Jenn picked up the counter, holding it to the light to study it briefly. A small piece of white marble carved in the shape of a horses head, the details of the eyes, nostrils, mouth and mane picked out in gold leaf; it was a gaudy thing, but nevertheless beautiful. She much prefered its counterpart; onyx chased with silver. Placing the piece carefuly back on the board, she laid her hands palm down on the table and leaned over to regard the set in silence.
A game. That was all it was. A game with rules that one must painstakingly follow. A game consisting of markers and tiles and, most amusingly, strategy. In order to win, one needed to be two or three steps ahead of ones opponent and know when to take a defensive or offensive tact. Sacrifice was occasionally necessary, although greater losses could be avoided if the game was played carefuly and one was not too rash in the movement of pieces.
She smiled, lifting a slender white hand to flick a marker over. It rolled back and forth, nudging a few other counters away from their squares.
How similar to life it all was. People moving in set patterns across the vast board of the world, their actions guided by the greater hands of those few who knew the secret of playing. Too many thought they did, thought that they knew the rules when, in fact, they had missed the point entirely. Those players inevitably became the pieces although they would dispute that fact bitterly, blinded by arrogance, foolishly believing that they were in control.
But control was not the point. Control was merely an illusion. Letting someone think that they had it was always a useful ploy. The trick was not to control those around you, but to know where to prod, and with how much force, in order to make them do as you wished. Sometimes, even that would be unnecessary, a far more gentle suggestion required before letting the piece loose on the board to cause directionless havoc.
The moves always depended on the game, the game upon the rules and the rules themselves depended entirely on the one making them. Jenn was a big beliver in rules. She believed very strongly that they existed to be broken, exploited and changed to her advantage. Indeed, rules defined a game and games were ever-changing, ever-evolving.
She straightened herself up, running a hand through her auburn hair to get it out of her eyes. The first move had been made now, the preparations for it had been made. All she needed to do now was be patient in awaiting the arrival of the piece. He would, in time, deliver himself straight into her hands and from there the fun could start.
If he disappointed her, then there would be no loss in it. There were other avenues waiting to be explored. Less lucrative perhaps, and most likely less amusing ones, but they existed all the same. That man was not a key player, nor even a very valuable piece. He would make things that bit easier, but his role in this game was minor and the man himself dispensable. Keeping him believing otherwise, however, was an important ruse; one which could make or break his role and thus define his usefulness.
