Nikto stubbed the cigarette harshly and tore off the mask; his face was angry, eyes glaring fiercely. He tossed the mask on the floor.

"Happy now?" He turned away from Orel. Leaning on his elbow on the table, he covered the scarred half of his face with his palm and lit another cigarette.

"Orel, you hurt him," Enriki said.

Orel touched Nikto's hand that held the cigarette.

"Hey," he said quietly, "I always ask you to take off your mask because I like to see your face, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Fine, fine." Nikto took a drag. "I've got it. But I'm tired of it: put on the mask, take off the mask, put on the mask, take off…!"

"I'm sorry," Orel said.

"Let him wear it when he feels like," Tol said.

"Then he won't take it off at all," Orel objected. "It's made in such a way he doesn't need to take it off at all. Am I right, Nikto?"

"Yes, you are."

"And I don't like it."

"Why do you care?" Nikto asked in annoyance.