CHAPTER 3

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( #Ma’Heron )

Datu Ma'Heron de Narra was already seated in his personal jet - bourbon in hand yet again - before he managed to find the proper words fitted for his required, albeit awkward, phone call. If only he can use his alter ego, Myron, to do the call then it would definitely be easier. It would feel good to let loose a volley of cuss words just so he gets his message through to his Premier without all the "niceties" and "courtesies" required of his stature.

But of course, not even his Premier has seen that side of him. And NO ONE in the palace has the right to see that side of him. He has not allowed it. And YET, this stranger managed to "guess" that he has a second, more volatile, persona.

"...I don't need your apology. You do, however, need to apologize to yourself."

Damn it, he's right, Ma’Heron silently berated himself. But then, even if that arrogant bastard Victor was on the dot in his analysis, he had no right to suddenly run me through like hot coals on paper. Then again, if I was truly facing him as Myron then I would have taken it better. Come to think of it, this would be the first time I asked to be called Myron despite still being Ma'Heron. 

Ma'Heron finishes his bourbon in one swig, as he had done in the restaurant. He looks out the Concorde's window, admiring the city's aerial view and instinctively looking at the area where the hotel would have been located... then suddenly noticing, almost angrily, that he did the latter act as if it was second nature.

"... I am capable of reading you without any rose tinted glasses or second-guessing. I am the opportunity you were looking for to finally let go of all that restraint and this faggotry you call scholarly intellectualism and complications... I was meant to be your last chance."

Damnation, that man managed to get under my skin in just one meeting! Well, hopefully he can be gotten rid of as easily once I've made this call and have unloaded on my supposedly "hapless" and "innocent" contact.

Swig. Swallow.

Pffftt... If Lak'Sig was ever helpless and innocent then the world would definitely end. Knowing him, he probably planned this all from the start. This won't be the first time... ugh, don't want to remember that... that... incident... in his room... *inward shudder*...

The young ruler takes a deep breath and motioned to a pretty young thing in a stewardess' uniform that could rival Jessica Rabbit's outfit - if that was even possible.

"My phone and another drink Margo. Get me the most powerful choices for both."

Margo's eyes widen.

"But sire, you don't mean..." her gasp accompanies her pause.

Ma'Heron flashes her a wan smile. "Yes I do. Bring them to me."

Margo's heavily made up face darkens for a second then she straightens up and stiffly, but swiftly, follows Ma'Heron's commands. It only took her a little over a minute to deliver and set-up both the satellite phone and the large bottle of snake and scorpion blood wine to her young master.

The dark-haired Datu looks grimly at the large cobra and giant scorpion within the confines of the clear wine bottle. Both pickled predators were half-submerged in the slightly reddish alcoholic liquid, looking back menacingly at the one who planned to partake of their death's essences. Ma'Heron pours himself a double shot - straight, no ice and downed it all in one gulp. His whole body tenses and his face takes on a fierce countenance. He pours himself another double shot. This one he plans to sip through the phone call.

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