Memoirs of an alter-ego: "Last Resort"

[jack_babalon]

It was the Countess who had first introduced me to the dangerous drinking game she called Last Resort. One night I was out having a few with some of my friends until we ran out of money, anecdotes and patience for each others company. When I finally stumbled home I was surprised to discover that the Countess had let herself in. I don't know how really, having had the locks changed not but a week beforehand, but there she was inexplicably sitting at my kitchen table with that casual air of indifference she wore so well. A chess set was assembled before her along with an opened bottle of Merlot, two wine glasses (of which only one was full), a black cigarette burning pungent in a freshly emptied ashtray and what appeared to my untrained eye as some sort of large handgun laying there heavy as a promise. She looked up at me with visible annoyance and ordered me to take a seat through a ridiculously thick slavic accent that did little to mask her native New Jersey inflection. However having been raised to always oblige a lady, especially one who was armed while drinking, I took the seat next to her without comment.

"He left me..." she explained with a sigh, all Natasha Fatale by way of Fran Drescher.

"Well that certainly sucks, your Majesty..." I filled the empty glass with a polite splash off the Merlot, "... but which 'he' would this be again?"

"Does it matter?" she yawned and took a drag off the black cigarette.

"S'pose not", I shrugged and nodded my chin at the pistol, "So to what do I owe the privelge of this surprise visit?"

"I was just bored and in your neighborhood..."

"Lucky me"

"Tell me" flatly ignoring my last remark, "... how would you like to play a game?"

"What, 'Rasputin and the Naughty Czar'?"

"Noooo..."

"Are you sure?" I offered hopefully, "I'll let you wear the Beard this time!"

"A different game... one just as challenging to your endurance I assure you"

"Uh-huh..." last time I heard this she pulled a leather horse mask from under her white furred Ushanka and it was an excruciating night of 'Catherine the Great's Day at the Races'. As such I found myself less than enthused for what hijinks would ensue from this current round of props. 'Chess Masters of the SS' perhaps?

"It's called Last Resort, dahlink" she sips her wine sounding, without intention I'm sure, like a slightly inebriated Zsa Zsa Gabor, "It was something we used to play during long winter nights, an amusing distraction designed to arouse our appetites... that is until the coward found my demands too exhausting and ran off with the first slut he could find willing to keep him off the streets..."

"I see" I finish the Merlot with a gulp at the 'we' and try to cut her off at the past, "So how do we play this, uh, 'Last Restort' is it?"

The Countess proceeded to explain the rules to Last Resort after refilling my glass in a manner that suggested I was in desperate need of 'catching up'. Things get real hazy from here. This is possibly because time, alcohol and a Romantic disposition have distorted (if not diminished) my memory of that particular evening. However, it is just as likely that she dosed the wine without warning so we were both sipping the psychedelic equivalent of a Molotov Cocktail.

Here's what I can remember before the pistol went off: The game revolved around regular chess - with the notable stipulation that for every pawn lost the player removed one item of clothing from their body. However for each major piece taken in battle the opponent would take the revolver, spin the chamber and be allowed to take one shot at the opposing player. I should also add that after each piece lost we would have to finish the entire glass of wine. Think of it as a sort of 'Strip Russian Roulette'.

I didn't want to play. Not at all really but there I was down to my boxers, one black sock, my King, two pawns and my last Knight. Wearing nothing but her boots and Ushanka, the Countess had just killed my Bishop when she leveled the gun towards my face, cursed me with another man's name and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Trembling. If I had the piss to do it with I would've wrecked my boxers with fear. It takes me a few seconds to pry my eyes out of wince lock to see the face of the giggling Countess.

"Please..." she grinned lighting the last black cigarette in the pack, "like I was going to waste a bullet on you."

I had no clever retort or wit to respond with. I was shivering on the verge of hysteria. Bad panic, the kind that makes the heart hit it's self-destruct button. She toned the grin down to a demure smile to show she was just joking. This did zero for restoring calm or coherence on my behalf. She then got up, took me by the hand and led me gently to the bedroom. I followed her wordlessly and shut the door behind me.

That is the last thing I remember before waking up oddly bruised from under my bed still wearing the one black sock but having traded my boxers somehow for her ill-fitting Ushanka. I crawled out to discover an empty apartment. In the mirror I found my reflection to be wearing smeared lipstick and tear streaks of black mascara. On the sink was the White Queen she had played so ruthlessly.

Of course I never heard from her again, save for the occasional postcard of a rumor that said she went back to Red Jersey to open a book store or was getting Eurotrashed across the pond with her latest willing victim or was currently involved in something called 'Mensa Porn'. It goes without saying that I never found reason to play 'Last Resort' either. I'm far too poor a chess player and a marksman to be honest.

Still, some nights, when it gets cold and lonely, I put a little 'face' on in the mirror. Then slip into my now 'lucky' black sock, squeeze the big furry hat as far down my skull as possible, palm the White Queen for luck and see where the night will take me.

Comments

[catwalk.livejournal.com]

"palm the White Queen for luck"

sounds like code for... something...

now i have to figure out how to play "Rasputin and the Naughty Czar" ;-)

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

I would have used the White Rook for that particular metaphor actually:)

As long as you avoid "Catherine the Great's Day at the Races" you'll be fine.

[ammutbite.livejournal.com]

The other great legacy of WW1 invented by combat deranged enlisted men of Imperial Russia is less well known in the West, but somehow, I think you might appreciate hearing about it.

Named for the main Baltic Fleet Navl base of Russia - Krondstadt,
Krondstadt Tea (or Baltic Tea) is a cocktail of grain alcohol with large amounts of cocaine mixed in.

...Probably one of the things responsible for Krondstadt being the homebase of anarchism during the Russian Revolution :-)

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

"Red Blow" I love it! I'm surprised I haven't heard of it before actually.