Yolande suppressed a second wince as the Rogue took her hand, those brown, doe-like eyes of hers tracing his every movement. All around, the local malcontents paused for just a moment, observing the almost-theatrical performance taking place. A few even seemed to be placing quiet bets, though the pair on stage paid them no mind. Gruff lips brushed against soft, porcelain skin, the barest hint of stubble tickling it gently. The sensation was so unexpected, so alien to the situation, that the Corsican couldn't help but let out the tiniest giggle, presenting a wide smile for the Rogue as he met her gaze once more.
"So it would seem!" A second, louder laugh escaped her lips, and, risking some form of retribution, Yolande took a step forward. Reaching out with her now-free hand, she rested it on Hemlocke's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. Without crowding the predator too harshly, the pair grew closer, until Yolande was nearly at his side. "Mon ami, tell me..." Another pregnant pause, just long enough for her to lock eyes with the man, the lavender scent of her perfume teasing his nose and drowning out the scent of the bay. Running her hand from his shoulder, it slid down his back slowly, coming to rest near his opposite hip. When the woman next spoke, her voice had taken on a very personal, almost-sultry tone. "Do you put on performances like the one outside for everyone, or exclusively for les nobles attractives?"
A rapid darting, almost unstable glance as her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, reminding him of a very similar touch he'd received not all that long ago, what was different was the following squeeze to indicate friendship, not something a real friend would need to do. His eyes were darting back and forth between the slithering hand, and her other hand to identify what she was doing. Watching each movement, a step, a shift of a hip, a tilt of the head. Though her approach wasn't hindered, she could feel how tense his body was, the lean, toned figure that was hidden by the proper garments, seemingly of true quality rather than simply looks. She could also feel the odd heat emanating from his form, it was much hotter than it should be, as if he had just gotten out of rigorous activity, though he wasn't sweating, no shift in skin tone, and his breathing wasn't labored in any way.
As her form came to a still, he hadn't moved, nor rejected the advance, though his head turned to look upon her face, oddly, she still had a side profile as he looked somewhat past her face and to the side to avoid blinding her with the glaring crimson cybernetic. His human eye running over her facial features now that she was closer, her skin and lips specifically. Pristine was the word that came to mind, she certainly didn't do her own dirty work and that much was obvious. Her tone had shifted dramatically, another manipulation perhaps, tempting him. He released a slow exhale, simply warmth, though just like his body it carried an odd heat to it. His voice emerged shortly after the release of breath, no change in tone was heard despite the closeness she decided to bring to their forms.
Yolande fought back the urge to retreat. Such a display of weakness was near-sure to provoke an even more vicious response. Without a doubt, she was a diplomat, ever-so-experienced regarding the intricacies of working with disparate human factions. Animals, though, that was another story. She thought hard, back to the times when Sauvanne had spent weeks attempting to break a prized riding beast. A near-perfect example of the species, stuffed with rippling musculature and equipped with rock-hard hooves. Every time the young woman had shown even an inkling of fear, the creature soon grew even more unruly, often chasing her around the corral. No, for certain, baring her proverbial throat would be the worst thing she could possibly do.
Redoubling her efforts, that same silky-smooth tone remained as she spoke once more. If mere touch failed to elicit the correct response, perhaps she'd simply dig deeper. Yolande needed to know what made this man tick, and quickly. "I'm honored. Bringing that many ships, solely to put on a display of martial prowess, et juste pour moi? Quite a gesture, even if my young daughter did not enjoy it." The heat emanating from her partner soon began to soak into Yolande's bones, serving to offset the dank air of the hangar bay. It was almost comforting. At least, it would be, were her prospective business associate not giving off the energy of a coiled viper, poised to strike at just the right provocation. "Even so, arriving with so many vessels reflects well on you. Preparedness is a virtue I most certainly appreciate, even require in those I intend to do business with. Far too often, men throw themselves at a problem with reckless abandon, heedless of the consequences of their actions."
An appeal to noble sensibilities, should the cyborg have any. A gentle reminder that despite her non-threatening posture, Yolande was perhaps not as weak as she seemed. An indication that she was here to negotiate, and an appeal to ego. Perhaps her ill-at-ease daughter and her outburst could play well into easing the simmering temper of this man. Again, the Corsican awaited a response, hoping the gentle probing would expand her opportunities for advancement.
Once again, he remained still, thoughts rolled within his mind as he stared deep into her eyes with his own, the crimson light had moved back upon her face. He listened, more manipulations, no more physical advance, she pretended to appear moved and swayed by the displayed, impressed. Called forth an ego that wasn't there. She didn't care for what he did, why should she, a diplomat, especially a noble from Gallia would have seen it all before. His brow furrowed, eyes flashing a glare as more words poured out in attempt to stroke his favor. She would call it politeness, he called them lies. Lies, he hated, and his face displayed that, a fire burned within his human eye, stoked by each word, yet it was not in her favor.
He let out another slow exhale, taking a step to the side, and in the same motion pivoting to face her, leaving her body rather chilled with the lack of heat, discomfort, he knew she was uncomfortable from her advances not working. She was under a lens, and for a woman like her, she was usually the one holding the frame of that lens. Though despite how wrong the situation was going for her, his face returned to neutrality. Offering a lifted left hand in the direction of the catwalk tunnel of exposed wires that went deeper into the ship, motioning to it likely as a gesture of attention, as well as a tell. Though his words were daring, if not outright insulting, certainly a jarring change from who she was used to dealing with. Pointing out exactly what she was doing, as well as re-directing where her efforts would be going in the following minutes. He wasn't playing the game, or even reacting to her carefully constructed tapestries at this point. He spoke again from his newfound position only a desperate inkling of a reach away, his tone once again proved to remain consistent, not tempered or marred by anger, nor annoyance.
"You came a long way to waste so much time on flattery. You had business you wanted to discuss."
Merde. Fine, if that was how this man wanted to play, then, by god, Yolande could play as well. Luckily, her wordsmithing abilities had borne fruit, however small and sour that fruit may be. Adjusting her posture once more, Yolande began to walk just ahead of the Rogue, towards the indicated corridor. Her midnight-black dress flowed behind her lithe frame, drawing further glances from the assembled Rogue pirates and crewmen. "In my profession, flattery tends to work well. It's not often I deal with a man like you." Now, her voice was deadpan, and she spared a glance over her shoulder at her sparring partner. "It's refreshing." Gently, now. Don't ignite a blaze, not just yet. Crack the slightest of smiles, no teeth.
"You're very much correct about the purpose of my little trek." A touch of understatement, the logistics of traveling from Provence to the border of Liberty without the other families noticing her movements were a hassle. "I have an offer to make you, one that will serve both of us well, should you find the terms agreeable." Deftly navigating the poorly-maintained corridor, Yolande waited until the remainder of the crew was out of eye-and-earshot, before pausing her trot. The Rogue continued for another step, coming to rest just ahead of her, his back still turned. The imaginary mask fell to the floor, laying Yolande bare.
"You know what I am, Hemlocke. I'm a businesswoman, a mother, and the matriarch of a criminal syndicate poised to undermine every other Corsican famille in one fell swoop. You aren't my fan, nor a fan of women like me, that much is clear." Yolande paused, waiting for even the slightest reaction. When none was forthcoming, she continued, her voice level and clear, a stark contrast to the sweet, motherly tone she'd previously taken. "Gallia has been decapitated. The House is in turmoil. The dust has barely settled, and everyone is scrambling for their piece of the cake. I'd like to take a very, very large slice, and I'm more than willing to share it with you."
The crimson light trailed behind her, pouring over her movements and frame, she was still being watched closely with the eye of one untrusting. The corridor stretched, growing darker, though the cybernetic behind her served to illuminate the dark. As she walked, he followed, until the two approached a bend that lead inward, a sealed door stood in their way, he moved forward toward it, and that's when she stopped. Making him quickly turn his crimson optic to stare at her with a killer gaze, growing very tired of her games.
What followed instead of more games and honeyed words was a direct approach, and a drop in tone. Which served to bring his posture out of the dark, and steady the unstable gaze. Just as he had before, he didn't interrupt. Watching, waiting, listening. The man's form nearly vanished behind the crimson optic into the shadows from how glaringly bright the eye was, a cruel, burning beam that split the darkness, painting it in the extension of his gaze, of what he could see. A silhouette was all that remained, no clothes, no features, no glint within a sparkling human eye. The mask had fallen for both of them. Yet for Yolande, she'd been seeing who he really was from the very start, she was simply ignoring his less ideal feature.
"With your motivation made clear. I think it's time you tell me how exactly I fit into your little puzzle."
The role of a gatekeeper was a symbolic one, they who decided, who, went where, and why. Another blinding light filled the hall, casting away his own red optic, and the darkness entirely. His hand revealed to have layed upon a scanner for the door, the hiss of pressurized and crisp air filled the hall, blasting away the smell of burnt cord and wire. What came to replace it was the smell of food, of wine, of comfort, as if one was walking into a relative's home. The air had taken on a much warmer temperature, outright laying the bitter chill of hangar air to sleep. The door opened up into the main hall of the large beast, extending from main hangar door, and the side passage ways they had just come from, all the way to the front of the cruiser's massive size. Two large stair wells at the very end of the main hall, climbing over them into the floor above, a long steel table with elaborate engravings stretched the length of the main floor toward the frontal wall away from the hangar, residing between the two large stairs to either side. Several people, presumably his own mulled about, a sophisticated yet ghoulish woman posed in a similarly long black dress, with a silvered cybernetic claw resting on the side of a massive mechanical beast's face. Another woman in a long black trench and lower facial mask leaned back against a wall, looking in the direction of the two arrivals, and an assortment of many other crew members that had been properly cleaned and in their... less than formal best, yet pleasant attire. Weaponry wasn't uncommon, yet none blatantly brandished. A lot of effort had gone into the preparation for this meeting, and that was made abundantly clear by the elaborate set ups all around.
It would seem they had prepared for more than a single guest. His voice followed soon after the door had been opened, mid observation.
That did it. The barest hint of a smile tugged at Yolande's mouth once more as her eyes took in the sight of the hall, lazily dancing over the at least clean, if not perfectly presentable, Rogues filling the space. A momentary distraction, one that the matriarch quickly shoved from her mind. Now was not the time for diversions. None of the individuals posed a threat, not overtly. "You truly do not." The answer was plain, laid out without the slightest undertone or implied meaning. It was what it was.
Rather than waiting for a prompt, Yolande took a few tentative steps forward, into the room proper, and deposited the box she'd been carrying since the very beginning on the table with a dull thud. Stretching her arm just slightly, Yolande turned to meet the gaze of her sparring partner once more, soundly ignoring the other attendees. She wasn't negotiating with them. As far as she was concerned, they were surplus to requirements, at least for the moment. Perhaps more posturing, perhaps simple security. All that mattered was this one man, the figurehead, the one who spoke, and spurred men to act. Should she fail, perhaps other, disparate Rogues would be inclined to accept her offer, but the inconvenience, and the logistics... No, she needed this one.
Another tickle in the back of her mind. This one, though, was not that of prey being eyed by a predator. It was far more insidious, no small part of why Yolande had chosen the Rogues, and this one in particular, to begin with. Volume. "If I had not visited today, your life would have gone on as," The slightest pause, as she searched for the right word. "Normal." Perhaps a touch offensive, there was little normal or usual about this man. "There would be no difference. Just as the Brigands have no presence in Liberty, you have no presence in Gallia, save for your previous séjour in Picardy." Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face with a slow, deliberate movement, her eyes locked once more with that burning, crimson orb, pupils constricting ever so slightly. "The happenings there bear little on your actions and activities, not directly. Perhaps an alteration of shipping traffic, a minor interruption in the supply of exotic goods, but nothing truly bothersome."
"To me, Josie, you are a special breed. You give the impression that Credits, or Francs, or belongings, they do not truly matter to you. They are a means to an end. Perhaps the same goes for tes amis, perhaps not." Yolande was putting the mask right back on, ever so slowly, imperceptibly, perhaps even unknowingly. She had worn it for many years, and without at least a thin veneer of obfuscation, she was out of her element. Layer on the metaphorical makeup too thick, however, and it becomes unseemly. That was her mistake. Still, a hint of blush never hurt... "We are both intricately involved with the Maltese. On opposite ends of the spectrum, of course, but inexorably intertwined. They provide you with a product, that product generates Credits, those Credits fund ships, fuel, arms, and men. Those forces establish your héritage, your legacy. Unless I am sorely mistaken, that is what matters to you."
A slow step forward, closing the distance once more. Yolande's stare hardened. "Because that is what matters to me. I offer the surest route to expanding your legacy further, beyond the borders of your House, and the few, paltry, barely-inhabited systems attached. Little châteaux de sables, utterly worthless." Make or break. If he doesn't need you, make him need you. "With my help, you may yet plant a seed in the fertile soil of Gallia, and we will both reap the crop that grows."
The directness seemed to lighten the extreme tension that had surrounded the two, his foot steps followed behind her as she entered the room, the crimson gaze still watching her every move, his eyes hadn't been taken off her since she had arrived within the ship. Nothing left unnoticed, that was made clear. The door shut behind him, another hiss as it re-pressurized, He stood in silence and watched, idly tugging at the hem of the suit's left sleeve to re-adjust it before his arms returned to his side. As the very aptly self proclaimed matriarch turned to face him, her deadpan voice and intense gaze drew his attention. Though he visibly grew more annoyed as the mask began to slowly slip back on, and the compliments, that were nothing more than polite manipulations for the sake of business, had returned. And just as quickly, his ire did as well.
She a took a step toward him, his eye caught the movement, she thought she knew him, another assumption of what he really wanted. Desperate, that's what she was. She needed him, and tried to find a way to make him need her. Yet he didn't. She was right, those things meant absolutely nothing to him, and yet she didn't understand that he truly wasn't anyone she had dealt with before. Legacy meant nothing to him, reputation. Things that usually got in his way, and so he offered a very grim and cold tone in return, knocking her assumption entirely to the floor. The dark tone reminding her to keep her manipulations to herself, he wasn't having it.
"Why should I care what others think of me when I am gone, I hardly care now. I don't understand why you should either, but to each their own, as we say here. When you are gone, Yolande. No one but those who were close to you will remember you. The title of matriarch will fall to your next in line, and for your sake, I hope it wasn't the one I saw on the feed. Caring about my legacy would give others needless power over me, in a world full of assumptions and lies, how easily such a thing could be destroyed. We could both die right now, and the world wouldn't change."
His words held fire, she had sparked something within him. And yet she'd finally teased out part of who he was, something she could actually understand, something tangible. However alien his existence and how unknown his motivations still were beyond the scope of legacy, money, power. The situation seemed almost hopeless if she couldn't establish a way to appeal to his drive, it was almost shocking how abrasive his seeming lack of ideology was. His voice lifted again soon after.
"Before my patience runs out, I'll give to you a courtesy in the form of opportunity. Sit down, quit the façade, we'll have a drink. And you will tell me how you plan to benefit us both. If I find your proposal to my liking, then you will return to your family. If you continue to play games with me, I'll watch the radiation eat through that pretty body of yours as it's tossed out an airlock, and that ship will join the graveyard around us. You only stand to gain."
This was quite a shift from his previous disposition of lacking words, intent displayed by action. She'd gotten under his skin but not in a good way. Considering his lack of grand speeches or even a considerable amount of talking up until this point, it was very likely he'd follow through with what he said. His eyes glared, burning through her, though his face remained entirely neutral, almost as if he felt nothing toward her, as if she was insignificant. And despite the fact she herself had admitted that her absence today would have meant nothing to him, it still felt entirely wrong to see his visual reaction to things. A disturbing action followed, one that displayed what she had walked into. The man's head tilted every so slightly to the side, staring at her from an angled position, as if waiting to see her next move, a cocked gaze. Continuing to study, continuing to wait, watching. This was a game to him in a way that couldn't be described, or even understood by someone with actual goals in mind and at heart. Something dark resided within his human eye now, a hunger, a lust, that altered the very way he looked at her, she hadn't seen this in the beginning. Something lurked within, and the more she talked, the more she attempted to negotiate, to appeal to a nature she didn't understand, the worse it got, his natural eye had become just as cold as the mechanical gaze, and yet, it burned just as brightly.
Yolande bit her tongue, nearly hard enough to draw blood, as the Rogue continued his tirade. The barest twitch of her upper lip as the threats became open and well-detailed would likely go unnoticed by all others in the room, save for the man in front of her. Vous animal. The words flashed through her thoughts, laden with irony, though even they were quickly drowned out by the ever-present hunger gnawing at her conscious mind. With every passing second, that twinge of need flared even brighter, and no amount of mental fortitude could extinguish it. A side effect of choices she'd made, during her confinement in Clairvaux, and before. The facade of pleasantry, of kindness and gentle motherhood evaporated in an instant, replaced with the cold, sharp edges of desire.
"...If you continue to play games with me, I'll watch the radiation eat through that pretty body of yours as it's tossed out an airlock, and that ship will join the graveyard around us. You only stand t-..."
"Vous avez raison. I do only take my alcohol standing. Gin." The words slipped free, cutting the Rogue short, and with them, the true Yolande bubbled up to the surface. The enforcer, the soldier, the woman who would carve flesh from her own daughter for failure, however small. The woman who would likely do so again, should she survive this encounter. The woman who would do, and had done, anything to secure her lineage. The woman who had risen from nothing, from less than nothing, the unwanted daughter of a bastard son, born to naught but abject poverty and suffering in the sunken cities. The woman who had clawed her way to her current position, through bloodshed, through spending time in unfamiliar beds, and sometimes both at once. Yolande stood her ground, matching her partner glare-for-glare. The masquerade was over, and there was no beginning it again. Not now, not ever.
Her heels remained firmly planted on the deck, the lithe, perfectly-manicured fingers of one hand curling into a tight fist. She'd been too long without the product of the Maltese and their accursed dustball planet. For every gift her addiction granted, there was a sacrifice, and she was paying the price now. Only time would tell whether a more costly price would be paid in her blood. "You serve a purpose, Josie." The word entirely lacked the typical, cutesy tone Yolande associated with his name. Instead, it was ushered forth as if coated in acid. "A very specific one. You possess something I need, and you possess the means to acquire more. The destruction of Outcast convoys only affords so much of their crop, the vast majority lost to plasma-fire and the rigors of empty space. It is not sustainable." The words kept coming. Gone was the carefully-crafted speech, the intricate plans of negotiation, the tug-of-war of diplomacy. It had taken far too much time to realize, but the truth was as plain as it could be: she did not truly care what made this man tick, what drove him, not any longer, not with the white-hot ember searing her brain from the inside out. Feminine wiles and devious machinations were no longer in the cards. The Corsican was here for business, and if this psychopath cared naught for the pleasantries and pageantry of brokering a deal, nor some far-fetched moral implications, nor for the myriad other reasons normal people partook, then neither did she. Yolande was butting heads with an animal far her superior, without a single member of her pack to nip at his heels, now driven purely by raw adrenaline and ambition.
"I require a clean line of supply. Cardamine, from the Outcasts, through your installations, and into the holds of my ships. The Maltese will not negotiate with l'Union, and thus I'm forced to conduct business with you." The room seemed to shrink as Yolande spoke, the sound of her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, harsh and rapid. She would not, could not stop now. The head of the Cartier family had spent years manipulating, coercing, threatening her way to her throne, and this half-man, half-beast had seen the charade come to an end, at least for a time. She may be brought low, never to again see the warm waters of Marseille, but she would not be cowed into submission by threats alone. It would take much, much more to truly break her.
"Before I continue, is this something you can provide, or have I wasted my time?"
His tilted head stared, and stared, and stared some more. She was actively trying to wrestle back control of the situation, to stay on a level playing field with him despite having no cards left to play, as such was made obvious by her very clear signs of irritation, the stiffened body language she displayed, the venom she spit. Yet despite the fact they both were very well aware her life was over the moment he decided such. She... kept clawing. For anything to stand on. For anything that could progress this forward. A grin slowly crossed his face, revealing the oddly sharp canines to his pristinely kept teeth, the grin kept growing until it almost warped his face, he began laughing in amusement as his head tilted back and began cackling madly like he'd gone completely insane. His eyes taken off her for the first time since they'd arrived as his left hand came up to grab at his face, unable to control the laughing from her performance. Through the mad cackling, horribly amused and sinister repetitions of her own words were heard back in her own ears. He began walking toward her ever so slowly. Backing her toward the table.
"Serve a purpose."
"Forced to conduct business with /me/?"
A horrid pause.
"Wasted... your time..."
His right hand reached into the suit, producing a somewhat large curved blade that looked sharp enough to split down to and through bone, the crimson light glinting off the blade's edge, showing how sharp it truly was. His body pivoted, before launching forward to snatch up her throat, slamming her skull into the table, shoving her form up onto it as he leaned over her with vicious intent. A wild and unstable look in his human eye as his teeth grit, popping, growling out, enraged. The blade came down directly next to her head, threatening to snap the tip clean off from the force, the entire table shook from the impact, he then drug it over the metal slowly towards her neck, holding it in place as the blade trembled in his grip, his entire body flexing and shaking as he held himself over her weaker form. His voice growled out, his madness barely contained.
"You come into my home... /desperate/..... compare yourself to /me/? Pretend to know me... /lie/... willing to do /anything/ to secure your precious /legacy/...."
"A legacy so easily undone... so fragile..."
A shudder visibly ran down his spine as the blade shook uncontrollably mere centimeters away from her throat, seemingly thrilled by the thought of cutting her entire life's work short with a single motion. His heavy, shaky and heated breath cascaded over her face and neck, the only thing keeping her head attached to her shoulders was whatever singular, tiny thread of restraint remained, holding back the killer urges, and what was hidden away behind the human skin.