Anything they could possibly want. It could be nothing special, or they could ask for a Valor. An unenviable position, but Yolande had to play the hand she was dealt, win or lose. She intended to win, or at least break even. Still, anything.
"That is quite a request. 'Anything' can be a great many things. Without knowing what, precisely, 'anything' is, there is no certainty in whether or not I can acquire it." Yolande steepled her fingers, elbows still resting on the tabletop. Delicately-manicured forefingers traced the curvature of her plush lips, now devoid of artificial color after minutes of bathing.
"Cependant," She continued, at precisely the moment one of the Rogues began to form the first word of their sentence. Yolande would not give these people the luxury of questioning her competence, her ability, or her reach. "I find your terms agreeable. If you desire it, you shall have it. Tout et n'importe quoi." Perhaps a mistake, perhaps not. Only time would tell. She'd certainly been stretched thin previously. The theft of a pair of Perilous gunboats from the dockyards set to birth them, the destruction of a particularly bothersome squadron of Council patrol craft in low orbit of their then-capital, all had tested the limits of her daughters, her famille, and herself. It was a difficult dance, straddling the line of legality, and dipping toes into both pools to test the waters.
"As for your issues with supply, I trust that a man of your capabilities will have little issue making appropriate arrangements. There is a great need for this product in Gallia and the surrounding systems." Intertwining her fingers once more, Yolande laid her forearms back on the surface, staring up at the party expectantly. If I may ask: how quickly can deliveries be made ready, and how large will these initial deliveries be? Exact amounts are unnecessary. Simply, as I've heard said, 'ballpark it.'"
She was once again met with silence, the woman to the man's right went to speak again as it seemed Yolande had paused to finish speaking, but fell silent as she started once again. A sly smirk crossed her face as she gave an under the breath chuckle. Seemingly appreciating the pregnant pauses and the timing of speech patterns, watching Yolande with admiration to her milky white eyes. The red eyed man began walking around the woman, hand passing over the back of her chair as he walked across the table slowly toward the gallic partner. Stopping just beside her as he looked down to her.
"I ran inventory prior to our meeting, but we will be airing on the side of caution as these deliveries begin. Say.. Twenty-Thousand crates for each of the first few weeks, spread out. Test the waters. Initially, perhaps some hull plating, carbines. Pot-de-fer. Satisfactory curiosities. Not in large amounts mind you, credits will do just fine for now. It will begin building, as our... mutually beneficial venture begins to grow."
"We will remain reasonable and respectful in our demands. As is required for a healthy relationship."
His hand out stretched, offering to take hers once again, presumably to bring her to her feet, his eyes cast down into hers with a deep gaze. No look of irritation or dissatisfaction present as he watched his Gallic counterpart closely.
Pot-de-fers and Carbines. Simple, trivial even. Yolande's eyes narrowed slightly at the demand. The Credits were still on the table, obviously, but such a request would be below even a Junker. And for that large a shipment, even with the delay, it seemed woefully unbalanced. Unfair, even. Glancing down at the offered hand, she rested her own against Hemlocke's palm, squeezing gently as he began to pull.
"The weapons are simple enough to acquire. One of my daughters will see them delivered within the week. I'm certain trois cent cinquante of each will suffice, for the moment." Rather than releasing the Rogue's hand once she was in a standing position, though, Yolande kept the gentle grip. "Hull paneling will be inconsequential as well. It is freely purchased from Service Métal Gaulois, and, so long as you aren't requesting enough to build a battlefleet, will go entirely unnoticed."
"What does interest me, though, are the 'satisfactory curiosities'." Yolande's eyes darted from the glowing cybernetic implant to the human orb and back again as she took a tentative step closer. From this distance, the still-pink nick to her neck was painfully obvious. "That may require further explanation." The man had said 'anything', provided a list entirely-banal requests, and a single out. A nebulous term, one that required a touch of gentle poking and prodding.
"You already have my agreement, Josie. It would help to nurture our budding partnership if you were frank with me. Did you have something specific in mind?"
The man's stance remained still as she rose, though his hand did not retreat as she continued to hold it, watching her very closely as she took her small step forward. Gazing into her eyes with the vibrant, near blinding crimson optic, and his human eye. He was about to speak, however, his right hand had lifted her voice to speak during that momentary distraction of observation. One could easily imagine what the Petrochemical would be used for if one was familiar with its wide variety of effects.
"Nanomembrane filters, Nanotubing, Shape Memory Alloy, Energy Field Equipment, and Petrochemical. To name specifics. In the amount of two thousand units each."
"I'm sure you're well aware how easy it is to damage sensitive components through piracy. These /curiosities/ will likely be a one time request."
His head would tilt ever so slightly to the side as the two held their close gaze. A non-forceful tone emerged, a simple question, all be it worded in a rather odd manner that would otherwise sound like an underlying threat. Though she'd likely become used to his odd speech patterns by now.
That was it? Yolande had expected a greater degree of esotericism in the demands, something beyond mere commodities. Sale points, fences, and names of those that owed favors rushed into her mind, compiling a detailed plan of action. The matriarch cocked her head in the opposite direction, attempting to match the man tone-for-tone.
"Why would it be?" The woman held her icy gaze, letting the moment simmer, then cool as she returned to a more relaxed posture. "Another joke, Packleader. To be truthful, such a volume of Petrochemicals may raise a red flag with the Gendarmerie. Maquis terrorists often create destructive devices with such things, with disastrous effects. It would be no real bother to avoid their scrutiny, however, I may have a substitution, if you are interested." Squeezing the cyborg's hand once more, the matriarch continued. "You're familiar with the Kemwer firm, correct? I must admit, I was only dimly aware of the name, until a shipment of their devices was intercepted in Minarchy space. Said devices were 'liberated' from the smuggler tasked with transporting them after his capture, as is our duty to the law."
"After further investigation, it was discovered that this individual was bound for Caussaude Depot, a Maquis base of operations. Evidently, the group had encountered previous issues acquiring their preferred destructive materials, and elected to 'outsource', without our knowledge. A mistake, but understandable." It had taken little time to break the smuggler, though covering up the capture of a Maquis supplier took significantly more effort. It would not benefit l'Union to lose a client over such a small thing. The Gendarmerie was responsible, obviously, and Yolande had proven such to the local resistance leaders. Nothing more came of the interaction, and nothing more would, so long as her storehouses remained secure. Still, it would behoove her to be rid of the illicit goods.
"Rather than the complete amount of Petrochemicals, I'd like to offer you those Munitions. Trente-huit individual pallets, each containing a pair of breaching and siege charges designed to be affixed to the hull of a starship. While the precise explosive yield of each is unknown, I expect it to be quite large. The finer details of their little 'operation' are beyond me, though I am aware of the Maquis' end goal: the complete and utter destruction of the Battleship Eiffel, currently undergoing repairs at Rambouillet." Offering a gentle smile, Yolande placed one hand atop Hemlocke's, and another below, simply holding the limb steady. "Will such a substitution suffice for your needs?"
The man glared into Yolande's eyes as she spoke of munitions, rather specific munitions. She would rather risk being caught with armaments than be subject to criminal charges over large quantities of chemicals, now that was odd, and didn't quite add up. His crimson eye glanced to the ghoulish woman across the table for a moment, before back to Yolande. There was something to that, and she was willing to give it up very easily, a businesswoman acting as if it meant nothing. His voice lifted in a neutral if not apathetic tone as if the inability to gather those materials meant nothing to him, or didn't surprise him.
"Leaves me wanting I'm afraid, though it will do. Do you have any requests of your own? Personal or otherwise."
The offset pair of eyes, burning crimson and mutated hazel held their interlocked gaze with Yolande's eyes as they watched, waiting expectantly for her next words.
Wanting? Rather than being forced to fabricate his own munitions, the provision of fully-fledged, complete ordnance left the man wanting? Perhaps he enjoyed seeing destruction wrought by a device created of his own efforts, or perhaps he had a specific purpose in mind for those particular goods.
"Very well. I will endeavor to have the full amount of chemicals delivered to you, along with the Munitions. A gesture of goodwill." It was half-true, supplying the man with the liberated equipment was a token of apology, even if the apology itself was left unsaid. There was the minor ulterior motive, though. While her storehouses contained many goods that would see her imprisoned on multiple charges, none were so severe as possessing those weapons.
"As for requests..." Yolande pondered for a moment, finally releasing the Rogue's hand. She tapped a forefinger against her plush lips in contemplation. He had said 'personal', though it would be best to leave those requests unsaid. For now. "I would like to see one of your men return with me to Gallia, as a liaison between our two groups. A Rogue speaking to a Rogue over interstellar distances is typical, a member of l'Union speaking to a Rogue garners some suspicion, were the transmission to be intercepted by certain parties." It was the truth: while a Rogue in Gallia would be considered an oddity, it had happened before, as evidenced by the man in front of her. He'd rampaged through Picardy, drawing the ire of the Royal Navy, and the attention of the matriarch previously.