Meetings and Open Office Hours

Deme's grin spread wide, lighting up his face like the first rays of dawn breaking over a tumultuous sea. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the chamber like a crack of lightning.

Ah, Malik, my ever-dutiful protege! How splendid it is to see you so eager to spar on the battlefield of intellect! he exclaimed, already moving toward the chessboard with a kind of theatrical exuberance that somehow managed to feel entirely genuine. His robes swirled behind him like the trailing banners of an advancing army.

He gestured grandly to the ornate board, the pieces arranged in perfect readiness, gleaming under the flickering light of the chandelier above. The opening gambit, you say? Ah, yes, the ‘Inscrutable Fan Dance of the Overconfident Pawn’—a masterpiece of strategy, if I do say so myself. Subtle, deceptive, and just the right amount of flair to keep one’s opponent deliciously off balance.

Deme settled into his seat, his fingers steepling as he leaned forward, his gaze sharpening like the tip of a blade. For all his flamboyance, there was no mistaking the keen intelligence behind his golden eyes.

Now then, he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, I find myself delightfully unburdened by obligations at this very moment, which means you, my dear Malik, have the rare opportunity to pit your wits against mine without interruption. And yes, indulge we shall! For what is life without its indulgences, hmm? A dreary march of duty and drudgery, and we are far too clever for that.

Deme’s fingers danced over the white pieces, and he carefully picked up the king’s pawn, placing it forward two spaces with the flourish of a magician unveiling his first trick. He leaned back, his expression one of mock-seriousness, though his eyes gleamed with uncontained mirth.

There! The first move. Bold, confident, and utterly unshakable—just like yours truly. Your turn, Malik. Show me what you’ve learned.

@Malik Vrai