Jørn was busy with a prospective client.

Nor entered the gallery indifferently, pausing and glancing around as the door clicked quietly shut behind him. Jørn did a double take, recognizing Nor immediately, but continuing with his client as though he had not noticed him. Nor didn't look at him at all, not even a glance upon entering the gallery, but expected his presence was known.

He listened to Jørn's talking and thought, he sounded okay. Like before. Normal, day-to-day Jørn, who had not just traumatically lost two fingers to the overlord of the Norwegian underworld. A month had done him well.

Nor paced the exhibit, taking on an earnest interest in the art. In a month, he had collected money from innumerable patrons of the Twin's. Not all had had their payments, and those suffered for it, but for some reason, Nor felt a discord coming here to Jørn again. He liked the man.

Small talk wasn't exactly appropriate, but he wondered how Jørn really was. Did people stare at his deformed, bandaged hand as he gestured with it, or did the hand stay hidden away in his pocket now? Did people ask about it? Surely he had been asked a time or two. What did he say? "Had a run-in with the mafia, and they took my fingers." Nor turned and looked back at Jørn, who glanced at him, and he found himself repressing a small smile. Jørn really did not look the type. Maybe that was why he felt some sympathy for the man. He was different from the others.

As he idled passed a few paintings, something very strange came to his attention, and he stopped in his tracks. It was hard to make out, but, it almost looked like…

Nor looked quizzically back at Jørn, who was still engaged in conversation, and then he moved closer to the object of interest. As he got closer, it came into clear, unmistakable focus, and all Nor could do was stare. Astonished, unnerved, stunned.

"Thank you for your help. I'll be sure to let you know what we decide," the client said.

"Yes. Thank you so much for stopping by again," Jørn said, considerate and humbly charming, as the client took leave.

All was still, and once the door clicked shut, there was silence. It was a comfortable silence, in a way. Nor was unable to interrupt his survey of what he saw before him. Jørn went unmoved, allowing the moment to idle, possibly even embracing it, before engaging with the inevitable. He wondered what would happen, but he didn't want to toy with possibilities. So he finally acknowledged Nor, looking at him from across the room, as Nor looked at the painting. He approached the man, his arms crossed lightly.

"This is a curious piece," Nor muttered, his expression flat.

Jørn stopped at his side, looking at Nor, and then at the painting, unsure of how to go about this.

The painting was religious in nature. It portrayed a crucifixion, and it was the figure on the crucifix that had baffled Nor. He doubted that Jesus had looked that strong when he was on the cross. Actually, no one, ever, looked that strong. Except for one person. Nor pursed his lips and smiled wanly to himself.

"I… get a lot of questions about this one," Jørn admitted quietly. "It's very different from the others." As though that was really why.

For the first time, Nor's eyes left the painting and shifted to Jørn. Jørn looked taken aback, unsure of what to make of this gaging look in Nor's eyes.

"What do you tell them?"

Jørn seemed to relax at the question. He shrugged, looking at the painting with some apathy as he shook his head. He took a slow, deep breath. Nor stared at him, feeling conflicted.

"I tell them…that I believe goodness is at the heart of humanity. But that I've recently found that there are some outliers. And that is what the painting embodies, for me."

Nor looked at him, tense, and calculating.

"Is that what it really embodies?" Nor asked doubtfully, barely moving his lips. He glanced down at where Jørn's hand was, but couldn't see it, and Jørn shifted his arms, crossing them more tightly.

"Pfft, no. It embodies the fact that I met a huge asshole. In every sense of the word. Huge asshole," he added facetiously, glowering at Nor. "Who I won't admit to people, actually exists. Because they're better off thinking this is fictional."

"Thinking this is fictional?" Nor prompted. "That…the Twin is the devil?" He rose his eyebrows.

Nailed to the crucifixion, the Twin had two horns erupting from his forehead, and red eyes burning like embers. Aside from that, the picture was a perfect likeness of the Twin. Even his muscles, bulging from the seams of his suit, hadn't been exaggerated.

"Well." Jørn became reticent, looking at the painting instead of at Nor. "That day," he went on, his voice becoming tighter. "I…felt like I'd looked into the eyes of the devil," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging again. These words were not easy to say. They were crazy. Lunacy. Nor could tell from the way they were forced out of Jørn's throat that he meant it, too.

Nor looked like he didn't know what to do with this information, like it all weighed on him heavily.

"Not a religious man, huh."

"I'm not. But that doesn't mean that something so horrible—" Jørn finally gestured at the painting, but the true emphasis was the bandaged hand that he gestured with. Nor felt his stomach tighten. "—wouldn't prompt me to feel like there's something really evil in this world."

"Okay…"

Jørn looked heated now, but Nor's expression remained unchanged. He felt for Jørn, but did Jørn recognize that he put Nor in a difficult position?

Nor finally turned to face Jørn, dismissing the present conversation.

"Look, I'm here to get the Twin's money. So, let's have it."

Jørn paused, then nodded. He went around to his desk, and Nor followed him to make sure Jørn didn't get up to anything else. He watched as Jørn uncovered a safe built into the desk extension. Jørn pulled from the safe what looked like a plastic grocery bag, and pushed it into Nor's hands. Nor eyed the bag of choice, raising an eyebrow at Jørn.

"100,000?" Nor asked reluctantly.

Jørn looked down guiltily, searching for words. Now it was Nor that was heated.

"God dammit, do you want to die!?" Nor spat, nearly throwing his hands in the air.

"Of course not!" Jørn retorted. "You don't think I tried!? Tried to get every damn kronor that I could get for his majesty!?" Jørn threw a look at the painting and Nor laughed.

"You better become a religious man soon, because you could really use some extra help."

Jørn looked at Nor deeply.

"It's a lot of it. Right there, that's a lot of money. I'm going to have the rest, I want to take care of this debt, the Twin'll have his money."

Nor shook his head, chucklingly madly.

"You don't understand. You don't understand."

Jørn looked at him pleadingly.

"Okay, look," Nor said, handing the bag back to Jørn, who held it uncertainly. "Just… hold onto that. I'm gonna make a call. I'm gonna step outside and make a call, and you stay here." Nor was tongue-tied, and trying not to give off any particular cue as to what was going on. The last thing he needed was for Jørn to become difficult.

"Are you calling the Twin?" Jørn croaked, and Nor could tell that Jørn hadn't completely overcome his trauma, that the agony he was crumbling into now was a shade of something much deeper and darker than he would've been able to feel over a month ago. "Please, just give him the money."

But Nor was already stepping aside, giving Jørn a "1-minute" signal without looking at him, and stepping outside the storefront. Jørn looked on woefully.