Stormclouds Gather

[Jayce]

---

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?"

---

---