'You're right, sunshine, I am not very fucking nice,' Cyrus says to Momo. 'Because being nice encourages people to think they can bend you over and fuck you whenever they please.'
'As for you,' he continues, turning to Petrev. 'take that bass out of your voice before you hurt yourself. I don't care how you get the orb, so long as you get it and bring it back to me. The party just so happens to be the best opportunity to grab the thing you'll ever have, seeing as you can get in the house and move around unmolested, and the thing will be on display rather than in Othorion's bloody vault.'
Cyrus glares at Mantra. 'The crimson-backed spider's venom necrotises flesh with unbelievable speed. In his famed study of death, the necromancer Elbraltar named it the third-most painful way to perish. There's a crossbow bolt slathered in the stuff pointed straight at your bollocks, so kindly un-invite yourself from my table or I'll rot your fucking balls off! When I throw a dog a bone, I don't explain to the bitch where it came from. The contract between myself and the client is confidential, and all you need to know on that regard is that payment is guaran-fucking-teed, which is why my reputation precedes me. You do the job, and I'll make you richer than you've ever been in your pathetic bloody lives.
You hear a distinct cough behind you. Hearing the raised voices, the dwarf has opened the door and holds it open in one hand, his other hand resting on the haft of an axe. 'Sounds like we're all done in here, boss?' he asks.
'I'd about say so, Errol. Fetch me a cup of tea after our guests leave, would you?' Cyrus replies.
