The mask.

‘It is probably more likely that I will be chosen as the next Pope! Than actually decide to wear one of them ridiculous-fucking-masks.’ They left it anyway. Gleaming on top of a pile of ceremonial robes. Purple, non the less. Two of them brought in the garments saying as little as possible. Happy and Crappy, I named them, on account of their masked expressions.
‘Look, just do as your surname suggests and fucking play along!’ Grim unfolded himself from the tiny, monk-like chair I had nestled in the corner of my living quarters. He wasn’t wearing his.
‘I ain’t fucking doing it. And I would like to see them make me!’
‘No you wouldn’t…trust me. Oh look! Your mask is…how would you put it? Disdainful, untrusting.’ I glanced at it from where I stood.
‘I would say it is more like sceptical or reserved.’
‘The many faces of Lord Game!’ And with that his humongous frame made to leave the room. ‘Oh and Game,’ he said turning in the doorway. I looked up at him from the edge of my bare mattress. ‘Wear the fucking mask for heavens sake. If you don’t you will live to regret it. Just ask about the blade of Northwood. That will tell you everything you need to know.’
‘I am not wearing it. They will have to try and make me.’ He laughed and I laughed. I wasn’t sure what he was laughing about.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure what I was laughing about. Some situations are best avoided, good advice in hindsight. 

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