#rps!

Across the workshop that was his cell, a miqo’te in his early forties glanced up from a suit of something.  The welder in his hand shut off.  A welders mask covered his face as he kicked one of the countless pieces of magitek over with an iron boot. <“And to what to I owe this disgusting honor?”> came the miqo’te’s voice, using their Garlean tongue to annoy Frandrin, who’s own skill in Garlean was not as fluent as he wished.  It was a power move. <”I’m here to check on the status of the tech you owe me.”>  Frandrin replied.  The engineer in the cell laughed and shrugged. <”You really think I didn’t do what I did last time?”> <”We both know you’re not that stupid.”> Frandrin commented.  The last time this prisoner refereed to was a clever defect built into every firearm for several weeks.  The defect ensured firing the gun made it explode. Several of Frandrin’s emplyees had lost hands from the act of sabotage. The prisoner had been...corrected for his actions.  By Y’mira’s flaying knives. <”I’m a slow learner.”> the miqo’te snarled, pointing at some crates.  <”They’re ready.”> <”Not that slow it seems.” Frandrin chuckled as he gave a wry smirk.  <”Careful.”> the miqo’te engineer warned.  <”You’ll notice I’ve outlived everyone that’s ever held my collar.”> the welder flared into life and  Frandrin looked away from the dazzling glow.  One of the cell guards rolled the detonator to the prisoner’s explosive collar in his hand as the lalafel turned and strolled back up the tunnel towards the main portion of his secret base deep inside the desert.  Here the lalafel hid his dirty little secrets. He’d come to check on the status of things because he needed to get away from Ul’dah and think.  Tray’s allies had grown bold. So bold.  They’d dared to attack a Brass Blade outpost to save Akeno from Y’mira.  It had been violent, explosive, and swift.  And it had played into Frandrin’s hands. By attacking Blades openly, every person inside Tray’s new ‘Sweepers’ gang was now labeled a criminal.  Bounties would fall like rain on their heads.  The tax payers were now funding Frandrin’s secret war efforts against his former business partner and his allies.  Already his men were digging into the names of these new allies.  Soon there would be no where in all of Eorzea their faces could be shown. As Frandrin crested the top of the tunnel and entered a large hangar, his linkpearl went off. “Master Frandrin.” came his man servant’s voice.  “Segeant Y’mira has just informed me that her unit is primed and ready to begin hunting and that the bounties for all personal involved have been set at five hundred thousand. Except Haname’s, as instructed.” “You never fail to disappoint.” Frandirn replied, stepping aside as two of his workers walked past with boxes of goods.  The entire hanger was full of goods of all sorts.  Weapons, art, food.  Anything and everything Frandrin’s Brass Blades confiscated was shipped here, held, repackaged, and then sold.  It was a constant source of profit, and just one small piece in the large puzzle of how Frandrin’s personal coffers stayed full. Frandrin walked over to his moored airship and boarded, still speaking. “I’ll be returning to Ul’dah shortly.  Would you kindly tell the other members of the small council that I’d like to have a meeting to discuss the Tray’ju issue, as well as the grain sales for this quarter.  I do believe they are going to be pleased with our profit margins on that investment.” “Very well, sir.” the linkpearl went quiet as Frandrin looked to his his vessels captain. “Ul’dah, good sir.”  Frandrin then stepped into his cabin as the crew set about shipping out. The lalafel smiled as he went over to a few papers and looked over them. “Barbarians always heel in the end.”