"Wiggle wumple, where were you? I've been at this door since ten 'till two." The Jester's head tilts like a dog examining something carefully.
Tracy blinks several times, in rapid succession, "It's only seven 'till two, now. Be thankful I answered at all."
The Jester teaters back and forth on his pointed toes. His bells rattle. He looks at Tracy emploringly, with painted puppy-dog eyes. It is painfully clear that he wants to come in, but won't ask.
"Stop your googling and come on in. I can't leave you out there, can I?" The Jester leans back in a straight stance and smiles, his eyes regain composure. "Ah, yesyesyeeaas." He rapidly sputters, seeming to recall his great importance. He steps inside.
"Would you like some tea?" This from Tracy, supressing the urge to offer him a knife in the jugular.
"No tea, no tea. You'll see the reason for my company. Ask me, ask me. You'll find the game is rather tame, once you get to know it. Once you get to know it, it'll get to know you." He smiles, broad and full of teeth, teatering nervously again.
They stare at eachother for a while, the Jester rocking and swaying, Tracy remaining perfectly still. She realizes that they might end up waiting for the other to say something all day, so she heaves out, "Where's the letter?"
The Jester's eyes roll left to right, as if he doesn't understand. Suddenly he jumps, "Oh, the letter. I'd better... I almost forgot. Here, my dear, take all I've got." He produces a small disc and pushes it to her with boths hands. She sets it into a compartment on her belt. Two black lenses zip out from behind her hair and position in front of her eyes and, from her shoulders, two headphones wire up to her ears. She presses play.
Immediately, in Tracy's vision, the room disolves away and, from a blackend center, the game logo apears. A spherical chessboard rotates slowly, decorated with peices, protruding outwards. The muzak starts up; a commercial jig, calculated to make people feel at ease and less interested in being in control. Tracy won't have any of it, though. The shiver that previously went up her spine comes back down, quickly, with rage. She reaches out for the queen peice and the spinning ball halts.
"Access Denied!", hundreds of voices say at once, in metalic harmony, and the words print out in red flashes, covering the chess-ball. Tracy watches it all fade back into the black.
"You know the rules," one voice booms above the rest, "imprinted in your genes. Never touch the Queen."
"Never touch the Queen!" The voices all slither in whispers.
"I'll do as I wish, in my own house." Tracy asserts.
"This is our house." The voices return. Tracy angrily presses stop on her belt. The glasses receed back into her hair, revealing, not her livingroom, with the Jester teatering impatiently, but rather a place that is quite unfamiliar to Tracy. The dark...