Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Study in Red and Silver ❯ A Study in Red and Silver ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: GuiltyRed 
Hojo/Hollander: One-upmanship – Afraid of a little friendly competition? When is a game not a game? When it’s played for keeps.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.30.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 638 | Status: Completed
Hojo/Hollander: One-upmanship – Afraid of a little friendly competition? When is a game not a game? When it’s played for keeps.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.30.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 638 | Status: Completed
Title: A Study in Red and Silver
Author: GuiltyRed
Rating: G - worksafe, even
Warnings: Snark, spoilerish - don't worry, no sex whatsoever
Word count: 988
Prompt: Hojo/Hollander: One-upmanship - Afraid of a little friendly competition?
Summary: When is a game not a game? When it's played for keeps.
A/N: For some reason, I can't read a calendar -- this was actually due on the 9th! Sorry for the brainfart. Credit to eHow.com for the game.
Author: GuiltyRed
Rating: G - worksafe, even
Warnings: Snark, spoilerish - don't worry, no sex whatsoever
Word count: 988
Prompt: Hojo/Hollander: One-upmanship - Afraid of a little friendly competition?
Summary: When is a game not a game? When it's played for keeps.
A/N: For some reason, I can't read a calendar -- this was actually due on the 9th! Sorry for the brainfart. Credit to eHow.com for the game.
Hollander ran a sweaty hand over his face, ending with a frustrated tug on his beard. This hadn't been a good day. He'd been overshadowed in everything, by none other than the one man who currently had the President's ear. Hojo had cheated and bullied his way into favor, of this Hollander had been certain for a very long time.
And now, more lives than ever hung in the balance.
“Calling a day, are you?”
Hollander stiffened, counted to five, then turned. “As a matter of fact, I am. What do you want?”
Hojo smirked as he sidled past Hollander and into the lounge. “Actually, you've been working so very hard lately I thought I'd give you a present.”
Wary as a hunted man, Hollander watched the other scientist carefully for any clue to his meaning. “Present?”
Hojo helped himself to one of the overstuffed chairs near the window, then waved a lazy hand. “Come, join me.”
Hollander hated himself for following Hojo anywhere, even someplace as real and innocent as the staff lounge. Never taking his eyes off the man, he seated himself opposite and leaned back, folding his hands across his belly. “What are you playing at, Hojo?”
As though he'd been waiting for just that question, Hojo smiled widely and took a small case out of his lab coat. It looked like a miniature briefcase, sleek and angular, warmly dressed in wine-red leather. He moved the ashtray from the small drinking table to the windowsill, then brushed the surface of the wood casually before setting the small case down. Hojo met Hollander's worried gaze with a look of malicious amusement as he thumbed open the case. “Playing at? Why, chess, of course.”
Hollander gaped as the other man proceeded to unfold the case into a proper chessboard and then unpack the pieces. Unlike a traditional set in black and white, or even coffee and cream, this set was made of hand-polished carnelian and moonstone. For some reason he couldn't define, the colors reminded Hollander of nothing less than blood and steel.
“Lovely, aren't they?” Hojo said quietly, setting the pawns in place: red before Hollander, silver before himself. “Unique, each one. If it is destroyed, there will never be another to replace it.” He glanced up at Hollander, his expression now thoughtful. “Though, I suppose one might craft an exact duplicate, but it would never resonate quite the same, would it?”
Hollander swallowed. “What are you saying, exactly?”
Hojo shook his head. “Merely that an unrealized potential is quite a pathetic thing. The appearance of substance is no substitute for real genius.” He considered one red rook for a moment, then set it in its place. “Foundation. Without it, there is no progress.”
Not quite aware of his movement, Hollander reached toward the pieces and lifted the red king. Its weight felt satisfying in his hand, like he was holding something real.
Hojo silently reached across the table and plucked it from his hand to set it on the board. “We cannot play properly without all the pieces in place. Surely you knew that?”
“I knew that,” Hollander replied mechanically. He stared at the board with a feeling rather like inside-out déjà vu: something bad was going to happen, but he had no idea just where the warning came from. His hand drifted toward the queen's bird-rider.
Hojo made a chastising sound and wagged his finger. “I go first. It's a tradition.”
“You're not playing white, Hojo,” Hollander grumbled. “We should flip for it.”
“Is it more important to be first, or to win?” Hojo watched Hollander squirm, then moved his king's pawn forward just one space. “Ground troops, still so necessary, Goddess bless them. If we could just render them obsolete…but human nature intervenes, does it not? There must always be checks and balances for even the greatest force.”
Hollander bit his lip so as not to ask the man what he was blathering on about. Instead, he returned his hand to the rider and brought it past the front line. “I didn't know you played chess,” he growled, hoping to turn the conversation to something a little less unsettling.
“Don't we all, in our own way?” Hojo studied the board carefully, then lifted the silvery queen as if seeking truth in her stony visage. “Playing games with life and death, putting our own blood on the line for the proof of our theories…” He set the piece carefully down beside his cautious pawn, one steadfast warrior at her back and behind him, the king's own silent priest.
Hollander frowned, hand hovering above the imperiled rider. Then he recalled how the first move hadn't met his expectation: Hojo had stopped short, moving his pawn not the usual two spaces but only one. He fought down a growing sense of superstitious foreboding and selected his own king's pawn, setting him out the full two steps. “To some of us, it's not a game.”
Slim fingers plucked the king's priest from his solitude and set him in play, eclipsing his counterpart and facing the rider across one dark square. “It's always a game, Hollander. Only the foolish and soft think otherwise.” He looked up now, eyes dark and hungry. “What's the matter? Afraid of a little friendly competition?”
“It's not that, it's just - dammit, man, it's not right!” Hollander blurted, smacking the table and nearly upsetting the chessboard.
“Careful!” Hojo half-rose from his seat and faced him down. “These are precious; a single piece takes years to perfect.” Relaxing back into his seat, Hojo gestured dismissively. “It's your move.”
“Bastard!” Hollander saw his opportunity and seized it, moving the single pawn one step closer, a heartbeat from taking down the arrogant silver queen.
When Hojo smiled, Hollander knew he was lost. He stared at the board long moments after the silver queen had breached his defenses, taking but one sorry pawn, one critical pawn.
“Checkmate.”
And now, more lives than ever hung in the balance.
“Calling a day, are you?”
Hollander stiffened, counted to five, then turned. “As a matter of fact, I am. What do you want?”
Hojo smirked as he sidled past Hollander and into the lounge. “Actually, you've been working so very hard lately I thought I'd give you a present.”
Wary as a hunted man, Hollander watched the other scientist carefully for any clue to his meaning. “Present?”
Hojo helped himself to one of the overstuffed chairs near the window, then waved a lazy hand. “Come, join me.”
Hollander hated himself for following Hojo anywhere, even someplace as real and innocent as the staff lounge. Never taking his eyes off the man, he seated himself opposite and leaned back, folding his hands across his belly. “What are you playing at, Hojo?”
As though he'd been waiting for just that question, Hojo smiled widely and took a small case out of his lab coat. It looked like a miniature briefcase, sleek and angular, warmly dressed in wine-red leather. He moved the ashtray from the small drinking table to the windowsill, then brushed the surface of the wood casually before setting the small case down. Hojo met Hollander's worried gaze with a look of malicious amusement as he thumbed open the case. “Playing at? Why, chess, of course.”
Hollander gaped as the other man proceeded to unfold the case into a proper chessboard and then unpack the pieces. Unlike a traditional set in black and white, or even coffee and cream, this set was made of hand-polished carnelian and moonstone. For some reason he couldn't define, the colors reminded Hollander of nothing less than blood and steel.
“Lovely, aren't they?” Hojo said quietly, setting the pawns in place: red before Hollander, silver before himself. “Unique, each one. If it is destroyed, there will never be another to replace it.” He glanced up at Hollander, his expression now thoughtful. “Though, I suppose one might craft an exact duplicate, but it would never resonate quite the same, would it?”
Hollander swallowed. “What are you saying, exactly?”
Hojo shook his head. “Merely that an unrealized potential is quite a pathetic thing. The appearance of substance is no substitute for real genius.” He considered one red rook for a moment, then set it in its place. “Foundation. Without it, there is no progress.”
Not quite aware of his movement, Hollander reached toward the pieces and lifted the red king. Its weight felt satisfying in his hand, like he was holding something real.
Hojo silently reached across the table and plucked it from his hand to set it on the board. “We cannot play properly without all the pieces in place. Surely you knew that?”
“I knew that,” Hollander replied mechanically. He stared at the board with a feeling rather like inside-out déjà vu: something bad was going to happen, but he had no idea just where the warning came from. His hand drifted toward the queen's bird-rider.
Hojo made a chastising sound and wagged his finger. “I go first. It's a tradition.”
“You're not playing white, Hojo,” Hollander grumbled. “We should flip for it.”
“Is it more important to be first, or to win?” Hojo watched Hollander squirm, then moved his king's pawn forward just one space. “Ground troops, still so necessary, Goddess bless them. If we could just render them obsolete…but human nature intervenes, does it not? There must always be checks and balances for even the greatest force.”
Hollander bit his lip so as not to ask the man what he was blathering on about. Instead, he returned his hand to the rider and brought it past the front line. “I didn't know you played chess,” he growled, hoping to turn the conversation to something a little less unsettling.
“Don't we all, in our own way?” Hojo studied the board carefully, then lifted the silvery queen as if seeking truth in her stony visage. “Playing games with life and death, putting our own blood on the line for the proof of our theories…” He set the piece carefully down beside his cautious pawn, one steadfast warrior at her back and behind him, the king's own silent priest.
Hollander frowned, hand hovering above the imperiled rider. Then he recalled how the first move hadn't met his expectation: Hojo had stopped short, moving his pawn not the usual two spaces but only one. He fought down a growing sense of superstitious foreboding and selected his own king's pawn, setting him out the full two steps. “To some of us, it's not a game.”
Slim fingers plucked the king's priest from his solitude and set him in play, eclipsing his counterpart and facing the rider across one dark square. “It's always a game, Hollander. Only the foolish and soft think otherwise.” He looked up now, eyes dark and hungry. “What's the matter? Afraid of a little friendly competition?”
“It's not that, it's just - dammit, man, it's not right!” Hollander blurted, smacking the table and nearly upsetting the chessboard.
“Careful!” Hojo half-rose from his seat and faced him down. “These are precious; a single piece takes years to perfect.” Relaxing back into his seat, Hojo gestured dismissively. “It's your move.”
“Bastard!” Hollander saw his opportunity and seized it, moving the single pawn one step closer, a heartbeat from taking down the arrogant silver queen.
When Hojo smiled, Hollander knew he was lost. He stared at the board long moments after the silver queen had breached his defenses, taking but one sorry pawn, one critical pawn.
“Checkmate.”