The Games We Play [Russia]

Arthur’s body was pleasantly alert with the familiar tingling high whenever he played this game. It was a game that had been born between him and Ivan many decades prior and it had only grown in intensity with recent years and with stakes that were elevated with each maneuver from the other. While many nations likely would grow increasingly irritated with the constant push and pull of murdered agents, uncovered plots, the shifting of international security, threats, and the underlying tension, Arthur grew to secretly relish it. Prior to their intelligence agencies being pitted against the other, a never-ending struggle, there was a severe lack of nations who could properly challenge England’s particular specialty in the modern world.

And so, Ivan has now been made his perpetual chess partner in the world of intelligence warring. Whether Ivan liked it or not. Although, if Arthur were to assume, he would assume that Ivan craved the challenge just as much as he did. The world would be a hell of a lot less interesting without a dance partner to match your every step.

Which is exactly what brought Arthur to the shorelines of Greece, on an embankment overlooking the vibrant blue Mediterranean waters. Despite current political standings, Arthur regarded Greece as being a neutral enough location due to the nation itself being one of the clueless and useless sorts (in Arthur’s brutally honest opinion) and would either look the other way or remain entirely clueless of the struggle being brought within his borders. Temporarily. In either case, Arthur couldn’t bother to care. He hadn’t afforded much care for Europe in general since his departure from the European Union decades prior. Historically, England had always seen itself as a separate entity from the wash of European standing. Particularly since it was French invasion that forced Arthur into their world to begin with. A world that he never wanted to be a part of. That remained unchanged.

Presently, Arthur had taken the very unusual initiative in a maneuver to take out one of Ivan’s men in one of the cities nearby. It was a city of convenience due to the Mediterranean retaining its historical status as an important collective for all the continents surrounding it. Typically, Arthur allowed British agents do all the dirty work. This time was different for a special reason. As entertaining as the game was, Arthur did want to see his unwitting chess partner face-to-face if it could be arranged on occasion. It was fundamental to their perverse give-and-take. For this meeting in particular, Arthur had sent a message to Ivan in the form of a dead Russian agent left behind in a dingy motel room, and an encryption on his laptop for Ivan alone to interpret.

Arthur had utilized an old code once used by his agents that Ivan had broken years ago. As such, it was a code that British intelligence no longer used. That, in and of itself, was part of the message. He wanted Ivan’s agents, and Ivan himself, to recognize and read it promptly. An old code also spoke of a harboring a flare for nostalgia and grim amusement over their involved past.

Their meeting spot was designated to be on the exact shoreline that Arthur was sitting on, finding a large and smoothed stone that served as a bench constructed by nature, overlooking the pull of the waves. Arthur’s clothing was inconspicuous enough to blend in with either the tourists or the well-off locals who perused this area. A pair of jeans, a casual button down, and a leather jacket. To Arthur’s credit, there wasn’t a drop of blood to be seen, not even a suspicious wrinkle to his shirt, following the morbid rendezvous with Ivan’s agent. Experience and innate strength made the nations extremely adept at ending a man’s life with minimal effort.

A bottle of Blanc de gris, a crisp Greek white wine, sat at Arthur’s side. One of the few finer things of Greece that even Arthur could appreciate was their vast and ancient vineyards. So, he procured a bottle on his way to the meeting spot. He hadn’t bothered with glasses. Its glistening presence seemed like an odd trinket for the bloodied occasion, but Arthur had his reasons. If Ivan decided to ghost him and his message, he would gladly finish the bottle himself over the beautiful view before returning to London.

Arthur relaxed where he was seated, one leg resting over the other. A nearly finished cigarette warmed his dry fingers, perched between thin lips before it was removed to tap away the ashes. There was a soft curve to his mouth as he sensed the other nation nearby. A pregnant, silent moment passed until he could hear the crunch of gravel beneath the other’s shoes. Arthur’s eyes remained calmly steadfast on the ocean. ”I’m pleased  you could make it,” he murmured, the sound of a near smirk dancing on his tongue. ”Was my message to your liking?”