The conversation begins.
"About my pay," Aramis starts.
"The same as all the other soldiers," the Staahl finishes. His voice is feeble, squirming out of an age-ravaged voice box. It takes him a while to sit back in his baroque-styled chair, ornately carved of gilded gold and depicting angels and devils alike. If Aramis served the church faithfully, he could very well be the next person to sit in that chair. On to more important matters.
"See, that's where you're wrong," Aramis says with a polite nod of the head and a calm tone of voice. "I'm not the same as all the other soldiers. I am an ordained priest of Deus, and thus, I deserve more."
"Two hundred thousand gold pieces isn't enough?" Staahl sneers, his brittle body sinking into the chair. A wheeze escapes the wrinkled mouth, exposing yellowing teeth and browning gums. Maybe he's older than Aramis thought.
"It's enough, don't get me wrong," Aramis continues, drumming his fingertips against his biceps. "It's just not the pay a priest receives after serving in battle. I am owed ten times as much. It's as much a legal issue as it is a religious one. You have my signature. You have my contract. I am an ordained priest."
"You'll get two hundred thousand and not a half-penny more," Staahl replies, straining to squeeze the words from his lungs. "Do you think the Church can afford to pay you so lavishly?"
"Yes," Aramis says with confidence, nodding towards the Cardinal's ornate clothing and expensively-made seating accommodations. "I do. And I will get what's owed to me, or I will have to pursue my pay in a less savory manner than idle chit-chat."
The Cardinal flinches. He's used to dealing threats, not receiving them.
 Bleeding Apocalypse · Thu Mar 08, 2007 @ 06:36pm · 0 Comments |
