Hall liked idleness. He was an admiral and, for as long as the admiral of the fleet had no reason to perform any inspection, he was in charge of everything. He often hired other people to do secondary tasks instead of him, so he could do nothing. Nothing for Bretonia, at least. He had a habit of thinking about how he could climb a step or a few higher on the social ladder while playing, almost automatically, an already trained tune on his harpsichord. He thought of a similar plan on that very seat once, and all he had to do when he got the opportunity was to adapt it. However, he regarded other people and especially Ambre, a prisoner of war, as little more than expendable, and only thought through the obvious risks for them, just to convince them to accept the mission.
"Well, er...", he was buying time. He opened the lid of the harpsichord slightly and played a short, sharp tone. "You would suffocate and die, and no one would even remember you", he answered blankly. "Probably the same that would happen to you if you stayed here, but faster. Or not, depending on my mood. Compare it with the glory you could claim if you succeeded. I will do everything I can to ensure that you do. I doubt that I will manage to find a mercenary with a Gallic ship as most of those are illegal here, but I can give you the blueprints of, for example, a Roc's or an Eagle's control board. What would you like, a fighter or a bomber?" He already assumed that Ambre would accept. His dignity would be damaged if she didn't, but she would be the only witness, and easily ridden of.
![[Image: 396AUfe.png]](https://i.imgur.com/396AUfe.png)