Stormclouds Gather

[Jayce]

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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."

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