Lord's Suite, 3F, Truthseekers' Main Headquarters

Partway through the afternoon, I felt like Olrica was loitering around and taking up space, so I politely asked if she'd make herself useful and retrieve some half-forgotten items out of the Warehouse for Appraisal with Trom, now that he's back to work at the Pioneers' Alliance. The items in question of course being the presumably Cursed loot drops from the Siege Event a few weeks ago which I couldn't identify the traits of myself because of their Silver-Tier rarity.

I...still have no damn clue what the chunk of fused, ossified bone is for though. I might need to consult a Scholar or, hell, maybe a Butcher to figure it out, since in spite of all we've done in cleaning up Arevas and Geronil's messes, we haven't found anything that can shed some light on it. The only thing I can think of is that Rambling Rose got a Schematic or something related to it when they killed The Brand, which would be some delicious irony.

Without knowing anything, it's hard to get up in arms about it, however, so my attention is on the pair of ratty old leather gloves and ring. The Birdcage didn't drop anything, since I'm pretty sure it counted as more of an 'item' itself than a 'monster'.

It has to be said, that Cursed equipment definitely has it's temptations. From the physical bonuses to the niche passive effect, these are good gloves if you work around their quirk. Of course, it still represents an enormous risk to the wearer.

...but the ring is what really hammers that point home, such that even I, with my years of experience to know better than to ever put it on, am sorely tempted to use it in order to ease the penalty applied to me by the Usurpation. Even without it, items that perpetually buff Experience gains are practically unheard of and more than make up for the 50 Stone Gold spent on the Appraisals for both of them.

If I had to put a value on this ring..?

Several Hundred Stone Platinum.

Minimum.

This is not a joke or exaggeration - if you can deal with the penalty effect and any Corruption you incur, it will save you years of effort on the road to Level 200, as it doesn't mention any sort of cap to the Experience bonus.

And I just know, that the cleansed variant is going to be far inferior, though much safer.

I let out a long-suffering groan, "That's only seeing the positives, though. As if things could ever be so easy and convenient."

It might look like it's being forthcoming about the penalties, but with respect to Trom, I don't believe him capable of fully unearthing all the hidden teeth and claws inside this ring. The greater the benefit, the greater the cost from my experience with Cursed items.

Grumbling, I prick my forearm and smear blood on the Purcath, starting with the gloves to delay the unpleasant admission of inevitability.

Physically, they still look and feel old, but they're much softer and warmer feeling than before. Looking over the details, it's an uncommon instance of the cleansed item being generally superior in all aspects. Not only does it retain it's main selling point, it also has an active ability.

I'm unsure as to who would be best suited to using them, either way. They're good for any eligible melee fighter, obviously, but they can either lend a sense of security to a weapons specialist or enhance the grappling power of a hand-to-hand specialist.

Best to discuss it with the Officers.

I spend the next five to ten minutes sitting on the edge of my bed just staring at the ring in the palm of my hand, reluctant to potentially ruin its staggering cash value and utility. Being realistic about it, there's no way in hell I'll be able to safely exchange this for money, assuming I can find a buyer or venue willing to facilitate the trade.

And then I have to worry about the impact this could have on the state of the world and my future plans on top of that - hoping against hope that Trom is grateful enough to us for his rescue he doesn't blab about it as well.

In short, I can't sell it.

In its current state, I can't use it either.

So even if it hurts me to do it, I take a deep breath and activate the purcath one more time to purge the innate filth that's tempting me to violate my principles.

Absention is rewarded, I chuckle nervously, relieved.

The Next Day

Le Chevalier, Tortue Village

Monsieur Jackson is out of town for a few days to visit relatives and thankfully trusts me enough to leave the custody of the building to me though I still offered to book myself into a hotel until he comes back.

I could, feasibly, open the Café for business, but really I'm just happy to have some more time to take care of more important matters than my lodging agreement.

Still, for what I'm about to do, it's better to have the storefront to myself than stay cooped up in my stuffy bedroom.

"Hey, Alex."

Winfrey waves to me inside the screen of my Apple Pane, groggy, anxious, and munching on a cereal bar.

"Good morning," I greet her, sipping my coffee.

"It's 4am here, man, nothing good about it," she gripes, stuffing the remaining half all the way in, crumpling the wrapper and tossing it lazily behind her.

I raise an eyebrow, "Don't you have a bin?"

"Nah, cleaning drone'll get it in a minute," Winfrey yawns, "Rich girl, remember?"

"Are you though?"

"Well, by proxy and hopefully actually once Uncle Eric signs off on this," she rubs her eye, leaning back into her chair, "Speaking of, you have everything ready, don't you?"

"Of course," I confirm seriously, "I was up late with Morn working on the presentation."

Even if I have been brushing up on business terminology, practices and philosophies, it's no substitute for a degree in Finance and several years of experience in a big company. With money in her pocket and a position of nominal authority, Morn was only too happy to assist. Or, rather, she was when Winfrey let slip that her Uncle is apparently an Investment guru or something.

Personally, my concern is ensuring that one of my first and staunchest allies isn't forced to abandon her course. I don't hold any expectation of or a desire to pitch an investment opportunity in Truthseekers & Meteor Manufactory's future. For one thing, I don't know the man, and for another, I don't want to exploit Winfrey's goodwill.

"Send it over?"

"Should be in your inbox already."

"Oh. Right, eyes must've glazed over when I saw 12 messages from ad companies," Winfrey grumbles, "My premium privileges must've dried up. Already costing me 500 bucks a year just to have an email account, 200 more to not get spammed with adverts is just robbery."

"I don't want to think about it either," I commiserate, "I'm sure the underpaid schmucks at SMK Signal Ltd's customer service department will be happy to copy-paste the company line on why they need to charge for a service that was free up until The Crash."

"Screw that," she rolls her eyes, then chugs down half a glass of some unidentified thick green slurry, "Guh, gross. Oh, uh, just got a message from my Uncle, he'll be ready in a minute."

"Alright," I eye the remainder of my coffee, "Might get another cup of coffee brewed then."

"'k. I'll add him into the call if he's here before you."

Draining the dregs, I quick-march back behind the counter and pull another shot of coffee grinds, setting the adjacent machine to brew a refill. Doesn't take a full minute, but I can hear Winfrey's upbeat voice raise in greeting, so her Uncle must be here now. Just in time.

Placing the cup and saucer down I take a seat, nudge it closer to the table with my foot wrapped around behind the front legs, and put on my best smile, "Greetings."

The man sharing screenspace with Winfrey doesn't hold much resemblance to his niece, looking roughly the same age as I am - was, rather - with a white suit jacket over a faded t-shirt from a band concert in 2096. He looks tired, but alert, clutching a can of energy drink with another two crumpled next to him on his office desk, the blinds behind him shut with artificial light vaguely visible between.

According to Winfrey, he mostly works and lives in California, so it's about 3am for him and he probably hasn't gone to bed yet. Still unsure what possessed him to hold this hearing at such an ungodly hour for two out of the three of us.

He slurps some more sugar-packed soda and suppresses a burp, patting his chest, "'scuse me. I'm three sheets to the wind on PowerBRST, got a flight back to Florida in two hours."

"You're coming back here?" Winfrey apparently wasn't informed.

"Last minute decision. And by last minute I mean around an hour ago," Mr Matthews smiles slyly, "Surprise. Anyway, talk about that after."

The man throws his head back and swigs down the rest of his liquid heart attack, and crushes the can, expression serious and all-business, "So, you're the guy I've been hearing about?"

"Alexandr Ivanovic," I introduce myself politely, "Please to make your acquaintance Mr Matthews."

"Mhm, Eric Matthews," he takes a deep breath and turns on a full-powered glare, "So, you, what's your intention for my daughter, huh?"

"Hey, since when was I your daughter?!" Winfrey objects immediately.

"Well, if my dumbass of a brother wants to contest custody he'll need to claw his way out of the grave we had to bury him in," Mr Matthews snorts, chuckling darkly, "Frankly, he lost all claim when he ignored my warning to up the security on your house and almost took you to the grave with him and your mother. But never mind all that."

"...I am going to give you such a slap when you get here," Winfrey promises, voice low.

Mr Matthews tacitly ignores her, "So, Mr Alexandr?"

"Winfrey's been a dependable ally and a good friend since we met, and I mean to repay that in kind," I state simply, uninterested in any lascivious aspersions on our relationship, "That's all there is to it."

Winfrey doesn't say anything but it's clear from her body language she agrees with my declaration. Mr Matthews stares for a few more seconds, then smiles, "Good, else I'd have to break your kneecaps. Y'know, typical dad-stuff."

Continuing to ignore the simmering glare his niece/adopted daughter is throwing his way, he relaxes just a little, "Which brings us to the next question, and that's whether or not you've done good enough with this startup of yours to warrant her trust. I raised a smart girl, so I expect she can tell a good investment from a bad one, but...well, I still have to make sure for her sake."

"As to be expected," I nod simply, ready to send over the paperwork, "But to make something clear, I agreed to this meeting for Winfrey's sake. I'm not asking for anything for myself or my business. Anything to that effect is a separate conversation for after - is that acceptable?"

He barks a laugh, "Sure. Glad to hear you both sticking to that, actually - see again: me, kneecaps and the signed championship baseball bat in the corner of my office here."

"I'm still here, you know? I can handle myself just fine," Winfrey grumbles, irritation mounting, "Not like I go around telling everyone I meet my Uncle's a wealthy asshole."

"I resent that last word," Mr Matthews feigns offence, "Still, family has to look out for family and you're all I've got, Winnie."

"If you weren't cranky from three cans of energy drink at 3 AM you'd be getting off with worse than a slap," Winfrey replies mercilessly, "Alex just send him the docs so we can get this over with."

I don't miss the evaluating look he flashes at her while complying with her order. No reason to bring it up, however.

Scanning quickly through the files, Mr Matthews doesn't show any sign of emotion, consumed by the task at hand, "Mm. So you've made...$31000? Not a lot."

I'm inclined to agree, strange as it might sound.

"But you haven't gotten a proper business licence yet or any real world presence to speak of," he continues, "I can appreciate that it might seem informal, expensive and difficult, but then again, so is prison. You need to get your taxes squared away for starters."

"Applications are currently being processed," I assure him, "It's just that the New Europe Alliance's legislation is a bit arcane when it comes to upgrading from a continental licence to international - trying to explain that felt unnecessary when I was writing up the information, since the focus was on the feasibility of the business rather than the minutia of it's operation."

"As far as I'm concerned, that's the same thing, kid," he sighs, "Amateur entrepreneurs. I've seen a lot of this kind of garbage in my work, but let's say I give you the benefit of the doubt for my girl's sake...The transactions you've completed so far are at least with established companies that have good names."

As the conversation progresses, it feels less like I'm talking to Winfrey's uncle and more like I'm trying to justify myself to one of my professors. In fact, it sounds like he intends to treat this as an investment pitch meeting regardless of my stated intent.

"Yes. Now that matters have begun to settle down and stabilise, we've been able to convert our progress into sales with our peers, and we have plenty of stock left to trade with the steadily rising wave of new players," I summarise, perhaps unnecessarily as he will no doubt understand on his own, "The money we have so far is perhaps a one-off for the near future, but steady, smaller-scale sales are expected to follow regardless."

"So you claimed," Mr Matthews, glances to his left, tapping his fingers on a screen out of sight, "According to my research, there is indeed a renewed interest in Astral Reckoning following the recent patch from the public, the media and in my circles. I can admit the possibility exists, but it's long-term viability is not something I have confidence in with your current business model. An enterprise that relies on a steady supply of a finite, time-limited resource - that being new players, or your targeted demographic, in this case - is doomed to obsolence if it can't evolve to take on new markets before the funds and awareness of the business run out. How do you intend on dealing with this?"

"For one thing, I believe you are understimating the gathering storm of interests," I begin my retort, intending to go down a list, "With the decline of other VRMMORPGs, specifically Eternal Wuxia and before long Valiant Advance, more businesses and players will arrive like a tidal wave. Having weathered the dry spell following the launch of Astral Reckoning, there will be no shortage of new players who have been attracted first to the game, and second by the reputation of Truthseekers, assisted by the promotional video we released last week."

Sip some coffee while I catch my breath...

"So we can expect to remain stable for the next two months to start off with. Our major advantages going forward, though it might not appear that way at first glance, is the location of Meteo Town. Not only is it the exit point for fresh characters, it is a major stop on the trade route between the neighbouring country, the Kingdom of Ghoath, and the river-port Rospli Town further north for caravans and travellers. Further than that, we are also not too far away from the southern coastline of the continent, and much of our development is done with the aim of opening a major port there, as there currently exists none due to the dangers involved."

"...A major port?" Mr Matthews' eyes turn sly, "That's a pretty big leap. And knowing how games like this operate from experience...rather fantastical. Now, I'm not intimately familiar with how Astral Reckoning handles the common tropes, so correct me if I'm wrong, but you'll need a ridiculous amount of money, reputation, resources and probably some rare, exclusive blueprints and drops, yes? In which case, that isn't something you'll have a chance at accomplishing for at least a year, perhaps longer."

"No, you're right," I don't deny it.

"That's a very large digression, then, and it creates some doubt in mind that you are being in any way realistic," he replies seriously, "It sounds quite attractive, but that doesn't explain how you're going to achieve the means to attempt it, to say nothing of the risk involved at that juncture. Care to elaborate?"

"There are a lot of unknowns, since this is 'unknown territory'," I half-bluff, half-confess since I don't want to talk about the reason for my confidence in detail with him, "In the playerbase, there are few who could claim to be qualified to attempt it. It's still a fact that Truthseekers is the most accomplished group of players in the region and no matter how we choose to grow, we will see dividends. However, I do not mean to settle for chump change. We have an advantage, and the opportunity to take it much, much further, so I will, and so far at least, Winfrey has demonstrated a willingness to try as well."

She nods confidently, "I've put in the hours for it. We have dozens of company reps from the gaming industry trying to get us in bed with them. Last offer to buy us out was $312k, and our top was $500k."

"...And you turned them all down?" Mr Matthews asks, "Are you stupid?"

"That remains to be determined," I smile sardonically, "Do you have any further questions?"

"I'd like for you to continue elaborating," he says, stifling a yawn, "You talked a lot of shit just now, not hearing much substance. I don't care what you say you have, I want to know how you plan to scale your operations."

"Is that relevant?" Winfrey huffs, "The whole point of this was to prove we could make money enough to pay me a salary. That way you'd let me bum around here continuing to play the game. When'd this turn into a sales pitch for our guild, Uncle Eric?"

"Is there a problem with asking about this?" Mr Matthews questions, curious, "What's the point of just making a little money one time? You want to try and convince me that's a real job, Winnie? Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of what you've accomplished, but if you mean to continue, you're going to need to try harder to convince me it's a viable career choice - more valuable than the degree in Paris I paid for for you at the very minimum."

"...If you're going to be like that, then I'll just move out and do it myself anyway," she answers back quietly, "I don't want you coddling me anymore, I just wanted your support."

Mr Matthews has the temerity to look hurt by that at least, "Winnie..."

"Don't 'Winnie' me, first thing you did today was insult my parents, then you forgot what the point of this call was, completely ignored me to grill Alex, and now you're treating me like a sheltered kid who doesn't know up from down or how to live without your money," Winfrey snaps back harshly, arms tightly folded around her chest.

I feel a little out of place between the two of them. Part of me wants to speak up in support of her, but the greater part of me would rather not undercut her resolve by interfering. Thinking back, she reminds me of Henna right now in a way, though the differences are clear to see.

His shoulders sag, and his spine curves over his desk, hand to his head signifying defeat, "Alright, alright...I get it. You've changed a lot since we last saw each other it feels like."

"Whatever," Winfrey huffs, "I don't want to hear it."

Drinking my coffee, I'm reminded that I should probably give Tay a call afterwards since it's about time for me to check in with her again. I'm pretty much her sole connection to the outside world and the only family she has left, as far as she cares. I have a better relationship with our only Uncle and Aunt, but she won't talk to anyone else.

Hypocritical or not, she didn't really improve until I coerced her into pursuing a doctorate in literature, where she met her future husband.

"So, Alex..." Mr Matthews calls my name, catching my attention.

"Yes?"

"Why don't I just break this all down to the basics?" he offers rhetorically, "You've got a big ball of unstable potential on your hands, and the way I see it, you're going to trip over your own inexperience trying to turn it into anything serious. I've seen it happen too many times to count, so don't try and pretend otherwise, you're basically doomed from the outset in the current market. Best case scenario, you'll end up being swallowed by some other organisation just to recoup your investments. Mostly because of what I understand to be a severe lack of real-world capital, backing and experienced people to run it."

Mr Matthews barks a half-hearted laugh, "And kid, you ain't a businessman, I can tell. You don't have the time to turn things around, especially if you want to ride this 'rising tide' you claim exists. And that being the case, where would that leave my baby girl and this new backbone she's found?"

Winfrey jolts, "Hey!"

"Just saying it like it is, sweetie," he brushes her off gently, "It'd be a real tragedy to let that happen...You get what I'm trying to say?"

"...Perhaps, but I have already made it quite clear that neither Truthseekers nor Meteor Manufactory are looking for or accepting any investors," I reply quietly, "Your pessimism has no bearing on that, and as you have already been reminded, it is not why we're here. Success, or failure, it will be on our terms."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I haven't heard before," Mr Matthews clicks his tongue, dismissive, "And I'm not deaf or senile, I heard you already. That's not what I'm getting at, here. I raised a smart girl, and I want her to do well, so I'll believe in the her that believes in you as you try and pierce the heavens."

Winfrey's palm immediately goes to her face, groaning, for some reason, "Fuckin'...really?"

"I will not apologise," his face sports a shit-eating grin that I subconsciously feel like punching, "Your grandpa wouldn't stop quoting it, I'm just upholding his legacy. Besides, you loved it when you were little!"

"I'm lost," I retreat into my coffee cup. 

"Don't worry about it," Winfrey's head thumps onto her table, overcome by embarrassment.

"In any case, to return to the point, since it's come to this, I'd like for you to 'hire' me and my firm," Mr Matthews concludes with a request that puts me even more off-balance.

"What?"

"Like I said, hire me," he repeats, smiling ceaselessly.

I struggle to comprehend what he's getting at, and perhaps sensing that he elaborates, "To be completely honest, I'm sick and tired of these Silicon Valley wannabes and their latest idea for drone tech. Taking on my baby girl's passion project and turning it around sounds way more fun - so I'll put my assets, employees and experience at your disposal. Not for free, obviously, I still expect a return on investment for my sincerity, regardless of my personal motivations. I have to put food on the table at the end of the day y'know, and I don't plan on retiring just yet."

"That's...insane," Winfrey lifts her face off her desk, aghast.

"Sweetie, I play the stock and investment game for a living, gambling with reckless disregard for financial solvency is part of the package," Mr Matthews chuckles, smug, "So, yeah."

Mind chaotic, I squeeze my eyes shut, and exhale slowly, "I need a minute to think about this, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing," he agrees, I push up from my chair and lope away from the Pane's camera to stand in the middle of the café dining area.

"Ok," I mutter, "Let's calm down and look at this properly."

Weighing the pros and the cons, I start with the obvious truth that Mr Matthews has some salient points about our current state of affairs, something which I'm already aware of. That being a distinct lack of capable, experienced personnel to take care of the different capillaries of my organisation. Two weeks worth of skim-reading on my part is not a substitute for a solid background in economics, finance and business management. Morn, smart and helpful as she is, is at best on the same level as a senior clerk or administrative assistant, and still has an element of uncertainty to her character.

Mr Lonsz could possibly stand in, but I don't want to give him even more authority, and he's still required in the Employment Bureau for the foreseeable future, and Henna is far too naïve, better suited to working on the shop floor than behind a desk.

In the case of Mr Matthews, he has the tools, people and experience to make significant contributions to Meteor Manufactory's future development. Not only that, but he has a vested interest by his admission in seeing it succeed for Winfrey's sake, so some amount of trust can be implied by association.

That does however, raise a concern of it's own: His loyalty is to himself, and just below that, his surrogate daughter. Not to Truthseekers, Meteor Manufactory, Myself, or the reason for our existence. In a way not too different from Sherry, to be honest, and since I've already come to terms with her, perhaps it behoves me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Actually, in both instances it's not them I have to worry about keeping happy but Winfrey, to whom they look to for motivation in this endeavour, though for different reasons.

Add to that, an admittedly paranoid, selfish desire to not give up even more control to someone not aligned with me and my motives, bringing up my recent altercation with Count Erment. I don't want to have continuously compromise and foment factionalisation just to ensure that I have competent people in positions of responsibility until I'm left as a lone voice in a conference room against dozens.

Impotent to change or do anything without submitting myself to a boardroom of managers, investors, sponsors and bootlickers. Our purpose lost, never to see fruition.

It's a stupid fear, but for it to be even remotely rational, then we'd need to survive long enough for that to be a potential reality. In the short term, pragmatically speaking, I stand to lose very little in the way of concrete value. Giving up on a few measly percent to secure the assets and expertise of a halfway trustworthy partner is a fucking bargain, I realise, when I set the ugly pride bubbling in my stomach aside long enough to consider the reality of what's being offered.

The question is, can I bring myself to accept it?

"Tide will erode a cliff, but expose treasures within," I recite a quote I heard somewhere in the past, coming to a decision.

Taking a seat back down, the two of them look at me expectantly. Winfrey appears to be relatively on board with the idea judging from her body language, and Mr Matthews says nothing at all, fingers knit.

"3%" I offer simply.

"Ten," he counters instantly.

"...Four."

"Ten."

"No deal."

"Tch, fine. Seven."

"Five."

"5.5% and I'll help you with your facilities and accommodation, consider it an apology for dragging you into our family drama," he huffs, giving up.

"Deal. I'd shake your hand, but it will have to wait until we meet in person," I smile calmly, trying not to let the regret for giving up more shares show on my face, "If you're going to be joining us in-game, as it happens, I'm holding a lecture for the Guild's benefit tomorrow on some of the ins-and-outs of Merrow, so it would be a good idea for you to attend. We can talk about the details afterwards."

"Sounds like a plan," Mr Matthews concurs, "Getting all the official stuff done will still take some, so it won't be too late to back out after if one of us gets cold feet."

"You better not bail for no reason," Winfrey warns him, "Besides, you'll like some of the guys we have with us. Grand and Jupiter are like, your people."

"Sounds fun," he shrugs, "Anyway, I need to get going to the airport, so gotta dash!"

He cuts the connection to the call, leaving behind a wink and a grin. Winfrey deflates into her chair, sliding down the back.

"Uuuughhh...sorry about him, Alex," she flashes me an apologetic smile, "He gets, um, real intense."

"No need to apologise," I shake my head, "I'll be taking the day off today, going to give my sister a call and check in with her, try and relax."

"Sure thang, boss," she fumbles a finger snap, then tries again, "I'm gonna go back to bed for like an hour and make sure some chaebol dipshit doesn't start another fuckin' riot in our house or whatever."

"Appreciate it. Sleep well."

"Myep."

Shutting down the call, I throw back my second coffee of the day and try to put on a positive face for Tay's benefit. 

IdleFancy

This was supposed to have been published yesterday. Lost about a thousand words from the end to my shitty internet connection and had to rewrite it after most of it vacated my brain. My pain is palpable.