Nero rested an elbow against the table, leaning his head against his fist, considering his words carefully. His face was concealed by a placid veneer of cordiality, though his thoughts ran through his mind.
So the Sergeant already knew about his alter ego. The smuggler had to admit to himself that he had not been doing that excellent of a job of concealing it; the false Sebastian was nothing more than a surface front to dissuade the bookkeepers and occasional customs officials. Any sort of focused investigation would, when combined with asking the right people, reveal who Sebastian Redgrave really was.
And the comment about Maelstrom vessels...that was a test. Its presence as a test was so obvious that Nero wasn't entirely sure if it actually was what he thought it was. It was a common way to draw information out from people; drop some sort of false news or knowledge and see if the opposing party corrects that assumption, directly or indirectly. It had to be that kind of test; Melkire wouldn't be so ignorant as to imply that Nero was managing to get away with raids on the Maelstrom without attracting the attention of the Knights of the Barracuda.
Nero nearly snorted, a myriad of answers that varied in their vitriol resting on the tip of his tongue. Why would Melkire be doing any of this? Because the sergeant knew he had no authority to convict Nero outside of Thanalan. Because he knew that removing Nero would only be a temporary solution. Because in the mind of Nero Lazarov, Osric Melkire and Roen Deneith were two of the same people: self-righteous moral crusaders who wanted to use him for his plan, only to condemn him when they saw fit. It took some effort to keep the sneer from his face.
Nero raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're not the sort who does well with snide comments, so I'll refrain from that in the future. In any case, you should understand my position. Agreeing to this meeting was risky enough. There are exactly three kinds of people who want to meet a man like me in a location like this: people who want to do business, people who want to kill me, and people who want to do business and then kill me. Two of those three options end with me dead, and you are absolutely one of the latter two. You understand my apprehension, of course."
Nero shifted from leaning his head against his right fist to leaning against his left. "And I know you, or rather, I know men who are just like you. You don't forget, and you don't forgive. Even if I do believe that you're just here for some open dialog and a civil sharing of ideals, I have everything to lose and nothing to gain from confessing to you my plans and motivations, which is obviously why you called me here. In short," the smuggler crossed one leg over the other and leaned back slightly. "in every possible scenario of this conversation, you need me more than I need you. So no, I don't know why you're doing any of this, or rather, I don't know why you thought any of this would work." Again he leaned on his fist, smirking slightly. "But I will let you amuse me with your answer."
So the Sergeant already knew about his alter ego. The smuggler had to admit to himself that he had not been doing that excellent of a job of concealing it; the false Sebastian was nothing more than a surface front to dissuade the bookkeepers and occasional customs officials. Any sort of focused investigation would, when combined with asking the right people, reveal who Sebastian Redgrave really was.
And the comment about Maelstrom vessels...that was a test. Its presence as a test was so obvious that Nero wasn't entirely sure if it actually was what he thought it was. It was a common way to draw information out from people; drop some sort of false news or knowledge and see if the opposing party corrects that assumption, directly or indirectly. It had to be that kind of test; Melkire wouldn't be so ignorant as to imply that Nero was managing to get away with raids on the Maelstrom without attracting the attention of the Knights of the Barracuda.
Nero nearly snorted, a myriad of answers that varied in their vitriol resting on the tip of his tongue. Why would Melkire be doing any of this? Because the sergeant knew he had no authority to convict Nero outside of Thanalan. Because he knew that removing Nero would only be a temporary solution. Because in the mind of Nero Lazarov, Osric Melkire and Roen Deneith were two of the same people: self-righteous moral crusaders who wanted to use him for his plan, only to condemn him when they saw fit. It took some effort to keep the sneer from his face.
Nero raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're not the sort who does well with snide comments, so I'll refrain from that in the future. In any case, you should understand my position. Agreeing to this meeting was risky enough. There are exactly three kinds of people who want to meet a man like me in a location like this: people who want to do business, people who want to kill me, and people who want to do business and then kill me. Two of those three options end with me dead, and you are absolutely one of the latter two. You understand my apprehension, of course."
Nero shifted from leaning his head against his right fist to leaning against his left. "And I know you, or rather, I know men who are just like you. You don't forget, and you don't forgive. Even if I do believe that you're just here for some open dialog and a civil sharing of ideals, I have everything to lose and nothing to gain from confessing to you my plans and motivations, which is obviously why you called me here. In short," the smuggler crossed one leg over the other and leaned back slightly. "in every possible scenario of this conversation, you need me more than I need you. So no, I don't know why you're doing any of this, or rather, I don't know why you thought any of this would work." Again he leaned on his fist, smirking slightly. "But I will let you amuse me with your answer."
