Walter wouldn't even look at him. The smug bastard was just sitting in his seat, calm and relaxed like everything was in the bag, eyes hidden by those damn sunglasses. If anything, a still Walter was more unnerving then the usual energy that seemed to slide off him. More like he was trying to figure out a way to salvage a loss rather then waiting anxiously for a win. Like he's given up.

Giving up was not in Freddie's nature. He may play at it occasionally for attention and did in personal matters, but not in chess. He sneered slightly at Anatoly's cough as his own bishop came in to steal the rook that threatened his queen. Such childish tricks, as if the fucking Russian was rubbing it in, that everything was going his way and once again Freddie would be left in the dust. Well, not tonight. His knight advanced on Anatoly's king, ready to make his move.

And missing Anatoly's bishop entirely.