Remy takes a drag from his cigarrete and starts talking to Jimmy, while playing around with his cup base.
Sure, thats fine by me. I understand you might want to avoid coming here often, but I do have to ask that at least the shipments of synth weed come regularly.
He takes a sip from his Gallic Pride and continues to speak.
Once I start selling that, I assume I'll have many regulars. One thing is holding off on the hounds and the slaves,
but not being able to keep a constant delivery of your drugs seems like just a waste of money and clients, for both of us.
Remy makes a brief pause, as if meaning to change the subject but remaining hesitant.
Say, Jimmy. I met this...group of Kusarians the other day. The Golden Chrysantemum. Do you know anything about them? Would you place your trust in them?
