erica's sorrow

"The knight moves in an L-shape," Xell explains, smiling. The funeral parlor lights are dimmed; the chessboard is cast in a sickly yellow-gray, the old enamel coating each of the wooden pieces cloudy and opaque with age. "Two squares in one direction, one square in another."

"It jumps," Clarence says, slowly.

"Yes, perfect. It jumps."

"The rook doesn't."

"Why, of course not!" Xell takes the black rook, moves it four spaces forward, knocks the rightmost white pawn off the board. It lines up neatly with the rest of the graveyard: three other white pawns, a chipped white rook, both white bishops. A single black knight. A single black pawn.

Kay sighs, exasperated. "As if that's fuckin' fair."

"Nothing in life can quite be, Kay."

"He doesn't remember how to fucking --"

"It's a learning experience." Xell's eyes crinkle up at the edges. His smile is wide and warm, his face disarmingly open. "Clarence won't learn how to play if he doesn't suffer a few losses, right?"

"Re-learn," Kay mutters.

"Re-learn, then. If you insist," Xell concedes. He leans across the table, pats Clarence on the shoulder. "And anyway, Clarence agreed to this. Didn't you?"

Clarence doesn't respond. He narrows his eyes; flecks of blue light bounce off each curve of the enamel finish. He moves his own rook forward, adds the black rook to the graveyard.

"Beginner's mistake," Xell smiles. Black bishop takes white rook.

"They're not a --"

"They are, at least for now." Xell tilts his head towards Kay. "For the purposes of this exercise, they certainly are. No?"

"No," Kay scoffs.

"To each their own." Xell shrugs, carelessly. "Clarence, your move."

"The knight jumps," Clarence repeats to himself. He moves it out from the cover of his remaining pawns, towards the center of the board.

Kay turns away. It's going to be another loss. Of course it is, when he doesn't know how to play -- he forgot how to play -- one of the two, goddammit. Xell's just beating them over and over again for -- for --

Clack. "The bishop moves diagonally. Be careful, Clarence! It's quite easy to lose yourself in your own moves, but remember: I'm your opponent, above all else."

They're staying here after work hours in this awful fucking parlor for Clarence to lose at chess, over and over again. Fuck, it's just like when they were in the Virion Project. That's an unfair comparison, isn't it, Kay thinks to themselves. They don't think about it any further.

Clack. "I don't have a knight..."

Clack. "No other pieces jump. If something gets in your way, you just knock it down."

Clack. "Yes," Clarence's voice is clipped; his tone's changed. "I understand."

Kay flicks a glance back towards the board. They don't need to be a chess player to see that Xell's obviously won. There aren't enough white pieces left for Clarence to put up any kind of fight.

"It'll be checkmate in a few turns," Xell says, kindly.

"So there's no point in continuing." Kay shifts on their feet; it's cold in the lofty sitting room, they wrap their flimsy shawl around them just a bit tighter. The windows are shut, they have to be. "We're done, right?"

"If Clarence says so."

Clarence moves his king a single space to the side, out of check.

"Clarence," Kay calls, snapping their fingers impatiently. "Are we done?"

"We've played a few games, and unfortunately, it doesn't look like this will be a victory either." Xell moves his queen forwards, regardless. It casts a shadow over the center of the board, threatening Clarence's remaining rook. "Perhaps next time."

Kay sighs, pointedly. "Come on, if there's no point, Clarence --"

"I'll finish the game," Clarence murmurs.

"Perfect." Xell claps his hands together, smiling up at Kay. "Every loss is a learning experience, no?"

"No," Kay scowls.

"It won't take more than a few moves, anyway," Xell says. "Have some patience."

Clack. White pawn moves forward. Clarence doesn't register the obvious opening.

Clack. Black queen takes white rook.

"If Xell makes a move, it's for a reason." Kay kneels next to the board, trying to get ahold of the situation. They've never fucking liked this game, they never have. "Look, the queen..."

Clack. King moves neatly out of the way. "I know," Clarence says.

"Well, that's not quite fair," Xell sighs. "Two players against one certainly isn't in the rules."

"He doesn't know how to --"

"And he's still playing for himself, Kay."

"Don't fucking act like you're doing him a favor!"

"It doesn't matter," Clarence interrupts. "I've already lost."

Without Xell's prompting, he takes the black queen -- threatens his own knight. Then, in short order: white knight forwards, black queen corners white king, white king futilely attempts its escape, black bishop crosses the board, white king claws at the chessboard walls, black queen corners it, checkmate in three. It's done. It'd been done, from the beginning.

Xell's smile widens. He spreads his hands, motioning towards the board. "That's quicker than I would've finished it, Clarence."

"There." Kay exhales, harshly. Then -- their voice a bit softer -- "You'll get better. You remembered how to play the ending, at least."

"I used to be better," Clarence says, slowly.

Kay picks up Clarence's mask; it's thin, slim, almost fragile in their hands. "You'll get there."

"Are we all leaving, then?" Xell gets up from the table, laces his hands together, leaves the chessboard as it is. "You two can head out first. I'll lock up the mortuary, of course. And we'll all be here bright and early in the morning for our clients tomorrow."

"I should know how to play," Clarence repeats.

"I know," Kay sighs. "It'll take time, but --"

There's a sharp -- sudden -- cracking noise from the table that Xell and Clarence were sitting at. Clarence's left hand is on the table; the wood around it creaks harshly. The temperature drops in seconds, the chill crushes the room, Kay drops the mask with a harsh clack on the floor.

"Clarence," Kay calls, immediately, putting their hands on his shoulders. His skin is like ice, the tearstreaks on his face are frozen over with white frost. "Clarence, come on, you don't need to --"

"I used to be --"

"You're just learning it again, you're re-learning it --"

"But it shouldn't be this hard," Clarence mutters, half to himself.

"It wouldn't be so popular if it wasn't." Xell's smiling, he always fucking is, Kay thinks, over and over and over again. He kneels -- takes a moment to pick Clarence's mask up and place it delicately on the table -- puts a gloved hand over Clarence's, acts like the frost isn't even there. "I'm sure it was quite the challenge when you first learned how to play, as well."

"I've played before," Clarence snaps. "I've played thousands of times, I know how to play."

There's another crack in the air -- a second of silence -- and then the white knight, knocked to the graveyard, shatters in splinters of wood, enamel, shards of ice, Kay throws their arm up to protect their eyes. Clarence gasps at the sound, tears their hand off of the wood and out of Xell's grasp. White veins run through the oak. Their palm's left pale indents in the dark wood.

A beat, broken only by the sound of Clarence panting, struggling to catch their breath.

"Well," Xell sighs. He stands up, brushes the nonexistent dust off of his coat. "That's good, at least."

"Your hands, shit, shit," Kay hisses. They peel off Clarence's left glove; crystals of frost scatter over the board.

"We can't have this parlor freezing over, now."

"We need to soak your hands, goddammit, I -- your hands, I don't want you to get frostbite." Kay takes Clarence's hand in theirs; his fingers are as cold as a corpse's, they're paler than normal, Kay can feel the chill seeping through their gloves.

"I'm not cold," Clarence says.

"It doesn't feel that way to me," Kay scowls, fuck, this always happens when they use essence -- but he still does, over and over -- "We'll -- we'll go home, we'll soak them in warm water. Okay?"

Clarence looks up, then. He tilts his head. He narrows his eyes, staring straight at Xell.

"Of course we can play tomorrow," Xell says. He doesn't break eye contact, meeting Clarence with just as much empathy as he always seems to have. "My, you don't have to act out just because it's difficult."

"Shut the fuck up," Kay growls. "He's not -- acting out, you fucking --"

"Okay," Clarence says, simply. "We'll play tomorrow."

"See?" Xell shifts his gaze towards Kay. His expression shifts, almost imperceptibly. Kay can feel a chill run down their spine, not from the cold. "He's alright with it."

"You are?" Kay asks, incredulously.

Clarence gets to his feet, gently removing his hand from Kay's grip. He picks up his glove, lying limp as a dead animal, from the chessboard. He slides it on again, finger by finger.

Xell moves their hand to their chin. It's a faux question, a rhetorical with a single answer. "And you'll wait for us again, no?"

Clarence picks up their mask. They put it on, shielding their eyes from the dying rays of the sun, offer their arm to Kay.

Kay takes it. They bite their tongue, hard. They smile, as brightly as they can force themselves to, something's roiling in the bottom of their chest, a feeling they can't name, that they wouldn't want to name in the first place. "Fine."

"Perfect." Xell claps again, for emphasis. "Go on, then. You know how to take care of him better than I do, even if you've never bothered to learn the game."

"I know I do," Kay says, icily. If Clarence wants to play with him -- fine. They're not going to learn on their own. There's nobody else for them to play with. Kay's not playing this stupid fucking game -- not even -- for -- him.

The door slams shut behind them. Xell closes and locks it, tightly. Splinters of the white knight are scattered as finely as frost across the floor.