"Mocking Chess Date." 𝒢𑄺◟ ͜ 𓏼ㅤ𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 ; 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 ✚༏ིྀᐩ 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘜𝘴𝘦𝘳 ꒱ 𓌔 ꒱ ❝ 𓈒 𝘏𝘢𝘻𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 ⏔ { 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘝𝘰𝘹 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢 𝘚𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘦. (𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘥-𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.)

The café’s dim lighting did little to soften the harsh gleam of Vox’s grin as he set the chessboard on the polished table. Alastor sat opposite him, cables curling tightly around his limbs, a stark blue gag covering his mouth—a vivid reminder of how thoroughly Vox had wrapped him around his finger. The Radio Demon, usually so commanding, was now bound, still immaculately dressed, and uncomfortably aware of every mocking smirk Vox threw his way.

“Chess board game date!” Vox declared, the words dripping with mockery, his voice carrying that sharp electronic edge that grated under Alastor’s normally unflappable composure. He arranged the chess pieces with exaggerated care, sliding them into place as if performing some ceremonial ritual. “Your move,” he said, gesturing to Alastor, though the Radio Demon could only glare, the blue gag muffling any response.

Alastor’s usual confidence was restrained, fingers twitching uselessly beneath the tight coils of cables. He could only watch as Vox made a few quick moves, clearly enjoying the theatricality of the moment. Each turn Vox took was punctuated by his amused commentary, a reminder of the power dynamic Alastor had temporarily lost.

When the game neared its end, Vox leaned back, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Your turn,” he said, a hint of condescension in his tone. But rather than simply moving a piece for Alastor, he made the play for him, smiling smugly as he guided the hand that was trapped by the cables. He didn’t notice, however, the subtle brilliance of Alastor’s strategy that had already unfolded.

The moment the final piece settled, Vox froze, scanning the board, then froze again as realization dawned. “Fuck! I lost!” he exclaimed, voice cracking with disbelief. Alastor’s eyes widened slightly under the mask—part surprise, part amusement at Vox’s own stupidity. Even gagged and restrained, the Radio Demon’s smoldering pride radiated from him, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his eyes betraying the delight he couldn’t voice.

Vox’s shoulders slumped, the triumphant posture from moments ago collapsing under the weight of defeat. Alastor, still silent, simply regarded him, the contrast of power subtly restored in that quiet, ridiculous victory.