Meetings and Open Office Hours

Deme let out a delighted laugh, leaning back in his chair and clapping his hands as if Malik’s words were the finest compliment he’d ever received. His grin spread wide, a curious mix of paternal pride and the manic energy that often overtook him.

Oh, Malik, how you flatter me so! Unpredictability, my boy, is the greatest weapon in one’s arsenal! he declared, his voice rising theatrically before dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. But you are not wrong. The dance is not only to disarm but to charm, to bewilder, to lull the opponent into a false sense of security until—snap!—the jaws close around them. He made a snapping motion with his hands, his eyes gleaming like a cat toying with its prey.

Deme’s fingers hovered over the board, gliding from one piece to another as though considering the destiny of each. He picked up a knight and advanced it, the movement deliberate, precise, and oddly reverent.

A counter to my Fan Dance, you say? My, my, how ambitious! he mused, his gaze sharpening like a falcon’s as he studied the board. But that is good, Malik. A student who does not seek to outmatch his teacher is no student at all. Though do not think I will go easy on you, just because I find you endearing.

He sat back, his hands folding neatly in his lap, and his expression turned contemplative, almost serene. The mood shift was as abrupt as ever, but now it carried a weight of gravitas.

You are learning well, Malik. Strategy, adaptability, the balance of sacrifice and gain… they are not merely tools of war or governance. They are principles of life. Every move we make, every step we take, carries a cost and a consequence. The question is: do we see far enough ahead to know when the trade is worth it? His gaze softened, the madness dimmed for a fleeting moment.

Then, with a sudden clap of his hands, Deme’s whimsical grin returned, and he leaned forward eagerly. But enough philosophizing! Let us see this grand counter-strategy of yours in action. Come, my boy, show me what you’ve got! He gestured dramatically toward the board, his eyes alight with the thrill of competition.

As the game progressed, Deme played with an almost chaotic elegance—seemingly impulsive yet always three steps ahead. It was as if the chessboard itself bent to the whims of his mercurial mind. Yet even amid the playful banter and sudden shifts of mood, there was an unmistakable undertone of mentorship, a desire to see Malik rise to the challenge and prove himself.

Ah, the Queen’s gambit! A bold move, indeed, he remarked, his tone carrying both admiration and a hint of mockery. But beware, Malik. The Queen is a powerful piece, yes, but even she cannot stand alone for long. Protect your King, my boy, for the throne is always the ultimate prize!

Deme’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward, his expression both playful and deadly serious. Your move.

@Malik Vrai