MISSION: AN OFFER THEY CAN REFUSE

[archademode]

WHO: Wysteria, Gideon, Yevdokiya, Gabranth, and Sawbones
WHAT: Negotiating with the Carta for fun and profit...but mostly profit
WHEN: current
WHERE: Orzammar
NOTES: screaming nugs, good god | OOC post

let's do some mafia work

Nothing can be set in deep stone until work paints them as trustworthy. It isn't a matter of negotiation, but necessity, and so in the wake of that first meeting with Tarash— and his scaled down brother, whose penchant for irritation and anger reminded Gabranth of absolutely no one in particular— they meet within some nondescript corner of Riftwatch's private dining room within the Paragon's rest, huddling up in safer waters for the sake of reviewing given tasks, and deciding what roles they'll play within them.

Aside from the technical illegality of them, and the screaming nug delivery that needs doing without...screaming, it isn't an insurmountable list.
 
But they'll need to devise a strategy regardless: well before they begin trying to smuggle gold beneath the Merchants' Guild's collective, wealthy nose.

Comments

[archademode]

"Both." He determines dryly. So dry, in fact, that he plays his hand in terms of tolerance: easily made transparent despite the heaviness of dark armor and its inhuman face.

But they move on.

"Leave their uncertainty to me. I shall sway them by word, or through fear. Tarash is yours."

[heirring]

"Let us rely on word," she says without raising her attention from the proliferation of papers before her. "I don't believe fear is likely to get us very far. And besides, I think Tarash and his wife are perfectly charming. Though you are welcome to be as gruff as you like to his dreadful brother who surely deserves to be menaced somewhat."

A pause then. The rise of Wysteria's attention from her notes is abrupt and threateningly penetrating in the way that can only be achieved by sweet girls with no discretion whatsoever.

"Have you dealt very much with scoundrels and villains, Ser?"

[archademode]

That stare could put basilisks to shame. She makes it effortless, and he holds no doubt that were she not a creature composed of jovial mirth and cheerful inquisitiveness, it would be no different.

Even so, his voice is as stolid as ever when he responds.

"Define your usage of the term 'dealt'."

[heirring]

—is evidently so fascinating a specter of semantics as to require her fully undivided attention. Wysteria sets her papers aside.

"I suppose I hadn't really thought of it. You clearly have some opinion on the subject. Perhaps you might lead me through your understanding of the term."