"I take it you're not the sort who does well with snide comments, so I'll refrain from that in the future."
The sergeant rolled his eyes derisively, then proceeded to deposit both glasses and the bottle on the table. He didn't miss the tension in the air or the taut look on Lazarov's face as he sat down in time for the smuggler to launch into his own monologue, this one full of mind-blowingly stupid assumptions, childish prejudices, and vain paranoia.
Osric didn't forget, and he didn't forgive? Askier Mergrey wouldn't still number among the living if that had ever been the case. Stepping back out of his own boots, putting on someone else's, compromising, coordinating... that had always been how the sergeant preferred to operate. Grudges had no place in business, whether that business was in coin or in blood. Â
Nero had nothing to gain from meeting him here? He had eyes and ears across the realm, Aldenard and Vylbrand both! The resources he could call on, the authority, the pull he had thanks to his position with the Red Wings... and he'd been instrumental in thwarting gods knew how many recent--
But Lazarov doesn't know any of that, does he? He thinks I'm just some lowly sergeant.
"My answer?"
He sighed as he shoved Nero's full glass gently towards the man.
"Well, you're right and you're wrong. You're right in that I need you more than you need me. Won't deny that." He pushed his own empty glass aside and leaned forward, hands crossed, arms on the table. "But you're wrong in thinkin' y'know me, thinkin' you know what kind o' man I am, what I am, who I am. Truth is, you ain't bothered with your research. I have."
He leaned back, just far enough to reach down and pull a rolled sheath of papers from a large belt pouch at his waist. A flick of his wrist sent the scroll tumbling across the table.
"Frankly, we could be here all night, with you sittin' pretty and findin' all manner o' inventive ways to call me a squatter - that's everythin' the Maelstrom has on you, your crew, and your activities, by the by - and I'd find that less insultin' than your assumptions about me, and that'd go the same, I'm guessin', for you. So do us both a favor and stuff your idiocy somewhere that ain't this ruttin' room, eh? We both know you're capable o' better than that."
He reached for the bottle of ale and refilled his glass, eyes on Nero the whole time, a polite smile on his lips. Â
"Lominsan-bred thief-turned-assassin, which is how I can tell y'ain't native, gadabout. That and crossin' palms with enough ol' streetrunners, jacks, and serps to find out for sure. Anyroad... I chose family o'er everythin' else, had my tail chased out o' Limsa for that, and found refuge with the Jewel. Owe the sultanate my life. Radical Royalist, at your service... not that you seem inclined. Took up arms with the Flames, served as a soldier for five cycles, and then I was taken aside for... something else. Something better. For my connections. Connections enough to know the names and faces of most o' the players in this game o' yours and Jamesons'."
Osric took up his tumbler and shrugged as he swirled the tumbler. Â
"You and I wouldn't be sitting here if it wasn't for Roen. I'd be back in Thanalan, and you'd already be in the gaols, if not six fulms under. We're here because I've learned over the past cycle, to my pleasant surprise, that those whom she trusts tend towards the sort o' honorable and noble rutters what mean well, and when they go sour, she can tell."
One sip, two sips, three sips were taken in silence as he paused to collect his thoughts.
"You know my interest already, more like than not, so you know how I'd like to use you. What I'd like to know is how you'd use me. Ain't a point in draggin' this out any longer if I've nothin' to offer you. Seein' as how you showed, though... I'm guessin' there is."
The sergeant rolled his eyes derisively, then proceeded to deposit both glasses and the bottle on the table. He didn't miss the tension in the air or the taut look on Lazarov's face as he sat down in time for the smuggler to launch into his own monologue, this one full of mind-blowingly stupid assumptions, childish prejudices, and vain paranoia.
Osric didn't forget, and he didn't forgive? Askier Mergrey wouldn't still number among the living if that had ever been the case. Stepping back out of his own boots, putting on someone else's, compromising, coordinating... that had always been how the sergeant preferred to operate. Grudges had no place in business, whether that business was in coin or in blood. Â
Nero had nothing to gain from meeting him here? He had eyes and ears across the realm, Aldenard and Vylbrand both! The resources he could call on, the authority, the pull he had thanks to his position with the Red Wings... and he'd been instrumental in thwarting gods knew how many recent--
But Lazarov doesn't know any of that, does he? He thinks I'm just some lowly sergeant.
"My answer?"
He sighed as he shoved Nero's full glass gently towards the man.
"Well, you're right and you're wrong. You're right in that I need you more than you need me. Won't deny that." He pushed his own empty glass aside and leaned forward, hands crossed, arms on the table. "But you're wrong in thinkin' y'know me, thinkin' you know what kind o' man I am, what I am, who I am. Truth is, you ain't bothered with your research. I have."
He leaned back, just far enough to reach down and pull a rolled sheath of papers from a large belt pouch at his waist. A flick of his wrist sent the scroll tumbling across the table.
"Frankly, we could be here all night, with you sittin' pretty and findin' all manner o' inventive ways to call me a squatter - that's everythin' the Maelstrom has on you, your crew, and your activities, by the by - and I'd find that less insultin' than your assumptions about me, and that'd go the same, I'm guessin', for you. So do us both a favor and stuff your idiocy somewhere that ain't this ruttin' room, eh? We both know you're capable o' better than that."
He reached for the bottle of ale and refilled his glass, eyes on Nero the whole time, a polite smile on his lips. Â
"Lominsan-bred thief-turned-assassin, which is how I can tell y'ain't native, gadabout. That and crossin' palms with enough ol' streetrunners, jacks, and serps to find out for sure. Anyroad... I chose family o'er everythin' else, had my tail chased out o' Limsa for that, and found refuge with the Jewel. Owe the sultanate my life. Radical Royalist, at your service... not that you seem inclined. Took up arms with the Flames, served as a soldier for five cycles, and then I was taken aside for... something else. Something better. For my connections. Connections enough to know the names and faces of most o' the players in this game o' yours and Jamesons'."
Osric took up his tumbler and shrugged as he swirled the tumbler. Â
"You and I wouldn't be sitting here if it wasn't for Roen. I'd be back in Thanalan, and you'd already be in the gaols, if not six fulms under. We're here because I've learned over the past cycle, to my pleasant surprise, that those whom she trusts tend towards the sort o' honorable and noble rutters what mean well, and when they go sour, she can tell."
One sip, two sips, three sips were taken in silence as he paused to collect his thoughts.
"You know my interest already, more like than not, so you know how I'd like to use you. What I'd like to know is how you'd use me. Ain't a point in draggin' this out any longer if I've nothin' to offer you. Seein' as how you showed, though... I'm guessin' there is."