"Miss Crusoe will see you now," a young man says with a smile.

"'Bout time," I grumble. The waiting room is a pleasant enough place, if you like opulence and obvious displays of power and wealth. I'm not saying it's a bad look.

"You should keep thoughts like that to yourself," Icarus advises. (like a dog on a leash)

"Never seems to stop you from spouting technobabble nonsense," I point out, adjusting my mask. Every time he has the chance, Icarus is bound to show off. And if I'm going to avoid getting any further in bed with the Last Brigade and Alarice Crusoe, I'll be counting on that in this "meeting". Alarice Crusoe in bed. Hm, now that is certainly something to investigate further. You know, after I avoid being caught up in a possible revolutionary war. (and avoid being stabbed in the back by those closest to you) Yes, well, a man's gotta have priorities.

Esilea has mostly been silent, both during our journey here, and in waiting to see Crusoe and Vioda. Seeing the tall warrior so focused and silent is almost a bit...terrifying. Behind the fun exterior, I'm starting to see why she's such an expensive sellsword.

She wheels Icarus through the double doors and I trail behind. I catch the eye of the assistant as he closes the door behind us; he almost looks at us with...pity?

"Icarus! So glad you could make our meeting," Alarice says from behind her large desk. Does every powerful person have a huge ass piece of wood in their office? Guess it comes with the ego. (good one) Thank you. And now I'm talking to myself. The powerful merchant doesn't get up from behind her desk, and I wouldn't call the face she's making a smile per say. The room feels uninviting, and chilly.

"I can't thank you enough for giving me this opportunity," Icarus gushes, wheeling himself forward out of Esilea's grasp, who frowns. Save it for someone who cares, boy. Nobody wants to hear your fountain of sickly sweet affection. (is that because he never shows it to you? or is it because nobody ever shows that to you?)

"It was supposed to be only Icarus," Vioda says with an icy tone. Her dark dreads are pulled back in a strict bun, her twin swords prominently displayed on her belt. "The others should wait outside."

"I'd like to see you try," Esilea scoffs, the scars on her face twisting into a predatory smirk.

"Is that a challenge?" Vioda hisses, her hands going to the hilt of her blades.

"Is there a dreadlocked bitch standing in front of me?" Esilea snaps back, slinging the top of her satchel open.

"You insolent—"

"I think we're getting off-track here," Icarus says, wiping sweat from his brow. Oh come on, it was just starting to get good! (they always spoil your fun. when was the last time you were free?) He clears his throat and wheels closer to Alarice. "I apologize for my companion's rude remarks. They can both wait outside." Hey! What did I do?

"That won't be necessary," Alarice says with a wave of her hand. She turns and gives me a tight-lipped smile. "Agents of Inari are always welcome at Crusoe Exports."

"Alaraice—" Vioda starts, but Crusoe cuts her off.

"They will stay," she says firmly.

"But if I could just—"

"Need I remind you who is funding your little 'revolution'?" Alarice whispers quietly. Goosebumps race up my arms, and I resist the urge to shiver. The chill in her voice could freeze a desert. "Apologize, now."

"I'm sorry Miss Crusoe," Vioda says softly.

"Not to me. Them." Vioda's eyes widen, and she gasps quietly. A moment later, she's regained her composure, and turns to us.

Her jaw is clenched, her form rigid, as she forces her words out. "I'm...sorry for an impoliteness on my part." Alarice watches with a bemused expression, but neither Icarus nor Esilea respond. I'm not sure they know how.

"Don't worry yourself over it," I say and wave my hand. (always trying to keep peace, aren't you? i wonder when you'll finally let them dig their own way out) I nod my head at Alarice. "I'm assuming you didn't call Icarus here, or let us stay, just to hear the eloquent brusqueness of Malorian street poetry I memorized for this occasion," I say, directing my words at the merchant woman. She grins and rearranges a stack of papers on her desk.

"And here I was, thinking Icarus was the brains of the operation," she says. Icarus blushes deep read, and I feel a pang of guilt at her words. Don't let her pit you against each other. (but would that be so bad?) In this context, yes. Mucho bad.

"Oh he is. He just lacks my charismatic flair," I say with a ridiculously low bow. (playing the fool will only protect them for so long. and it will only sink you further in the grave you've dug) Good thing I'm not claustrophobic.

"That's one word for it," Esilea mumbles. But she can't hide the ghost of a grin that was peeking through her tough warrior façade.

"I see," Alarice says. We wait for a moment in silence before she continues. "I did have a reason for bringing Icarus here. But I got lucky to have you all here, under one roof." That sounds ominous, but if you're lookin' to get lucky... "I have a job for you."

"We have a job for you," Vioda says quietly, but Alarice doesn't reply. Icarus looks between the two, and as he opens his mouth, Esilea speaks.

"And what do we get in return?"

"As priceless as your gratitude is," I say. (that's right, prostrate yourself again for the greater good. like a good little dog.) "We can't put food on the table with it."

"With the gratitude of a Crusoe, you can do anything," Alarice says imperiously. Her chest deflates slightly, and she nods slowly. "But, yes, you will be compensated."

"How?" Esilea demands. I wince at her insistence, and Vioda's grip tightens on her swords.

"Namonai," my eyes widen in surprise. How does she know who I am? She is one of the richest women in Malor; I suppose it wouldn't be such a stretch. "Will have his debts cleared with the proprietor of the Burnt Rice Tavern." Alarice's mouth twists in a rueful grin. "That can't make Inari happy," she says with a soft chuckle. "Icarus will be given access to our workshops." The young inventor's face lights up and I can see him practically bouncing in his seat. "The Nightstalker's payment will be discussed once the mission is complete."

"That's three out of the four," Esilea reminds them. Alarice sighs, and her hands tremble with what I can only assume is restraint.

"You will be given weapons. And," Alarice talks louder of Esilea's objections, "Xian will be brought back for a time period to be discussed after you have finished the job." The tall warrior paused, and then nodded slowly. (the things ones will do to ease their heart. it's sickening)

"What's the job?" Icarus asks. He would never be a good gambler—that shit-eating grin would give him away in a heartbeat.

"There's a conglomerate residing in Malor known as the Ismar Trading Co.," Vioda says as she steps in front of the desk. "We've tried removing the head of the snake in the past, but it's never a permanent solution. And now..."

"You have a permanent solution?" I inquire. Vioda nods.

"We want you to destroy their headquarters here in Malor."

"What?" Icarus shouts. Esilea brushes past him, and pokes her finger at Vioda's chest.

"What about the innocent lives killed in doing such a thing? Both inside, and outside, the building!"

Alarice looks at us over steepled fingers. "We're working on evacuating the area subtly; we don't want to draw the Trading Co.'s attention. If you deem there are any lives worth saving in the building, I won't stop you."

I look over at my companions, who look somewhere between frightened and flabbergasted. Me, the rational one again? I hate this new trend. "And how do you propose we destroy an entire building made out of Malorian concrete and steel?" I ask.

"I'm glad you asked, old friend!" Oh no. "I happen to have just the solution you need to this little problem." (oh this is just perfect) "Come on Namonai, greet your old pal."

I slowly turn around, cringing. "Hey, Khalil."