|Blue Feather Hotel|First Floor|19.03.1178|
The stairs beneath Hannes's feet crack slightly as he walks up to the first floor.
Normally, this noise would disturb him so much that he would slow down his speed to avoid it.
Yet whether because of the chaotic nature of the situation or the odd interaction with the receptionist, such minor matters barely register.
Throughout his career, he would always face the same cases—divorces, tax fraud, property damage, or people attempting to sue a restaurant for serving hot tea that burns them.
After a while, he became comfortable with the idea that each client—whether human, elf, or Tapamole—is, at their core, the same person merely in other clothes, masks, and wigs.
Of course, that was an exaggeration. Every person, even the ordinary ones, differs in their comfortable boringness.
And yet it was obvious.
The difference between them and this client here.
It seems equally possible that he might be met by flying objects swirling in circles as by a real criminal inside.
That if he opens that door, he might lose something important.
His life, perhaps?
Well, he is not going to open it anyway—that is already clear.
He stops in front of the door, fist already pressed softly against the wood.
He exhales.
As puzzled as the receptionist looked, she probably would not even report it if he simply leaves.
He looks at the stairs, then back at the door, and knocks.
No answer. Not even the slightest shuffle coming from inside.
He knocks again.
"Metamorphosis." He adds the password he finds on the card, in case the client is uncertain yet.
The door opens in about two seconds.
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Kneifler."
A warm yet slightly hoarse voice fills the floor as a tanned elf with piercing green eyes gazes at him, the expression set in a lazy smile.
"And here I thought I would wait the whole day." He chuckles, running a hand through his black curls while simultaneously kicking the door completely open in his spin.
Hannes frowns slightly at the last part of the sentence.
He follows the man in, closing the door behind them.
The room is fairly large, stretching along a window front where the curtains are drawn. Small oil lamps hang along the red carpet walls, casting the room in a rather dirty light.
In the middle of the room stands a single table with two chairs opposite each other.
"I think we both know that the card I gave you is a fake. With all respect, my parents were not as uncreative as to call me John Smith."
He chuckles at his own joke.
"No, my real name is Alain."
He turns his head back as he hears no reaction.
Hannes stands in front of multiple piles of briefcases, stacked on top of each other with meticulous precision.
He seems to be a bit puzzled by the sight.
"Those are made for deals. They check if the right sum is paid, for example," Alain says.
"I think there's a rat in here," Hannes says.
It is unclear whether he listened to Alain at all.
Alain snorts, quickly—almost too quickly—shaking his head.
"Rats? I do not think the hotel would let a negotiation room get that dirty."
His tone shifts slightly.
A bit louder.
Hannes turns around, the hat now revealing a glimpse of his dark brown hair through the movement.
He quickly adjusts it.
"Are you all right, Mr. Alan?" He walks towards the chair.
Alain does not sit down, however. Instead, he walks to the window.
Hannes watches as the man slightly raises one of the high curtains.
A tiny beam of sunlight hits his face.
"Well, I do not think I would have called you if I were," he says, shaking his head slightly.
Hannes does not respond.
"No, I want your service... because I want to turn myself in to the police."
He pauses for a bit.
However, his eyes do not search for a reaction. They remain fixed on one particular spot on the window.
"You want to turn yourself in?"
Hannes repeats calmly.
His hat now lays on the table, gently brushing against his own elbow.
"Yes. I want to turn myself in and leave it all behind."
"Leave what behind?"
"We both know what I mean."
The man finally spins back to Hannes.
As he does, Hannes stares silently into his eyes.
Alan sighs and leans against the window frame.
"I want to leave this life behind. The life that makes me meet you here, and not somewhere less soulless."
"A café would be better, yes."
Silence stretches in the room after this comment.
"I want to turn myself in and get witness protection. Can you help me, Mr. Kneifler?"
The said Mr. Kneifler blows air out of his nose.
He imagines Freddy, Carmen, or Gretchen sitting here and listening to the utopian rambling of this man.
They would probably have more patience.
"Mr. Alain... such a thing as witness protection is not something we practice under Malistian law. That is some Illyar concept you are searching for."
The emerald green eyes of the client narrow.
"What do you mean, there is no witness protection?" His teeth clench.
"Well, there simply is not."
A bitter laugher fills the room.
"No, you are kidding me. We both know that the government is not the most...consistent with its laws."
The laugh fades.
"Is this some kind of lawyer's tactic? Do you want to extract more money from me, even though I have not even hired you yet?"
He approaches the table with long steps, almost as if he is high.
He reaches into the pocket of his dark blue waistcoat, the black shirt underneath rustling against it.
After a few precise steps, he pulls something out, only to slam his hand dramatically onto the table.
"Well, it is not as though I have not already thought of that."
He removes his hand, revealing three Dorian coins beneath.
And those three coins, which Alain slaps so confidently onto the table, finally force a reaction from Hannes's face.
"Three hundred thousand Dorian. Is that enough to get your interest?"
Hannes sighs.
He keeps glancing at the golden-rimmed coins.
"Well..."
He looks back at the man in front of him.
Alain smirks at the trouble visible in Hannes's eyes.
>> Of course he reacts this way—a lawyer with such a low track record has probably never even seen a sum that high. <<
Although satisfaction forms on Alain's face, Hannes pays him no attention.
In fact, his mind is not for one second set on considering this.
>> Three hundred thousand Dorian... <<
It is a thought he has never felt before.
Even though he doubted the job at first, he never imagined to feel the way he feels now.
His intentions are not troubled at all.
No money on earth is worth going down an illegal path for him.
And yet...
>> As soon as I leave this hotel, politely denying the money, it becomes a moment etched deep in my memory. <<
Hannes's index finger begins to tremble... or perhaps it has been trembling the whole time.
>> Oh yes, whenever I encounter something costly, or have to cancel an appointment because I cannot afford it, I will look back on this day—with resentment toward myself. <<
He looks up at Alain.
> > It may sound like a justification. That of a man who values himself more than the harm this man could cause if he were actually to consider it and help him escape... <<
Perhaps it is the stench of Mars still lingering in his mind.
Or perhaps it is the weakness of his spirit, yet to be uncovered.
>> But it will destroy me completely... <<
Hannes reaches out his hand.
He does not quite grab the coins.
No... instead, he simply pushes them closer to himself.
"Well, Mr. Alain... tell me more about your situation."