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“Are you sure you want me to make the first move, Angel?”
Aziraphale considered it for as long as it took him to finish setting up. He had been playing with himself rather a lot and his pieces were in utter disarray.
“Well, it is your turn to play white, if I’m not mistaken. We haven’t done this in a while.”
“Not since a certain angel got into a huff, if I'm not mistaken.”
“I didn’t—,” Aziraphale huffed, realised the irony, cut himself off.
The board looked ready for a fresh start, all else was water under the bridge. Holy water.
“You may open, Crowley.”
It made no difference. Nine centuries into their arrangement, they were both well-versed in playing either side.
“Alright...”
Aziraphale leaned into the receiver at his ear, running one finger along the glossy lacquered head of Crowley’s bishop.
“... wish I could be there with you, though. You might get tempted to touch without making a move, and I’ll never know.”
The angel hoped the hitch in his breath was inaudible as he pulled back, caught red-handed. You start fingering your opponent’s piece, you have to commit to capturing it. He had played enough games to know better.
“I hope Prague is lovely this time of year?”
“Oh, terrific! ‘Prague Spring’ has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Don’t forget what you promised...”
“Yeah, yeah, I get the civil unrest, you get the freedom of press..."
“Jolly good. I’m starting your clock—”
“Lissen, why don’t we make this a friendly game? No need for zeitnot. We can go as slow as you like.”
The timbre of the demon’s voice betrayed a smile and Aziraphale pressed one of his own to the cool plastic of the receiver.
“I suppose.”
“Good. D4.”
“D5.”
“Book move.”
“Obviously.”
Two pawns lined up against each other, each trapped in its own square, with nothing but the thin line of convention separating the lighter from the darker brown. Two opposing pawns that could never move into each other’s space, those were the rules.
“C4.”
“Really, my dear?”
“What?”
“Queen’s Gambit? You’ve not played that one since the sixteen-hundreds.”
“You made a note of all my gambits?”
“Of course. 'Know your enemy' and all. This one was never sharp enough for you, not even a real gambit.”
“Not in the sense of trying to trip you up with my foot between your legs, no.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes, readjusting a receiver that was starting to feel a little slippery in his hand.
“There’s no real sacrifice from White, Black incurs a disadvantage if it takes the pawn.”
“Positional play, Angel. I’m not out for a quick capture of your hanging pieces. I’m in it for the long game, until your king is bare.”
“Keep chattering, and you’ll be lucky to make a mating attack anytime soon.”
“Oi, it’s your move. Accept my gambit, or decline.”
Aziraphale snuggled a little deeper into his armchair. This was going to be a pleasant night.