"Even if I didn't want to cancel construction, I can't provide you with any more materiel."
The response that came through the pearl was a calm and verbose yet indignant series of jabbers. It was the closest to annoyed that Arturieaux had ever sounded.
"Then repurpose them. You've got a creative mind, haven't you? I'm sure you can reuse them for something else." A sigh. "We can talk about this later. I'll update you if I manage to continue the supply." Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear and absentmindedly dropped it into an empty wine glass that was resting nearby. The water rippled and splashed against the sides of the bathtub as he sunk deeper into its warm embrace.Â
It'd been a few days since his...mental collapse, but the most important questions had thus far failed to find answers. Had he actually given up? It was true that he'd ceased the shipping of steel and ceruleum, but that was mostly because he'd lost his main source of income since the mutiny on the Forte. He did have relatively livable sums of gil streaming from his investments, but not nearly enough to fund a project of that scale any more. He barely had enough to pay Shael for her last shipment, and then she'd inevitably hear about his inability--or unwillingness--to pay for any further materiel.
What did it matter, anyway? What did Ul'dah mean to him?Â
"Did you really believe in what I believed in, or do you simply seek Ul'dah's betterment because you felt that such a righteous and noble vision justified your existence?"
He'd questioned Roen's involvement, but it seemed that his own involvement in his own plan was no better. Maybe that was all he wanted. Something to justify his existence. Nero reached for the wine bottle that rest on the floor outside the tub. He noted that he'd been drinking far more often as of late, not out of anguish, but simply because he'd never really noticed the fine taste and quality of such beverages before. The smuggler had been far too caught up in his day-to-day business to indulge in such hedonism that often.
The most fatal mistake a businessman could make was to buy into the sunk cost fallacy. Cutting losses now and saving something was better than investing everything and gaining nothing.
Ul'dah, Ul'dah, innocents, women and children...Nero's mind involuntarily spiked with pain at even recalling that last phrase. Suddenly, he violently threw the wine bottle across the room with as much force as he could muster, the unfortunate vessel splitting apart in a magnificent shower of glass and velvet-coloured liquid.
"What do I care about their innocents anyway?" he said out loud to nobody in particular, sinking into the tub until the water reached the bottom of his chin. "That's all they want. Defending their innocents. They don't give a rat's ass about anyone else but their precious innocents." As long as they felt like they were doing their job, they couldn't care less about whether or not they were actually doing it. Bandits, corruption, violence...there was no point to trying to stop these things, in the same way that there was no point in trying to stop it from raining. All one could do was build a roof over their heads, and Nero had managed to build quite a sturdy one in Vylbrand.
As for who "they" were, the term brought up a myriad of faces. Roen's, the Sultansworns, the nobles, all of them who were obnoxiously self-righteous. If they're content with it, then fine. Let that city fester and rot until it's nothing but bare bones.
Maybe he'd just go ahead and give Scythe some of the spare magitek. That'd certainly make things more entertaining. A raid on the nobles, perhaps? The Brass Blades were equipped to deal with Amal'jaa and bullying unarmed merchants, nothing more. Explosives, maybe? The rifles were already quite substantial in terms of firepower. Nero had told Scythe that the latter should focus on recruiting as many bodies from Pearl Lane as possible. After all, those innocents don't matter, and they can't be poor if they're killed by Brass Blades or Sultansworn or whoever else decided that the status quo was satisfactory.
It really doesn't matter anymore, does it.
Nineteen years of his life down the drain, only to be stopped by the people he thought would help him. At least he quit before the climax.
As long as they get to protect the innocents.
He picked up another wine bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth.
Either way, my involvement is done.
The response that came through the pearl was a calm and verbose yet indignant series of jabbers. It was the closest to annoyed that Arturieaux had ever sounded.
"Then repurpose them. You've got a creative mind, haven't you? I'm sure you can reuse them for something else." A sigh. "We can talk about this later. I'll update you if I manage to continue the supply." Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear and absentmindedly dropped it into an empty wine glass that was resting nearby. The water rippled and splashed against the sides of the bathtub as he sunk deeper into its warm embrace.Â
It'd been a few days since his...mental collapse, but the most important questions had thus far failed to find answers. Had he actually given up? It was true that he'd ceased the shipping of steel and ceruleum, but that was mostly because he'd lost his main source of income since the mutiny on the Forte. He did have relatively livable sums of gil streaming from his investments, but not nearly enough to fund a project of that scale any more. He barely had enough to pay Shael for her last shipment, and then she'd inevitably hear about his inability--or unwillingness--to pay for any further materiel.
What did it matter, anyway? What did Ul'dah mean to him?Â
"Did you really believe in what I believed in, or do you simply seek Ul'dah's betterment because you felt that such a righteous and noble vision justified your existence?"
He'd questioned Roen's involvement, but it seemed that his own involvement in his own plan was no better. Maybe that was all he wanted. Something to justify his existence. Nero reached for the wine bottle that rest on the floor outside the tub. He noted that he'd been drinking far more often as of late, not out of anguish, but simply because he'd never really noticed the fine taste and quality of such beverages before. The smuggler had been far too caught up in his day-to-day business to indulge in such hedonism that often.
The most fatal mistake a businessman could make was to buy into the sunk cost fallacy. Cutting losses now and saving something was better than investing everything and gaining nothing.
Ul'dah, Ul'dah, innocents, women and children...Nero's mind involuntarily spiked with pain at even recalling that last phrase. Suddenly, he violently threw the wine bottle across the room with as much force as he could muster, the unfortunate vessel splitting apart in a magnificent shower of glass and velvet-coloured liquid.
"What do I care about their innocents anyway?" he said out loud to nobody in particular, sinking into the tub until the water reached the bottom of his chin. "That's all they want. Defending their innocents. They don't give a rat's ass about anyone else but their precious innocents." As long as they felt like they were doing their job, they couldn't care less about whether or not they were actually doing it. Bandits, corruption, violence...there was no point to trying to stop these things, in the same way that there was no point in trying to stop it from raining. All one could do was build a roof over their heads, and Nero had managed to build quite a sturdy one in Vylbrand.
As for who "they" were, the term brought up a myriad of faces. Roen's, the Sultansworns, the nobles, all of them who were obnoxiously self-righteous. If they're content with it, then fine. Let that city fester and rot until it's nothing but bare bones.
Maybe he'd just go ahead and give Scythe some of the spare magitek. That'd certainly make things more entertaining. A raid on the nobles, perhaps? The Brass Blades were equipped to deal with Amal'jaa and bullying unarmed merchants, nothing more. Explosives, maybe? The rifles were already quite substantial in terms of firepower. Nero had told Scythe that the latter should focus on recruiting as many bodies from Pearl Lane as possible. After all, those innocents don't matter, and they can't be poor if they're killed by Brass Blades or Sultansworn or whoever else decided that the status quo was satisfactory.
It really doesn't matter anymore, does it.
Nineteen years of his life down the drain, only to be stopped by the people he thought would help him. At least he quit before the climax.
As long as they get to protect the innocents.
He picked up another wine bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth.
Either way, my involvement is done.
