Late night, noisy pub.
Smoke billows.
The smell of tobacco, alcohol and body odor mixed together and rose into the air. Under the weird pink light, the mandolin player weakly sang some recent bad street tunes in a weak voice.
as always.
This is an ordinary night in the Holy City.
To everyone here who is so poor that his pockets are dirtier than his face, tonight is no different than any other night.
After order was restored, not even a week had passed before the Pope's shed blood was forgotten in a corner.
Even if the big shots at the top are scheming and the situation has become so weird and tense, to the people here, it is just a distant legend.
Only some aborted conspiracies and successful tricks will become legends through word of mouth and spread among themselves.
The Holy City Guards mutinied, the whole family of an important witness of the Ministry of Pardons was massacred, the assassination of the Pope was premeditated, a nobleman's wife had an affair with the Pope before his death, etc. Rumors such as these were mixed in the smell of low-quality alcohol and tobacco. Spread out in the air.
In this short week, a huge storm swept across the entire human world. Wherever it went, countries were in turmoil, and countless people died as a result.
But to the civilians here, it's just "the Pope is dead", that's all.
Life should be lived or lived.
Even if the storm is coming.
When midnight arrived, the atmosphere in the tavern was pushed to its highest peak.
Amid the enthusiastic shouts and roars of all the audience, the pink light became ambiguous and dimmed.
In the dim light, a dancer wearing tulle walked onto the stage, and twisted on the steel pipe to the ambiguous music.
The dancer put on heavy makeup to cover up the yellow spots and wrinkles on her face. She touched herself while twisting, moaning in pleasure, her flabby thighs shaking, and she took off a piece of tulle on her body, revealing a faintly visible figure. Spring.
"Take it off again! Take it off again!"
The audience with their eyes wide open in the audience shouted, but the dancers seemed not to hear it. She just held the pole and twisted, her moans getting louder and louder, and her eyes revealed longing.
In the warm atmosphere, handfuls of money were thrown onto the stage.
The dancer's smile became brighter and brighter. She took off the gauze scarf on her shoulders again and threw it in the air, revealing her half-covered breasts. The waves of her breasts danced in the pungent and hot air.
Behind the bar, the boss counted the money silently and smiled happily.
After being under martial law for so many days, after reopening, the frustrated poor people finally allowed him to get some money back.
He quietly gestured to the dancers: Don't take off your clothes too fast and hang them.
Let them pay!
Pay for it!
"Take it off again!"
The audience shouted excitedly: "Take it off again! Bitch, take off your skirt quickly!"
The crumpled banknotes and copper plates were thrown onto the table in a thin layer. The dancer stepped on the sweat-soaked money, twisted her body, and sucked her fingers, her eyes were as charming as silk.
The boss opened his mouth with joy and waved his hands wildly: Work harder! Bring out your trick! Squeeze all the money out of these poor guys!
Thus, the last skirt that was in the way finally opened a small gap.
The roars of the audience became more and more noisy. The dancer picked up the thin skirt with her little finger and wiped it across her body, so that the tulle was soaked with a layer of sweat and soaked.
The hungry audience watched with eyes wide open.
The dancer squirmed, moaned ambiguously, and lifted up her skirt:
"Who wants it?"
In an instant, there was silence in the bar, and the next moment, there was an explosion.
Everyone rushed to the front of the stage, reaching out to grab the dress that contained the dancer's body odor and sweat, and their eyes were red.
"five hundred!"
A short and thin man screamed, "I'll pay five hundred! No one is allowed to rob it from me!"
"Seven hundred!"
The muscular man with an upper body stood up and slapped the table: "I'll pay eight hundred!"
"Mine! Mine!"
A sharp voice sounded, and the bald old man jumped on the stage: "No one is allowed to steal it from me! It's all mine!"
The bald old man was obviously drunk, his speech was slurred, and his old arms and legs were twitching excitedly, like an old monkey.
When other spectators saw this, they couldn't help but laugh.
"Guest, do you want to buy this dress?"
The bartender walked over, holding back his laughter, and looked at it.
The old man was wearing a clerical robe, but the Holy City was full of priests, so it was not unusual to dress like this. What's more, the priest's robes are in tatters, but he can be so poor. Who knows where he came from in the countryside.
The old man hadn't taken a shower for an unknown amount of time, and his body exuded a stench of drunken vomiting that made people cover their noses.
"It costs money to want it."
The bartender asked: "Do you have money?"
"money?"
The old man reacted for a long time, and suddenly smiled: "You want money? You should have said it earlier! Give it to you, give it to you."
He grabbed a handful of crumpled paper from his pocket, put it into the bartender's hand, then snatched the skirt from the dancer's hand and started dancing.
The bartender was stunned for a moment, unable to react, and his expression turned ugly: This old guy wants to cause trouble
But when he lowered his head to see the waste paper in his hand, he couldn't help but feel that his vision went dark. He took a breath of cold air, his legs went weak, and he almost fell to his knees.
draft!
This is a money order issued by the Holy City Church! And each one was of the highest denomination, and he couldn't count the numbers behind it at a glance...
I don’t know how many money orders there were in the ball of crumpled paper, but even if there was only one, it would be enough to buy the bar and burn it, and then find the best killer to kill the poor people in the bar. Killed five or six times!
When no one else was paying attention, the bartender stuffed the things into his arms, turned around and ran out.
"What's wrong?"
The boss looked at his pale face and frowned: "Son, that bastard old man didn't give you a bag of shit, did he?"
"I hope he can give me a bag of shit." The bartender's smile was uglier than crying, and he showed the boss a look at the things in his arms. The boss was stunned for a long time, took a breath of air, and sat down on the ground: " Oh my god!"
He was stunned for a long time, then turned around in surprise, and saw the old man on the stage entangled next to the dancer like a monkey, twisting uncomfortably. Amidst the boos of the audience, the drunk old man actually put his skirt on himself, and there was Dance in the same way.
The action was so funny that everyone couldn't help but laugh. Some people who liked to cause trouble threw money on the stage and shouted:
"It looks good! Dance again and again!"
"Did he really give it to me?" the boss asked in a low voice.
"Absolutely true."
After the boss was silent for a moment, his pupils narrowed: "He must have some more in his pocket. Let the people in the kitchen prepare it and tie up the old monkey for me. Keep your hands and feet clean and don't leave anything behind."
The bartender was stunned: "Are you sure? What if that old man is some kind of nobleman... wouldn't we be dead?"
"you're so dumb."
The boss gave him a slap in the face and whispered: "After doing this, we will leave the city at dawn. With so much money, where can't we go?"
"You're not going anywhere."
A hoarse old voice sounded.
The boss was stunned. He looked up in surprise and saw the indifferent old man outside the counter.
The man was wearing a dark, starched dress with fine fabrics, lapis lazuli cuffs, a meticulous tie and a pocket square. Even though he was so old, he still looked awe-inspiring.
But no matter what, he shouldn't be in such a ghost place at all.
Before the boss could react, the old man waved, and two people took the boss and the bartender away without leaving a trace.
The bar was still noisy, and among the noisy and harsh sounds, no one noticed that the two people had disappeared.
Feeling the hot and humid air, the visitor frowned displeasedly, coughed hoarsely a few times, and sat in a corner.
Soon, the old man who was dancing drunkenly and wearing a skirt on the stage was brought over and thrown on the chair opposite.
In this unnoticed corner, within the sound barrier, there was silence.
…
"Wagner? So it's you."
The old man looked at the person opposite, and after a long time he breathed a sigh of relief, "I was scared to death! I thought someone was going to snatch my skirt!"
Wagner subconsciously glanced at the smelly skirt, and his expression suddenly became more ugly:
"Not long after the death of His Majesty the Pope, Cardinal Albert, the archbishop of the Church of the Holy Church and in charge of the Central Church, has become so depraved and despicable. Is it really okay?"
"What's wrong with relaxing?"
Wagner frowned: "There is nothing wrong with that, but if everyone wants to relax, they will choose to stay in the basement of their own home with the dancers and slave girls they have raised. If not, you can also go to some private clubs, close the door, and have sex with those The girls specially prepared for themselves to play some games. Except for you, no one would choose to go to such a dirty **** bar and steal public funds to buy women's skirts to wear... "
He paused and sighed helplessly:
"Don't you feel ashamed?"
"I'm not in a wheelchair like my predecessor. What's there to be ashamed of?"
Albert said nonchalantly: "Besides, Archbishop Hawking told me when he retired! - Anyone who likes to wear skirts is not a bad person!"
“…”
Wagner's expression twitched and he cursed under his breath.
"However, let it be alright that I am willing to degenerate, but what are you, a great saint, doing here?"
Albert showed a weird smile and asked teasingly: "Isn't it also to watch sex?"
Wagner's face was as sinking as water, and he said coldly:
"Your absence from the Sistine Council today had a very bad impact."
Sistine Council.
A meeting held in the Sistine Chapel composed of all cardinals and heads of key departments of the Holy See. Since the creation of the Pope, it has been held ten times.
The time it is held is not expected, because every time it is held, it means... a pope has died, and the new pope will be selected through voting at the meeting.
No one ever dared to miss such a meeting.
In previous years, even a dying archbishop was sent in with a diaphragm attached. Even if he died, he had to vote before he could be allowed to die inside.
As the head of the Central Temple, Albert has the right to vote and be elected, but now he is blatantly absent.
I have to say, it sets a very bad precedent.
But he didn't care.
"Could it be that if I participate, the result will be different? I'm not interested in this kind of pre-written drama."
He glanced at Wagner: "You did go to participate, but what was the result?"
"What else?"
Wagner said coldly: "Any fool can guess it. More than 80% of the people approved of Ludovic becoming the new pope. Witnessed by God and the Holy Spirit, the voting results passed. Now the urgent announcement has been sent to all countries, right? "
He was silent for a moment and told Albert:
"When tomorrow dawns, everyone will know that in two days, Ludovic will enter the Saloman Temple, see the Holy Cauldron, and become the new Pope."
"So, Ludovic is going to be prosperous?"
Albert laughed drunkenly: "It's a pity that I didn't flatter the Isshin Monk Society earlier. Oh, it's such a pity."
"Over the years, you have been causing trouble with the Yishin Monk Society. Now you want to change your ways? You can't even write the word 'adjust to the wind', right?"
Wagner mocked: "The Central Temple is responsible for this incident. They are worried that they don't have enough important positions at hand, so they have no reason to attack you. Even if you go to please them now, it's too late. Prepare to be demoted to Let’s spend our remaining years in a monastery in some deserted mountain.”
"It doesn't matter, there's no point in staying in the Holy City anyway."
Albert shrugged and glanced at him: "What about you?"
“…”
Wagner was silent for a long time before replying: "I will probably go to the dark world. In three years, I will die. Before I die, I must at least use some of my residual energy. It has been too hard for Mr. Bach to support himself all these years."
"Isn't this great?"
Albert smiled: "I went to the monastery in the backcountry, you were exiled to the dark world, and we all have a bright future! Long live the Holy City!"
"Stop talking about this and have a drink."
Wagner sighed, "Give me a drink too."
Albert raised his glass: "Then, here's to our great Pope."
"Which one do you respect?"
"It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter who you are."
"Okay, your Majesty the Pope."
Wagner smiled bitterly, "Cheers!"
Drink it all in one gulp.
After putting down the glass, Wagner was stung by the low-quality alcohol and couldn't help but take a big breath. Then he coughed violently, which was heartbreaking. He vomited thick phlegm, but couldn't breathe.
The air here was so bad that it aggravated his asthma and lung disease.
Albert shook his head, stood up, deftly took out the respirator from his breast pocket, pried open his teeth, and stuffed it into his mouth arrogantly:
"suck!"
Soon, Wagner finally relaxed and slumped in the chair, his face still stained with tears and snot, and his demeanor was completely lost.
Albert shook his head and drank to himself: "You have been like this since you were a child. You are so weak. If I want to take you to a place of depravity, I have to worry that you will die immediately. Can you please let others worry less?"
"He's going to die anyway, so there's no need to worry anymore."
Wagner wiped off the stains on his face, smiled indifferently, and stood up:
"I go first."
"Well, get out of here, get out of here."
Albert waved his hand impatiently: "I'm too lazy to wait until you leave to send it to you. The drink I just had is just a farewell to you."
Wagner smiled, said nothing, just patted Albert on the shoulder, turned and left. But when he walked to the door, he heard a hoarse voice coming from behind.
"Hey, Wagner!"
"Um?"
Wagner looked back and saw Albert.
The old man was sitting under the dim light, with sparse white hair, smiling stupidly, looking at himself with drunken eyes. For some reason, Wagner suddenly felt a little sad.
"Does my skirt look good?"
Albert suddenly asked, looking expectant, as if he wanted to be praised.
“…”
Wagner's expression froze. He turned around angrily and walked away: "Damn you retarded!"
Albert was left alone in the bar, laughing.
Smiling like a retard.