SHAH-K-MATE*
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2019 6:01 am
((Continued from: An Organized Chaos))
Erick Rischio, Bloody Fists member and crazy man slash game master extraordinaire, sat by himself in the lunchroom. Well, relatively by himself. There were a few others littered here and there, tittering about random things going around Bathurst. Loiterers, they were called, the band of highschoolers who chose to stick behind at school while the buses were pulling out. The staff didn't mind them, just as long as they kept inside the student center or the cafeteria and weren't defecating the walls, or anything. They just needed to be out there by the time the janitors came and locked the door.
Not that most people cared about that, though. Most, "hardcore mothas" as they liked to call themselves, lingered behind. Why you'd want to hang out around your highscool, Erick had no idea. There really wasn't anything cool about sitting around in a cheap school building, pretending to smoke tootsie pops, and listening to mainstream punk shuffle. The next table over was doing all of that, some crude mix reusing the same ol' weak riff blaring out of some girl's CD player. Please.
He overturned his messenger bag. A plastic bag full of plastic figurines fell out, landing safely ontop of a ratty chessboard. Assorted pawns, black kings and white queens, and everything in between. Rischio set the pieces into their positions, and waited for his opponent to arrive.
Erick Rischio, Bloody Fists member and crazy man slash game master extraordinaire, sat by himself in the lunchroom. Well, relatively by himself. There were a few others littered here and there, tittering about random things going around Bathurst. Loiterers, they were called, the band of highschoolers who chose to stick behind at school while the buses were pulling out. The staff didn't mind them, just as long as they kept inside the student center or the cafeteria and weren't defecating the walls, or anything. They just needed to be out there by the time the janitors came and locked the door.
Not that most people cared about that, though. Most, "hardcore mothas" as they liked to call themselves, lingered behind. Why you'd want to hang out around your highscool, Erick had no idea. There really wasn't anything cool about sitting around in a cheap school building, pretending to smoke tootsie pops, and listening to mainstream punk shuffle. The next table over was doing all of that, some crude mix reusing the same ol' weak riff blaring out of some girl's CD player. Please.
He overturned his messenger bag. A plastic bag full of plastic figurines fell out, landing safely ontop of a ratty chessboard. Assorted pawns, black kings and white queens, and everything in between. Rischio set the pieces into their positions, and waited for his opponent to arrive.