[TTC/CH]To Propose A Certain Agreement...

[Brand]

*Closed to Lye (And Elthas, if certain events happen.)

Brand read over the response to a letter he had sent out but a few days before. He sighed.

"The man planted bombs on my messenger. Bombs of all things... Damn, that's the sixth one this month!" The previous five had fallen to something or another throughout the month, and only this one was destined to succeed, and he'd either plastered the man with a bomb pack, or woven spells around him as tight as a hangman's noose. The homunculus looked at the paper once more, before crumpling it up, and throwing it across the room and into the fireplace. The paper was consumed by the flame within seconds.

Brand had invited the master of assassins to dinner. He had rather literally invited death into his office. Lichensith Ulroke was coming out to this decrepit place to arrange business between the two groups, Trading Company and Crimson Hand.

"Sir, you should probably get ready for the meeting." A voice said from the doorway. Brand looked up to see the face of his secretary, and he nodded. The golem stood, his frame scraping at his joints as he did so.

"Thank you. And Sira, please, do go home. I don't want anyone getting hurt if things go foul. " Brand said, turning around to go through a door behind him, leading down a long hallway to his personal chambers. The mage straightened his back as he walked, and then went through another door, to end up in a richly furnished room.

"Hmph. Now, to figure out what to wear. Oh yes. Like it'd matter. Probably going to end up dead or dying, if things go the way they can with the Crimson Hand." Brand grumbled to himself, raising a hand absently to mentally flick his wardrobe door open. Within it was a strange assortment of garments, from a vinyl catsuit to a strangely realistic costume that seemed to represent a reptile that was incredibly tall, yet had miniscule arms. The golem looked them over with a thoughtless flick of his eyes and settled on a simple pair of black slacks, and an amber shirt, matching in color with his eyes. He walked over, grabbing them, and rather quickly changed into them, and then nodded to himself.

"And when shall blood flow from the wounds of the earth? In but days, for that, is when I shall die, good lord." He murmured, looking out the single window of his chambers to gaze unto the watelands that formed this desolate place.

Brand walked to his door, pulling it open, and striding down the hallway. He took a left at a set of double doors and pulled them open, revealing a great hall, with a massive fireplace, and a single long table running down the length of it. He cleared his throat.

"Lichensith Ulroke! Please, come in, if you are present!" Brand shouted in his booming voice, the sound echoing around the room. The homunculus nodded, and grinned.

[Lye]

At the end of the long table, the master assassin sat comfortably in a tilted chair and dirt crusted boots crossed atop the treated wood. His arms folded, he glanced down its lengths to the man presumably brave enough to suggest a business juncture. While his silent emerald gaze remained fixed, the hooded figure behind him stood eerily quiet. Both arms were held in front and tucked within the cover of loose fitting sleeves.

"Brand Phoenixeye, I assume?" Lye whimsically inquired. His boots rocked to and fro upon the blade fixed to their heels. Each movement dug the edge deeper into the potential benefactor's table. "I'm not much of a man for business, so do keep this in terms that might entice me."

The assassin held up his gloved hand and looked upon it as though already suffering from boredom. His eyes narrowed for a brief moment. He flexed his digits and something crumbled from the surface. Inquiry captured his expression and forced closer inspection. Lye's lips curled into a smirk and the realization of the substance being dried blood erased his curiosity. From whom it came? Well, that was a story left for a more pertinent time.

"Oh!" The assassin popped his feet off the table and swung them underneath in a more proper posture. Meanwhile, his hand motioned to the shadowed figure over his shoulder. "This is Tredge. He is not very fond of sudden movements or raised tones. He's also not too fond of conversation. Say hello Tredge."

The figure did not move nor make a sound.

"He says 'hello'."

Lye leaned forward with his elbows atop the scarred surface and steepled his fingers over his mouth. The assassin locked sight on the homunculus and carefully watched every minute mannerism.

"Now where were we?"