» √oldemort. (noblework) wrote in novusmundus, @ 2010-06-07 02:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | gellert grindelwald, tom riddle, voldemort |
Who: Tom Riddle, and Gellert Grindelwald.
What: A game of chess leads to a discussion on strategies.
When: Monday afternoon.
Where: Gellert's office.
Rating: Low.
Status: Incomplete.
The pieces were falling, one by one. The field was nearly empty now, only a few scattered survivors still holding on and fighting for victory over their foes. It had been a lengthy battle over several days, and many had been lost in the struggle, but now, at last, the end seemed to be in sight.
Chess had not been something Tom had cared for in his youth, too impatient and too interested in his own pursuits to devote attention to a game, not when he could be using his efforts more advantageously. He'd gradually acquired a taste for it over time, however, particularly under Grindelwald's mentorship, and came to see the value in playing it and learning its strategies. It had taken many years, and innumerable lost games, for Tom to finally learn not to cast his pieces around the board without thought nor care, and instead to restrain impulse in favor of taking his time, planning, and predicting the opponent's moves. Whether or not he applied these disciplines outside of the game, in his work where it perhaps mattered the most, was debatable... but he had learned them nevertheless, always the good student.
Yet, even after all the years of these games played with Gellert, he still managed to find himself at a disadvantage. It was maddening, never failing to make him feel like he was back at school. For the moment, he'd gone silent, a pale hand pressed over his mouth in contemplation as he sat forward, eyes moving from piece to piece and considering his next move carefully. I can win this yet, he thought to himself. In truth, as far as he was concerned, he could win anything he set his mind to, but this was always... different.
After a time, he finally reached out to push his remaining bishop across the board, pausing for the barest moment before letting it go. He leaned back in his chair then, and looked across at Gellert with a vague expression of self-assured victory, not bothering to disguise it as he might with other people. In his mind, he had already won the game, though he did manage to refrain from gloating -- not just yet. He'd wait until afterwards, out of courtesy. Still, his move made, he was brought back to the present once again. These chess matches weren't merely for the sake of playing the game itself, after all, especially not this one, not after everything that had gone on in recent weeks.
"By the way, I am pleased to see how quickly you have recovered," Riddle said at last, with the forced air of casualness he often took when he was skirting the topic he actually wanted to talk about. "One would be hard pressed to discern you had been injured at all, in fact. Your Healers have certainly proven their capabilities, though I doubt their efforts would have amounted to much had the assassination attempt been on anyone but yourself. As close as the attacker came, they were foolish to assume they could bring you down -- you know this as well as I."