When the pearl blinked, his first reaction was to stare at it. For some reason--he dare not call it sentimentality, lest he end up inadvertently committing suicide with his own disbelieving laughter--he had kept it, and granted it the rather indignant label of "Annoying" in his case of linkpearls, though it was more of an afterthought than a deliberate insult.Â
How many days or weeks it'd been, Nero couldn't say, but it'd been time enough--time for him to clear his head, to think properly and logically, and most importantly, time for him to regain his composure. Even so, it was evidently not a complete recovery as the expression on his face froze as if struck by rigor mortis when he placed the pearl in his ear and heard a voice that he was not expecting.
"Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..."
He dared not blink. He dared not breath. Not necessarily because he was afraid of the voice on the other end of the pearl, but because he was afraid of what he'd say in response.
A pause.
"Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me."
As a matter of fact, he did, not that he'd admit it. Nero's lungs held any air captive within his lungs. His right hand tightly clasped the edge of his rickety seat until his knuckles paled.
"We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?"
A question. And one that didn't sound rhetorical. Crofte said "conversation" which implied that she wanted a dialogue. That gave him time to formulate a proper response. Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear to alleviate some of his anxiety. Should he simply not respond? That'd be one way to prevent a dialogue from happening, and his lack of response would be the only reply they needed. But on the other hand, this was an opportunity to manipulate things in his favour.
It wasn't necessarily that he cared about Roen. Those valuable days of clear thinking had lead him to realise that the basis of their relationship was flimsy at best. It was two people seeking companionship in a time of mutual loneliness and desiring affirmation of their respective ideals. For a time, it had proven beneficial, perhaps even symbiotic, but Nero was far too cynical to acknowledge it as anything more than that. The back of his mind registered the amused observation that in all of the time the two had spent being somewhat emotionally dependent on one another, only once had they shared a bed, and it was not even really a bed to begin with. A more surefire sign of the smuggler losing his touch could not exist.
In any case, they had clearly mentioned Roen to entertain the farce of an idea of him coming down to Ul'dah to rescue her. It was highly unlikely that they expected any results from this, but the fact that Crofte resorted to this--essentially holding her own friend hostage--meant that the Monetarists had hit a wall in drawing Nero out of hiding.
He breathed in deeply, a sentence prepared. That sentence became two sentences. Then a paragraph. Then two paragraphs. Describing the smuggler's face as stony would be a gross understatement as he placed the pearl back in his air and inhaled again. His response would be terse and to the point. There would be very little pausing between statements; Crofte desired a dialogue. And so he will deny her.
Nero's mouth broke into a smirk. It was a shadow of his former trademark, but still distinctive enough to almost be called genuine.Â
"In an indeterminate amount of time, a riot will break out in Pearl Lane. Though my involvement has ceased, the circumstances have forced my former collaborators to the point of zero compromise. They will make demands for improved conditions and the complete reformation of law enforcement. When their demands are inevitably refused, they will engage in armed conflict. Their bloodlust can only be sated by Monetarist nobles giving in to their demands."
It was half bluff and half truth. It should be enough to shake up the game board.
"As for myself, I am willing to turn myself in to Ul'dahn authorities in exchange for the head of Jameson Taeros." Truth be told, Nero bore no grudge against the man. His conflict with Taeros was strictly professional: they each stood in the way of the goal of the other, and thus one or the other must be eliminated. However, Nero was aware that Taeros and Crofte were intimately involved--assuming that that laughable act at the Starlight Ball wasn't actually an act--and if even the thought of such a compromise made the knight squirm, that'd be enough for him.
Obviously, his offer would not even be considered. It was an unambiguous, if indirect refusal of whatever offer they had prepared involving Roen.
"If that is not satisfactory, then a complete absolvement of all of my crimes, real or perceived, will buy you information on the inevitable riot. I will help you stop further bloodshed, but you must let me go." That, too, was an obvious farce. Ul'dah didn't even know the meaning of the word "justice", much less "absolvement". Still, it was the principle of the idea, not that said idea would even cross the minds of whoever was in charge.
"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? Will you commit evil to destroy evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that means surrendering to evil?"
Just like him to feed his ego by having the last word.
With that, Nero plucked the pearl from his ear and flicked it with his thumb like a marble, sending the small sphere still glowing from the magical link spinning off the cliff and into the dark waters below. He adjusted himself on the rickety seat and rapped his knuckles against the steel of the large wagon-sized next to him, grinning rather widely at it. The sea lapped against the rocks of the hidden cove, the wind whistling across the entrance as Nero glanced out to sea.
It was only a matter of time for things to get much more interesting.
How many days or weeks it'd been, Nero couldn't say, but it'd been time enough--time for him to clear his head, to think properly and logically, and most importantly, time for him to regain his composure. Even so, it was evidently not a complete recovery as the expression on his face froze as if struck by rigor mortis when he placed the pearl in his ear and heard a voice that he was not expecting.
"Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..."
He dared not blink. He dared not breath. Not necessarily because he was afraid of the voice on the other end of the pearl, but because he was afraid of what he'd say in response.
A pause.
"Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me."
As a matter of fact, he did, not that he'd admit it. Nero's lungs held any air captive within his lungs. His right hand tightly clasped the edge of his rickety seat until his knuckles paled.
"We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?"
A question. And one that didn't sound rhetorical. Crofte said "conversation" which implied that she wanted a dialogue. That gave him time to formulate a proper response. Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear to alleviate some of his anxiety. Should he simply not respond? That'd be one way to prevent a dialogue from happening, and his lack of response would be the only reply they needed. But on the other hand, this was an opportunity to manipulate things in his favour.
It wasn't necessarily that he cared about Roen. Those valuable days of clear thinking had lead him to realise that the basis of their relationship was flimsy at best. It was two people seeking companionship in a time of mutual loneliness and desiring affirmation of their respective ideals. For a time, it had proven beneficial, perhaps even symbiotic, but Nero was far too cynical to acknowledge it as anything more than that. The back of his mind registered the amused observation that in all of the time the two had spent being somewhat emotionally dependent on one another, only once had they shared a bed, and it was not even really a bed to begin with. A more surefire sign of the smuggler losing his touch could not exist.
In any case, they had clearly mentioned Roen to entertain the farce of an idea of him coming down to Ul'dah to rescue her. It was highly unlikely that they expected any results from this, but the fact that Crofte resorted to this--essentially holding her own friend hostage--meant that the Monetarists had hit a wall in drawing Nero out of hiding.
He breathed in deeply, a sentence prepared. That sentence became two sentences. Then a paragraph. Then two paragraphs. Describing the smuggler's face as stony would be a gross understatement as he placed the pearl back in his air and inhaled again. His response would be terse and to the point. There would be very little pausing between statements; Crofte desired a dialogue. And so he will deny her.
Nero's mouth broke into a smirk. It was a shadow of his former trademark, but still distinctive enough to almost be called genuine.Â
"In an indeterminate amount of time, a riot will break out in Pearl Lane. Though my involvement has ceased, the circumstances have forced my former collaborators to the point of zero compromise. They will make demands for improved conditions and the complete reformation of law enforcement. When their demands are inevitably refused, they will engage in armed conflict. Their bloodlust can only be sated by Monetarist nobles giving in to their demands."
It was half bluff and half truth. It should be enough to shake up the game board.
"As for myself, I am willing to turn myself in to Ul'dahn authorities in exchange for the head of Jameson Taeros." Truth be told, Nero bore no grudge against the man. His conflict with Taeros was strictly professional: they each stood in the way of the goal of the other, and thus one or the other must be eliminated. However, Nero was aware that Taeros and Crofte were intimately involved--assuming that that laughable act at the Starlight Ball wasn't actually an act--and if even the thought of such a compromise made the knight squirm, that'd be enough for him.
Obviously, his offer would not even be considered. It was an unambiguous, if indirect refusal of whatever offer they had prepared involving Roen.
"If that is not satisfactory, then a complete absolvement of all of my crimes, real or perceived, will buy you information on the inevitable riot. I will help you stop further bloodshed, but you must let me go." That, too, was an obvious farce. Ul'dah didn't even know the meaning of the word "justice", much less "absolvement". Still, it was the principle of the idea, not that said idea would even cross the minds of whoever was in charge.
"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? Will you commit evil to destroy evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that means surrendering to evil?"
Just like him to feed his ego by having the last word.
With that, Nero plucked the pearl from his ear and flicked it with his thumb like a marble, sending the small sphere still glowing from the magical link spinning off the cliff and into the dark waters below. He adjusted himself on the rickety seat and rapped his knuckles against the steel of the large wagon-sized next to him, grinning rather widely at it. The sea lapped against the rocks of the hidden cove, the wind whistling across the entrance as Nero glanced out to sea.
It was only a matter of time for things to get much more interesting.
