A mug and some chess

[tadeusz sadowski]

Location: small tavern

Time:9:32pm

weather: cloudy and raining


ooc: This is going to involve a game of chess and PM me if you are going to play it and if you want to be wining so we don't get messed up while posting.Or if you have any better idea tell me.



In the smoke filled room Tad sat at a table waiting for the right move. It was dark in the back corner but at least it was warm.
Tad stared at his opponent waiting for his wrong move.
''Prüfen''said Tad with a grin as he moved his bishop. The other soldier looked up with a frown on his face. ''Obviously he hasn't had any one be him in a while ''thought Tad.
After the man moved his king he looked back up to Tad who was taking a gulp of his beer.

Tad looked down on to the table seeing the man's move. With his free hand he moved his queen and in a serious face he said again''Prüfen''.

The now angered man looked down at his endangered king and once moved it again. It was his only piece he had left on the board. Tad then with one last move pushed his rook and said''Prüfen mate''. The angered soldier looked around the chess board trying to an escape. After seeing no escape he reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. Sticking his hand out Tad takes the money and slips it into his pant's pocket and then asked''Revanche?''. The man shook his head, got up and walked away.

Feeling a little lucky Tad took another gulp of his beer and tried to stand up. Once able to he looked around the noisy bar and shouted''jemand möchte einige Schach spielen?''. Feeling dizzy Tad shat down and waited for a challenger.

jemand möchte einige Schach spielen
any one wnat to play some chess

'Prüfen mate''
check mate

'Prüfen
check

[Julian Rosenthal]

The tavern’s interior seemed to mirror the rain and drear of the German autumn. Rain pattered easy and irritating on the loose window-glass, meandering down the pains like a slow river, lacking any semblance of the rejuvenation or energy found in an April shower. The street outside had devolved into a track of mud and stone, evident in the barely tacky soil clinging to the occupant’s jackboots and the loose-slatted floorboards. The barroom was not at all an exciting place, no drunken carols reverberated on the tired white-washed walls, no brawls shook the aging timbers. The speech was hushed and cluttered around booths and tables, as if afraid to overshadow Mother Nature’s ghostly tit-tat of droplets on the roof. Smoke’s silent tendrils clutched and slithered in the rafters, growing stronger with each lit cigarette or kindled pipe. A large stone fireplace roared silently in one wall, the flame’s hushed chant broken only by a startled crack of burning faggots. The clink of glasses was even shunned, most of the mugs filled with tall pints of warming ale rather than hard liquor. The storm ruled.

Standing out from the bunched grey-green uniforms was a SS-Obersturmfuhrer, sitting alone at a round farmhouse table, rooted firmly in the center of the barroom. His feet were stretched out under the oaken surface, his legs sore from squats and power cleans in the base’s gymnasium. The collar of his uniform jacket, its reminiscent of the black forest that hounded the town’s edge, was unbuttoned and loose. A leather overcoat hung from his chair. A cigarette was pursed between his full lips, the stubs of two others smoldering in a nearby ashtray. A boot stein sat on the table, drained. He was alone, but not for long. Friends, fellow officers, would arrive soon. But Julian’s active mind was growing restless.

His eyes were staring at a peculiar stain on the wall’s white plaster when his thoughts were interrupted by a drunken yelp from a far corner. Julian’s blue eyes, mathematically precise and crystalline like the sky in a stained glass window, darted to his left.

“Any one want to play some chess?”

An enlisted Heer man was standing near the fireplace, his arms gesturing to a checkered board in front of him, still haphazard with pieces from the previous game, black-and-white monuments to complicated and forgotten strategies. His face was flushed and his stance wobbly, alcohol obviously lazing about in his gullet. The entire barroom halted for a brief moment like a skipped heartbeat, shady eyes on this foreign invader. The Heer man fell back and plopped in his seat, the tavern’s occupants turned back to their steins and companions. Julian knew he shouldn’t act; his friends would be here soon and his mother had taught him it was impolite to take advantage of drunkards. A stemming sense of wanderlust within his breast stirred him however, and he stood easily up, like a great blonde lion awaking from a nap.

“It would be my pleasure…ober-gefrieter.”

Julian advanced to the soldier‘s table, his jackboots heavy on the floorboards. He brought his overcoat and draped carelessly it about his shoulders, imitating a cloak and giving him the look of a jaunty crown-prince. Heads turned as he passed them, now eager for some disruption of the rainy monotony. The SS-Obersturmfuhrer pulled out a chair, its legs screeching against the ground like sirens to a ship. He set his body down, looking the man in directly in the eye, the corners of his mouth turning up in an airy smirk.

“…Black or white, friend?”

[Heiko Alkema]

Moderation[/b]

Julian Rosenthall[/i] - 2CP

Tadeusz Sadowski[/i] - 2CP
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