The King's Gambit is one of the oldest recorded openings in chess history, but it has lost popularity in recent times. White exposes their king, but has a chance to gain control of the middle. If you don't know the basic rules of chess, I would recommend you look it up.
Frisk McGaan was a… different child. Mrs. McGaan knew that from the moment she popped out, bawling and squealing into the county hospital.
"You cheated on me, didn't you!" Mrs. McGaan shrieked in delirious rage. Her face was flushed and sweaty, with a glassy sheen in the unflattering fluorescent light. Her hands trembled with exhaustion, and she was slumped on a hospital bed that was at least ten years old, if not older. Diligent nurses had tried their best to wash the smell of misery from it, but it remained, nevertheless.
"What? I did not cheat on you! How is that even possible?" Mr. McGaan shouted back, his severe face becoming red with rage. Had large purple bags under his eyes, and a red indent in his hand where he was still clenching his car keys. He was unshaven, unwashed, and wearing only a muscle shirt and sweatpants.
"Now, please, calm down, Mrs. McGaan. There is no need to be upset-" a nurse pleaded, holding her arms out defensively.
"No need to be upset! There is no way I could be the mother of such an ugly child!" Mrs. McGaan shrieked. Now, Mrs. McGaan was not pretty, but not gorgon like, either. Mrs. McGaan was the type to pine over a chipped bathroom mirror for hours, twirling her hair and admiring her "stunning" looks. It could easily be said that Mrs. McGaan thought she was god's gift to men everywhere. Anyone who was more beautiful than her was, therefore, an enemy.
On the contrary, Mr. McGaan was quite the opposite. He wasn't handsome, however, he wasn't too hideous. He spent hours in front of the mirror, but instead of admiring his every virtue, he criticized every tiny flaw. This made Mr. McGaan thoroughly miserable, and he spent every waking hour making sure everyone else was miserable, too.
"A baby this ugly is obviously yours, dumbbell! Now be a man and face up to it!" Mrs. McGaan shot back, eyes drooping. She turned over and fell asleep in what must have been record time. The sound of rhinoceros snores filled the room.
"I demand a baby refund, or I will sue!" Mr. McGaan bellowed at the nurse. The nurse let out a small squeak, but quickly composed herself.
"S-sir, I'm afraid we don't offer refunds on children. Would you please follow me?" The nurse stuttered, holding open the door. She gestured for Mr. McGaan to follow her. Mr. McGaan glared at her like she was crazy. They stood there, in a silent standoff for some seconds.
"Fine," Mr. McGaan caved, following the nurse out the door. No one saw it, but he turned and whispered to Frisk McGaan, cooing on her mother's lap.
"You little devil."
.
"Frisk McGaan, put on that dress immediately!" Mrs. McGaan shouted at the stubborn little kid. She was crimson with rage, her hands shaking as she sputtered. In Mrs. McGaan's hands, she brandished the pinkist, most sparkly dress the world had ever seen. Frisk had their arms crossed, back turned to their mother. Their face was livid with rage.
"I'm not wearing your stupid dress! I'm not a girl!" Frisk screamed back, stomping their feet. Several teddy bears with bright red bows tumbled to the ground from their cozy shelves from the mini earthquake Frisk caused.
"Frisk, who gave you these ideas! You are a girl, through and through, and you will dress like one!" Mrs. McGaan yelled. She scooped Frisk up, forcing them into the dress with a dexterity that spoke of much practice.
"Mom, no! Let me get-" Frisk struggled with the straps of their dress, but stopped struggling as soon as they saw Mr. McGaan prowl in. He glared at the fallen teddy bears, at Mrs. McGaan, and then finally at Frisk.
"What seems to be the problem here?" He growled to Mrs. McGaan, who had fallen deathly quiet and still. Frisk froze in place, hands still hovering over a frilly sleeve.
"Frisk won't shut up about her dress!" Mrs. McGaan sighed, exasperated, "She just keeps whining and whining!"
"Frisk, wear the dress." Mr. McGaan stated plainly. His hand slipped down to his belt. Frisk gulped, rubbing their arm where last week's bruises still stung.
"Y-yes, I'll wear the, the dress." Frisk stuttered, hastily pulling the despised straps back up.
"Good. We're leaving for the cocktail party in five." Mr. McGaan ordered, then exited the room.
.
The ride to the cocktail party was silent.
.
Frisk wandered around the vast living room at the cocktail party. It was lined with dirty, overstuffed couches, dusty paintings of even dustier men, and the occasional window looking out onto a cloudy street. Frisk squirmed as they felt drunken bodies press to their left and right, confining them. It was at these times that the frilly, itchy dress felt especially confining.
"Psst. Over here!" A kid waved at Frisk from a secluded corner they hadn't noticed before. Frisk hurried over, greatful for the invitation. The kid was in a small nook, hidden away from the main room by a floral curtain.
"There's only adults at this party. It's really boring." The kid yawned, leaning over a small table, eyelids half closed "What's your name?"
"Frisk," Frisk mumbled, peering closely at the curious boy. He seemed about four or so years older than them. His eyes drooped, and he was rubbing his fingernails against his palms in an effort to stay awake.
"I'm Omar. Nice to meet ya." Omar said, pulling something out of a small, striped bag. Frisk tensed up. Omar unfolded several mysterious objects from inside the bag, laid them on the short table, smoothed them out and pulled two stools over, one on each side. Frisk peered over curiously. The objects seemed to be some set of figurines, but it wasn't like the action figures the teachers wouldn't let Frisk play with at school. The pieces were shaped oddly, and they were in black and white instead of the normal bright colors. There was some figures shaped vaguely like horses, some with rounded heads, and some with weird bumps on their heads. Frisk picked one up, rolling it around in their fingers.
"So, have you ever played chess?" Omar asked, grinning.
Frisk shook their head.
"What? You haven't?" Omar looked a little shocked, "Well, I'll just have to teach you!" He bounced back, shaking a piece in his hands. Over the course of several minutes, Omar sped through the basic rules of chess, pointing out what different pieces did and how they moved. His voice sped up and up, until it was nearly a blur.
"So, got all that?" Omar asked once he was done. How could have Frisk got it! He spoke faster than lightning!
"...Sure," Frisk responded, unsure of what else to play.
"Great! Let's play, then!" Omar said. He confidently reached over, and moved a white pawn forward one space. Frisk looked hesitantly at their tiny black pieces, considering their options. With one definitive move, Frisk began to play.
.
"I lost to a ten year old…" After a long, hard fought match, Omar stared down at the pieces in confusion. His brow scrunched up as he stared at the board. Frisk, on the other hand, was quite happy. That game was fun!
"I lost to a ten year old! You're amazing, Frisk!" Omar shouted, suddenly hugging Frisk.
"Thanks," Frisk whispered, unsure of how to take the sudden praise. Once Omar let them go, Frisk stared down at their hands, half smiling and half cowering.
"Hey, you know, there's chess tournaments you can attend. Here, give me your number and I'll send some to you!" Omar said, nearly vibrating with excitement.
"Oh… sure, I guess," Frisk responded, jotting down their number on a nearby napkin and handing it to Omar. Unfortunately, this sudden movement attracted the attention of the hawk-like Mr. McGaan. Mr. McGaan sauntered over, holding a brightly colored martini and nearly tripping over his own feet along the way.
"Frisk, who is this?" Mr. McGaan inquired, staring down at Omar like a snake stares at a rabbit.
"Hi, I'm Omar!" Omar said cheerfully, standing up and holding his hand out to Mr. McGaan. Mr. McGaan glared down at his hand, and then brushed it away.
"Omar? Sounds like a terrorist name," He rumbled, grabbing Frisk by the collar, "Come on, it's time to go," Mr. McGaan said, fragging Frisk out. Frisk waved hesitantly to Omar on the way out the door.
.
Mrs. McGaan was already waiting in their shiny, red car. Her mascara was smudged and melting, making her seem like some vampire. Both Mr. McGaan and Mrs. McGaan's breath reeked of alcohol. Mr. McGaan started the car with unusual force, twisting the key so hard it seemed like it would snap off entirely. The car woke up slowly and sleepily, but suddenly began rolling down the street at a harrowing speed.
"Dad? Are you sure you're not going to fast?" Frisk asked nervously, clutching the edge of the car door until their knuckles turned white.
"Don't lecture your father," Mrs. McGaan snapped tartly. Frisk whimpered and tried to retreat into their seat. Five minutes passed, just enough time for Frisk's parents to start talking.
"...was talking to Frisk's teacher…"
"What'd they say?"
"...smart. Just a load of bull crud…"
"Darn right!"
Mr. McGaan, who was driving, turned around to face Frisk. They could smell the alcohol on his breath, assaulting their nose.
"You say anything in school?" Mr. McGaan slurred, eyes blurring in and out of focus. This didn't seem right, wasn't he supposed to be driving? Frisk's eyes widened as they watched the nightmarish scene unfold before them. Time seemed to slow down until every second was a minute.
"Watch out!" Frisk screamed as a giant truck hurdled their way.
.
Noise. Heat. Pain. That was all Frisk felt until the world faded back into focus. They were sprawled at the base of a huge, gnarly oak tree, adorned in fall foliage. The shiny red car was completely wrecked. It slept on its back next to the huge truck, which had a couple fires blooming out of the hood. Frisk did a once over of theirself. Head, check. torso, check. Arms... fuck. A huge glass shard had wedged itself in Frisk's forearm. Surprisingly, Frisk felt numb. The fact that it didn't hurt made Frisk more panicked than if it would have if it had hurt at all. Frisk's breath came in stuttering gasps, head pounding, arms trembling. Wait - they still had their phone! Frisk fumbled around in their tiny dress pockets, pulling out their phone.
"No, no, no! No reception," Frisk mumbled to themself as they shakily unlocked their cracked smartphone. Frisk glanced desperately up the slopes of Mt. Ebott. Maybe if they went higher, they could get enough reception to call 911? Frisk heaved themself up, amazed at the effort it took. They were beginning to feel light headed, but with all of their DETERMINATION, Frisk began to limp up Mt. Ebott.
.
It was about fifteen minutes later, and Frisk had one percent left. Not surprisingly, Frisk felt like their human battery had less than one percent, too.
"C'mon!" Frisk whispered to their phone, as if it was a sentient being. They pulled themself up one more step, and then... yes! Frisk's phone had service!
Frisk sighed in shaky relief, collapsing to the ground. However, in this process, Frisk's hand let go of the phone. It feel underneath the root of a nearby elm tree. Whoops. Going on their hands and knees, Frisk realized the tree was hollow, and that they could climb in.
"C'mon, just a bit further…" Frisk mumbled, as they pulled themselves under the roots. Then, without any warning, the ground underneath them gave way. Frisk tumbled down, down, down, into the darkness, which was waiting with open arms to engulf them.
Chesstale belongs to Mintysammy, and Undertale belongs to Toby Fox. Thanks for reading! This isn't really cannon Chesstale, I'm just making it up from the illustrations. Have a nice day!
