Business PropositionsIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | PreGameLogs | Business Propositions After the last of Delluth's students had concluded their questions regarding an upcoming exam, an unfamiliar visitor arrived at his office doorway. While the red haired young man* certainly looked as though he could be a student, the cut of his dark suit and tie weren't presently in fashion in either Amber or the Courts. In his right hand he carried a thin briefcase that looked new. He knocked at the jam, then glanced at his bare left wrist before frowning. His attention returned to the open office door almost immediately. The office, like the others in this wing, featured a single large window centered opposite the door, built-in shelves running up three-quarters of the height of the high ceiling, and a large, plain wooden desk facing the door, with two leather-covered, lightly padded chairs facing it. The desk contained several neat piles of papers and writing implements. The shelves were loaded with books, more neat piles of paper, numerous bottles and jars, and a variety of souvenirs from various shadows. Atop the bookshelf on the visitor's left, a row of skulls - some apparently human, others of simian, canine, or other form - had collected remarkably little dust. "Yes?" Delluth said, looking him over curiously and tagging him as a recent import from Shadow. The Professor was wearing the University's uniform of loose black robes over whatever clothing might be underneath. "Good afternoon, Professor Delluth?" he asked with a voice which was both refined and a bit arrogant. He seemed bored, yet impatient at the same time. "Professor Delluth Corrino," he corrected without rancor. "Come in, have a seat, tell me who you are." "I am Mr. Turlough, acting as an agent for Kline Holding Inc," he said as he placed a small printed card onto the desk. "And what are they holding, I always wonder," the professor responded, making no move to pick up the card, and watching his visitor with interest. "Bottles, mostly," Turlough said with an obvious note of sarcasm. "I've been sent to inquire as to what you charge for a retainer and what you might charge to conduct certain research. Before discussing details of that research, you'll need to sign our nondisclosure arrangement," he said as he took a seat. "Hmm. May I see this agreement?" He nodded, thumbed the combination, opened the top, and quickly produced a manila folder containing several sheets of precisely cut, slippery, white paper whose origins were Begma or beyond*. The document was 11 pages of dense legalese. It didn't require Delluth to withhold information from law enforcement agencies if they asked, nor to forget what he would learn in it as reflected the rest of his research... but it specified he could say no more about the specific research (or preceding discussion, should he decline the eventual offer) than he had signed a nondisclosure agreement with Kline Holding after meeting with their representative. The phrase "or face the full penalties under the law," was a bit ominous... "If you want to speak with a lawyer first, I can come back tomorrow," he offered without much interest. His eyes were glancing about Delluth's office while Delluth read the document. The professor, leaning back in his chair and reading, made a dismissive gesture at the suggestion. At length - though he appeared to read quickly - he laid the document on his desk and took up his pen. What he wrote at the bottom of the last page, however, was clearly more than a signature; it was a least a paragraph. He handed it back to Turlough, who read: :: (16) This agreement shall be null and void if, in the judgment of the undersigned, the nature or purpose of the subject research or the identity of the persons involved with Kline Holding Inc. presents any conflict with his pre-existing fealty relationship. :: Below that was his full, and partially legible, signature. Turlough mechanically copied the written text onto two additional copies. "That one is your copy," he said as he signed and returned the first one. "Please inspect these two, and sign them as well... one for me, and one for the client," he said with a sigh. "As for your retainer... how much for right of first refusal on your research time for the next month or so?" he asked, suddenly marginally more interested. Delluth glanced up from leafing through the second copy. "Never given it a thought," he said. "Why don't you tell me about your employer's proposal, so I can think about how long it might take." He looked over the last few pages of the agreement and signed it. Turlough waited for him to finish signing, locked two copies away in the briefcase after the ink had dried, then closed it once again. "How about this," Turlough said as he passed a small slip of paper across the desk with a reasonable number written on it. "As for the work, our client owns a small import/export business which has recently gone into business supplying recreational pharmicuticals. He needs to provide appropriate labelling and medical information with the merchandise, but isn't able to account for possible toxological complications with Chaosian shapeshifting and the like. There is more than one product to be evaluated," he said in a slightly-bored tone which differed from his earlier boredom in some crucial fashion, as if he'd memorized what he'd just said earlier. "Sounds harmless enough. Why all the secrecy and confidentiality and attorneys' fees?" The slip of paper dangled from his fingers, ignored for the moment. "As I understand it, the client is concerned with the substantial political and ethical problems of the death of Chaosian customers or private guests, and the chemicals are very recreational," Turlough explained with a brief smirk at 'ethical.' "Understandable," Delluth murmured. His gaze wandered away from his visitor, and he wound up staring thoughtfully at his skull collection for several moments. Then he said, "All right," rather abruptly, sat up straight, and looked directly at Turlough. "This seems like a reasonable amount," he went on briskly, pinning the slip of paper to the desk with a forefinger. "I have two further conditions, however. First, I'll need to meet your client. I meant what I said in that codicil, and I can't very well exercise my judgment if I don't know who I'm working for." Once again, he went into the briefcase and retrieved a slim bar of platinum wrapped in waxed paper like a (very heavy) bar of candy and stamped with the agreed-upon sum. "Shall I have this deposited with the University in your accounts, or would you like it in cash?" he said with a smile. "Cash is fine," Delluth said, extending a hand for the bar and then dropping it on his desk beside the inkwell with a noticeable 'thunk.' "As for meeting the client, he has asked me to inquire if you are free for dinner any evening this week. Damien has a... he has no problem with mixing business and pleasure, and his chef is quite skilled," Turlough said as he worried his left thumb and forefinger against his trouser leg. "Good," he said, looking pleased for the first time during the interview. "Tomorrow will do nicely. Now for my second condition, which should be at least as easy: I'll be obliged to your client if I never have to suffer your presence again, Mr. Turlough." Turlough nodded grudgingly, then finished with the arrangements in haste. He had a signed receipt for the cash retainer, and Delluth had a dinner appointment (including a carriage to pick him up and return him, if he wished.) //---- Delluth watched the dull streets of Corwin's Folly pass by the carriage, mulling over the little he had been able to find out about Damien: a man who claimed no surname, had once been affiliated with Johann Payne in some way, and now played the game of dubious loyalty with the Castle. Any playwright worth his or her salt could make a lot of hay with that material. A mere scholar and occasional musician, however, had best leave it alone, he reminded himself. Zhenechka, who had refused to be left behind, looked up from his curled-up position on the floor as the carriage slowed, then stopped. "Looks like we're here," Delluth remarked, peering out at the gate that was being opened. The carriage jolted a bit as it went through, then curved around toward the front door of the large, white house. "Almost here," Delluth amended, admiring the grounds' riot of autumn color. The carriage rolled to a stop. The dog leaped out as soon as the footman opened the door, to begin sniffing around the portico, with his master following much more slowly. He had dressed for the occasion in a version of the Amberite natives' idea of business attire. He was not visibly armed and wore no After closing the gate, the hairy groundskeeper moved in the direction of the carriage house, which was not far from the groundskeeper's own cottage. Apparently both the coachman and groundskeeper would pass the time together while Delluth dined. Zhenechka could smell no other dogs or cats, although there were some horse notes drifting on the breeze, and the many smells of a regularly functioning kitchen. He obeyed Delluth's hand signal and joined his master at the door as he knocked. The heavy oak door was opened at once, revealing a well dressed butler with a square jaw, long face, and flat bald head with tufts of salt-and-pepper hair flying away in a band at ear level. His dark eyes were rheumy and his nose crooked and oblong, but he was smiling without exposing his teeth. After making a sweeping gesture for Delluth to enter and moving out of the way, he produced a card with large bold hand-printed letters on it, while keeping his other hand low so that Zhenechka might sniff it. :: I am mute, but not deaf.
:: Welcome to the home of my master, Damien.
:: I would be happy to take your cloak/coat/hat.
:: Please let me know if there is anything you require.
:: If you will follow me?
He held the card very steadily while Delluth read it, then returned it to his jacket pocket along with several other cards. After gesturing a repeated offer to take his hat or coat, he indicated Delluth should follow him as he walked into the den. Once there, the butler expressively gestured towards the stocked bar and humidor, his eyebrow raised in a question. Delluth surrendered his hat gladly, along with the light cloak he had brought along against the evening's chill. "Brandy, I think," he answered the butler's question. "You choose which one." He picked a seat with a good view of the door (or doors), and curtailed the dog's sneeze-interrupted investigation of the room with a gentle, "Zhenechka, sit." He nodded somberly, selected a bottle with some care, and poured a small portion into the appropriate tulip-shaped glass before passing it to Delluth and raising an eyebrow, as if to ask his opinion. Although the label on the bottle wasn't printed in any character set Delluth could read, the spirit had much in common with a single-barrel aged Martell Cognac. The silent butler stood by to pour more, if he found it to his liking. Delluth smelled the liquor first, then tasted it. "Very nice," he said, holding out his glass. "Thank you." After the drink was prepared, the butler withdrew, no doubt to inform Damien that his guest had arrived. The guest relaxed into his seat, looking around the den and absorbing its meanings and implications. It was an easy room to feel comfortable in, and he did so, sipping at his drink and letting thoughts about what he had seen so far drift through his mind. A few minutes later, Damien arrived wearing his usual outfit of dark clothing. Today, it was somewhat more subdued, with fewer ruffles and less lace than the sometimes-colorful descriptions Delluth had recieved of his host. "Ah, Professor Delluth Corrino. I'm quite pleased you were able to join me this evening," he said as he poured himself a measure of greenish liquor into a stemless wineglass. "Dinner will be just a few more minutes." Delluth had risen courteously to greet his host. "Mister Damien," he said, nodding affably. "I'm equally pleased, I'm sure. Or I will be, assuming your food is up to the standard of your liquor." Damien nodded. "I'm sure you'll find it most satisfactory. Would you prefer to discuss business before, after, or during our meal?" he asked as he motioned for the other man to return to his seat as he took one across from it and sipped his beverage. "Whenever you like," he said, resuming his seat. "The business is research, and research is a pleasure, so I'll discuss it any time." Damien nodded and took another sip of his beverage. "Have you found your transition to Amber to be academically stimulating?" "Oh, absolutely," Delluth said. "Academics in the Courts tends to be small scale. Apprenticeships, focused academies, things like that. And very practical. Here, the first question about proposed research isn't, 'Is it useful?' but 'Is it interesting?' Not that I didn't learn a lot there, no question about it, but this university thing has a lot more room for fun." He grinned, brimming with enthusiasm. Damien's own smile was one of patient experience. "I know precisely what you mean. Johann and I spent over two decades in the university system, leasurely enjoying whatever explorations our whims directed us towards... Law, Mathematics, the Fine Arts," he said as a sweeping gesture of his empty hand drew attention to a landscape painting over the fireplace. It was signed 'J.P.,' and Damien sighed marginally when he looked at it. "Looks like time well spent," Delluth said of the painting. If Damien was going to play the brooding sort, he might as well save his own energy, so he reined himself in somewhat and went on more moderately. "As a professor, I *am* expected to stick more or less within my specialty, I'm afraid. But it's generally not hard to get the others to talk about their work. And I have my research trips, so it's no hardship." Damien shook himself from his funk a few moments later, once again all smiles and energy. "Of course. And I've been meaning to ask... I've heard it said that all medicine is poison, that it is only a matter of dosing... does that generally hold in the Courts as well, or do they consider as toxins primarily those things which harm Shapeshifters?" "Technically," he said, raising his glass and swirling the brandy in it, "this is a toxin." He took a sip, savored it, and smiled. "So yes, as with so many things, the label 'poison' isn't always easy to apply, even in the Courts. It's more a question of the use. That being said, there are certainly substances that have no use except for trying to kill someone." He went on seriously, as befitted the topic, "It isn't easy to poison any shifter; with skilled ones, it's very difficult indeed. But to return to the subject of intoxicants, there are a number of substances we use in the Courts that have intoxicating effects, which would probably kill non-shifters. They can be tricky - with the wrong dosage you trigger a panic response, instead of getting a nice high. You'll probably want to avoid those. Too much chance of a non-shifter taking one around here." "Ah, so anything which is quite poisonous to normal folk is potentially dangerous to shapeshifters, but the reverse... shapeshifters aren't going to run into dangerous alleys consuming chocolate, peanuts, or other exotic foodstuffs to which shadow humans are well adapted?" he asked as he took another sip of the greenish liquid. "The thujone in this, for instance... would be safe for you to drink, were you so inclined?" "Thujone? Certainly. Perhaps I've been unclear ... the word you need is not 'dangerous,' but 'inconvenient.' Most shapeshifters can recover from most poisons, including ones that would be fatal to non-shifters. The issue is that the recovery process is not pleasant - not the sort of thing people do recreationally if they're even approximately normal." He considered, and smiled lopsidedly. "Unless they're young and stupid and daring each other." "Inconveniencing Chaosians is dangerous for me, though, so I hope you'll forgive my conflating the two. Speaking of inconveniences... does your University have any restrictions on the substances you are allowed to work with on campus? If neccesary, I can arrange for lab space and transportation elsewhere in the Golden Circle," Damien offered. Delluth nodded understandingly at Damien's remark about danger. "Thank you, but there are no restrictions, except insofar as we're expected to not damage the facilities or personnel," he answered the question. "You're really planning to import the new and different, instead of the old standbys?" he went on curiously. "How are you planning to secure and document samples?" "Well, as you know, there are a finite combination of physiological and psychological responses to any given chemical, but yes, I do intend to import a number of novel cocktails. As for securing and documenting samples... for purity, consistency, and so on... I have a handful of trusted field assayers who I use in a variety of capacities, from confirming the purity of gold to making sure shipments of fruit aren't coming in with stones in the bottom of the barrels," Damien explained. "But do you or your people have any particular experience with these kinds of materials? If you don't mind my asking." "Not specifically, but they'll be acting in a supervisory capacity to local talent-- pharmacologists, organic chemists and so on-- who do." "Good, good. I'll need to see their documentation, if possible, check for known problems ..." His voice trailed off, as he started setting up protocols in his head. The he blinked and smiled apologetically. "And, of course, check that they function as advertised when brought here." "Of course. I've actually recieved a partial shipment of samples already, and the rest should be arriving within the week," Damien said as he finished his drink and rose to his feet, as he looked towards the doorway through which he'd entered. Within that doorway, a short young woman with curly dark hair and wearing a tasteful maid's outfit stood smiling. Her pale eyes matched those of the butler, but were not quite as watery. Once Damien had looked in her direction, she quickly signed something with her right hand. "Dinner is ready, if you'll follow her," Damien translated as he motioned for his guest to precede him. "Excellent," Delluth said, setting down his brandy glass as Zhenechka (who had lain down in an attitude of boredom) sat up and perked up his ears at the word "dinner." The movement caught Delluth's attention, as if he had forgotten he was there. "I hope you don't mind my bringing my dog," he said. "I try not to leave him alone if I can help it - he has ways of expressing his displeasure about that." His look at the dog was frankly indulgent. The maid led the way into an elegant diningroom with just a touch of a coquesh swish to her walk. The room was done in dark hardwoods in much the same style as the den. The table was the sort which could easily be expanded or contracted through the addition or removal of leaves, but was presently in a smaller configuration. Two place settings were at one end of the table, and a pair of silver bowls was not far from the tableleg beside the seat the maid was pulling out for him. Damien was circling around the other table. "No, it was quite all right... we were expecting your guest," Damien said with a smile as the butler Delluth had seen earlier and a woman of about the same age brought out several silver-domed platters. "The entre is beef, so you'll have the red?" Damien asked as his buttler offered the bottle for inspection. It was an Arden red. "Certainly," Delluth said. The man certainly knew how to live well. "And I do appreciate your consideration. Though I'm not sure Zhenechka has really minded the times he's been made to wait in the garden." The dog in question was investigating the bowls. Most of the silver-domed platters were placed on the table, but the older woman, the cook, simply removed the dome from one and collected a water pitcher with his other hand. Cubed beef went into one bowl, and water into the other. Zhenechka waited patiently for the serving process to be finished, but not for anything else. Meanwhile, the butler was carefully pouring two glasses of the dark red vintage. That done, he uncovered one dome to reveal a salad with green apples and walnuts in it, which he dispensed with tongs onto each plate, followed by chilled water into appropriate glasses. Presumably, the salad was intended to cleanse the palate after the brandy and whatever thujone-laced absinthe derivative Damien had been drinking. "I'm afraid the wine will need a short while to breathe," Damien explained. "It is a pity the fruits of Arden are difficult to obtain these days," he added. "Yes," Delluth agreed, applying himself to the salad. "I hear some people can still get them, but for some reason no one wants to talk about that with me." "Those sorts of people are only willing to deal with your sort of people-- 'the enemy,' for a great deal more money, perhaps with a few middle-men in between. My pricetag is currently somewhere in-between, as they're uncertain as to my position. If that ever changes, I have a rather large cellar," Damien said with a smile. His tone was somewhat jocular, and there was much more irony than venom when he discussed Delluth as 'the enemy.' The professor appeared entirely undisturbed by the terminology, but he gave the wine in his glass an interested look, grasping that it might be a recent acquisition. "Are *you* certain of your position?" he asked curiously, not really expecting an answer. "Oh, I am... like everyone else, it is precarious," Damien said with a smile. Delluth nodded. "Someone once told me, 'Life without politics would be terribly dull.' But of course, she was usually winning," he finished wryly. "I am, however, something of an endangered species... and thus, should I foolishly allow myself to be slain in a shift in politics, the Universe will forever after be less in my absence. No... there are certain excitements one must forgo, though as you've pointed out, there are other schools of thought," Damien explained with a laugh in his eyes. "I belong to the 'watch from the sidelines' school myself," the other answered cheerfully. "It's much easier to avoid being dragged into the game that way." "Ah... but while you might have a stake in the game, I -am- a stake in the game..." Delluth looked sympathetic. "Since I'm a Corrino, there are those who believe I'm inherently political. But there are rather a lot of Corrinos, so I can still manage to avoid most of all that." He picked up his glass and smelled the wine's bouquet. "Or so I like to believe, anyway." He stared into the wine for a moment, remembering a time when he'd believed he could ignore it all. "A toast," he said then, raising his glass. "To survival." "To survival," he said with a grin which beared a hint of white teeth as the glasses clinked. Through the rest of the salad course, and later as the mushroom bisque was served with buttered whole-grain rolls, Damien simply made smalltalk about the weather, various painters and plays of note, and the latest traffic difficulties due to some construction in another ward. He sought to be engaging, and to avoid topics which would bore his guest. Delluth had a well-honed ability to not look bored, but he did have numerous thoughts and opinions on the city's arts, especially the theater. The bowls were cleared away, and roasted beef with garlic and onions, raisins and vinegar was served. It was quite a bit like sauerbraten, but of course, as Damien had said, the meat was beef rather than horse. It was served alongside batter cooked with beef tallow into the shape of a bowl, and served with gravy prepared from the main dish. Glaised carrots and broccoli filled what room was left on the plate. "I was going to wait until desert to ask, but my curiousity won't brook further delay... what did Turlough do to upset you... or was it his generally unpleasant personality which irritated you?" Damien asked before taking a mouthful of beef. Delluth snorted. "The latter," he said. "There are enough irritating people that I have no choice but to deal with. If I can avoid even one of them, I'm a happier man. I hope," he added, "that it won't be much trouble." "No, it is easy enough to accomplish, provided you don't mind passing him on the street some day. I've got other people to run errands, and other interactions can be done by post and the like," Damien said with a shrug. "Just not speaking with him will suffice, thank you," the professor said. "Your cook, by the way, could give my favorite restaurants a run for their money." She smiled and bowed from where she stood at one end of the room. Delluth, in return, raised his glass to her in salute. "Their family has been in my employ for many generations. We've always found it to be a favorable arrangement, so when I returned from Shadow I brought them to Amber with me," Damien explained. "I can't imagine giving up this cooking voluntarily," Delluth replied, and then started describing the fare at one of the restaurants he was thinking of. "And they have music," he finished. "Just last week they had a singer - wonderful! Reminded me that I'm probably wasting my time with the voice lessons." Damien expressed interest, and knew enough about the location and style of music to ask intelligent questions through the rest of the course. Desert was served soon afterwards, and consisted of baked apples stuffed with nuts and cinnamon with vanilla icecream on the side. "Does it trouble you that I keep my blood relations to myself? Family is often quite important to Chaosians, as a matter of declared identity, yes?" Damien asked. "Trouble me?" Delluth said, smiling, and shook his head. "There's no point in being troubled by the greater Universe's failure to conform to Chaosian norms. Waste of energy. Of course, it *does* excite my curiosity, but as I understand local manners, it would be rude to ask about it." Clearly, however, he'd be delighted to have his curiosity satisfied. "It may interest you to know my maternal grandmother was a demoness, and my relation to the royal family one which would raise eyebrows in other circles... so the matter of parentage is very delicate," Damien commented as coffee was served. "I see," he said, with the expected interest. "It would indeed matter to those who care about such things." "In large part, that is why I don't attempt to claim descent from either upset the delicate political balancing act... so any station I achieve must be earned, rather than inherited. Not that I stand to inherit anything in particular, I should amend..." "A difficult problem," Delluth said. "And a discussion that hasn't done much to assuage my curiosity, I'm afraid." He looked good-naturedly across the rim of his coffee cup at Damien. "Why did you think that I, in particular, would be interested in your grandmother's contribution to your heritage?" "Because you wouldn't look very credible critisizing such a relationship," Damien replied a moment later, "and, should anyone ever decide to lean upon you on account of such opinions... I have a vested interest in being of some small assistance." Delluth burst out laughing and put down his cup to keep from spilling his coffee. It was a good laugh, deep and unrestrained, but he tried to stifle it almost immediately. "I beg your pardon," he choked out. "But really ... lean on me!" He broke into chuckles again. "My dear man, apparently your informant doesn't know that I don't care who knows about it." He wiped a laughter-tear from a corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. Many people really do care, it's true. But it's quite liberating being a known eccentric, I find." Damien simply smiled with what might have been sympathy. "Perhaps you aren't thinking creatively enough. You needn't feel shame to take offense that another would bring it up in a public situation, perhaps to others who -would- take offense. Some purist might seek to harm your daughter, or you... such sentiments are not limited to harsh words." "What, out of pure spite?" Delluth shrugged. "Previous experimenters have found that the petty joy of making me - or my daughter - unhappy is really not worth the trouble. If I have to repeat the lesson, so be it." For the first time, his manner suggested that his easygoing nature was not all there was to him; now there was a hint of stone or steel underlying the rest. "There hasn't been a first time anyone seriously tried to harm us as individuals. But you're right that the fact that it would be foolish wouldn't stop fools. Or fanatics. "So I do appreciate the thought of assistance, Damien, though I can't fathom why it would be needed here." He tilted head back a fraction, calmly studying the man across from him. "If Johann is right, and... sadly... he often is on such things, we do not have too many years until the Cold War heats up. Until then, though... I shall eat, drink, and be merry," he said with a smile. "Ah," Delluth said, enlightened. "Yes, that's the only thing to do. Frankly, I've wondered what's taking them so long. Not that I mind the war being put off indefinitely, but ..." He sighed, looking off toward the kitchen. "I have to keep reminding myself not to get too comfortable here." |
