Bangkok! Oriental setting - and the city don't know what the city is getting...

[chesspolitik]

There was no better way to drift off into dreamland than in the arms of his beloved Lex after a full day of chess, cajoling Aeneas to drop the pieces he'd stolen and all of the other things that made up his daily routine, or so Anatoly thought. His life before Tabula Rasa seemed a distant memory; he truly could not remember a time he'd been happier. He was where he wanted to be at long last.

All too soon, the sun hit his eyes and he groaned in protest, muttering under his breath. He rolled over, pressing his face into his companion's shoulder and slinging an arm around his waist. It took a few moments for his sleep-addled brain to realize the body next to him was much smaller and softer than it should have been.

At first, he was inclined to pass it off as the island working its cruel trickery again, but something felt off. Lex, whether he was a man or woman, had a scent that was uniquely his. This scent... this scent was not his and yet it was haunting familiar.

He opened his eyes and gasped in horror. He'd gone to sleep on Tabula Rasa and woken up in his hotel in Bangkok. Every detail was just as he remembered, from the appallingly patterned wallpaper to the ostentatious plush carpeting. And there, by his side, was not the man he'd come to know and grown to love, but the woman he'd loved and lost and left - Florence Vassy.

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[hungarianheart.livejournal.com]

By the time Anatoly finally emerged from the bathroom, Florence was deep in a heated conversation over the phone. "No, the car has to be here at twelve. No. Twelve. Well, I don't know who told you that time, but they're wrong. That car needs to be here at twelve or you and I will be having some words, mister."

She hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh. "God, these people. I don't know where they find them. This is a five-star hotel, you'd think the service would be a little better."

[chesspolitik]

Anatoly shook his head mildly as he started to get dressed. Was it déjà vu if he really had done all of this before? On top of everything else, he just had to wake up on the day of the damned interview.

"It's a big day for the press," he said, a little bitterly. "They probably commandeered the best cars already."

[hungarianheart.livejournal.com]

"They're only doing their job," Florence reminded gently, though she certainly did sympathize with his sentiment. "They like you, remember. I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think it will be."

She looked over her shoulder at Anatoly and gaped in surprise. "Aren't you shaving?"

[chesspolitik]

"What?" For a moment, Anatoly couldn't understand why she was so concerned and then it dawned on him. Here, his image came first above all, even before the game. Trumper was unshaven and rarely decently dressed. He was the well-dressed, impeccably groomed one.

"Oh, yes. Of course I am. I'm doing it right now." He managed a small smile for her then turned to go right back into the bathroom, ignoring Florence's flurry of concern.

How he was going to get through this, he didn't even know.