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Lucien regards Essek. “You know I steal things for a living, don’t you? You know I’ve got a few dead men to my name, too?”
“I am aware of these facts, Mr. Tavelle. I considered them to be among your highest qualifications for this job.”
“And yet you came here alone?”
“...Yes?”
Lucien digests this. “Okaaay. Well, how’s the pay?”
“200 gold."
Lucien bursts out laughing. “Nope! Nope. Absolutely not. Do you think I was born last night?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lemme get this straight.” Lucien leans forward, staring Essek down. “You’re telling me you came to a distant kingdom, arranged to meet a known criminal in a bathhouse, and thought nothing of stripping nude for a parley—but now you’re telling me that you need protection for your meeting with some spook? You’re dangerous enough on your own, my friend. If you’re in the market for a merc, it’s because you are about to walk into some fucked up, unsound, insane shit—and I’m not getting flayed alive and broken on the rack for 200 gold. For 500 gold? Sure, fine, that’ll get you some light flaying, maybe a turn or two on the rack—but not for 200.”
Essek sighs. “Do you prefer it in gold or platinum?”
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this is so fire please never stop