The Dead Dove Locker -- "I don't know what I expected."

[Mamorien]

Princess of the Void.

“I hear you’re in your aerostat phase,” Grant says. “That’s… quick.”

“It may seem that way to you and to Countess Wenzai, this being your first venture.” Shoskia’s grin curls with condescension. “Once you’ve set up a few of these firms, you learn some knacks and cut some cruft.”

Grant glances over his shoulder. Sykora is sitting up in bed in a scarlet mumu, her feet encased in a quietly humming electromassage box. She rolls her eyes and makes a masturbatory waggling motion with her ring and middle fingers. Balanced on her baby bump is a plate stacked with pancakes. He made them for her once, and she’s developed an addiction.

“Speaking of which,” Shoskia says, oblivious to the lounging Princess past the edge of the screen eating pancakes barehanded. “I wanted to get in touch because I’d heard you were having problems with your Eqtoran workforce?”

“You’ve heard, then,” Grant says. “I guess word travels quickly in the exo clique.”

“I don’t use the Eqtorans in the same way you do, but I have a handful. It’s a rather regular topic of conversation among them. I believe we can help one another, Majesty.”

“How so?”

“Our refineries may be in competition, but we ultimately serve the same mistress, naturally. There’s no reason it can’t be a friendly competition, hmm? I’m fortunate enough to have the ear of someone who has the ear of someone who has the—well. They don’t exactly have ears, do they? Just those funny little nubs.”

Grant laughs politely and hopes his desperate urge to hang up in this woman’s face doesn’t show. Under the camera, he’s tapping furiously on his communicator.

honey i am this fucking close to snapping and cussing this marquess out. talk me down

With my teeth.

“I might be able to render some aid with your Multraq problem,” Shoskia says.

“My Multraq problem,” Grant says. “You know qer name, then?”

“She’s done some sabre-rattling around my affairs as well,” Shoskia says. “But we’ve been communicating. I could take up your cause with her.”

“I see.” Grant sets his jaw. On the bed, Sykora hurriedly licks syrup off her fingers and picks her communicator up. “And you’d do this for free?”

“About that.” Shoskia rubs the edge of one long nail. “I have been of the opinion for some time now that for the safety of your people and the soundness of your shareholders, it might be best to bring additional help on. It appears Wenzai isn’t rising to the challenge. Bless her, but she is just a Countess, after all. They are limited in power and in capacity.”

“Whose help, then?”

“Well.” She rests a hand on her chest. “While I am in some ways a competitor, I am also a loyal subject of yourself and her Majesty. For a stake in your future success, I would be happy to consult.”

The turning oval of Sykora’s typing reply resolves into a message:

talk you down? no way mister :devil:
fuck this harlot and how she’s talking to you. torch her and hang up.

He transforms his smirk at the message to as gracious an expression as he can manage. “Would you give me just a moment?”

She inclines her head. “Take your time.”

He sends:

are you sure?

Sykora starts tak-takking away again.

you have nothing more to gain from gentility, dove

she’s already strung along

she’s already doing what she can to sabotage you

she already thinks of you as an idiot and an enemy

so fuck her!!!

piss her off. it’ll trip her up and make her think you’re impulsive.

just make her mad, not scared. The caller mute button is the box with the x, she’ll HATE that

“If you wished to wind down your association with the Korak Refinery entirely, I would be more than eager to buy you out, you know,” Shoskia says. “You have done such a splendid job setting it up. I really think it has promise.”

“I said just a moment, please.”

She titters. “Of course, Majesty.”

Sykora sends:

oh and press the orange square on the console before you do it because i need this recording tagged and saved hahahaha :devil:

“Marquess.” Grant looks back up at her. “I think you’re operating under a misunderstanding.”

She raises one thinline brow. “What would that be?”

He sets the communicator aside. “There is no struggle you can inflict on me that will make me come begging. Not for help, and not for a truce.”

“A truce? Inflict on you?” She laughs. “Majesty, I fear you’ve been watching too many—”

He presses the box with the X, and a red mute glyph appears in the corner of her screen view. Her mouth snaps shut.

“Listen up.” He hits the orange square and straightens his shoulders. “Record this and play it back if you need reminding. I don’t want to do anything the way you or people like you have done it. I visited your manor, and it made me sick. It disgusted me. You disgust me. And I will do everything in my power to oppose your vision for the Empire. I will outrank you and outspend you and whatever else I can do. I will never accept your help. If you threw me a life preserver in a storm, I’d pop it with my teeth. I will run my refinery my way, and nothing you or any other Taiikari or Eqtoran does will stop me, and I’ll ride it into the molten core of Qarnaq before I let you chisel your way in.”

Marquess Shoskia’s eye twitches. Probably wishing she could compel over video. He takes her off mute.

“Have I made myself clear?” he demands.

The Marquess’s voice is quiet and lethal. “Exceptionally, Majesty.”

“Good,” Grant says. “Don’t call me again.” He punches the disconnect.

Sykora breaks into a giggling fit as soon as the screen goes blank. “Gods of the Firmament, her face. I want that as my communicator background.”

https://www.scribblehub.com/read/1419041...r/2158532/
https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/120617...h-my-teeth