"Sir, please attempt to focus on the plan-"
"No! I don't see the point! It's too complicated! Why do I have to sneak around like a twerp? Why can't I just, I don't know, charge the jail full-on? The police can't kill me!"
Mortimer Graves, part-time professional Private Villain Planning Consultant (PVPC), sighed heavily. This particular client, a person (for lack of a better word) of few 'little grey cells' , wanted to break his boss (who hadn't many brain cells either) out of jail. This was a difficult plan, not made any easier by the client's insistence of his supposed immortality and high pain resistance.
"Sir, I'm just trying to do my job. Please consider my plan layout before advancing on the police, or they'll land you in jail alongside your boss."
The burly villain on the other end of the Scyme call nodded. He knew, in his heart, that all men who did wuss jobs couldn't handle the tough fights and therefore had no business ordering him around. However, his boss had asked him to call this man, and so he had. He was just as useless as he had expected him to be. Sitting at a fancy metal desk with a pale blue shirt (yuck), brown hair, and a hateful glare, he clearly didn't think much of anyone. But, Kyrise promised himself, he would prove that nasty weakling wrong. By not following his plan at all, if he could help it.
Mortimer knew that Kyrise likely thought all of this, and so merely said, "Don't come complaining to me if your plan fails- it's always your choice whether you follow my advice or not. I still need to be paid, however."
Kyrise had never been so furious in his life! The nerve of him! To give awful advice and then ask for money? That was a serious affront that he could not stand! He pounded his fist on the armrest of his chair, almost breaking it. "You give me useless advice, and now you want money?"
Mortimer sighed. Again. This... idiot was obviously not the one who hired him. If he had, he would have seen how much the bills for the Scyme calls alone were. He would have to search elsewhere for his money. But first, he had to reassure the bumbling moron.
"Sir, since you do not perceive my services as useful to your enterprise, I will..."
He paused for dramatic effect. "Drop the charges for my services."
Mortimer waited patiently for Kyrise to figure out what he'd said.
"Oh, so I don't have to give you money. Good. I'm done with your 'help', Goodbye!"
Mortimer had never seen someone so eager to stop talking to him, but frankly he felt the same way for this now-former client. He wondered idly, "What time is it? I've been up for *yawn* hours it seems like. Wait, it's 7:30 AM? What?! I got no sleep! Damn! Thanks a lot, Kyrise! Now I won't have more than half an hour before my day job starts! I can use one of my sick days today, but come on...ugh... "
After arranging his sick day, Mortimer Graves fell asleep in his tiny bed in Room 139 on Apartment floor number 17, in the middle of Drawn, the capital city of Tanver.
As a genuine night owl, Mortimer had never found any inclination to get up before noon- he was always groggy, and couldn't concentrate on making himself breakfast, much less perfect a plan for a client. However, today was an exception- he woke up the next day at 5 AM feeling unusually refreshed. His mood had vastly improved compared to the night of the Scyme call.
'BAHBAH bahbah-duh-bah...'
"Argh, which direction did I throw the phone last time? I should really stop tossing my phone in random directions every time some ass insults me...grr..."
Mortimer frantically combed his entire house, upturning furniture and generally creating a huge mess before he found his phone under a folder near the pretend fireplace, which was the last place he had looked. Again. He never started there so that he knew that it was there. It wasn't sound logic, but he didn't like the principle of searching first the place that it's least likely to be. It was against his methodical approach to life.
The caller ID was one 'Harius Zarryn', whoever that was.
"Hello, this is Mortimer Graves-"
"Good."
"What?" Mortimer was now thoroughly confused. The voice completely freaked him out, but he wasn't one to judge. More importantly, what was going on? "What do you mean, good?"
"Well, I was afraid I had gotten the wrong number since it took you so long to pick it up, but perhaps you're just an inefficient person. Now, to the point: I was betrayed by the Gralin Sisters, and they stole all of the money. I'm about to be put in prison. I'll pay you ten million Yuris (twenty million dollars in our dimension) to find and rescue me. My name is Harius Zarryn, but my common name is Shadow Bringer. I hope to see you soon."
*Click*. The line went dead. Mortimer gaped. He had never been asked to pull off a prison escape for someone- he usually built off of someone else's objective, then gave them the finalized plan. He basically did all of the thinking, and little to none of the actual physical work. He would need help with this if he wanted 10 million yuris. He could split it with one partner easily, and both would end up rich. Now, his only problem was explaining why he was quitting his job.
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