'...And just the finishing touch.'
A few coarse grains of salt dusted down from Ginak's fingertips.
He put his hands on his hips and took a step back, eyes on the plate in front of him. 'That'll do.' There was nothing like cooking up a meal to put his mind at rest. Especially now he had to break with Burnd's character, and the inevitible tobacco addition that had come with it.
"Made with only the finest Harndonian ingredients," he whispered to himself with a smile. Shame about how difficult it was to get his hands on them. He frowned at the plate, leaned forward, and picked a crumb of deep, fleshy-pink mycelium from one of the - otherwise white - stalks on the plate. Turning, he threw it in the bin with the rest of the scraps, feeling that old glow of near-giddy pride when it span straight down the middle. Ginak snorted to himself; it was strange how Burnd's dour character had creeped into his own personality - it was a uncomfortable weight to be rid of, but now he was left groping after what he used to be like, before his years in Königsstadt.
He washed his hands, then the last of the utensils, leaving them draining on the rack.
The handheld television left on the side flickered into life, a silent, grainy image casting light upwards.
Ginak peered down at it.
On-screen, a man walked the doorway of the block of flats Burndt had resided in. He carried himself with the straight-ish back of self assurance, only spending the smallest of moments and movements on checking the foyer and staircase beyond.
That the man was not someone he recognised only served to confirm Ginak's suspicions in his own mind.
The door was eased to by the stranger's foot on CCTV stream playing on his tv.
"Time's up."
Ginak strode to the balcony, sparing a farewell glance to the handheld before pressing at a bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve.
The device made the faintest of hissing sounds, and then fell silent. The screen went blank as the circuitry inside burned.
He wrinkled his nose at the acrid taste it left in the air. 'Still,' he reflected as he closed the glass door behind him, 'at least he'll have the mushroom salad to clear his tastebuds.' From the variety on the plate, one could never tell - wihout prior knowledge - that it was all from the same species of fungus. His pursuer could even share it with whoever else was on his trail. Presuming there were others. He would be disappointed if there wasn't; he was worth more than just one person, surely?
He shrugged off the thought. He cast an eye over the railings to where the river trickled idly by, multiple stories below. 'Poor Burnd. Such a downbeat individual. It's no surprise that he had something hidden away for so long. It must have all just got too much for him.' The smile lasted little longer than a half second on his face. He gripped the rail in both hands, and threw himself over.
A few coarse grains of salt dusted down from Ginak's fingertips.
He put his hands on his hips and took a step back, eyes on the plate in front of him. 'That'll do.' There was nothing like cooking up a meal to put his mind at rest. Especially now he had to break with Burnd's character, and the inevitible tobacco addition that had come with it.
"Made with only the finest Harndonian ingredients," he whispered to himself with a smile. Shame about how difficult it was to get his hands on them. He frowned at the plate, leaned forward, and picked a crumb of deep, fleshy-pink mycelium from one of the - otherwise white - stalks on the plate. Turning, he threw it in the bin with the rest of the scraps, feeling that old glow of near-giddy pride when it span straight down the middle. Ginak snorted to himself; it was strange how Burnd's dour character had creeped into his own personality - it was a uncomfortable weight to be rid of, but now he was left groping after what he used to be like, before his years in Königsstadt.
He washed his hands, then the last of the utensils, leaving them draining on the rack.
The handheld television left on the side flickered into life, a silent, grainy image casting light upwards.
Ginak peered down at it.
On-screen, a man walked the doorway of the block of flats Burndt had resided in. He carried himself with the straight-ish back of self assurance, only spending the smallest of moments and movements on checking the foyer and staircase beyond.
That the man was not someone he recognised only served to confirm Ginak's suspicions in his own mind.
The door was eased to by the stranger's foot on CCTV stream playing on his tv.
"Time's up."
Ginak strode to the balcony, sparing a farewell glance to the handheld before pressing at a bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve.
The device made the faintest of hissing sounds, and then fell silent. The screen went blank as the circuitry inside burned.
He wrinkled his nose at the acrid taste it left in the air. 'Still,' he reflected as he closed the glass door behind him, 'at least he'll have the mushroom salad to clear his tastebuds.' From the variety on the plate, one could never tell - wihout prior knowledge - that it was all from the same species of fungus. His pursuer could even share it with whoever else was on his trail. Presuming there were others. He would be disappointed if there wasn't; he was worth more than just one person, surely?
He shrugged off the thought. He cast an eye over the railings to where the river trickled idly by, multiple stories below. 'Poor Burnd. Such a downbeat individual. It's no surprise that he had something hidden away for so long. It must have all just got too much for him.' The smile lasted little longer than a half second on his face. He gripped the rail in both hands, and threw himself over.
Harndon
Some wanker with too much time and too little energy.
