Sometimes I play chess with Pinkie Pie.
“Are you ready for another game?” she asks. Her smile tells me that playing a game together would be the best thing in the world for both of us.
I do not respond; I do not need to. Pinkie already knows what my answer will be.
“Great! Let’s get started!” she exclaims.
Pinkie whips out a chessboard from somewhere behind her. She plops it down in front of her, the pieces landing in their properly arranged formations as the board hits the floor.
I take a seat behind the black pieces; then Pinkie Pie hops over to the white pieces.
“Thanks for offering me the chance to be white,” Pinkie says. “You know, they say whoever picks white is automatically more likely to win. But I don’t really agree with that. Playing as black is a fun opportunity, and if anypony can turn it to their advantage, it’s you.” She points a confident hoof across the board.
Her tone is so earnest, I don’t need convincing that what she says is true. It just is.
As she plans her opening, Pinkie continues to babble. “I think it has something to do with going first and making your opponent react to your moves. But you know, I don’t really agree with that. Can’t you adapt better when you first see what the other pony is doing? It’s like planning a party: you don’t know what sort of decorations and games and snacks to bring unless you know something about the pony first. If you plan a party without knowing what they like, they’re going to end up all disappointed, and when they’re disappointed, you’re disappointed, and then you have to go the rest of the day wondering what you should have done better, and it’s a bummer you didn’t do it right the first time.”
Pinkie Pie’s reservoir of words finally runs low, and she pauses for breath. She nudges the pawn in front of her king forward two spaces.
“Do you think that’s a good move?” she asks. “I mean, it’s a pretty standard opening, but I suppose it’s standard because it’s good. Or wait—is it the other way around? Do ponies just say it’s good because that’s how everypony starts?”
I bring out my queenside knight.
“Well, two can play at this game!” Pinkie says. She moves her kingside knight, thus threatening the same two squares in the center that are covered by my own knight. “And let me tell you, it’s much more fun to have two ponies playing than just one. I remember one time when I was playing against myself, I waited for twenty-seven hours for me to make the first move. I thought I was just spending a long time thinking about my move, but then I realized I was sitting on the wrong side of the board. Whoops.” Pinkie giggles carelessly at the memory. “That’s why I was glad to be white this time: there’s less chance of forgetting what to do.”
I move my queen pawn forward one space. Pinkie immediately sends her queen pawn forward two spaces.
“Maybe I should have spent more time planning that move. I guess I didn’t want to wait twenty-seven hours again. Besides, when it’s not my turn, I can get back to planning Luna’s congratulations-on-being-back-for-one-thousand-years-that’s-as-long-as-you-were-on-the-moon party. It won’t be for a while, so I’m having trouble figuring out how many ponies will want to attend. Do you think I need to account for population growth in formulating the guest list?”
I do not answer, but then, she does not expect me to. Instead, I send my bishop out to threaten her knight.
Pinkie rests her chin on a hoof as she considers her options. Few ponies would guess Pinkie would enjoy a game as subtle and subdued as chess; in fact, most would bet her attention would wander after the first move. But Pinkie has more depth to her than that. She can be unnervingly focused when she wants to.
She moves her queen pawn ahead one square. Fearing for the safety of my piece, I move it forward into the center of the board. As an added benefit, it is now also in position to attack her knight.
Most ponies would worry about the defense of Pinkie’s knight. With two pieces threatening the knight, its capture is imminent. The only retaliation Pinkie could muster would ruin the integrity of her pawn structure, opening her kingside to further attack. Moreover, her knight is pinned; if she makes it flee to safety, my bishop can capture her queen. Most players would attempt to strengthen the defenses around the knight. Many would bring the kingside bishop forward to reinforce it. That, to most ponies, would be a reasonable response to my attack.
Pinkie Pie, however, is not most ponies.
She wears the biggest smile as she captures my knight with hers.
Which leaves my bishop with a direct line to attack her queen.
As I capture her most valuable piece, I marvel at Pinkie Pie’s move. Yes, she tends to be unorthodox, and yes, I know that an unexpected sacrifice can often lead to unseen advantages later in the game. But this borders on suicidal. Trading a queen for a knight is just ridiculous, even by the standards of one as strange as Pinkie Pie.
Not that she seems to care. She blithely sends out her bishop to put my king in check, not even deigning to avenge her queen by taking my bishop.
Just what in the world is Pinkie Pie up to? Is she intentionally trying to lose?
Of course, the threat to my king leaves me with few options for my next move, so I postpone the contemplation of Pinkie Pie’s suicidal strategy to a later turn. I advance a pawn one square to protect my king.
“Not today!” she exclaims. “And probably not tomorrow, either, as I’ll be spending the day hanging out with Rarity and won’t have time to play chess. You’ll have to try again on Wednesday.”
She takes my pawn with one of her own. Pinkie improvises a soliloquy about the frailty of life and the impending rush of oncoming death as she performs a choreographed scene honoring the demise of the unfortunate pawn. To Pinkie Pie, every piece deserves to be honored for the sacrifices it makes. No piece is too insignificant, no action too trivial, to be beneath Pinkie’s notice.
Once her dramatic ritual has concluded, I bring out my queen. I almost grin at my clever move: my queen is simultaneously attacking her king and her bishop. Her next move will need to ensure the safety of her king, allowing me to capture the bishop.
Then I realize I was too quick to commend my own brilliance, wrapped up as I was in my own foresight and planning. After all, Pinkie Pie is the master of multi-tasking. She brings her knight forward, blocking the attack on her king while providing protection for her bishop. One simple move accomplishes both of her purposes.
“So why do we call the pieces kings and queens,” Pinkie Pie asks, “if Equestria is ruled by princesses? And what about the bishop? Isn’t that a type of bird or something? Why do we give birds pointy hats and make them move diagonally?”
I assume these questions are rhetorical, for I do not bother to respond. I have found that most of what Pinkie Pie says does not necessitate a reply. It makes me wonder why she bothers to talk at all. Does she simply love the sound of her own voice?
“Of course not, silly.” She almost frowns at the suggestion. Almost. “Talking to somepony is one of the easiest ways to cheer them up, so I like to practice whenever I can.”
The game continues. I castle, and Pinkie brings her kingside knight over to the other side of the board. I try to attack with my queen, but Pinkie uses a pawn and her bishop to keep my queen on the run. She brings a rook over to her king, and I take advantage of the respite to initiate a trade of pawns. Pinkie Pie pulls out a fake skull (at least, I assume the skull is not real) and mutters something about somepony named Yorick.
Pinkie Pie moves a knight forward, and that is when I notice something. She has somehow maneuvered two knights and a bishop near my king, which is woefully undefended after the earlier pawn exchanges. My pieces, in contrast, are clumped on the other side of the board, too far away to protect my king. Technically, I am winning the game because of my earlier capture of her queen, but that advantage suddenly seems suspiciously insignificant.
Uneasy, I move a pawn to threaten one of her knights. But no, that does not help either: she uses her other knight to separate my king from its sole ally, my one active rook. And now if I move my pawn, I give her rook an open line of attack on my now isolated rook.
And there I see Pinkie Pie’s trap. Her pieces have absolute freedom. They are perfectly positioned to do whatever they want, and to accomplish exactly what Pinkie Pie wants. All I can do is react to her. My pieces can do nothing to stop her.
“Is there a problem?” Pinkie asks, her voice innocent. With anypony else, I would suppose the tone masked mocking sarcasm, but not with Pinkie Pie. Rather, it actually sounds like she is curious about my state of wellbeing. Like she has not just manipulated me into the cunning trap that is the source of my current emotional distress.
And that gets me thinking. How far back had Pinkie seen this coming? Had her inexplicable sacrifice of her queen been the subtle beginning of the scheme that has now ensnared me? Have I fallen into a brilliant psychological trap, one where she understands my moves better than I do? Or does Pinkie Pie’s bizarre intuition of the future extend to the games she plays?
Or, even more disturbingly, was this the result of chance? Has she just been moving randomly, waiting for an opportunity to present itself? Did she just get lucky?
If that is the case, then Pinkie Pie must get lucky a lot.
I almost want to ask Pinkie about this, whether she is random or brilliant. Or both.
But I do not. Instead, I try to stall by sacrificing my queen to take her rook and put her king in check. I even get a knight out of the deal. But a couple turns later, the advance of Pinkie’s other bishop tightens the noose around my king. My pieces are still way out of position, my king is still defenseless, and my situation is even more hopeless than before.
I resign.
I stare at the board in defeat. Once again, Pinkie Pie has bested me, and I have no idea how she did it. I have no idea what just happened.
“Well that’s just silly,” Pinkie Pie says. “I mean, it’s a good idea to keep my thoughts separate when playing chess against myself. But I think you’re taking this a bit too far.”
I bob my head in agreement. As I look across the board to the empty seat opposite me, my mane poofs back up, and my stoic expression morphs into the biggest grin in the world.
That was a fun diversion, but it is time to get back to work. I have much more important things to do than contemplate my own behavior.
After all, it is now time to go make ponies smile.
