That seemed to be the best offer Nero could get from this. The phrase "you don't know what you have until it's missing" rang invariably true this time around. Had Daegsatz stayed, Nero and his first mate might have been able to turn things to a more favourable position; the Hyur was no slouch in a fight, but he didn't have the Sea Wolf's talent for tearings limbs out of their sockets. Thaumaturgy wasn't an option, as even if Nero had his scepter in his possession, reducing the Wench to naught but rubble and broken bottles was out of the question.
"I thought we were here for business," Nero said to Kink, pursing his lip. "This spat you have with Xydane sounds personal. And if you ask me, personal isn't good business." The Hyur's point seemed to be punctuated with the sound of a chair being smashed over a school. Nero glanced hurriedly towards the centre; the last thing he needed was the breakout of a brawl. It would hardly be unusual in the Wench, but he'd be damned if he was going to foot any bill for broken furniture this time.
As for Kink's suggestion that he might utilize Inessa for sweeping, Nero preferred to do that himself, or at least assign it to someone he trusted like Satz or Garalt. There was no way of knowing if this less than subtle vigilante would leave a blood trail splattered over the walls, a trail that might lead directly to Nero and possibly to the brig or, if he was incredibly unlucky, the execution block.
"But then, that's the way it goes, doesn't it," Nero said to nobody in particular, his face expressionless.
He withdrew the gil pouch from his pocket, but took a hefty measure out of it and running calculations in his head. He had initially planned on overpaying the runner, but that plan was now off the table. Nero withdrew a small sheaf of parchment from his trouser pocket and slipped it inside the pouch before pulling on the draw string; inscribed on it was a location and a name: Fisherman's Bottom, Sebastian Redgrave.Â
Apparently satisfied, the pouch made a clink on the table. "Five hundred and fifty," Nero said tersely. Â "We can meet later to discuss the details." He winced reflexively as a few roars grew louder, and somewhere in the din were Tenfingers' enraged wails. If it wasn't a brawl yet, it was very likely going to start soon.
"I thought we were here for business," Nero said to Kink, pursing his lip. "This spat you have with Xydane sounds personal. And if you ask me, personal isn't good business." The Hyur's point seemed to be punctuated with the sound of a chair being smashed over a school. Nero glanced hurriedly towards the centre; the last thing he needed was the breakout of a brawl. It would hardly be unusual in the Wench, but he'd be damned if he was going to foot any bill for broken furniture this time.
As for Kink's suggestion that he might utilize Inessa for sweeping, Nero preferred to do that himself, or at least assign it to someone he trusted like Satz or Garalt. There was no way of knowing if this less than subtle vigilante would leave a blood trail splattered over the walls, a trail that might lead directly to Nero and possibly to the brig or, if he was incredibly unlucky, the execution block.
"But then, that's the way it goes, doesn't it," Nero said to nobody in particular, his face expressionless.
He withdrew the gil pouch from his pocket, but took a hefty measure out of it and running calculations in his head. He had initially planned on overpaying the runner, but that plan was now off the table. Nero withdrew a small sheaf of parchment from his trouser pocket and slipped it inside the pouch before pulling on the draw string; inscribed on it was a location and a name: Fisherman's Bottom, Sebastian Redgrave.Â
Apparently satisfied, the pouch made a clink on the table. "Five hundred and fifty," Nero said tersely. Â "We can meet later to discuss the details." He winced reflexively as a few roars grew louder, and somewhere in the din were Tenfingers' enraged wails. If it wasn't a brawl yet, it was very likely going to start soon.
