The sergeant's eyebrows climbed up as the man took a deep breath and huffed it back out, one hand digging beneath his bandana to scratch at his hair.
"Now there's a good question. Think it might be best if we work back to those suppositions o' yours, then work our way forward, eh? Gives me some time t'collect me thoughts, that's for sure."
Osric drank down the rest of his glass and set the tumbler down on the table again, then slapped his knees as he leaned forward and frowned. He grunted, then shifted closer, resting his elbows on the table as he started to count off the fingers of one hand with the other.
"We're both better if I'm hands off when it comes to markets and prices and investments and capital and all that wash.... Siftin' through the desert for bandits? Ain't easy without the constabulary, and purgin' those ranks is slow going. Always has been, always will be. Even more so for a single man o' my resources. You'd need a man o' the General's means without the shackles of his allegiance." The man's tongue all but dripped venom as he went on. "And unless you're willin' t'stand as dictator like the good Admiral, red tape's a coeurl. As for blackmail? I've no objections to that." He cracked a small smile. "Shite, do I look noble t'you? You must be blinder than I thought. Anyroad, most o' that lot are thrown in with the rotten side o' the Syndicate. As if I'd care for 'em."
The sergeant paused for a moment.
"Now, solving Jameson...." He shook his head. "A friend o' mine was once willing t'do the deed for me, but he's been in absentia for, shite, a good moon now. I'm sure we can arrange somethin'. Hells, he'd only need be out o' the city and away from pryin' eyes long enough for me t'slit his throat. But I won't be doin' the deed in the city. I've things to live for, and no, they ain't 'justice' or any o' that bilgewater."
Justice is cruel. Had Justice won out, I would've died at Vesper.
She showed me Mercy.
Ain't that why I'm sittin' here now?
He eyed the man sitting across from him. Nero Lazarov. Smuggler-turned-pirate, of a sort. A man driven by... what? He didn't know. He supposed he'd never know, given how reluctant Nero was to trust him. Whatever it was that drove the smuggler to such radical ambitions, it had something to do with Brass Blades. Brass Blades, and....
"You're right, I'd make an awful what's-it. Commerce wasn't ever a specialty for me. Neither was sellin' m'self, nor makin' proposals. Hells, someone once told me I didn't give a tuco's piss for Ul'dah. Took me a long while to see the truth and face it, but he was right. I don't. I care for some o'Â the people in it, and that sort o' sentiment doesn't hold any coin with anyone."
The palms of his hands dropped to the tabletop as Osric pushed himself to his feet.
"I once accused you of not givin' a thought to those who might perish. Now you're tellin' me that you want t'give them a chance, a place for the children. Ain't sure if you're lying t'me or to your own self. I suppose it doesn't matter." The man set his teeth, drew in another deep breath through his nostrils. "All I've ever wanted out o' you is the chance to walk behind you as the city burns. To reach into the dark alleys, the broken buildings, the shattered homes and pluck out those that can be saved from your fires. The innocent and the children."
His hands clenched into fists, the leather squelching as they did so. The sergeant exhaled. Long. Slow. Steady.
"For that chance, I'd hand you the keys to the kingdom."
"Now there's a good question. Think it might be best if we work back to those suppositions o' yours, then work our way forward, eh? Gives me some time t'collect me thoughts, that's for sure."
Osric drank down the rest of his glass and set the tumbler down on the table again, then slapped his knees as he leaned forward and frowned. He grunted, then shifted closer, resting his elbows on the table as he started to count off the fingers of one hand with the other.
"We're both better if I'm hands off when it comes to markets and prices and investments and capital and all that wash.... Siftin' through the desert for bandits? Ain't easy without the constabulary, and purgin' those ranks is slow going. Always has been, always will be. Even more so for a single man o' my resources. You'd need a man o' the General's means without the shackles of his allegiance." The man's tongue all but dripped venom as he went on. "And unless you're willin' t'stand as dictator like the good Admiral, red tape's a coeurl. As for blackmail? I've no objections to that." He cracked a small smile. "Shite, do I look noble t'you? You must be blinder than I thought. Anyroad, most o' that lot are thrown in with the rotten side o' the Syndicate. As if I'd care for 'em."
The sergeant paused for a moment.
"Now, solving Jameson...." He shook his head. "A friend o' mine was once willing t'do the deed for me, but he's been in absentia for, shite, a good moon now. I'm sure we can arrange somethin'. Hells, he'd only need be out o' the city and away from pryin' eyes long enough for me t'slit his throat. But I won't be doin' the deed in the city. I've things to live for, and no, they ain't 'justice' or any o' that bilgewater."
Justice is cruel. Had Justice won out, I would've died at Vesper.
She showed me Mercy.
Ain't that why I'm sittin' here now?
He eyed the man sitting across from him. Nero Lazarov. Smuggler-turned-pirate, of a sort. A man driven by... what? He didn't know. He supposed he'd never know, given how reluctant Nero was to trust him. Whatever it was that drove the smuggler to such radical ambitions, it had something to do with Brass Blades. Brass Blades, and....
"You're right, I'd make an awful what's-it. Commerce wasn't ever a specialty for me. Neither was sellin' m'self, nor makin' proposals. Hells, someone once told me I didn't give a tuco's piss for Ul'dah. Took me a long while to see the truth and face it, but he was right. I don't. I care for some o'Â the people in it, and that sort o' sentiment doesn't hold any coin with anyone."
The palms of his hands dropped to the tabletop as Osric pushed himself to his feet.
"I once accused you of not givin' a thought to those who might perish. Now you're tellin' me that you want t'give them a chance, a place for the children. Ain't sure if you're lying t'me or to your own self. I suppose it doesn't matter." The man set his teeth, drew in another deep breath through his nostrils. "All I've ever wanted out o' you is the chance to walk behind you as the city burns. To reach into the dark alleys, the broken buildings, the shattered homes and pluck out those that can be saved from your fires. The innocent and the children."
His hands clenched into fists, the leather squelching as they did so. The sergeant exhaled. Long. Slow. Steady.
"For that chance, I'd hand you the keys to the kingdom."