Christo watches the back and forth, and his lazy grin grows more feral as things play out.
"Tha way I see't, you're makin a matter of honor out oh somewhat that should be a matter oh business, Sunny.
G an his team over here have been good for tha Club, but Bering has not. Tha's good nothin ta do wit his management, an all ta do wit a bunch of honorless gits bein honorless.
My opinion, instead oh territory, the club thinks oh products. Still supplying tha same shit, but let someone else own space."
Christian sits up and his face goes empty, presence suddenly looming without getting out of the chair.
"Gambit knows what he is doing, so take a page from the business world and make him the district manager, whatever title you want to use, and to Hell with Bering."
Relaxing back into his chair, the lazy grin comes back.
"Tis startin ta sound so bloody domestic in here tha next you lot'll be bleatin boot how some brats come through las night an played groundcar polo on your white fence.
Sure, your pride is talkin, an there's a place for tha, but it should be wha ta do about tha people tha screwed us, nae some piece oh crap station where we park our birds. We never Controlled tha system, an we donna need ta in order ta control tha products we are movin through. We're a bloody fighter club, nae tha LibNav."
