Of Sinners & Saints

HANS (EDITED)

He snorted a line of cocaine that went right up his nasal cavity he could feel it at the back of his throat. The chemical taste had a grainy texture, it was to be expected. As ever it was the perfect way to start the day, his morning ritual if you will. He had gone to bed feeling excited. He had a lot to look forward to. He had pleasant dreams of how he was going to torture, Lara, some of these methods he might just try out. He was going to get the name of the scumbag who had wanted him killed one way or the other.

He got dressed in his military attire and then he looked down at the clear cum stain on his clothing. Unfondly remembering Raj Djawadi. That fucking oaf! He left his palatial room and made his way to the great hall, the same hall where the auction was held the previous night. not much had changed other than the room felt light and airy and less clammy. Hans Myrich noticed he was not the only one up early. There was an amalgam of breakfast on offer. Myrich never ate in the morning, for he was usually high.

He took a seat with Cain and Umarah and poured himself a cup of freshly ground coffee. Breakfast blend, lovely. "Hello Doctor," the young Prince and Cain said in their own unique way, both were very respectful when addressing the Minister of Defence.

"Ah. . . gentleman," Myrich appreciated the warm salutation. "Have either of you eaten?" Myrich asked the pair, having a close gander at the fat Prince. He must have had some bacon covered in cream, surely.

"Yes," Umarah said, "the food is good." Cain nodded his head in agreement.

It was unusual for either of them to be up so early. Hans had heard the Prince liked to lie on to mid-afternoon. Cain had trouble sleeping and the concoction of barbiturates he took left him groggy all morning. "Don't mind me," Myrich informed the pair raising his hand. "Continue with your conversation as if I was not even here." Myrich always listened to hear if there was any worthwhile information.

"You must come back to the arena," Umarah urged Cain. "I remember being a young boy and seeing you duel men twice your size." Umarah was reminiscing about Cain Magia's time in N'Karath. In the fighting pits. Cain was a champion in the amphitheatre. He had never been beaten in a duel and the duels tended to be to the death. It was barbaric. Cain didn't look elated to be talked about so fondly, but Myrich saw the micro expression on his face, the glimmer of a smile said enough. Cain loved the attention more than the next person but did not let on. "I have asked my father if we can have Seasonal duels. Would that interest you?" Umarah asked. "There will be a great prize for the victor, I'm sure."

"My days of duelling are over," Cain announced. "I only fought in the pits to sharpen my skill set, now I serve none, but my father and the Doctor," Cain acknowledged him with a subtle move of his head.

"Come, come, come, Cain," Hans Myrich intervened in the conversation. "Don't be so dismissive. . . ja. A Seasonal tourney would generate global attention. When there is Kroaling to be made it should always be considered," the Doctor was after all a self-professed money whore. He always needed a little bit more.

"Right," Umarah said confidently nodding his head up and down. "That is my way of thinking as well," the fat Prince agreed with him. This was not surprising, you know what they say about great minds. What about evil ones?

"I envision each Seasonal stump up ohm, shall we say, ten thousand Kroaling each plus some rare item that they hold dear," Myrich suggested floating his ideas into the young Prince's fat ears.

"That would certainly generate a lot of interest," Umarah agreed.

"And Kroaling," Myrich added as his thin eyes lit up with Kroaling signs.

"It's like what my father says, money is not everything. Money is the only thing."

"Why young Prince heir to the Titan Throne, you are wise beyond your years and more business savvy than your own father too, I must admit." Hans Myrich wanted to wrap the young Prince around his little finger, he knew he had succeeded. Myrich had many people wrapped around his little finger it was starting to strain him.