An invitation to the Gilded Knuckle is not one to be refused.
Few outside of the elite of various fields - the political, the criminal, the merchant class, the intelligence community, the notorious and those with cachet - were even aware of the Knuckle's existence. Fewer still had the rights to attend whenever they wished; but that was likely a good thing, as there were very few more dangerous places in all of Eorzea.
And now, a liveried servant had brought one of the embossed invitations to Gogonji Gegenji, a.k.a. Tmesis Oan, though neither name graced the page. The servant waited patiently outside of his residence after the invitation was delivered; he was expected even by the servant to go, of course, and immediately, also of course.
Sometimes those who attended were hooded and blindfolded enroute, likely if their attendance was gauged to be a one-time occurrence. Gogonji, however, was spared that particular indignity, and he was whisked deep into the heart of Ul'dah, through the twisting inner allies and carpeted floors of the inner sanctum of the elite, through a discreet side door and another like it that seemed to be but one of many entrances. The Gilded Knuckle was a bar of sorts, a gambling hall of others, richly appointed and highly discreet. Many of the patrons wore masks, though likewise their identities seemed to be implicitly understood, their importance recognized by their very presence.Â
All manner of debaucheries were being indulged, from strong drink to one well-known Lalafellian merchant prince being attended by multiple silk-clad girls, to another being attended by scantily clad boys, their muscles oiled. Others seemed fixated only on business, their heads bent together, making a show of their importance and clandestinity. Everyone was being watched, whether by ever-attentive serving girls, or muscled security. To be a bartender alone at the Knuckle was to make more money than some merchants, but to put a single foot wrong in a place that was supposed to offer the most secure environment around for any sort of dealing was to lose more than your job.
Gogonji was whisked discreetly across the floor to a dark-paneled side room, of which there seemed to be many, looking out over the bloodsands for private viewing. A large Roegadyn was seated in the room, which had several low, round tables and long couches, but this man was the only one present. He was a Sea Wolf with skin more gray than green, and silver, square-cut hair and beard, with the undeniable bearing of a military man. "Ah, Oan, glad to see you could make it."
He offered Gogonji a hand bigger than the Lalafell's torso. "I hope you didn't mind my invitation all of a sudden, but it takes even me some time to arrange for the Knuckle to accommodate me. Government salaries, you do understand." He chuckled deeply, indicating that Gogonji should take a seat. He settled back down into his chair with a tired groan, rubbing his knees as if they bothered him.
"You have indeed been a busy bee, Oan," he noted, a faint smile appearing then fading yet again. "But it is not to threaten that I asked you here, merely to educate. When a new piece is added to the game board, it is my job to figure out how they move. I trust you are aware of who I am?" He tilted his head, looking at Gogonji inquisitively.
A serving woman discreetly placed a cup of tea at Gogonji's elbow. He did not need to order it, nor give his preference for it to be known already. Of course, drinks in such a place are assured to be safe - but every action he takes is being noted closely as well.
Few outside of the elite of various fields - the political, the criminal, the merchant class, the intelligence community, the notorious and those with cachet - were even aware of the Knuckle's existence. Fewer still had the rights to attend whenever they wished; but that was likely a good thing, as there were very few more dangerous places in all of Eorzea.
And now, a liveried servant had brought one of the embossed invitations to Gogonji Gegenji, a.k.a. Tmesis Oan, though neither name graced the page. The servant waited patiently outside of his residence after the invitation was delivered; he was expected even by the servant to go, of course, and immediately, also of course.
Sometimes those who attended were hooded and blindfolded enroute, likely if their attendance was gauged to be a one-time occurrence. Gogonji, however, was spared that particular indignity, and he was whisked deep into the heart of Ul'dah, through the twisting inner allies and carpeted floors of the inner sanctum of the elite, through a discreet side door and another like it that seemed to be but one of many entrances. The Gilded Knuckle was a bar of sorts, a gambling hall of others, richly appointed and highly discreet. Many of the patrons wore masks, though likewise their identities seemed to be implicitly understood, their importance recognized by their very presence.Â
All manner of debaucheries were being indulged, from strong drink to one well-known Lalafellian merchant prince being attended by multiple silk-clad girls, to another being attended by scantily clad boys, their muscles oiled. Others seemed fixated only on business, their heads bent together, making a show of their importance and clandestinity. Everyone was being watched, whether by ever-attentive serving girls, or muscled security. To be a bartender alone at the Knuckle was to make more money than some merchants, but to put a single foot wrong in a place that was supposed to offer the most secure environment around for any sort of dealing was to lose more than your job.
Gogonji was whisked discreetly across the floor to a dark-paneled side room, of which there seemed to be many, looking out over the bloodsands for private viewing. A large Roegadyn was seated in the room, which had several low, round tables and long couches, but this man was the only one present. He was a Sea Wolf with skin more gray than green, and silver, square-cut hair and beard, with the undeniable bearing of a military man. "Ah, Oan, glad to see you could make it."
He offered Gogonji a hand bigger than the Lalafell's torso. "I hope you didn't mind my invitation all of a sudden, but it takes even me some time to arrange for the Knuckle to accommodate me. Government salaries, you do understand." He chuckled deeply, indicating that Gogonji should take a seat. He settled back down into his chair with a tired groan, rubbing his knees as if they bothered him.
"You have indeed been a busy bee, Oan," he noted, a faint smile appearing then fading yet again. "But it is not to threaten that I asked you here, merely to educate. When a new piece is added to the game board, it is my job to figure out how they move. I trust you are aware of who I am?" He tilted his head, looking at Gogonji inquisitively.
A serving woman discreetly placed a cup of tea at Gogonji's elbow. He did not need to order it, nor give his preference for it to be known already. Of course, drinks in such a place are assured to be safe - but every action he takes is being noted closely as well.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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