A Battleground for Rival Ideologies

[chesspolitik]

If Anatoly had been thinking more clearly, he would have been suspicious of the little reel in the bookcase bearing the label of "Chess 2009". The bookcase had been on a cycle of giving him things he didn't like or need, so the fact that it was cooperating now should have registered as a bad sign.

None of this crossed his mind, however, as he painstakingly threaded the reel to the projector. Whatever it might be - a documentary on the history of chess or showing of a match between two grandmasters, he was certain he was going to enjoy it. This was clearly about his beloved game and there was just no way that it could show him something he would not like.

His first inkling that he was terribly wrong about all of this was the very first shot showing an enormous concert hall. His mouth dropped open as he heard the announcer call "Josh Groban" and he saw himself walk across the stage. The case fell from his fingers as he saw Freddie follow after someone who bore a rather strong resemblance to Maureen. What was this?

The concert started but things still failed to make any kind of sense. Who would write a concert about chess? Why would someone write a concert about chess? He wasn't sure which was more disconcerting - that or that people who looked exactly like him and Freddie appeared to be in it.

When the song about what appeared to the history of chess ended and the main singer with the gloves started speaking, he was horrified. This wasn't a story about chess, this was about him. Him and Freddie and what happened between them and if he could have found the strength to get up to shut the damned thing off, he would have.

He was too shocked to move, to do anything but watch his nightmares play out in song and bizarre chorus. The only comfort he could find was that at least they had gotten Freddie behaving like a bastard right.

Comments

[pitythetrumper]

"I know," Freddie said softly. He went quiet because he had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming. Molokov, Walter, they had played their own game using people as pawns and everyone knew that pawns won nothing. It was always the player who won or lost. He and Anatoly had gotten nothing by listening. Why would Florence?

[chesspolitik]

As Walter approached Florence, he was sure he didn't want to hear this. The previous scene of him leaving her had been devastating enough. What revelations that followed could be nothing good.

"Why couldn't they let us play chess? That is all I ever wanted."

[pitythetrumper]

"Because they're assholes. And because...because I don't know." He'd been seduced into the attention. He'd loved the game and he'd loved the attention it brought him and the combination of both of those things was too much to resist.

[chesspolitik]

Believing that Molokov's story about Florence's father being alive to be slightly suspect was one thing. Hearing confirmation that it was truly a lie was something else and if Anatoly could have reached through the projector and strangled Walter right then and there, he would have. Since that was not an option, he settled for loud, virulent cursing in Russian.

[pitythetrumper]

And that, right there, was what Freddie had been afraid of. His lips pressed together, but he didn't say anything. What could he say? They'd both been outplayed. Well, there was one thing he could say. Ask, actually. "Do you think it was any different where you were…?" And that was still the most bizarre concept Freddie had ever heard of.

[chesspolitik]

"No," Anatoly shook his head. "I don't believe it could be. Except for that I did not play this Viigand and that I chose to lose, everything else was the same. I think no matter the... whatever you wish to call it, Molokov and de Courcey were the true winners."

[pitythetrumper]

Freddie's shoulders dropped a little. "Sure. Whatever." It was disappointed somehow. Was it so wrong for him to want someone to have a happy ending? Of course not. But it was naïve and he wasn't usually naïve.