow, accompanied by the beguiling upward shift of one of the darker gray panels that composed his face, and folded long fingers intertwined with their twins under his chin. With the motion of the room settled as Jin sat quizzically squinting at the remains of the board, he was well at liberty to rest his head there and...observe. "Hallean Defense. Classic strategy."

"It's like you predicted my every move. Amazing."

Though disgruntled, the Flesh Eater had enough tact left in him to acknowledge an execution well unfolded - he had, in fact, been shaved just down past frosty detachment, distracted as he was with concocting another move that would, in all likeliness, be made a mockery of soon enough anyway.

In other words, Egil counted his advantage redoubled. It was a welcome feeling, to have the opponent in the palm of his hand, ready to be crushed like a Homs beneath Yaldabaoth's claws, instead of watching imperiously from afar, disengaged from the game except where it only just exactly amused him, even suited him.

"That is the way chess is played, Jin. The way it must be played. I do not trifle with the lives of an army. Save, of course..."

Seeing that Jin had resigned himself to the petty forward movement of a pawn, with no suitable defense of his own about with which to conceal a wayward rook from Egil's queen that had so smartly stepped in front of the fell king, Egil plucked a knight out of what looked like nowhere and kicked Jin's remaining bishop aside.

"One that is not my own."

Irritating theatrics. It was part of the game, yes, but did he have to lord it over the other man? It was almost as if he didn't consider the two sides equal. The only kind of fight, the only kind of battle Jin ever, ever, ever cared to wage was a fair one. Anything else belonged solely to all-out psychological war.

But, regardless, clearly at the present moment Egil had the upper hand, however and whenever he had won or otherwise acquired it. By contrast, Jin saw himself acting cowed, juvenile, small and very, very far from, well, imperious.

He had been equal to greater tasks than this, many a time. It was not a question of whether he could rise to the occasion but rather when. And how.

Oh, and how.

If Egil was so damned determined to be spying on strategy and practically fortune-told gambits, he could be toyed with. Jin could pretend to surmise the board very carefully before abandoning all hesitation and telegraphing very obvious excitement at a very, very stupid move. Egil would pounce just as quickly in reciprocation, and Jin would...

Check. Mate, even. Such a pleasing pair.

"You must be joking. Surely THAT is not legal. And you think to accuse me of foul play?"

Tapping a slim finger to his Core Crystal, sharp and red as a bloody blade, Jin sought to mirror Egil's erstwhile catty confidence. "Art imitates life, and life imitates art."

Your point, Paragon?

"Chess is a very messy art, despite what you may want to think, and despite the way it may appear."

Sophistry. Something deep, unerringly and very annoyingly so, about how even the cleanest of swordsmen and strategists play by the rules and laws of humanity, which dictate that value is defended at absolutely any cost, honorable or not. And, thus, in that there is intrinsically honor.

Philosophy? Artists' garbage. Egil merely grumbled and flattened all uncaptured pieces to join their fallen brethren at the sides of the board before beginning to rearrange them into starting positions.

"Egil?" Jin prodded.

Hmph. "Smug talk from the famous Paragon, such a man of few words."

"Well." Jin smiled, so genuinely that Egil had no choice but to observe how relaxed (how handsome) he truly was just playing this...game, and slid his hands down to rest on his knees, chest leant back from the table such as it had not been since the very start of their first game. "I say what needs to be said, when it needs to be said."

I don't trifle with words - save, of course, when they are not my own.

"Your move, Blade." I will simply...watch. Observe. Admire. Voyeurize.

So Jin opened, royal white against noble black. There again, red eyes meeting ice blue. Perhaps a flicker of interest, a trifle of unsubtlety.

When chess is played smartly, it is bereft of crimes and missteps and atrocities of passion. But despite all their vast and vastly matched wits, neither Egil nor Jin was being particularly smart about their play. No, not really. They had other things on their minds.

This time, they would use the clock - both ways.