"No, not at all." Joss says distractedly, turning off the TV. He can resume the wholesale slaughter of aliens (admittedly a poor substitute for the real life violence he's been denied in the era of Jean-Claude's dukedom) later. It's not as if he hasn't played this level before.

He pulls out the chess set Natasha had bought him for his birthday the month before. "White or black?" he asks, beginning to set up the pieces.