[ God, having an earnest partner in a crime den, give him strength. This amount of sincerity would be much more endearing if it weren't messing with their leverage—Lancer isn't the sort to deal in bald-faced lying much, more fond of untruths and pleasantries, but in this case it looks like it's either him or bust.
He puts a hand on Keith's shoulder as though to placate him, smile turned slightly slanted. Or strained. Depends on the angle. ]
Well, you heard my buddy—let's get to business. I gotta be honest with you though, I'm not as eager as my good friend here to keep him alive. My brother croaks, I get his inheritence. [ Lancer sighs, shrugging. ] I only picked your "cure" 'cause we heard it doesn't work a damn anyway.
[ The people in the Westies didn't have much more than a box of moth-eaten clothes to pass along to their kids, but family politicking is more than the norm in Leith. And he speaks with the proper dismissive nonchalance of a guy playing the game. The vendor looks skeptical, at once defensive ('I'll have you know,' a finger stabbed in Lancer's direction, 'we got the finest lab-grown stuff—') but already weighing his competition in his head, the undercutting scoundrels on the rest of the floor.
After some more tepid back-and-forth, Lancer still ends up forking over more joy than deserved, but (1) shiny vial rolls between his fingers shortly. He practically drags Keith by the collar out of earshot before flicking him hard against a temple. ]
All right, rule one. Never let anyone know how much you need something, they'll milk ya dry for———actually, y'know what.
[ He turns a bit straighter, vial tucked away in a thick jacket pocket along with vials 2, 7, and 15 of the day, frowning. ]
Pop quiz. What've you learned about haggling today?
[ Impress him with what you've absorbed about the black market so far. Let's see how much they have to work with—maybe he's just underestimating the poor kid. ]
no subject
He puts a hand on Keith's shoulder as though to placate him, smile turned slightly slanted. Or strained. Depends on the angle. ]
Well, you heard my buddy—let's get to business. I gotta be honest with you though, I'm not as eager as my good friend here to keep him alive. My brother croaks, I get his inheritence. [ Lancer sighs, shrugging. ] I only picked your "cure" 'cause we heard it doesn't work a damn anyway.
[ The people in the Westies didn't have much more than a box of moth-eaten clothes to pass along to their kids, but family politicking is more than the norm in Leith. And he speaks with the proper dismissive nonchalance of a guy playing the game. The vendor looks skeptical, at once defensive ('I'll have you know,' a finger stabbed in Lancer's direction, 'we got the finest lab-grown stuff—') but already weighing his competition in his head, the undercutting scoundrels on the rest of the floor.
After some more tepid back-and-forth, Lancer still ends up forking over more joy than deserved, but (1) shiny vial rolls between his fingers shortly. He practically drags Keith by the collar out of earshot before flicking him hard against a temple. ]
All right, rule one. Never let anyone know how much you need something, they'll milk ya dry for———actually, y'know what.
[ He turns a bit straighter, vial tucked away in a thick jacket pocket along with vials 2, 7, and 15 of the day, frowning. ]
Pop quiz. What've you learned about haggling today?
[ Impress him with what you've absorbed about the black market so far. Let's see how much they have to work with—maybe he's just underestimating the poor kid. ]