The Lady watches at the scene unfolds before her, a mix of threats, and watches as the confusion leads to the separation of the group and most of them leave.
Finally, Lady Sayeh takes a seat slowly, and sits down looking at the meal before her. “Your form of negotiations lack charm, Diob. The property belongs to Lord Victor and it is not at the right of The East Blackwood Company to sell it or gift it, and for that matter, it’s value could be all but worth that of a single copper. Your report doesn’t match up, it’s rather inflated, and there are tasks that were not asked of you that were done and now you demand more money.”
The charm Sayeh had before melted away quickly as she cut some food off her plate. “Your negotiation sounds more like the demand of a gypsy trying to get away with a con. Strange thing about that, is you don’t try to con someone who knows how con artists work. And now here we are twisting words in contracts written by an amateur scribe in my company. And I am sure the Ambassador will blame me for this as well,” she picks up her cutlery ready to start cutting up her food.
“Make a deal, and your buyer backs out, and the scribe made an error, and sit in room listening to LIES IN THIS HELL HOLE OF A DISTRICT!”
Lady Sayeh takes her whole plate of food and throws it against the wall and rises to her feet.
“How much more poison will I listen to coming from your smiling mocking faces? I’ll say again, your negotiation sounds more like a demand, a threat, and scheme thats was pocketed and hushed until the most opportune moment to try and find a way into pull at the purse strings.”
Her teeth grit together, “If you think, your threats will have any impact on me, there are powers that I have worked far harder to earn the respect of than the likes of you. I highly suggest you whip your dogs into order, and teach them new tricks.”
She leans forward on the table, and the wind rattles the shutters in the room making it hum through the cracks while her temper flares.
She looks to Diob and glares coldly at him.
“The Squire of Dark Isle was not present at your negotiations, and they would not drink during the terms of negotiations. So, with the likes of men who like to think they can take meek and seemingly simple minded woman, and insult them. And this has been a true and disgusting insult, since the Squire of the Dark Isle is me.”
She turns back to Raven, “Do all your negotiations start with an insult to a noble woman’s intelligence and to make demands? Negotiations have a far different mood, and I have faced Lord Faust who’s terms of negotiations are his terms or no terms.” Her voice lowers to almost a growl.
“The terms are you can get your standard amount of negotiated pay, judging by the stocks of food and wine in house, I would say you’ve also racked up quite a bill for yourselves which seems like more than your share of this price you believe should be paid, and if you want future employment and compensation then those can be discussed at that time. Also, seeing as your reputations in my circles are getting an ill approval, I don’t believe they will enjoy what I have to say. Oh and threats of death, well, the largest army in the Western Seal will not take kindly to that, nor I am sure within a few circles of the Rosen. Also, there are connections in the Ambassador’s hands.”