Habarre climbed the creaking, treacherous stairs through the Chemise, dodging the occasional drunken patron.
He was accompanied by his rather out-of-place secretary: A waifish, wart-ridden street urchin named Geoff, wearing an equally odd bicone hat.
Even Habarre- not the most compassionate person when it came to achieving his goals- had been a tad bit uncertain about hiring someone so young to work in such a place, but there was no-one else that cheap, he was decent with numbers (apparently they'd taught him such in the orphanage) and besides, the child had threatened to kick him in the groin if he wouldn't hire him.
All-in-all, Habarre decided it would be far less troublesome to hire the lad, provided he spent atleast half as much time working as he did trying to flirt with the 'entertainers'... So far, however, he had been true to his word, and was currently reeling off a string of figures as he tagged along behind Habarre.
Much to the boy's chagrin he had become something of a mascot about the brothel, and Habarre would often send him out and about trying to drum up business for the place, accompanied of course by a scantily-clad lady or two.
At last, Habarre reached the door to his office, only to be confronted by the pauper he'd spoken to earlier. Geoff trailed off in mid-sentence, then followed his employer inside, tugging his hat from his sandy hair.
"You need to hire better guards," Habarre really couldn't argue with that.
Resigned to having his office invaded by any and all, he lowered himself into his chair, steepled his fingers and listened to what this stranger had to say, remaining silent and expressionless until they had finished. Then he got straight to the point.
"I suppose, you are referring to that drink the Ralkarians peddle? I won't lie, they do seem to be rather the elephant in the room when it comes to the city's drug trades. I've no idea why you're at odds with them, but I do intend to carve a business for myself in this city." He produced a couple of small ceramic cups and a bottle of cheap wine, filling one each for he and his guest. He sipped the stuff and grimaced- 'Agh. Tastes more like vinegar than anything,'- before setting it back down on the desk and spreading his hands.
"I doubt you will be surprised when I tell you, the Chemise is still finding her feet. Hence the lack of guards, yes, and this awful wine." He sat back in his chair, stroking his (rather magnificient) moustache as he inspected the man.
"Anyway. As I was saying, I doubt these men, these Ralkarians will appreciate any competition. Your messenger spoke to me earlier, I had already intended to seek you out. Tell me, just what resources do you have at your command? Asides from having eyes all over this city, or so it seems."
Habarre allowed himself a small smile as he said the last, before handing his unpalatable drink off to Geoff and awaiting Witless John's response.
"I am sure we can reach some arrangement."
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Topic: You are King III: Spring 938 AAL (Read 133158 times)