Varela leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard. He puzzled their words for a moment before looking back and forth between the two Rheinlanders opposite him at the table; his voice low.
" I trust you'll understand that while Malta is more than capable of protecting itself and maintaining operations throughout our sphere of influence; going out of our way to assist you all in this manner may eventually require some form of exchange to justify the shunting of resources. We will do what we can in the interim, but eventually those assets - those vessels may be needed somewhere more pressing than excursions specifically to aid Rheinland's interests. That time isn't now but be aware that it will be a matter that needs addressing at some point.
As to the GMG: speaking for Amalfi here, they're targets of opportunity that do well to keep us supplied under duress by threat of weapons discharge. The Union bears no more love for them than Rheinland does, though I understand that there may be more bad blood with them for you and your own than for the Maltese. So, let me just say now that Amalfi have no quarrels in enabling both your organizations in this bona fide sigma crusade.
That being said, I'm none too well clued into what regard precisely the Nationals hold the Gassers, and I'd rather not speak for my compagno anziano here--"
He glanced to his side towards Benito, and nodded his head in his fellow Maltese's direction - resting his chin on his hand and yielding him the proverbial floor.
[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
