The thawing room was filled with smoke, and everyone inside was a desperado hovering on the brink of life and death, none were afraid to die.
There was no more dangerous gathering than this one.
The table only held tea and wine, and shining, keen-edged things, certainly not placed there to invite Liszt for dinner.
"Captain Liszt, really so imposing, he doesn't consider us at all," someone said.
The Skull President was not very burly.
His hair was tied into braids, and his face was painted with red war stripes, possibly because he had been in prolonged contact with hallucinogenic plantations; his expression was a bit languid, with very heavy eye bags.
But in his eyes was still an indifferent, cold-bloodedness toward life or death.
"Did you not tell Liszt about 'not waiting beyond the appointed time'?" he asked the person who had gone to send the message.
