antipositional {Ems!blitz}
Jan 6, 2015 21:34:49 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 6, 2015 21:34:49 GMT -5
"Checkmate, motherfucker."
His days are spent in silence, plotting his next move both on the chess board and in his mind. There's no need for luck in his life; not now, and there never will be. Because everything is plotted out in his head
over
and over
and over again until there's a one hundred percent chance of nothing, nothing going wrong. And so far, it's worked. The victim in front of him forks over cash with a handful of regret, and it takes everything he has not to spit some condescending remark at him before her walks away.
"Better luck next time, kid."
Better plan better next time, kid.
He rolls a pawn between his fingers, biting his bottom lip as if he's pondering the universe. And for a second, some part of him feels like he should stand up and give some memorable speech about how were all pawns and how we should rise up against the man, man.
But then he laughs, and clears his throat before standing up.
"Anyone else ready to lose?"
He cracks his knuckles.
