Happy Life
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- Poor little bastards... - muttered Genza ibn Abbas, standing on the sidelines, as he lit a cigarette he had been holding between his teeth. - May Shiri rest your soul.
With a pleasant click, he snapped open his lighter and briskly twirled it between his fingers, as if it were a casino chip – he had invented this gesture himself as a ritual to honor the goddess and had practiced it very well lately – and, putting it back in his pocket, he wondered if she would be able to do it, if it came to desecrating the very nature of living beings. This thought did not go beyond the first step, because he had no facts to rely on, but he still decided that since it was a matter of faith, nothing was impossible for her.
Although his gaze moved exclusively from the neckline of his boss's daughter to the languid, long-eared cat, to the sculpted figure of the ocean-haired boss, and back, his keen ear perfectly registered everything that was said.
"You're not making my job any easier, boss," he thought, hearing grunts, but still allowing his eye to glance at the fair face of the sovereign for a couple of seconds, just to see him with his own eyes, for the sake of etiquette. - "But then again, I never expected that."
Interrupting this chain of visualizations, he unconsciously fiddled with the pendant on his neck, measuring the emotions on the faces of both Western Chiefs.
Finally, waiting for the story to end, he deliberately stubbed out his cigarette and walked off in the direction he was ordered.
With a pleasant click, he snapped open his lighter and briskly twirled it between his fingers, as if it were a casino chip – he had invented this gesture himself as a ritual to honor the goddess and had practiced it very well lately – and, putting it back in his pocket, he wondered if she would be able to do it, if it came to desecrating the very nature of living beings. This thought did not go beyond the first step, because he had no facts to rely on, but he still decided that since it was a matter of faith, nothing was impossible for her.
Although his gaze moved exclusively from the neckline of his boss's daughter to the languid, long-eared cat, to the sculpted figure of the ocean-haired boss, and back, his keen ear perfectly registered everything that was said.
"You're not making my job any easier, boss," he thought, hearing grunts, but still allowing his eye to glance at the fair face of the sovereign for a couple of seconds, just to see him with his own eyes, for the sake of etiquette. - "But then again, I never expected that."
Interrupting this chain of visualizations, he unconsciously fiddled with the pendant on his neck, measuring the emotions on the faces of both Western Chiefs.
Finally, waiting for the story to end, he deliberately stubbed out his cigarette and walked off in the direction he was ordered.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
