Is this the tide in my affairs when I write a little history?

[chesspolitik]

Being mobbed by a vicious pack of reporters was bad enough on any given day. Being mobbed by them in Bangkok during one of the most stressful matches in his life was even worse. Going through it again was nothing less than hell on Earth.

The car ride to the studio was a blur. He heard Walter talking to him, and he knew he was answering, but what was actually said, he couldn't recall afterwards. He went where he was told, going through the motions with as little thought as possible. It'd be over soon enough, and slipping back into his role of emotionless machine was the only way he'd manage.

It was a fine idea, but as the barrage of questions started, from the insipid ("Isn't this a bizarre reunion?") to ridiculous ("Is being homeless affecting your game?"), he felt his self-control slipping away, just as before.

"Your true motivation is something we all want to know," one of the reporters asked, a malicious glint in his eye.

At that, Anatoly's temper flared and he shouted back furiously, "You know damn well what my motivation is!"

Comments

[capable-of.livejournal.com]

"His motivation is simply to win a chess game and keep his title, or have you all honestly forgotten the reason you are all here?" Came a loud clear voice from the back of the room and the crowd almost parted before where Lex stood as all of the reporters turned to see who had spoken.

Lex smiled his best Luthor professional smile and moved away from the surprised Trumper, who had been whispering in Lex's ear all about the plan he'd concocted with Walter and how foolish the Commie bastard looked answering all those questions. Lex had been biting his cheek so hard to not comment, or knock him unconscious, that he could taste blood on his tongue. But at least now he wouldn't have to explain to Trumper how that private interview was never going to happen.

Once the attention was all on him, Lex couldn't look at Anatoly. It was cowardice maybe, but he couldn't stand to see the look of non recognition in the eyes of the man he loved. This would be hard enough as it was. He kept walking to the front of the room, every inch a bred and trained Luthor. "This is a farce, and if you were all genuine reporters, you would see that. This is about a sport, pure and simple, and I half a mind to bring this issue to the Arbitor. It's considered cheating if you break an opposing runner's leg during a race correct? Is that not what you are doing to Mr. Sergievsky? A chess player's mind is his strength and you are bending and breaking it with your senseless questions, and taking pleasure from the pain you cause."

He paused to take a breath as he reached the front of the room and looked for the man he'd seen Anatoly consulting with before, who had to be Walter de Courcey. Lex looked right at him as he spoke next. "The CIA and the KGB are waging their own war and you are all their too willing pawns because it's an easy story." A flutter rose up among the reporters, but Lex ignored them, instead letting his smirk get sharper as he saw de Courcey's eyes harden in a dare, which he gladly met. "And I'm sure Mr. de Courcey would be glad to give you the CIA side. If you are at all reporters worth your bylines, then I suggest you look into that instead of badgering a man who's only purpose here is to play chess."

Lex ignored the sudden burst of questions of who he was and how he had come about this information as he reached out and took Anatoly's arm. "I have said all I need to say and I believe Mr. Sergievsky has a match to prepare for. If you will excuse us." Then, he pulled Anatoly from the room and away from the crowd, leaving a fury of noise behind them. Of course, Lex couldn't hear it over the beating of his own heart, as the moment of truth lingered. Would Anatoly know who he was?

He kept walking, not looking at the man he was leading, until he found a secluded corner in the studio, away from prying eyes. Finally, he turned to Anatoly to explain, though he still wasn't brave enough to look into the Russian man's eyes. "Anatoly, I realize you may have no idea who I am but I promise you, I'm a friend and I only want to help...."

Molokov and Walter Thread (Of Doom)

[molokovcocktail.livejournal.com]

Someone was going to pay for this. That was the only coherent thought in Molokov's head as he watched the strange American throw the press conference he and de Courcey had labored so carefully to put together into shambles. The only thing keeping him from drawing his gun and taking care of both Sergievsky and this Yankee bastard was the fact that he'd be in more trouble than he already was.

He fought his way through the crowd of clamoring reporters, viciously elbowing anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way until he reached his counterpart. There were protocols for this sort of thing, but this event had changed the rules.

"We must meet. Ten minutes in the usual place," he whispered briefly in de Courcey's ear then continued walking, his rage growing by the minute.

One way or another, he was going to get some answers, even if he had to beat it out of de Courcey himself.