And Sometimes the Chess Board is You
Title: And Sometimes the Chess Board is You
Story Continuity: Down By the Water
Flavors: Blueberry Yogurt 21: blackmail, Gingerbread 7: seven with one blow, Passionfruit 20: Scratch a lover, and find a foe - Dorothy Parker
Characters: Annie Tark, Jemesk Graymarch
Rating: PG
Summary: Jemesk goes over his options. Annie helps. Kind of.
Jemesk sat on a bench by the Faindown, passing time with a friend and a game, but his mind was on neither. He couldn't even recall his last play, or whose turn it was, only one thought in his head: I had a life.
Which wasn't to say what he had now didn't qualify; whatever else that smoking faeborn had cast doubt on, Jemesk quite liked his life. But as long as he'd suspected he was missing some fairly vital memories, felt it like a hollow in his bones, he hadn't given one thought to their recovery. He knew they'd always be someone else's memories now. He waited and waited to feel something about it, but he had the feeling he'd be waiting a long time. He'd have to discover them sooner or later, regardless. And time seemed to no longer be on his side, just another thing to be unsure of. His life a mere week ago had been serene, orderly, simple; he'd give what few memories he had to go back to that.
"Annie," Jemesk said, "We're good friends, you and I. That carries a certain level of trust, doesn't it?"
There was a flicker of emotion across Annie's face, but it was utterly foreign to him. "Why, do you think I tell just anyone that I'm a Zoanistra? You know too much about me for me to go around distrusting you. I'd never sleep again. Also, I humbly submit that you consider moving before we die of old age and boredom."
Jemesk looked at the board and sighed. There was not a single good play left to him. He moved his king to capture a bishop and lost all seven of his remaining pieces in a single move. It was better to lose spectacularly than to creep slowly towards the inevitable, Jemesk reasoned. Annie didn't gloat, merely took his money with a smile. Victory was enough for her, she'd said the first time he lost. Jemesk suspected she merely knew just how much more insufferable that made her.
"What is this about, anyway?" Annie said.
"You're a surgeon. Have you ever given the brain bleach?" Jemesk said, paying special care to note Annie's features. She was typically animated enough that even dogs could take her meaning, but Jem had noticed from time to time she used her openness as a means of subterfuge.
She raised her eyebrows now as she said, "I have. I take it you have concerns about your own miserable fiasco of an experience with it."
"Is it possible to go a little mad from it?" Jemesk said. "Is it possible that I might still remember, or recognize faces on a subconscious level?"
Annie stared at Jemesk in such a way that he felt himself developing a kinship with the chess board. Annie's lips slowly curled as she said, "No. Seeing ghosts, Jemesk?"
Jemesk searched for words, for some casual deflection or change of topic, but nothing came. Annie's smile widened. "Oh, have I hit the nail on its knobby little head, then?"
"It appears I had a wife," Jemesk murmured. Whatever levity there had been floated off to sunnier conversations. Annie moved her hand to cover his, her eyes lowering to hide the guilt. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. You understand I could never have told you. You took the bleach for that, didn't you? I don't agree with your decision, but I can't say murdering a loved one wouldn't have me in tatters, either."
"You know about that, too? How? Did everyone know but me?"
"You see any iron bars here, Jem? Of course not. On the other hand, do you think Clyde hates so passionately without reason? He found you over Dawn's body, with your hand still grasping the knife in her heart. He never really liked Dawn, but, well, you killed your own wife, lad."
"I knew Dawn well enough. Always a smile on her face, always a sly amusement about her, like life was some happy little joke only she knew the punchline to. But I tell you this, and it's as true a statement as I'll ever give: Dawn did not love life enough to come back for kicks. Whatever she may tell you, it's blood she wants, and whose depends entirely upon you. Are you a man worth saving, Jemesk Graymarch, or a man who screams real pretty?"
Like many things of late, Jemesk didn't know.
Story Continuity: Down By the Water
Flavors: Blueberry Yogurt 21: blackmail, Gingerbread 7: seven with one blow, Passionfruit 20: Scratch a lover, and find a foe - Dorothy Parker
Characters: Annie Tark, Jemesk Graymarch
Rating: PG
Summary: Jemesk goes over his options. Annie helps. Kind of.
Jemesk sat on a bench by the Faindown, passing time with a friend and a game, but his mind was on neither. He couldn't even recall his last play, or whose turn it was, only one thought in his head: I had a life.
Which wasn't to say what he had now didn't qualify; whatever else that smoking faeborn had cast doubt on, Jemesk quite liked his life. But as long as he'd suspected he was missing some fairly vital memories, felt it like a hollow in his bones, he hadn't given one thought to their recovery. He knew they'd always be someone else's memories now. He waited and waited to feel something about it, but he had the feeling he'd be waiting a long time. He'd have to discover them sooner or later, regardless. And time seemed to no longer be on his side, just another thing to be unsure of. His life a mere week ago had been serene, orderly, simple; he'd give what few memories he had to go back to that.
"Annie," Jemesk said, "We're good friends, you and I. That carries a certain level of trust, doesn't it?"
There was a flicker of emotion across Annie's face, but it was utterly foreign to him. "Why, do you think I tell just anyone that I'm a Zoanistra? You know too much about me for me to go around distrusting you. I'd never sleep again. Also, I humbly submit that you consider moving before we die of old age and boredom."
Jemesk looked at the board and sighed. There was not a single good play left to him. He moved his king to capture a bishop and lost all seven of his remaining pieces in a single move. It was better to lose spectacularly than to creep slowly towards the inevitable, Jemesk reasoned. Annie didn't gloat, merely took his money with a smile. Victory was enough for her, she'd said the first time he lost. Jemesk suspected she merely knew just how much more insufferable that made her.
"What is this about, anyway?" Annie said.
"You're a surgeon. Have you ever given the brain bleach?" Jemesk said, paying special care to note Annie's features. She was typically animated enough that even dogs could take her meaning, but Jem had noticed from time to time she used her openness as a means of subterfuge.
She raised her eyebrows now as she said, "I have. I take it you have concerns about your own miserable fiasco of an experience with it."
"Is it possible to go a little mad from it?" Jemesk said. "Is it possible that I might still remember, or recognize faces on a subconscious level?"
Annie stared at Jemesk in such a way that he felt himself developing a kinship with the chess board. Annie's lips slowly curled as she said, "No. Seeing ghosts, Jemesk?"
Jemesk searched for words, for some casual deflection or change of topic, but nothing came. Annie's smile widened. "Oh, have I hit the nail on its knobby little head, then?"
"It appears I had a wife," Jemesk murmured. Whatever levity there had been floated off to sunnier conversations. Annie moved her hand to cover his, her eyes lowering to hide the guilt. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. You understand I could never have told you. You took the bleach for that, didn't you? I don't agree with your decision, but I can't say murdering a loved one wouldn't have me in tatters, either."
"You know about that, too? How? Did everyone know but me?"
"You see any iron bars here, Jem? Of course not. On the other hand, do you think Clyde hates so passionately without reason? He found you over Dawn's body, with your hand still grasping the knife in her heart. He never really liked Dawn, but, well, you killed your own wife, lad."
"I knew Dawn well enough. Always a smile on her face, always a sly amusement about her, like life was some happy little joke only she knew the punchline to. But I tell you this, and it's as true a statement as I'll ever give: Dawn did not love life enough to come back for kicks. Whatever she may tell you, it's blood she wants, and whose depends entirely upon you. Are you a man worth saving, Jemesk Graymarch, or a man who screams real pretty?"
Like many things of late, Jemesk didn't know.