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“This is absurd,” Erin said.
Absolutely insane.
His finger hovered in front of his lip in the trembling, refined horror that accompanied a man like him when plans start to go wrong. Falst sat across from him at the rounded chess table the pair had been sharing for half an hour or more. He was slack and nonchalant, how he usually held himself, but his flat expression hid a cunning that after all this time Erin was finally starting to see. He had known Falst the thief, Falst the fighter, Falst the prick; for all those attributes he deserved a title of his own. But cunning was new.
He was startlingly good at this game.
“And you’re certain you’ve never played chess before?” Erin asked, looking up from the complicated web of black and white pieces.
Falst was staring through him with a stony, fixed expression, “Why would I have ever played chess before?”
Erin considered that question, running into the ‘no universal experiences’ wall again. It was becoming a pattern recently, ever since he’d made friends from other places. Of course there was no reason for a person like Falst to play a game like chess, or Alinua, or Kendal for that matter.
“I suppose you’ve never had the opportunity,” he said, carelessly.
Falst scoffed. “I’ve had plenty opportunity, snob. I’ve never wanted to.”
The train of conversation was interrupted by a clattering in the next room over. Both men froze for a second, staring into nothing before Alinua cried out, “We’re fine!” Then the staring match continued.
Signified by the marble tile floors and the civility, their group was staying in Asera. Of course a place like this exacerbated tensions, as if eating, sleeping, and breathing together wasn’t enough. But Erin liked it. It was his home. The thought of ever leaving sparked reluctance in him, denouncing the gilded halls.
“What’s wrong with chess?” he asked, moving his knight a few squares left. It hit the chess board with a rich tap as he put it back down, punctuating the somewhat defensive tone. He saw gears turning behind Falst’s eyes, who barely acknowledged the question. If Asera was Erin’s home, Falst was behind enemy lines — that’s how he seemed to approach it anyway. The ferin’s attention was focused solely on the board.
After some time, Falst finally moved again and said, “It’s the same thing that’s wrong with this entire damn mansion. Being so grandiose about yourself is just a power play,” and as Falst finished that sentence he looked up to meet Erin’s eye.
In spite of his flippant attitude towards the game and this place in general, he seemed equally invested in playing. When Falst took his turn, picking up a lowly pawn, his claws accidentally scratched into the ivory like flesh. When he put it down again it had left a mark, which Erin tried his best to ignore.
“You realise I hate this entire place, right? I hate being here,” Falst complained.
“You won’t let me forget,” Erin muttered, moving a bishop left.
“Yeah - because you represent it,” Falst reminded him. “You’re the arbiter of the whole thing.”
Erin sighed. “It’s not my fault if my father does or doesn’t summon me, and you have the full power to leave.”
Saying that, Erin knew he wouldn’t. Falst was here for Kendal if anyone, he noticed the looks Falst sent his way. Erin didn’t mind him staying though, he didn’t mind the company, even if all he got back was more disdain.
“And let you win?” Falst asked him sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. Then he laughed to himself privately, like the devil on his shoulder had whispered a joke, then fell forward again and made his next move. Each gesture infuriated Erin, each flick of his tail. And yet.
They weren’t really friends. If you asked Erin he’d say they were accomplices or allies, and they would protect each other but they wouldn’t enjoy doing it. They were tied by their affections for other people, and personal goals — Erin more on the goals side. He didn’t need to like his allies, so that’s all that they were. And if you asked Falst, he’d cackle in your face and leave; It had happened before. And yet.
Erin was enjoying the game of chess. No, that was the wrong word for this feeling. He was frustrated by it, but felt obliged to continue. He didn’t have words for a feeling like that, though he was certain that Falst felt the exact same way. They wouldn’t be playing together otherwise. It was a tugging feeling, hatred that wasn’t hatred. A fixation on what made each other tick. It was fully possible, Erin had been thinking as of late, that at any moment they could collide and explode like a supernova. It would happen, one way or another.
Erin moved his pawn. Falst moved one back. The pieces met face to face, edges touching by candlelight.
As the evening stretched on, so did the game until nightfall. If there was a checkmate, they were both too tired to notice. If there was a draw, then it was the same. The pair were too weighed down by the stench of the city, and their friends had been bugging them to turn out the light. They managed to exchange a few more groggy words before reluctantly, they dropped asleep at the board.