– The Anthedons? Who invited the Anthedons?
– It was the Eunostus kid. The law says people in custody are allowed to make calls and so he did.
– Goddamn human rights! – the desk made a loud thump noise as he bashed his fist into it.
– Sir, I'm ready for orders!
– No, we're fine. Let them in. There's nothing we can do now.
– Yes sir! It's an honor to serve under you, sir!
The cop closed the door and swiftly ran away, her heavy footsteps becoming less and less audible, before only silence remained.
– Hey, uh… – Ibsen raised his hand – quick question! Do I have any rights that talk about getting randomly tased?
– You have some pretty fine looking kneecaps, my boy.
– Okay… well then, what now?
– We wait.
– Wait? What happened with your fighting spirit? You want to lock them all up, right? You should be happy! The opportunity presented itself to arrest their entire bloodline!
– You're already wrong there, but go on.
– Fine, then what if it's just the guy's… I don't know… uncle? If we can lock his uncle up, then that's… good! One less baddie on the streets!
– To my knowledge, you only met the Anthedon boy and none of his relatives.
– His girlfriend also tried to murder me once! That's when I…
Ready to show the captain his tanto, a ticklish cold ran down his spine. It was an unusual feeling, but one that manifested not from an outside force. Something older than magic, a primal instinct crept up on his back and whispered into his ears one simple word: don't.
– When I… uh… that's when I realized how bad the Anthedons are! They are all scum, the worst of this world!
– My boy, I have an advice for you, but I'll tell that once. Are you ready for it?
– I was born ready!
– Stay quiet. Whatever they say, just nod in agreement. You can try to bargain, but at the end accept what they propose. You're nothing compared to them.
Interrupting the captain, the cop from before appeared, opening the door and lowering her head to bow.
– Here you go, sir!
– Ah, how kind of you! Thank you, miss!
A fat man and a tall woman vigorously entered the room. The man's face looked like Eunostus', but he was also way fatter and balding rapidly. A puffy mustache was somewhat covering his mouth, as if it looked like a pink cloud trying to shut him up. As funny as his appearance was with his huge nose and small eyes, the golden ring on his finger and blue coat he was wearing were signs of money and pride.
The woman following him was completely different. Only her pink eyes were visible, as she hid herself behind a veil and a loose garment, both dark-blue and glittering. Modesty mixed with an elegant sensation, her presence was oozing from a sinister stench of mystery and unsureness.
– Ah, serpentine! – the man smiled, putting his hands together as he saw Ibsen's saliva covered face. – Is that the pesky devil mischieving with my son? The fire in your eyes is the same he bears!
– I'm under the effect of drugs, my guy. I'm not sure what that says about your kid.
Ibsen's cheekiness was met with no response, as the captain offered both parents a chair and they sat down facing the boy. The captain, showing disgust towards the guests, sat beside Ibsen.
– Mister and Missis Anthedon, what brings you two here?
– Ah, no need to be so formal, Valentine! We're all friends here, after all.
– Your name is Valentine? – Ibsen turned towards the captain.
– I… yes. In the language we speak my name is Valentine. Mister Anthedon, I have urgent tasks to attend to. May you explain how I can be of help?
– You never change, my friend. – he shook his head. – Always working overtime to bring evil down, you truly are the hero of this city!
– Thank you, sir!
– Tell more about your work please!
– I'm sorry sir, but that…
– Valentine, please! No need to rush now! It's all fine. I won't cause you any more paperwork, believe me. We're here for a small chitchat, that won't hurt anyone!
– That's great, but you see…
As the two of them were talking, Ibsen looked at the woman's clothes. It was fascinating, glittery like stars, shining like thousands of bugs glowing under the night sky. Living in the north, he was used to simple clothes, mostly sewn from older bags and cheaper city coats. This garment however was something he never saw, not even in his wildest dreams, as it was too wonderful to manifest inside his humble imagination.
Gazing, gazing even more, he slowly reached the head of the woman, where he noticed the small hole made for her to see. It was hard to make sense of it, as the glittering blinded the way to her eyes. Ibsen focused, tightening his sight to make more sense of what was hiding behind the beautiful garment and as he saw those two pink eyes…
– Uwoa! – he yelled, as the woman kicked the desk into the air, hitting Ibsen's nose with both the wooden table and her high heels. The desk then landed back where it was. – What the shit was that?! Did you see this? Captain! Handcuff her right now! She attacked me!
– Did you look at her eyes?
– Yes! What difference does it make?
– In our culture, you're not allowed to see the eyes of a high-ranking woman, unless you're a relative. – the man explained, scratching his head.
– Oh god, I think I'm bleeding…
– Valentine, the reason we're here is to propose an exchange to the boy.
– I'm glad to hear you're trying to talk these things out, but how about you wait until our interrogation is over? He still has to testify about what happened yesterday.
– No need for that, we're not pressing any charges. Silly kids, always getting carried away in the heat of the moment. – he chuckled.
– Well then, if you don't mind me, I'll light a smoke outside. – he stood up. – I'm sorry but today's been a real rough one and my body's calling for poison.
He opened the door, but before leaving, made a gesture towards Ibsen. It was some sort of sign, fast followed by a wink.
– Well then, Henrik Ibsen!
He wiped his face and tried to focus, eyes still red from the effect of whatever the police used on him.
– Yeah, what is it?
– From what we've heard, you're the rightful heir to Purgatory, correct?
– You can call me the owner now, as paperwork has already begun.
– Glad to hear you're securing a future so young! Still, might I ask how much money you have on you?
– No, I'm not answering that.
– Hey-hey, I'm not trying to rob you, boy! – he laughed. – I'm only asking this, because I know how hard starting a business can be! In today's day and age everyone's trying to make a living from their niche hobby, which is fine, you know? It's great to see youngsters dip their toes in the workings of life, but you see boy, most of them fail. Let me ask you this, are you sure about your future with that bar?
– Sure? I'm…
Deep down, he felt a waver in his heart. Showing no fear or emotion, he switched to his default voice for an answer.
– I'm fine.
– Well my boy, I'm glad to hear that, but do you have any previous experience with running a bar? You see, that place has more value than you imagine! The kind of value a man cannot buy with cash. It's a sentimental, spiritual value, that links people to that bar. The tears and laughs of long dead relatives. That place is a burial site for some people. They visit yearly, just to leave flowers by the front door. You know how sad they'd feel if their memorial site would turn into the playground of a young adult? They would be broken. And not just their heart, but their entire soul too.
He paused, just to lean closer to the boy. His voice dropped an octave as he whispered, trying to look inside Ibsen's soul.
– Henrik Ibsen! Are you ready to carry that weight on you back? You know, I hate to admit, but I'm feeling sorry for what Eunostus did to you and sure, I cannot let him get punished because of our reputation, but if you're willing to trade that bar with us, you'd get compensated with money you'd never make with that run-down bar. Or perhaps you're that desperate to wager other's happiness and memories for your own luck? We have the money to give you a nice house and cash for years to come. Are you ready to sacrifice others for a small chance of happiness or perhaps take the money and…
– Shut up. – he stopped the man.
– Excuse me, what did you just say? I think I misheard your…
– No, you didn't. Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I don't care about what a bunch of losers have to say.
Confidence left the man's face.
– You little… – the woman hissed.
– Are you deaf or something? What I said includes you. Shut up. I'm nice enough to not look you in the eye, I respect your tradition but I don't respect you. Neither of you.
– But Ibsen – the man spoke up –, we're offering some serious money here!
– Ah, you think I'm that stupid? You guys are the shit everyone talks about, I know you make more in a month than I'll make during a lifetime and I don't care. That little bitch you guys call a son tried to murder me because I didn't tell him my kinks and you guys think that's fine because you have money. Well, you know what? I'll wipe my ass with the cash you throw at me! I don't care! I literally don't care. You guys think you're so special, yet in reality you're the biggest losers I've ever met! Trying to act all sentimental and guilt trip a guy so you can put him out of the picture that much faster, you're nothing but worthless dogs, but not even that, as it would be an insult to those animals! Go now and get a lawyer from that hush money, because I'm suing your asses!
The man was left speechless, having never experienced such belittling from a commoner. Before he could counterattack, his wife stood up, silent, and left the room, leaving his husband to rush after her.
A split second after, Valentine showed up from behind the door with a comically sassy smile. He sat down in front of the exhausted Ibsen and gave an impressed nod.
– What, you're not gonna' say a word?
– I'm… My day just got ten times better, seeing those scumbags upset.
– I might've gone a bit overboard… but then again, I guess it was justified?
– To my knowledge, you're the first not to take their money, which is… honestly baffling, considering with some bargaining, you would've got yourself enough cash to buy a village.
– They have that kind of money?
– Of course! Haven't you heard about the Golden Twelve?
– Nah, I'm still new to these city stuff.
– It's the name given to the twelve richest families in the capital. The Anthedons are trying to become part of that as the thirteenth wealthiest, not far behind the twelfth. If they join the Golden Twelve, the city council has to gift them a chair.
– A chair?
– Isn't that crazy? It's hybrid logic to no surprise. If the council gifts you a chair, that means you have a voice in how the city's governed. Basically, if the rulers want to propose a law you don't like, you have special rights to stop them from making it official.
– This much power just because they have cash?
– It's not just the cash. Often times the worth of something cannot by measured by gold. While we cannot fathom what's more valuable than an endless supply of money, the Anthedons are living in a completely different world, where they have so much gold it's worthless to them. But anyways, I think we're just about done here. I don't care about interrogating you anymore. My whole plan got ruined by the person who made it possible in the first place.
– What do you mean?
– You just killed yourself.