[ So focused is Ajax on the board that he pays little attention to his hand being turned so deftly (and oh so so gently) in Zhongli's. His eyes dart from piece to piece, eyes furrowed in concentration until his hand spasms in Zhongli's grasp. The scar on his hand is old, formed back when he was fourteen and newly admitted to the Fatui — never fully healing because he had not known enough about the life he leads now to tend to it correctly. As a result, the tissue itself is tender and Zhongli's touch is almost ticklish as he traces down the line of it. ]
No fair.
[ Ajax complains as if he had not done the same to Zhongli not moments before. But still he lets his hand remain, indulging in Zhongli's wandering touch. It was a distraction — the good kind that provided that wonderful rush, like standing on the precipice of a 10-foot drop. Uncertain, yet soothing.
A knight alone cannot win such a battle.
Ajax's tongue runs against the back of his teeth, eyes set squarely upon that trap and understanding fully the outcome of a frontal assault. The queen he could handle but the knight would be long slain before it reached the king, leaving the rest of his pieces at a severe disadvantage. A glorious fight but ultimately a loss. He would never do that to Her. No matter how much he loved the thrill of the hunt and the adrenaline rush of battle, Tartaglia did not march into battles that were unwinnable.
He manipulated them until they became achievable.
The knight moves again, this time to slay (not a pawn for they were no longer worth his time), a bishop off to the side of the queen and king. Too far for any one piece to reach the knight in a single movement, but threatening enough to put Zhongli on his back foot with one less major piece in play.
That look of concentration forms into a wicked grin, losing its playfulness for just one beat. A second. Too long for someone of Zhongli's astute observation skills: ]
no subject
No fair.
[ Ajax complains as if he had not done the same to Zhongli not moments before. But still he lets his hand remain, indulging in Zhongli's wandering touch. It was a distraction — the good kind that provided that wonderful rush, like standing on the precipice of a 10-foot drop. Uncertain, yet soothing.
A knight alone cannot win such a battle.
Ajax's tongue runs against the back of his teeth, eyes set squarely upon that trap and understanding fully the outcome of a frontal assault. The queen he could handle but the knight would be long slain before it reached the king, leaving the rest of his pieces at a severe disadvantage. A glorious fight but ultimately a loss. He would never do that to Her. No matter how much he loved the thrill of the hunt and the adrenaline rush of battle, Tartaglia did not march into battles that were unwinnable.
He manipulated them until they became achievable.
The knight moves again, this time to slay (not a pawn for they were no longer worth his time), a bishop off to the side of the queen and king. Too far for any one piece to reach the knight in a single movement, but threatening enough to put Zhongli on his back foot with one less major piece in play.
That look of concentration forms into a wicked grin, losing its playfulness for just one beat. A second. Too long for someone of Zhongli's astute observation skills: ]
Who says they can't?