Saint Louis, 1921. Prohibition Era.

It was quite the serene day. The sun shone through the window, right onto Mordecai and Viktor’s chessboard. The sound of calming music, vinyl record popping, and broom sweeping could be heard faintly. Mordecai’s tail stuck out of the bars of the chair, the tip of it swishing. On the contrary, Viktor’s lied on the ground, staying completely still. Everything was going swell, all until…

Mordecai: “What are you doing?”

Viktor: “I take your bishop.”

Mordecai then began to ramble on about how all the possible strategies Viktor could possibly have been doing, such as the pellegatti attack or the poached penguin.

Mordecai: “Checkers?”

Viktor: “Viktor. Takes. Your. Bishop.

Soon after, both began to give each other the death stare. Viktor’s eyebrows furrowed and Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

Mordecai: “Where’d you learn to play? In a cave?”

Viktor: “In a trench.”

Soon after, both began to give each other the death stare. In a fit of rage, Viktor threw the chess board aside.