Chapter 45. Aggressive Negotiations

My first impression on entering the Konistan trading house is "not impressed". Honestly, it's just... every single thing here is practically shouting "I'm trying so hard, why aren't you impressed with me?". Literally everything, from floor to attendants to ceiling. The expressions cinch it. Those people have chiseled ‘I'm so much better than you’ on their faces so hard not even ‘golly, let's not piss off high noble’ is diluting it well enough to be unseen. The impression intensifies when they open their mouths. I wonder if Konistan told them to pull that shit, or they're just habitually used to doing it.

"Monsieur Konistan is a very busy man and does not see anyone off the street." - the girl in front of me simpers - "Besides, he is expecting a very important guest right now. Go on, shoo." Seriously? Fucking seriously?

I lean over the counter slightly, just so that we're on the same eyelevel. "Mhm. He sure does. One Alyssa Gillespie, namely me." - I tell her with a smile - "Now, are you going to be a good little bunny and run to fetch your boss? Or maybe you're feeling confident enough to risk him putting you into whorehouse to pay off the losses he's going to take if I decide he's being a rude host and leave prematurely?"

She snaps back and wisely decides to confer with her friend before saying anything else. The said friend immediately closes her mouth with a hand and puts another arm around her waist, pulling her into the backroom despite the surprised groaning. The door slams shut, and the second girl gives me a saccharine smile. "Terribly sorry, lady Gillespie, we did not expect you to arrive incognito. Please follow me, monsieur Konistan is awaiting you."

The dude himself fails to impress either. Oh, he is well dressed, well coiffed and even perfumed, which is probably a mistake on his part, as he acknowledges he uses wares from duchy already, accepts the current price and therefore should not be negotiating anything down. But the impression? I would be hard-pressed to actually put a finger on what about him is so off, but he gives a very comprehensive impression of "this person is skeezy, avoid touching if at all possible". So naturally, the moment I think this, he grabs my hand to kiss it. Eww, slobber. Dude, why. Whyyyy! I surreptitiously incinerate everything on my skin below wrist as soon as my hand is out of his sight. Bleh.

The meal itself is... passable. Once again, the dude tries too hard. Among the delicacies on the table, there is no space left for actual food. All of it is one big show of "look how rich I am". And now the smarmy prick is saying something... "..And it had come to my attention that you like chilled cava, Lady Gillespie, so I naturally thought to present the most exclusive bean, the inimitable Kopi Luwak!"

The cup that is set in front of me is an atrocity. They tried to brew half-digested beans green. While giving them a few thumps with a pestle, if at that, I can see the crumbs floating in the cup. And, if so, it means they didn't even WASH the fucking things before... ...Fuck it. I'm going to get nasty.

"...Monsieur Konistan." - I offer to him icily - "I am going to presume you are not aware that this particular SORT of cava is a cruel joke by Pharos empire on Sultanate. Kopi Luwak is the beans picked out of shit of specific sort of rodent that likes eating cava fruit and is abundant in the far east." I lift the cup lightly, and swish it in front of his nose - "It is under no circumstances to be brewed without very thorough washing, broiling and crumbling, and honestly, I wouldn't drink it even if you prepared it properly, because I am not nearly decadent enough to seek the thrills of consuming treefox dung." The cup is set down with a little bang - "So... I'm going to presume this was a case of benign ignorance and not an attempt to denigrate me. Kindly have it removed before we continue, I am of the strong opinion that manure is not something to be placed on the table."

OOh, geeze, no need to look so rattled. "...Certainly, certainly." - he mutters, summoning a servant to remove the offending cup. I notice that his is also surreptitiously gone, and a pair of entirely different cups are brought out, with very safe and traditional tea in them. Better. "How did you ever learn of this perfidy, lady Gillespie?" - he inquires, whatever it was he intended to ask is forgotten in the face of ‘omg I almost drank brewed shit’. I snort.

"If you ever taken instruction at the temple or paid attention to what they do, one of the basic light spells is for detection of uncleanliness. It will tell you if water is safe to drink, if food is safe to eat, if you are clean enough or need a bath to avoid getting sick." - I explain to him - "That spell reacts to bags of Kopi Luwak. We had a merchant from Pharos trying to sell this in our county once. He, ah... was encouraged to explain himself." This is essentially true, even though I am letting Konistan think that encouragement was less of verbal permission and more of physical coercion.

His face darkens. "...bedamned copper-faced dotards." - he mutters - "I bet they laughed when they sold me those!" He visibly sweeps the snarl off his face and looks up with a smile that would be almost nice - if it wasn't so smarmy. "Anyway, foreign indignities aside, it is truly great to be able to meet you at last, milady. I have been very impressed with your acumen. To start a shop within three weeks, why, this must have been positively exhausting."

Hm. Not seeing what line of attack he wants to commit to. Try and get me to hire someone to help manage? Imply I didn't hire enough and push for me to hire more from him, ‘as a favor just for you’? Let's see how far the rabbit hole goes. "Well, it was certainly a hassle. It is open now, though, and turns pretty good profits for a shop less than a month old." - I agree neutrally, trying one of the slices. Goodness gracious, why, this is halloumi, you're not supposed to serve it with sour cream! It is best grilled, not... agh!

"A lot of effort, isn't it?" - he offers commiseratingly - "Honestly, all that mercantile effort must be beneath you, milady. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone of more appropriate stature handle the humdrum? I can scarcely believe you would find daily reports to be fun reading."

I quirk a brow at him. I'm guessing he is trying to get me to hire one of his underlings as a shop manager, then. Uninspired, but probably effective enough. "I'll manage, thank you." - I tell him blandly - "Now, I was under the impression you wanted to discuss some business venture with me?"

I'm pretty certain that he didn't, and the "discussion" is just a polite fiction for "hand your shop over, bitch" kind of negotiations. He certainly isn't looking to buy me out. Given how his expression changes, I'm guessing he expected objections, if maybe not so abrupt. "I wouldn't be so hasty, Lady Gillespie." - he offers, still sticking with his polite fiction - "Handling a shop is a full-time occupation, no matter how easy it might seem right now. Sooner or later, you will find yourself out of time if you want to keep your Academy studies going. I daresay I know what I am talking about, I have been managing the shops all my life after all. I implore you to defer to my experience on the matter."

"Defer how?" - I ask him, more to make him say what he wants out loud than out of any actual need in clarification.

"Ah well, I would be glad to take over the management for you. I can get proper results out of your endeavor, mark my words." - he sleazes on. Goodness, do I REALLY come across as naïve?

"Mhm. And how do you plan to report profits to me?" - I am genuinely curious just how dumb this is going to get. It's like watching a trainwreck. You know it's going to end in pain, tears and death, but you just can't look away.

"Do not worry yourself about such minor details, milady, I will work things out with your father, man to man. It would be a relief for him too, I'd wager, to know your shop is in dependable hands." - he forges on, standing up and fetching a bunch of papers - "Just sign here, milady, and I will take care of everything."

I peer at him. Pick up the papers. And slowly riiiiip the whole sheaf in halves. "Right. I guess it's my turn to negotiate." - I tell him, smiling tightly - "I believe I'm going to keep my shop to myself, thank you very much. And if I find any of your men poking around, I will have them whipped and thrown into the ditch as common thieves. Understand, pissant?" Oh, fuck it. Sometimes, it's just downright pleasant to cut loose and play the role of a stuck up aristocrat.

He clicks his tongue. "I was hoping you're smarter than this." - he says mock-compassionately, as he picks up a bell from the table and rings it. The door opens, and... ooh, that's a big ork you have there. Going to try and threaten me now? He turns to the ork in question, and utterly butchers the language - "Уз, ебать сука сильнее.1Uz, to fuck bitch stronger." Ok, that is... a lot of escalation at once. And I think I get a hint for what's his hard plan is. Good news, time to stop holding back. Bad news, now I'm really angry. Actually, come to think of it, did he call that ork Uz?... Is the game fucking with me? Why would a conman HERE suddenly employ an ork that was supposed to lead a raiding warband on the confederacy border? Are other DLC characters heading here too? Fuck, I could really do without Vlad fucking Tepesh in the mix. Because I will eat his fucking head on the first meeting and that would be all sorts of awkward and complicated afterward.

"Сладенькая шлюшка...2Sweet slut..." - Uz interrupts my musings. He... Really shouldn't have said that. REALLY. Because that particular phrase in that particular situation... reminds me of a similar situation in a previous life. And I react the same way as back then.

Standing up, I proclaim confidently - "Усрись, скотина!3Shit yourself, animal!" and kick him in the stomach with all my might. The previous life situation deteriorated badly, a whole mess including knives, struggle, long and unpleasant talks with police about the acceptable limits of self-defense and a long scar on the forearm that made wearing anything with short sleeves an unpleasant reminder. In this life, well... Let's just say that for a shoggoth, "all my might" means something a liiiiittle different than for an ordinary teenager. Uz doubles over around my leg for a moment before the momentum carries him backward. The impact shakes the whole room, and when he falls down from the wall, there is a very obvious imprint left by his body, plaster caving in hard enough for drywall to break around it, splinters circling the indent.

I.... might have not thought it through entirely. Because the very next thing Uz does is vacate his... well, everything. I think I actually smashed his abdomen contents into a mess, because the salty tang of blood is clearly distinct among the sour stench of vomit, shit and urine mixing together. Konistan peers back over his shoulder, stupefied. I can see him breaking through his confusion and conjure a knife. It sails through the air and sinks into the door frame next to the handle with a solid thunk, making him yelp and jerk back. "Try to open this door and the next knife goes into the back of your neck." - I tell him, flipping the second knife in my hand to make it obvious there is a knife to be thrown.

"...Er. Parley?" - he offers uncertainly. I can actually see him sweating. The fuck? Is this visual gag day? Am I being pranked by the universe again? THE HELL?!

"Come take a seat, Vole." - I tell him softly - "And I'll tell you how things are going to be."

He swallows, but starts towards the seat. "I can scream for help, you know?" - he tries.

"Sure. Go ahead and try, if you want to roll the loaded dice." - I agree blandly - "Chances are, by the time someone ELSE makes it here, you will have a dagger in your throat, and I will quite honestly claim you and your brutish accomplice here had conspired to rape me. Which, even if you survive the dagger to the throat, will see you beheaded in short order, because the king has no compassion for people trying to rape the fiancées of his children."

"Your engagement to prince Edward was broken." - he points out, regaining a little bit of confidence, as he sits - "For a good reason, I dare think. What would a king say on finding out a fiancée of his son were to sleep with an ork, I wonder?"

"I think he would ask why are you trying to lie to him." - I point out - "You see, my engagement was switched from Edward to Lily-Anne by mutual consent. So yes, the king is fully aware I prefer girls and would find your story to be wildly outrageous. That is, if you were able to say anything to begin with, mind. As things stand, by the time someone else makes it in here, there will be nothing but me and two dead bodies. You did send everyone else out of the second floor specifically so your accomplice could do whatever it is you had in mind without anyone poking up to ask what the strange noises are, isn't it so?"

He flinches, his confidence evaporating. "How do you know that?" - he demands hoarsely - "What kind of sorcery is this? WHAT ARE YOU!? No woman should be able to kill a grown ork with a single kick!"

"Oh, he's alive." - I object - "I think he sorely wishes he wasn't, though. Having your gut smashed into mincemeat sounds remarkably painful." As if to underline me Uz gurgles something. He is curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach, and both my ordinary and magical senses tell me the same thing - he is dying, and it will be a long slow road. With the current medicine states, priests could probably ease his pain, but not put in enough of fix-it magic to prevent him from croaking from kidney failure. And if that is fixed, there is a pretty thoroughly smashed liver, seven different intestinal ruptures, and I think his gall bladder outright burst and is currently adding more to the mess inside of him. Kids, pro-tip, never get kicked in the stomach by a shoggoth experiencing a traumatic flashback. You will die in a thoroughly agonizing manner if you do.

Sighing, I walk up to him, lift his head a little by the hair and slide the dagger into the concave hollow at the very tip of the neck, severing his spine and pushing the blade deep into the brain. A quick twist, and I pull back, leaving him expressly dead. Konistan watches with wide eyes. This is likely not the first murder he ever saw, but he's still pretty darn shaken up.

"Now that we have amended the unfortunate fact of your accomplice being alive, let's talk about your fate, Vole." - I begin - "As it so happens, I have prepared my own papers for you to sign. But before we get to that, a little demonstration." He hops up and stares around in panic as the room... fades away. "What... Where... HOW!?" - he yelps, as he stares across the void. Rocks floating through the sky, violet vegetation, strange three-legged beasts with one huge eye and a very strange screech...

"This world is called Xen." - I tell him - "A nice place, isn't it? Entirely outside of our world, no chance to ever go back unless you're a mage. No chance at all if you don't come prepared, Xen does not have flowers."

The illusion fades. I am fairly sure Xen actually exists somewhere, but I wouldn't want to poke there, much less use it as dumping ground for malcontents. But it is a perfectly serviceable alien land to scare morons with. "What you've seen now is but a momentary glimpse. Just so we're clear - if you do not show utmost cooperation, I will toss you there and cancel the spell without taking you back."

He shivers, holding his shoulders. "What do you want?" - he demands sullenly.

I put the papers down on the table. "I want to buy you out. Your business, your trading house, your employees. I have had compiled some notes on you and know exactly how much you're worth." - I tell him. He scans through the papers slowly, paling as he descends.

"This is a robbery! You would take my life's work for but a tenth of its value?" - he explodes, only to back off and fall into the chair as I wave the knife in front of him - "Gods damn you for that!"

"Oh? Weren't you about to have your muscle have his way with me? I find it funny that a rapist would blather about the injustice of not being paid premiums." - I object.

His face is... very much displeased as he spits out - "He wouldn't have done anything to you that you're not craving anyways!" Oh. One of those types, I see.

"Right. So, here are your options. Option one. Don't sign anything. I'm just going to toss you into Xen and leave, then buy out your trading house as it goes on auction in a month. Option two - sign the papers, take the chest of gold that's already been placed at your house, tell everyone you're leaving on a business trip, and leave. So long as you leave Champagne within the week, I wash my hands of you. But once that week passes, if you are ever within Champagne for whichever reason? Next time you wake up, you will wake up on Xen. Order someone to be raped or murdered, or do it yourself? Same deal." - I tell him.

"...You... You... You can't just exile me from my own homeland!" - he yelps.

"What exile? I'm just giving you options." - I smile at him - "If you know what's good for you, you'll take the money option and leave."

Slowly, unwillingly, he picks up the quill and starts signing the papers.