![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Aug. 15th, 2007 02:51 pmDammit!
This is a real bind. He put too much money on it, trusted too much to his own skill, and just look where it's gotten him. So much for trusting thyself; one more move and he's dead.
His hand falters, lifts. He takes a deep pull on the stump of cigarette he's got left, and glares at the man across from him. The guy stares back, impassive.
"You gonna move, or what?"
"I'm thinking." Maybe he could make a break for it? No, no, that's not right. And besides--he glances up again, assessing--the guy's bigger than he is. Who knew the gorilla could play chess?
Maybe he could use those three old guys behind him as cover?
Hell, no. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, then raises it, palm out. "Okay, okay." He stretches a finger out, pauses, tips over his king, and sighs as he watches his money be dragged across the rickety little table. "Good game."
The guy grunts and collects his cash, leaving Wolfwood drooping and despondant in the little wooden chair, gazing at first at the chess board and then at his own reflection in the storefront window before kicking back and lighting another cigarette. He's watching the old guys nearby, but they're not playing for any kind of money. He's already hit them up once.
They sure know a lot of nasty words for being some nice old men. Geez, nobody wants to give to the church anymore.
This is a real bind. He put too much money on it, trusted too much to his own skill, and just look where it's gotten him. So much for trusting thyself; one more move and he's dead.
His hand falters, lifts. He takes a deep pull on the stump of cigarette he's got left, and glares at the man across from him. The guy stares back, impassive.
"You gonna move, or what?"
"I'm thinking." Maybe he could make a break for it? No, no, that's not right. And besides--he glances up again, assessing--the guy's bigger than he is. Who knew the gorilla could play chess?
Maybe he could use those three old guys behind him as cover?
Hell, no. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, then raises it, palm out. "Okay, okay." He stretches a finger out, pauses, tips over his king, and sighs as he watches his money be dragged across the rickety little table. "Good game."
The guy grunts and collects his cash, leaving Wolfwood drooping and despondant in the little wooden chair, gazing at first at the chess board and then at his own reflection in the storefront window before kicking back and lighting another cigarette. He's watching the old guys nearby, but they're not playing for any kind of money. He's already hit them up once.
They sure know a lot of nasty words for being some nice old men. Geez, nobody wants to give to the church anymore.
