Slate had discovered long ago that he had a love for learning. Learning could take many forms. The very first thing he had learned was how nice it could be simply to exist. Since then, be it mathematics in the Mondragon Labs library with a twelve year old, chess with a waiter boy, or healing lessons with an immortal unicorn and his noble tail, Slate had quite enjoyed learning.

Thus it was that he was looking forward to learning the following from his employee:

1) What information he had gathered upon the Order;

2) What merit he continually found in public killings;

3) Why he killed and carried a deer during his stealth mission in Colombia.

Really, this meeting should be quite enlightening. Slate sat at his usual chair in the Board Room, one seat off from the head of the table. His bright blue eyes were on his meeting notes. Then, upon the door.

“Welcome, Mr. Brickson. Please take a seat.”

It was a sudden call, expected but sudden. Slate had called for a meeting and seeing as Slate was the head honcho of the Kabal and as such dished out the missions, orders and more importantly the checks he decided that he best go meet the boss. Bacchus was reluctant at first but then decided that if he could get in with Slate he might eventually work towards a raise or better yet a promotion with more perks, like paid vacations and such.

About an hour of cab hopping and a mile or so of walking Bacchus arrived at the Kabal’s doorsteps confident that no one was following him. He was after all a spy and what better way to discover a spy than tail him. No he wouldn’t be caught like this he was sure that no one could have tailed him, seen him maybe followed maybe but tailed him all the way to the Labs, no way he would risk ruining his largest flow of income, his friends lives were counting on it.

The grounds of the labs were still even now as magnificent as he remembered, the large side walk and drive to the main entrance was memorable enough but the hoses he could see in the distance were large and easy to spot and even easier to remember. Often wondering if he some how was discovered as a spy would he be relocated to the large houses near the grounds. As he looked around the immediate building the smell of what he thought was the overpowering aroma of flowers tingled his nostrils as the sound of birds chirping in the lush green trees near by filled his ears with a small ringing. Pulling out his flask liquor Bacchus took a swig and shook his head slightly in attempts to drown out the current senses he had. Feeling more relaxed after his drink Bacchus pushed the doors aside and entered the building.

Yawning slightly as he walked through the halls of the Mondragon Labs slightly under the influence of the whiskey he held at his side the way a priest holds the bible he tried not to notice the effect the building had on him. He had only been inside the building itself a few times, and during these brief visits he had not been given a tour so most of the scenery and hallways littered with staff members he had never seen before and twists and turns he did not dare take unless he was aiming to get lost, and being lost was not the reason he was here. Slate had called for a meeting most likely to question him in his progress with the infiltration of the order and Sanctuary.

Thinking about his next paycheck Bacchus continued to walk down the hallway asking for directions only when he wasn’t sure which way he should be going. Luckily for him though everyone in the labs knew where the War Room was. What’s more they were happy to point him in the right direction, which brought a smile to his face and a carefree skip in his step. Thinking about what he would tell Slate about the Sanctuary was easy enough; it’s inhabitants, the vehicles, the equipment, and the golden doors that were enough to start a full scale mutant war over.

Opening the war room doors and breathing in and hiding his Bible back in it’s usual hiding place Bacchus entered the war room and spotted Slate sitting like a adviser in the seat next to the center of the table. Slightly confused by this act Bacchus nodded to him and smiled with his usual greeting as his boss asked returned the greeting.

“Welcome, Mr. Brickson. Please take a seat.”

“You got it boss,” Bacchus said in response as he took the a seat facing Slate. Hard to believe a kid close to his age was running a business like the Kabal. Sure it’s medical front had been making a lot of great accomplishments, but the portion Bacchus was involved with, now that was where the all of Bacchus’s thoughts revolved around, the biggest question he had was what exactly did Slate want with Columbia, he had his speculations but figured not to ask, at least not till Slate offered to answer questions. It was his brawns Slate paid the giant for not his curiosity or brains. “What can I do for you today boss man?” Bacchus asked not really that curious as to why the meeting was called.

Whiskey in hand and on breath. As always, Slate’s first impression of Mr. Brickson was... charming. Slate had not hired the man for his brains, simply because the man had yet to display any respectable surplus of them. Hopefully, that was simply due to an unfortunate lack of carefully constructed opportunities. Hopefully, Mr. Brickson would now prove himself more than a collection of liquor-basted muscles.

>> “You got it boss. What can I do for you today boss man?

“I would like to know what you have learned of the Sanctuary, the Order, and any other pertinent information you have come across. In detail, please.” The teenager leaned comfortably back in his chair, and allowed the man to show what his mind was made of.

Sniffing the air slightly as he leaned back in the chair that gave a small groan to the giant sitting in it Bacchus couldn’t pick up on any unusual smells in the room, which was weird most people gave off a distinct scent like a sort of cologne, perfume or body odor. But Slate didn’t smell like any of those, bland was the best way to describe it, Slate just smelled normal. Debating if he should try and focus harder on his sense of smell to be able to identify the boss with a specific smell Bacchus didn’t think that it was needed, shrugging slightly and taking the flask from his side and taking a sip Bacchus listened as the boss asked for some information.

“ “I would like to know what you have learned of the Sanctuary, the Order, and any other pertinent information you have come across. In detail, please.”

His hand reached up to his chin as he scratched his stubble slightly,“Where to start?” Bacchus asked aloud deeming it necessary to start with the sanctuary and work it’s way up. “Guess I’ll start with the Sanctuary it self, it is a big enough building from what most people see what they don’t know is the layers and layers it has underground, a majority of the rooms for some of the mutants are actually basement level, what’s more they from what I could tell don’t have a curfew so mutants come and go constantly,” he paused and put his hands to his side and continued the flask of whiskey still in hand, “Not really sure how they monitor who everyone is but I know that there is a woman who works at the front desk, rumors has it she is human but really, you have to see this broad, certifiable teen horror serial killer, her desk is spotless not even a flake of dust on top in or under, it’s eerie really. Despite them being all anti-human and pro mutant they certainly keep a lot of them close at hand, the secretary I was mentioning before is from what I can human.”

Bacchus sighed slightly and took another sip of his flask to wet'n his whistle before he started up on more ranting, “The Sanctuary has a full library, gym and pool and from what I can tell about all of them they keep up on regular maintenance on everything, the pool however always seems to have to much chlorine or not enough in it.” Bacchus paused and then said quickly, “You said detail,” lifting his hand and running his fingers through his hair he went back to the description of the sanctuary now talking about it’s garage, “Lot’s of vehicles in their garage, keys laying about making it quite easy to simply take one and never return it, the rest of the building is pretty standard, they have a large church on the premises with large stain glass windows, and three or four large stone chairs in the center of the altar, they call it the chapel.”

Grinning slightly Bacchus leaned forward and let out a small chuckle, “Get this, there front doors are made out of real gold, not talking painted or anything, but actually gold, the funny thing was it was stolen not long after I got there, and well they tailed it to the X-Mansion and had a full out fight on the grounds over the doors, it makes you wonder who is running the Sanctuary or the order, if they are willing to go march to the front gates of a mutant school to start a fight.”

Remembering all the talks about the order he had with Isabel the leaders name flashed into his mind, “Syn, her name I think was Syn, she runs the Order but like I said before from what I could tell they should call her pride, granted I never had the pleasure of meeting her but I have built up a nice relationship with a few of the higher ups there, unfortunately they keep things pretty hush-hush unless there is some kind of fight involved.”

Shrugging and taking a sip of the whiskey in his flask Bacchus looked to Slate and waited for some kind of feedback adding quickly “All I got for now, you can walk in no problem, it’s working your way into the inner circle that is taking so long, thought they do seem to like the fact that the police and me don’t exactly get along, the mutants at the Sanctuary seem to have love for the psychotic mentality...”

The man devoted as much time to discussing Syn as he did to the chlorine make up of the Sanctuary’s pool. Somehow, that... Heh. Still, it showed a distinct lack of priorities in narration. That was Slate’s fault: he had left the question without much structure. It was always curious to see how someone’s mind worked. Apparently, Bacchus noted complaints on homeless shelter pools and the ease with which one could steal their cars. He did not note extensive infirmaries or the unicorns that worked at them; he did not note war rooms in basements; he did not note large red simian-tailed members of the hierarchy.

So far, his information quite matched with what Slate already knew, from going over Calley’s old reports. Those memories were no longer his, but Calley—and Kitten—had been rather thorough. It was outdated information, though. Hence Mr. Brickson.

All he had just said received a quiet listening, and a simple nod. Next question. Time to focus things.

“Please tell me more about the Order’s members, and Sanctuary members of note. Names, powers, general demeanor, and any additional information you find relevant, please.” Slate politely asked.

Was it a touch of irritation on his bosses face or was it one more of disappointment. Bacchus couldn’t tell but could tell Slate wasn’t impressed with what he had told him so far, which could only mean that he clearly had to get more involved with the order members. He met a few and knew of a few and as such he had no problem selling a few of the members out seeing as they have neither showed much kindness to Bacchus to begin with.

Taking a swig of his flask and shaking his head Bacchus cleared his throat and said, “Take it that’s not enough information then?” he paused and shifted his weight as the chair let out a groan as his leg twitched slightly “Fair enough, didn’t really get into much detail with the few members I have met.” he paused and grinned, “I’ll start with one of my first missions with the order, they sent me and two woman to destroy from what I could gather was a mutant testing facility, they conducted experiments and such on mutant and we were there to set the mutants free and kill everyone else.” recounting the first few moments he had with Ulysses he smiled and continued, “I believe her name is Aura, young Sheila, doesn’t care to much for me somewhat over eager to kill and fight, her powers are well….” Bacchus paused as he tried to find the best way to describe her powers before he shrugged and let out a small laugh, “Guess you could say she covers her self in a pinkish aura that she controls and manipulates, seen her get shot at and the bullets stop as it hits the aura, defiantly one of the more insane of the group, willing to do anything for the order from what I gathered in our first and only meeting.”

Yawning due to the lack of air in his lungs Bacchus inhaled and exhaled before continuing, “Then there is this human shark or dolphin hybrid, I want to say her name starts with an L she was the leader of the mission, but she split before I could talk to her, like most of the members of the order she carried herself with an air of pride.” he didn’t have much more information about the fish woman nor did he seem to deem her much as a threat, the ones he was about to mention he had a lot more regret about seeing as they not only helped him out but were nothing but nice to him, well as nice as members of a murderous society could be.

“These next few people I almost feel guilty talking about after all they have been more than helpful me,” a bad taste filled his mouth as he was about to talk about Sebastian, Abyss and to his greatest displeasure Isabel, “I’ll start by talking about the only healer I had met in a most unfortunate way, some how some poison got into my system when I was meeting one of the women in the order and it manage to have a harmful effect on me, the woman called for help and the healer along with the seven red men came to my rescue, I don’t recall much of the incident but a man transformed from a horned horse t a man and started to heal me as five of the large men pinned me down, which is saying a lot seeing as I was in my giant form.”

Bacchus paused and scrunched up his face trying to remember everyone’s names “The seven large red men were named Abyss and from what I could tell were more reluctant than anything to make sure I wasn’t injured, they were strong, and then the healers name I think was…seems I can’t remember his name.” Bacchus shrugged and decided that the power was more important than the names he then frowned, as he was about to sell out his only ’friend’ in the order. Taking a swig from his flask Bacchus was still frowning and decided he wasn’t drunk enough to sell out Isabel, absentmindedly he chugged the rest of the flask as blood rushed to his face for a moment until he grew a foot forcing the blood from his face.

“Isabel, she…she is a bone manipulator, one that has no love for mankind like the rest of the order, however she is more loyal to the order than anyone I had met,” he paused and stared out into space as he continued to talk about Isabel, “Quick witted and stubborn as hell but she is unremarkably kind to her own, always seen with a rather large bow and smells of apple blossom” shaking his head slightly as he looked from the blank space he was picturing Isabel and turned his attention to slate as he shook his empty flask and then pulled another from the underside of his belt and took a swig, “That suitable? Like I said I haven’t met them all and from what I can tell they aren’t that active. So I need more time if you want me to find out more about the members…”

It didn’t sit right with him selling Isabel out the way he was doing right now but he had to, Slate was the where the paycheck came so his happiness meant more to him than his own. In his mind he figured if slate was happy his friends were safe from harm.

>> Take it that’s not enough information then?”

Weight shift: chair groan. Leg twitch. Grin.

Shrug, small laugh.

Yawn.

Face scrunch.

Shrug. Flask swig.

Flask chug: empty. Rush of blood to his head. Size change. (Additional chair groan.)

Spacey stare. Head shake. Blank stare.

Flask shake: still empty. Solution: pull out another. Swig.

>> “That suitable? Like I said I haven’t met them all and from what I can tell they aren’t that active. So I need more time if you want me to find out more about the members…”

Slate sat impassively in his chair, baby blue eyes looking across the table. There was no expression in particular on his face, and had not been, the entire time the other man was talking. Slate’s name, after all, was derived from ‘blank slate’.

“That is sufficient,” he answered simply. “Please continue looking into the Order’s members, as well as the general Sanctuary members. I am particularly interested in their powers and their views about this world.”

The information the man had collected matched with what Slate knew already. It contained obvious gaps: Syn, for instance; Aura’s offensive capabilities; and, in general, specifics. He did not predict any outcomes with merit if he continued pushing the man for additional details, however. The man had been infiltrating the Order for approximately half a year. This was the extent of his report. That was a fact that Slate accepted: it was the way things were. Suzuki Sensei would be proud of that thought, no doubt.

Given time, perhaps he could mold the man into a more efficient spy. That would, as stated, however, require time. One should never take the ending of a meeting fore granted.

Now they were on to the second item of business.

“Tell me, Mr. Bacchus—what are your murders, both public and private, doing to further my objectives?” The blue-eyed teenager asked, head tilted with curiosity.

Trying hard not to return the gaze he was getting from the smaller man sitting across the table Bacchus’s eyes shifted ever so slightly hoping they wouldn’t make direct eye contact. Bacchus for some reason was getting the feeling that the blank stare he was getting from Slate was one where he stared into his very soul. It was weird but this was the first time he had had a one on one meeting that involved them strictly talking. Usually the encounters as Bacchus thought of them were merely a part of a mission he was being assigned.

A chill ran down his spine for a moment when he accidentally met the blue gaze of Slate. As he finished speaking however, Bacchus blinked slightly and cleared his throat quickly adding to his report, ”Thought I mentioned their view on the world, mutant superiority…” for a brief moment he made an attempt to try and return a blank stare back at Slate but failed miserably as the corner of his lip twitched into a small grin, ”Which can explain the reason of my incidents, I take no pleasure in killing anyone but if they get in the way of my objectives and goals I have no issue striking someone down. Got too much to lose if I should fail, and I don’t like to lose.”

Leaning forward slightly as he set the flask on the ground next to his chair Bacchus brought his hand back up and folded them on his lap. ”One of the reasons I blend in so well at the Sanctuary is because of my inability to empathize with those I kill. They see it as a strength, which I figured you’d approve of seeing as it got me into the Order for the most part… he sighed slightly and leaned forward his massive frame now inches away from the desk as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Looking up at the small chief Bacchus’s eyebrows twitched with minor annoyance, ”Though I am employed by you, I don’t see what happens in my time is any of your concern, private matters from what I understand are supposed to be just that…private, unless i am no longer entitled to private matters while under your employment...” Bacchus was now slightly concerned to know just how much Slate really knew.

Feeling at a disadvantage now Bacchus leaned back and folded his arms, ”Even if you are signing my checks I have to say you never really discussed your objectives with the likes of me.” Raising his eyebrows into a quirk now more than anything Bacchus leaned forward and asked curiosity now getting the best of him, ”So care to share?”

The Order’s world view was mutant superiority.

How quaint.

>> ”Which can explain the reason of my incidents, I take no pleasure in killing anyone but if they get in the way of my objectives and goals I have no issue striking someone down. Got too much to lose if I should fail, and I don’t like to lose.”

The curiosity in Slate wished to know, then, why the man seemed to have replaced at least one date with a giddy killing spree. It was a certainty that Isabel did enjoy killing; if Bacchus truly did not, then had he been able to enjoy these killings like a man might enjoy watching a badly scripted romance movie because his girlfriend liked it? Did that indicate something wrong with the giant shifter, that he could replace movies with mass murder?

Was there anything inherently wrong with mass murder? The brown-haired teenager wondered if he should ask his advisors. On a related note, he wondered how many questions of that caliber he could ask them before they decided he was ‘becoming evil’.

Perhaps it was best to not engage in hypothetical war crimes. Best not to condone it in those who served under him, either. WereCat, at least, had fully understood what he had asked of the Inner Circle. He trusted she would share the insight with Tarin, Lee, and Sebastian. If Kabal members were regularly bathing the streets in blood and Slate did not seem to care, it would be prudent of them to take him out of power. Since he was not entirely certain he would survive that, he preferred to delay that moment.

>> ”Though I am employed by you, I don’t see what happens in my time is any of your concern, private matters from what I understand are supposed to be just that…private, unless i am no longer entitled to private matters while under your employment...”

Slate’s arms rested comfortably on the arms of his chair. “Where your private matters reflect upon me and my operations, they become my business.” Where they could get him killed, in particular. “I would like you to avoid killing whenever possible, from now on. You are welcome to invent any sensible reason you care for to justify this change of behavior to those you know. I would suggest something involving a desire not to rain political and criminal trouble upon the Sanctuary’s head.” Slate would like to avoid that, as well.

>> “Even if you are signing my checks I have to say you never really discussed your objectives with the likes of me. So care to share?”

The teenager watched as the man across the table leaned forward. It was reminiscent of an over-eager puppy. That was about in line with how much trust Slate had in Mr. Brickson. The man might yet be house broken, but he was currently prone to peeing on Slate’s carpet. His large size might be useful, once he stopped breaking the furniture. And there was hope yet that there was intelligence behind his eyes. Perhaps he just needed training. And maturity.

Still, there were some things that even new hires to the Kabal knew. These things were no secret, and it was no great matter if they ended up being scent marked across the nearest hydrant.

“My objective is to leave the world a better place than I found it, Mr. Brickson. I think it is a good goal in life.” Cold blue eyes blinked.

Perhaps you should try it sometime, he added to himself, entirely unaware that the thought might carry into a mind across the table.

”Wait, no killing!?!” Bacchus questioned making it sound something similar to a protest ”This is the same thing as the base mission down south!” frowning slightly Bacchus said, ”I am a hammer and you want me to be a pair of tweezers, I… well…. Shit…” Bacchus said frowning knowing that Slate much to his own displeasure called the shots seeing as from what Slate was paying him Bacchus should just be happy it is his second biggest income right behind his occasional big bank robbery, so for the time being he was going to hold his tongue.

”A better place? his arms now folded into his chest so tightly that it seemed he could crush the air out of anything in between them, ”Unless you plan on taking over the world I don’t see you making a big difference, there is to much shit for one person to take care of…” he didn’t care who Slate thought he was but it would be nigh impossible to truly Make the world a better place even if Bacchus once had similar illusions of grandeur. There was feeding the homeless, stopping all conflicts and preventing then future ones, it was just too much to do.

Perhaps you should try it sometime,

A touch of disbelief touched his face as his boss had spoke or something like him had spoke somewhere, looking around Bacchus looked for the source of the sound, which resounded in his head but found nothing, ”Did you hear something?” Bacchus asked his hand already down grabbing the flask from the floor. He knew that his hearing went out of control sometimes but from what he could tell the room was thick enough so most outside sounds wouldn’t even be audible taking a sip from the drink Bacchus chalked it up to his mutation running amuck again, so to counter that little problem Bacchus downed the rest of the flask and shook his head again the burning sensation running down his throat, ”I sometimes hate my mutation,” he said honestly grabbing his head slightly his fingers on the bridge of his nose as he tried to focus on the meeting once again.

”I’m sorry, hearing shit again…” Bacchus said as he shook his head once again and looked up, ”So when you say better place, you don’t mean the entire world your just talking about small locations correct?” he asked, his tone now softer and more aware of the current topic of discussion

>> ”Wait, no killing!?! This is the same thing as the base mission down south! I am a hammer and you want me to be a pair of tweezers, I… well…. Shit…”

That sounded like acquiescence. Well, nearly. If that slight outburst was all the more protest the giant shifter would give, Slate was quite content. He should have given the order long ago, in fact. It simply... surprised him, how readily people accepted commands. Simply because he was in charge. The title of Leader was an odd thing.

>> ”Did you hear something? ...I’m sorry, hearing shit again…”

The drinking and head-rubbing that accompanied this question (and its partner statement) were... less than reassuring. Slate did not realize that he had spoken in the shifter’s head. Therefore? Bacchus had just taken yet a further step down the scale of Slate’s esteem, and a slight step towards the staircase of questionable sanity. Slate’s face reflected this: he allowed his eyebrows to rise, for one ‘are you being quite serious?’ moment.

>> ”So when you say better place, you don’t mean the entire world your just talking about small locations correct?”

“Of course,” the blue-eyed teenager nodded. “It would be impractical to remedy all of the world’s problems at the same time. We are only one organization. We will do only what we are capable of.” Only what careful planning could yield them, and only involving as many sovereign nations at a time as they could handle. Slate was a realist, not a dreamer.

Bacchus blinked in utter disbelief was Slate actually serious did he actually believe it was possible…“So what you had me do in Columbia, that was all one small step towards your take over?” The more he thought about it the more and more it made sense the scouting, the base smashing, he wasn’t ordered to kill anyone there simply because they were going to be serving Slate in the near future. At least that was as much as Bacchus could assume, for he knew not why Slate wanted everyone alive.

A small chuckle reverberated from Bacchus’s large chest as lowered his head slightly to get a better look at Slate, “Your trying to take over the world... well this changes everything, nothing you did before made sense when you ordered me about in Columbia but there was way more than just me and those I worked with, how many do you have on the payroll?” he asked his smile matching that of a child who just discovered his birthday present, “No matter, doubt you would tell me anyways, now that I know what your general plan is I am afraid to ask, but I’ll be having to ask for more.”

“Call me greedy if you want but I’ll be needing a raise, if you truly want me to help you with your noble goal, I’ll be needing more money.” he paused for a second raising his hand to the back of his head to scratch it making it look like he was still thinking over his last statement, “You don’t want me to kill while spying on the order, that in itself is making me look highly suspicious I’ll stand out like a sore thumb.” letting out a sigh and a shrug, “Not to mention there are other factors I need to account for my services just went up, I’ll be needing more money, or…” Bacchus grinned slightly and then muttered to himself as he put his hand on his chin, “Yes… I think that’ll work…”

”I’ll be needing a raise or if you prefer a favor, I’d imagine someone with your resources it wouldn’t be hard to find someone that doesn’t want to be found would it?” smiling from ear to ear now Bacchus decided to divulge a little more than he would have liked, “I’m looking for someone… Someone my father owes a lot of money to and the interest rates make it impossible to pay off and it is starting to affect my personal life if you can catch my meaning…” he waved the flask in Slates direction before he finished the contents of it. Bacchus felt dirty, cheap even selling himself for a location of a person a person that he fully intended on torturing and then killing, but no matter he would do whatever it takes to get his hands on that man.

“I can personally guarantee my full cooperation in future endeavors for your cause if you help me find this man, not to mention I’ll find out every little detail you want to know about the members of the order.”

Mr. Bacchus spoke. He spoke mightily, of take overs and world domination. He spoke, with minimal logical foundation, leaping to a conclusion that was rather absurd in the course of normal conversation. The Kabal Leader’s blue eyes remained unimpressed with the large man before him.

“Mr. Bacchus,” Slate stated, quite simply, in reply to all that; “I must ask you to attend all future meetings sober, and to leave your various flasks with the reception staff.”

How the man had gotten ‘global conquest’ out of his mere smashing missions in Colombia and Slate’s entirely vague words, the Kabal’s young leader did not know. It defied Slate’s sense of logic. Therefore, it merited as much reply from him as any other completely illogical words that might happen to vomit from the man’s mouth. The fact that these particular ramblings were somewhat correct had little bearing on Slate’s reaction. And, truly, they were only correct in the most childish sense; how a toddler’s crayon drawing compared to the Mona Lisa was how ‘taking over the world’ compared to Slate’s plans. Really, if all went well, very little the Kabal did would resemble ‘taking over’.

And then the man began to babble about raises. Ah. Yes: the man’s rampant drinking would indeed have to end, at least in his employer’s presence.

“I give raises based upon merit,” the nineteen year old said levelly. “Not desire.” Otherwise, Zephyr would be making well over a million. Per day.

>> “I can personally guarantee my full cooperation in future endeavors for your cause if you help me find this man, not to mention I’ll find out every little detail you want to know about the members of the order.”

“Mr. Bacchus,” Slate stated, wondering idly if he would start yelling soon. The last time he had felt this oddly numb heat behind his eyes, he had started yelling at his former roommate, Teresa. And then he had chased her onto the street, still yelling. It had been... undignified. For now, Slate was not yelling. He was simply speaking, in the same level voice as always. With, perhaps, a bit more emphasis upon the important words. He hoped this would aid in the man’s comprehension. “It is your job to find out ‘every little detail’ that I want to know about the Order; and I wish to know everything. You will not get raises for doing your job. You will not get favors. All you will get, Mr. Bacchus, is your paycheck. That is what ‘employment’ is. Do you understand this concept?” Perhaps the man truly did not. That would explain a great deal about his job performance.

“Now, I presume you wish this man found so that you can kill him. Is that incorrect? May I ask, then, why I should find him for you, knowing that you will break an order I just gave you?” The order not to kill, to be specific. If the man’s short term memory had some defect, that might help to explain things.

Knuckles white as a fist clenched in one hand and the flask bent and caved due to the immense force he was putting on it. He could reach out and snap Slate’s neck so easily, it wouldn’t take much to do it a simple movement and poof no more pain in the arse rules from the head honcho. He could do it but then where would the money come from, he could go back to small time robberies but almost all of the heists attack unwanted attention and eventually he knew he’d need to find another place to get a steady flow of cash. Biting his lip slightly as Slate spoke about showing to all his meetings sober Bacchus held his tongue till the boss was done with the lecture.

“Sober? I am Sober, wish I wasn’t though the fact that I can still hear some tapping sound of pencil on paper in the next room over, I drink because I have poor control over my senses when I am this size…” Bacchus stated coldly as he dropped the flask on Slates desk in front of him, “Alcoholism runs in my family, last thing I want is to resort to this stuff… but it helps reduce the sounds…” it did help but he wasn’t entirely truthful about his dislike for all alcoholic beverages. He in fact liked not being fully conscious of everything in his life; it made things seem more bearable, at least for a while.

Teeth grinding as Slate addressed him like a small toddler, no worse than a toddler he felt like he was being spoken to as an infant. The knuckles on his fists enlarged for a second as they became whiter, his chest inhaled air and then exhaled, again images of grabbing slate by the head and crushing it on the desk or clapping his hands around the runts head squishing it like a fly made him relax. He didn’t plan on killing him just the thought that he could without much thought made things easier in this situation. “You speak of Merit but what your asking of me is making things far more dangerous for me, I killed with out hesitation for the order and now that I will have to refuse it due to an order from you, makes things very suspicious…”

He leaned back in his chair his fists getting some blood in his hands as the grip loosened, “I want to find him so I can pay what I owe him, I will not kill him, promise.” Bacchus said, he did mean what he said, but he didn’t count indirect deaths as murder, after all accidents happen all the time right? “He also happens to be one of the reasons I drink, i pay him back some of my problems go away...” said Bacchus his gaze turning back down to Slate.

It was actually hard for Slate to not see the man’s sudden, graphic urges. They were mildly irksome.

Noin, please have the usual team stand by. Mr. Bacchus is fantasizing over my death. Again. Really, it was like a broken record: a thought on repeat. How Slate expected more from the man, he did not know. His communications with the front desk were unlikely to be overheard, since this time they had a distinct target.

>> “Sober? I am Sober, wish I wasn’t though the fact that I can still hear some tapping sound of pencil on paper in the next room over, I drink because I have poor control over my senses when I am this size… Alcoholism runs in my family, last thing I want is to resort to this stuff… but it helps reduce the sounds…”

“Then don’t resort to it, Mr. Bacchus,” the teenager said. “Train yourself for control.”

As opposed to curling up in a fetal position around a liquid-centered crutch, and blaming your mutation on it.

That thought, now, stood a chance of interception.

>> “You speak of Merit but what your asking of me is making things far more dangerous for me, I killed with out hesitation for the order and now that I will have to refuse it due to an order from you, makes things very suspicious…”

“It is only suspicious if you make it suspicious, Mr. Bacchus. If you create a reason for it, they will believe it. You are not dealing with an organization of criminal masterminds. As I suggested already, one plausible excuse is to bring less media attention to them; another would simply be ‘skill’. From what I have seen, your preferred methods require little by way of skill. Tell them you are challenging yourself to show more control; target your attacks, and learn the difference between lethal force and mere injuries. That would take much more skill.”

>> “I want to find him so I can pay what I owe him, I will not kill him, promise. He also happens to be one of the reasons I drink, I pay him back some of my problems go away...”

The Kabal’s Leader stared across the table at the man. “It sounds like this is very important to you,” he said simply.

“If you agree to limit yourself to three drinks per day—three twelve ounce drinks, of less than eighty proof—then I will agree to pay this man back for you.”

The offer was on the table. It would be curious to see which was more important to Bacchus: clearing this debt, or being a blatant alcoholic.