(no subject)
Two moves into this game and he knew he was screwed.
His opponent and his missing teeth smile at the considering player knowingly as he looked over the black and white tiled board. Chompers there knows Anubis is likely screwed, too. The man has probably spent his meaningless life reading up on Chess tips so that he’d be somebody. Yeah, somebody to the other losers who cared how good you were at Chess.
There’s enough cigarettes going in here to smoke a whole batch of fish, but the god stalls, reaching into a white trouser pocket and fumbling for the rectangular package.
He can’t die.
Smoke isn’t going to kill him.
Taking both lighter and cigarette from the satchel sewn into his clothes, Anubis places them on the table beside the board. Again he looks over the only barely rearranged pieces. It was almost embarrassing; you’d think a god would be good at everything, or at least better than the beer-bellied, mop-headed, lacking in hygiene ogre across from him. What was it about these near tramps surrounding him that was so comforting? Profligacy wasn’t exactly something most people strove toward.
He sparked the lighter. Piece of shit was nearly out of fluid. Why did he buy these crappy ones all the
time..
He sparked it again.
This time it produced a flame and the swarthy-skinned man leaned in to sizzle the end of the cigarette in the fire. Sucking air through the ever so important filter, fumes puffing from either corner of his mouth as he ensures the rolled, dry plant chunks were really smoldering before putting the lighter back down on the table.
Really. How much longer could he loiter before Adonis across from him said something. Apparently not long at all, because as the god took a second drag, he burped something that sounded like, “You gonna go, buddy?”
Buddy.
Yes, we were best friends. Anubis really appreciated the smelly word of fraternity..
Just move already. Cig dangling limply from his buxom lips, he reached for an ivory pawn and moved it two spaces. Two whole spaces. That’ll show him. He’s surely sweating the move right now. ..Actually he was sweating, like a turkey bubbling in its own juices. It really just added to the milieu of this posh bar.
Sticky Fingers moved one of his pieces, and followed with another smile from his corpulent jowls.
“Check mate”, he said.
The cigarette that had been droopy to begin with sagged a little more. But Anubis gave no expression to the outcome.
“Good game.”
Or something.
Reaching across the round wooden bar table to shake the man’s hand, Anubis quickly retreated it as what he was about to shake was hacked wetly into. On second thought.. He patted the broad, damp flannel shoulder instead.
Rising from the game table, the man clad all in white moved toward the counter, needing something to flush away the shame of the lost contest. As he waited for the tender to come over, Anubis glanced around the sludgy room unenthusiastically. Maybe it was the smoke you could not even cut anymore it was so dense, but his eyes hurt.
In fact, everything hurt. He’d been here too long. Living like this. In this junkyard of a lifestyle. He needed out. Needed to get back to his job. His official job.
Right after this drink....
His opponent and his missing teeth smile at the considering player knowingly as he looked over the black and white tiled board. Chompers there knows Anubis is likely screwed, too. The man has probably spent his meaningless life reading up on Chess tips so that he’d be somebody. Yeah, somebody to the other losers who cared how good you were at Chess.
There’s enough cigarettes going in here to smoke a whole batch of fish, but the god stalls, reaching into a white trouser pocket and fumbling for the rectangular package.
He can’t die.
Smoke isn’t going to kill him.
Taking both lighter and cigarette from the satchel sewn into his clothes, Anubis places them on the table beside the board. Again he looks over the only barely rearranged pieces. It was almost embarrassing; you’d think a god would be good at everything, or at least better than the beer-bellied, mop-headed, lacking in hygiene ogre across from him. What was it about these near tramps surrounding him that was so comforting? Profligacy wasn’t exactly something most people strove toward.
He sparked the lighter. Piece of shit was nearly out of fluid. Why did he buy these crappy ones all the
time..
He sparked it again.
This time it produced a flame and the swarthy-skinned man leaned in to sizzle the end of the cigarette in the fire. Sucking air through the ever so important filter, fumes puffing from either corner of his mouth as he ensures the rolled, dry plant chunks were really smoldering before putting the lighter back down on the table.
Really. How much longer could he loiter before Adonis across from him said something. Apparently not long at all, because as the god took a second drag, he burped something that sounded like, “You gonna go, buddy?”
Buddy.
Yes, we were best friends. Anubis really appreciated the smelly word of fraternity..
Just move already. Cig dangling limply from his buxom lips, he reached for an ivory pawn and moved it two spaces. Two whole spaces. That’ll show him. He’s surely sweating the move right now. ..Actually he was sweating, like a turkey bubbling in its own juices. It really just added to the milieu of this posh bar.
Sticky Fingers moved one of his pieces, and followed with another smile from his corpulent jowls.
“Check mate”, he said.
The cigarette that had been droopy to begin with sagged a little more. But Anubis gave no expression to the outcome.
“Good game.”
Or something.
Reaching across the round wooden bar table to shake the man’s hand, Anubis quickly retreated it as what he was about to shake was hacked wetly into. On second thought.. He patted the broad, damp flannel shoulder instead.
Rising from the game table, the man clad all in white moved toward the counter, needing something to flush away the shame of the lost contest. As he waited for the tender to come over, Anubis glanced around the sludgy room unenthusiastically. Maybe it was the smoke you could not even cut anymore it was so dense, but his eyes hurt.
In fact, everything hurt. He’d been here too long. Living like this. In this junkyard of a lifestyle. He needed out. Needed to get back to his job. His official job.
Right after this drink....