tell_a_tale_mod (tell_a_tale_mod) wrote in tell_a_tale, @ 2007-07-27 13:39:00 |
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Original poster: crustacea
WHO Charlotte and Frank Champagne
WHAT Playing a game of chess. ;; Character Development.
WHERE The Champagne Household
WHEN December 17th, 2004
RATING PG
STATUS Complete
It was only a game. She had lost count of just how many times that had been told to her, truth be told. Each defeat was all met with It was only a game, Charlotte, don't worry about it. You'll get better'. Although the words were meant to be comforting, she couldn't help but feel a faint sense of anger boiling up within the pit of her stomach every time she noted how her father barely managed to suppress a smirkish-like grin when he would have her put the board game away. It wasn't fair. He left her crestfallen and depressed each time they played, to the point where the Friday nights became more like a chore than a night of family fun and bonding. She had tried so hard and had given it her all each time they engaged in the epic battle of the pieces coloured white and black, glaring across the board at each other with the intention to capture the king. There was nothing she wanted more than to one day just have at it, and finally watch as her father failed to make a correct move, which would end up being the cause of his defeat. Just once was all she asked for. Just once. It was never easy for Charlotte to accept defeat, not when she had gained her competitive streak from the one man who she was trying to beat. Although her pride was held up high, even she had a breaking point when it came to the sport of chess. Please, papa, let me win. Just this once? Then I'll never ask again. No, Charlotte. You'll thank me for this when you're older. She must have been at least eight when she asked him to relinquish and hand over a win to call her own. One tally mark on her side of the board would at least prove to be something against the thousands of mental strikes he had going for him. She could recall the countless times he had brought her to tears, all because he wouldn't show any mercy when he would push his warriors across the checkerboard of black and white, wiping out anything which dared cross his path on the way. She hated the idea that she couldn't seem to ever even get close to winning. No matter how good she was, he was always better. No matter how fast of a wit she had, he was always wittier. If she was stealth, he had already snuck up behind her army. If she was almost at the finish line, he was already to the point where he was at an ice cream truck, getting his victory prize. She just could not beat him. Bringing life back to the present day, Charlotte sat in a comfy little recliner next to a fire which was burning and working to keep the whole house warm. A gentle lullaby of raindrops thudded against the roof of the Champagne household, though it wasn't anything too disturbingly loud. Eyes which took the appearance of a dirty, green sea just after a storm scanned the words of the novel clutched in her palms. While the majority of the population might have been moping at the fact that it was a rainy Saturday, Charlotte couldn't have cared less. At sixteen years old, the brunette wasn't one who was incredibly social. Why spend your time outside? There was nothing productive to do… Nothing that would help take you to the next step in your life, or further help along your education. Then again, what was her humble opinion among thousands of others? Muscles tensed slightly as the door to the parlour opened, causing her attention to break from the book and turn to the door. Her freckled nose gave a small wrinkle of distaste as in the doorway stood her father, Frank, who was holding a rather dusty object in his hands. The old Chess board. They hadn't played in what seemed like forever; why now? Leaning forward, Charlotte grabbed her bookmark from the table (she didn't believe in the ‘dogear' technique) and rose to her feet, over to the table where her father wordlessly began to set up the battlefield before her. "Do we hav-" she began, but was cut off most abruptly. "Why not? You're not doing anything but reading. I think it might be fun," he said, a certain amount of cheerfulness in his tone of voice. Charlotte tilted her head to the side a bit, watching as the pieces began to fill the board. She bit her lip, desperately trying to form a plan in her head.. No, she wouldn't let him see that she was uncertain about this all. She was going to take him on, and she was going to try to beat him, even if her efforts all were in vain. Besides, she had never turned down a challenge before. There was no reason for her to start now. "Fine. Call your colour," Charlotte said while she drew up a somewhat expensive-looking chair. Taking her seat, she examined the board while mind with possibilities and tried to calculate what her battle plans would be. "Black," was all he said, leaning forward. He seemed to be studying the board with the same precision as she was, and that made Charlotte rather uncomfortable. She could feel her stomach drop, the small eight year old inside her bawling her eyes out because she knew what the outcome of it all would be. As her bottom lip twitched, she pushed the thoughts of losing aside, clinging to the positive. "Fine." The word was blunt, but it got her point across. She didn't negotiate with the enemy. You wouldn't do it in a war, you didn't do it in chess. In no time had the battle begun, pieces shifting across the board, their intentions wicked and sinful. It may have been her subconscious mind, but she could have sworn that the rain outside had grown heavier with each passing move, twisting and falling to the flow of the game play. Not once did she look up to see what Frank's expression was, as she had been proven so many times before that looks were awfully deceiving. She knew how he would try to look worried and flustered, just so she would think she was doing the right thing and carry out with her plans. It wasn't going to work this time. She wouldn't allow it. Determination filled her eyes as her heart beat much to the rhythm of a drum during a ceremonial dance. Pushing her white knight forward, she took a bishop, eyes lighting up with eagerness. Though her vision registered the light flashing outside of the window, her ears took in nothing but the sound of her thoughts. While her head reeled, she noticed that each of their moves seemed to be carried out much more quickly, though not any less wise. They both knew what they wanted, and they both knew that only one of them could obtain that goal. As she moved a threatening piece forth, her mouth became dry. It felt as though a hand had gripped onto her throat, making it so she had to force the single word from her mouth. "Check." Check, check, CHECK! Her mind screamed out loud, the rate of her inhales and exhales increased by a tenfold. She was hardly aware that her hands were shaking, though her physical state was of no importance to her at the moment. This was a mental game. It was all mental. "Check," she told him again, repeating it almost right after her last line. This was it. She had it all in sight, and all he had to do was make one wrong move. One move would end it all. "Check. Check," the words seemed to flood from her mouth countless times as they moved to the right of the board, off until he had no where else to move. This was it. Time seemed to suspend in midair as she moved the queen, the piece which would end the war. A small thud vibrated through the parlor as she put the queen down, her head tilting off to the left. "Checkmate," she said. While one would expect her to have some sort of pride in her voice, she could hear her words ringing in her ears and they hardly sounded anything remotely similar to gloating. Plain and blunt, she stood, and began to put away the worn game, as she had done all those times before. Her father, she noticed, was already making his way to the door, She knew, at that moment, December 17th at six o'clock P.M., she had finally beaten him at his own sport, and nothing he said otherwise could tell her differently. Charlotte lifted her eyes up when he halted at the door, and a faint smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. There they were. The words she would cherish forever. "I let you win." |