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Captain Flint During the fall, Nassau's pretty tolerable in terms of temperature. The usually sweltering heat is toned down to a rather pleasant, temperate kind of weather, a little on the warm side but with plenty of breeze to compensate. The sky is clear, the waters around New Providence are calm, and the aforementioned breezes are kind enough not to blow the stink of Nassau further inland today.

     Captain Flint, standing just outside the entrance to the town's fort, observes its comings and goings with a furrowed brow, hands clasped behind his back as the wind plays with the hem of his long coat. He hopes this day will go down in history as Nassau's first significant step towards independence--once again, he's made contact with the Starbounders to arrange an upgrade.

     If Nassau is going to stand on its own, outside aggressors must be made to understand that an attack would not be profitable. The old fort is its first line of defense. The architect that originally built it had a strategic eye--its elevation, and distance from the shore, makes it quite difficult to attack without reproach. However, it's fallen into disrepair, both due to time and neglect from those who are, at least on paper, its owners.

     With capital, the fort could be repaired--but why spend money on mundane workers who will take months to bring it up to a decent state when Elite craftspersons could make a veritable wonder of the world in the same amount of time?

     The captain waits for the arrival of his guests, first, to discuss business; cost. Then, to have a different discussion with one guest in particular.
Starbound Flotilla     The Flotilla at least has the presence of mind to avoid making too spectacular a show of their arrival. Flint's an open-minded man who learns about the rest of the multiverse, but the Starbounders know a little better than to foist signs of his consorting with aliens on the rest of Nassau. It's why they arrived by way of a rather more locally styled boat, and why their presence here involves not really much deception, but certainly not much ceremony. They head through town and then straight for the fort, seemingly taking in the sights of the fort themselves throughout the walk, as it cuts that striking profile against the sky all the way from the bay to the door. And as they do... They speak. On the topic of Flint.

"--ink perhaps you put too much stake in one incident."
"Nah, nah. He came through even when it was right down to the wire."
"Matey, wasn't down to the mastrope at all. Trust be only one thing in this world, how much ye balance long-term profit and short-term profit."
"Interrupting. Just because you see trust as a business doesn't mean everyone else does."
"Doesn't matter. Not in a position where trust is necessary."

    They settle this conversation long before they reach Captain Flint though. They're not wearing armor today, as they've thus far tended to avoid doing during friendly meetings like this. Pavo, of course, is the one who makes contact; normally Moonfin would be the diplomat, but speaking pirate-to-pirate, or at least pirate-with-mad-aspirations-of-godhood-to-pirate, tends to be better. "Cap'n!" She calls out, with a broad grin on her beak and a hunger in her eyes that is only seen in those moments where she's going to get some significant profit soon. "Already I like the look of what we could have to work with here, and already me crew is thinking of ways to turn it further to yer advantage." She's already going for a firm, feathery handshake. She's ready to get the Starbounders right to business.
Captain Flint Flint turns to face the familiar, chipper voice of Captain Pavo with a smile as warm and natural as the tropical air. "Captain Pavo," he says, nodding cordially. Each member of the Flotilla, the Avian included, receives a brief, but firm handshake. His seafoam eyes linger for a moment on George, but only just.

     "I'm glad you and the Flotilla could make it today. After seeing your work on the Walrus, I feel you're uniquely qualified to renovate Fort Nassau. I've already spoken to Ben--" the captain gestures upwards. "If we reach an agreement, you'll have full access to the fort, and his men, should you need their assistance."

     Eager to show them the inside, to hear their ideas, and most importantly, get a quote for a price, he lowers his hand and makes a sweeping motion to the entrance, guarded by two of Ben Hornigold's men. "Shall we?"
Starbound Flotilla     "Oh, aye." Pavo says, eyes gleaming. She seems quite eager to get a littler more of that gold, and she wears her greed on her sleeve. "Always eager to do work for a profitable client. Thinking, we enhance the ranged power on yer fort, make it deal some real death on the bay when ye need it. Glad for the support too, extra hands makes lighter work."

    She heads on in, and beckons her allies to do the same. Only Seft is the one who moves with any degree of wariness. Not anxiousness, not fear, precisely; she doesn't think Flint's going to attack them, she just has her usual altruistic worries about helping pirates. The whole group follows in a tight but natural group.

    "Of course," Says Moonfin. "We should ensure the self-sufficiency of Nassau. In the event of a blockade, what possible supplies might it be in need of? Perhaps we might furnish the fort with the means by which it could prevent such tactics. Our hydroponics expertise is quite considerable."

    "Anxious. And... Weather is always a worrying thing for islands like this. Do you have any meteorlogical experts and apparatuses? I think... Giving awareness of the surroundings is what I'd most hope to work on." Seft mutters, her eyes flickering through awkward looks. She'd rather not work on weapons if she can help it, it seems, but she still wants to offer scanning equipment at least!

    The others have their own offers, it seems, but they're not going to make them until they see the inside! George, Biteblade, and Albert all have their own expertise to offer, but they'll need a look at what Fort Nassau has to start out. George, particularly, seems quite eager to get these points talked out. Anything, as ever, to disrupt the local politics. If it rattles a king, it's something he'll deliver a steep discount on.
Captain Flint The inside of the fort... needs work. As Flint explains it, Nassau has been sacked multiple times, by numerous enemies of Britain, the latter party only providing aid after the fact--and the quality of that aid often leaves New Providence wanting. The walls are cracked in some places. In others, areas of the fort have remained inaccessible for years now due to partial collapses.

     Flint steps around a fallen block of sandstone. "The island's interior can provide us with food, but the workers are slaves and have no voice of their own. Worse, their masters are capitalists and would no doubt gouge prices--if they agreed to supply food at all. Food isn't a question of self-sufficiency, it's a question of seizing the means of production, liberating the workers, and destroying imposed social alienation." It seems Flint's been using his downtime to read some of those books he's collected aboard the Walrus.

     "Automation--hydroponics--would be a good place to start, and its location inside the fort would keep it safe against attack."

     Then, weather. "Nassau lies in the West Indies," explains Flint. "This puts it in the path of severe hurricanes, and we are currently 127 years from the discovery of the Doppler effect. We have a few days warning, at best." Anything the Flotilla could provide on that front would be a blessing, then, and a further safeguard against English attack.

     Heading up a flight of stairs, the captain leads the flotilla to the uppermost level of the fort, which boasts a stunning view of the island below and the near-endless expanse of clear, blue sea. The breadth of the dirty port town is laid bare beneath them, as is the makeshift harbor in the bay, now full of not just square-riggers and ships of the line, but odd Multiversal vessels, as well. "I've often pondered accomodation for flying craft like that one," he says, pointing to a classical flying saucer docked low in the harbor.

     "Aren't ye gonna introduce me, James?"

     The voice comes from behind the party, from an aging pirate with curly silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and a wooden pipe. He sits beneath a canvas canopy, flanked on either side by a guard, and holding between his smiling lips a long, wooden pipe.

     Flint chuckles. "Captains, I present Captain Ben Hornigold. He and his men have held this fort for years."
Starbound Flotilla     "It's a question of seizing the means of production, liberating the workers, and destroying imposed social alienation."

    For a moment, Seft's screen flickers with a soft and gentle panic as she glances to George. Moonfin's a little more subtle in his light adjustment of posture and gritting of teeth. George, in turn, has one brief, almost undetectable moment of pure physiological reaction, a sort of predatory positivity that surges through reflexive actions. A crimson eye gleams with an intensity that has rarely been seen before. Whatever Flint just tripped, it's something so notorious yet subtly secret about George that it is perhaps a more defining characteristic. Flint just talked about something very, very close to the old days. VERY close.

    But then George reactivates his compulsive lying, sinking that reaction into a sea of chaotically conflicting social impulse to obfuscate any true intention. "Well, first thing's first, you gotta have all-access on this." George says, kicking at one of the collapsed sections. "Digging is easy, but keeping this place intact when we do it will be a different kind of problem, so we'll take that step by step. We'll these cleared out and get you fitted with security doors on the half-off price. This sandstone, we can treat with some avian compounds to harden it up and restore it. Helps make it boost power systems too, depending on what we get installed." He stands back up from his kneeling position, where he was prodding at the sandstone. "Architecture-wise, this should be a job we can handle."

    George is entirely unaware -- or perhaps too aware -- that he just described the mechanics of one of those base-building games the kids all love these days. What a weird coincidence!!

    "Hmph. Inadequate aid. We'll need to cover that. Restore armories. Establish maintenance equipment. Make sure your soldiers have what they need to keep themselves in peak condition." Albert sniffs, as if smelling the infrastructure would tell him some insight. "Improve garrisons as well. More soldiers with better conditions and better preparation."

    "Need big gunsss." Biteblade says, when she comes up upon the upper area, the top of the stairs. "Have great view! Great for fighting. But, need to kill anything at bay, not jussst watch. Watch isss good too though. Floran will make monitoring ssstation to watch over. Like observatory for observe bad enemy!" She seems quite eager to make sure there's further ways to murder anything that comes from the water. That's not a racial bias at all, no!!

    "Captain Hornigold. A pleasure to meet you." Moonfin steps forward to handle the main introductions, bowing. "Captain Haruto of the Starbound Flotilla, Moonfin of the Hylotl." And then he gives introductions for each Flotilla member... Aside from Biteblade. "I am told you have generously elected to allow our repair and engineering efforts to be undertaken here. With a home so long defended, I am sure you value it dearly and have every bit as much interest in seeing Fort Nassau persevere. I certainly hope we can be of assistance in making one's time here more secure and more pleasant."
Captain Flint The statement regarding the fate of Nassau's social strata is made with such confidence, such certainty, that Flint doesn't even notice the looks shared between the Flotilla. But he doesn't need to. He's a subtle man, and recognizes small gestures in others.

     From the moment he first explained himself to George as a sort of litmus test conducted by the other members of the Flotilla, from the moment he first saw a spark of interest in his fellow human's eyes aboard the Walrus, he has suspected the two of them are kindred spirits. It is George that Flint wants to speak to in private--but first, business must be seen to.

     "Any man can be generous when someone else foots the bill," Hornigold quips with a smirk. "But--if this old bitch gets some attention, I doubt anyone here would complain."

     Flint nods, then summarizes the ideas for Hornigold. The older captain balks at the words 'hydroponics' and 'meteorology,' but Flint, often surrounded by less educated types, manages to succinctly explain it in his terms. "An automated farm, early warning for storms and invasion forces, a restocked armory, reinforced walls, and modernized artillery that can fire on the bay."

     "Sounds expensive," Hornigold chuckles.

     "Perhaps. I suppose that's up to our friends here." He turns, and his eyes focus on George for a moment, appraising the other man. His brow furrows slightly, and then his gaze flicks between the other captains.
Starbound Flotilla     Albert grunts, and nods in a very official-seeming way. "Better conditions make better soldiers." He says, straightforwardly. Just because things have to be spartan in his particular paradigm of dealing with things doesn't mean they have to be actively unhealthy.

    "Spend money to make money." Pavo says, winking. "There's nothing in this world worth having that doesn't come with a high price. Me crew gives the best service at the quickest speeds. But George is callin' in favors for this one."

    "Yep. Zero dev costs for you guys on this one." The man himself speaks up. "I rolled the lucky dice and it came up all sixes for Nassau!" This is coming off as not just a lie but possibly a conspicuously /blatant/ one. George's compulsive lying tendencies are shining through as normal. "Don't worry about the bill, I've got a discount for ya."

    "Indeed. George was quite insistant on that fact, after the final day of the raid on that Urca." Moonfin says, raising an eyebrow and giving a meaningful look to George himself. An unspoken series of strange disagreements in philosophy seem to rear their head a little bit, but it remains subtle and not especially hostile, at least in front of the clients.

    Biteblade begins rattling off services -- excavations, development, construction, crafting, for all those benefits he was offering -- and their corresponding prices, plus the discounts George is applying. They're fairly generous on construction and excavation it seems, a significant strength of theirs, though they're a bit less generous on crafting. Weapons, armor, and equipment don't come cheap no matter what one does, since so much of the cost is tied up in fine craftsmanship and materials. The conveniences of residence, though, are far cheaper.

    It's also weird to see a tiny tribal doing all this business stuff. She's suppressing her hissing, even, a little bit, to help make things a bit more comprehensible. This also frees up George for discussion, it seems...
Captain Flint Flint nods. Even split among himself and all of the others, the Urca gold has made such considerations as cost seem less urgent than they otherwise would. There's only so much that he can spend before he cuts into the portion intended for his own crew, but it's good to know that the members of the flotilla can be so reasonable.

     Biteblade's list of fees is given fair consideration, Flint reaching up to stroke thoughtfully at his goatee. This is her area of expertise, and so, rather than interrupt her, he simply nods to Hornigold, a silent gesture of acceptance with regards to her terms, and those of her fellows. When she's finished, Flint speaks up.

     "Your price is more than fair, given the nature of the work. Ben knows the fort inside and out--he can advise you on its structure, the best places for your respective improvements, and so on."

     Hornigold nods. "Glad to do it."

     "George," Flint announces. "There's a matter for which I'll need your counsel in particular, and I'll need to visit the warehouse to secure your payment in any case." He smiles warmly, gesturing towards the town below with one hand. "Perhaps you'd care to accompany me?"
Starbound Flotilla "Nice, nice! Biteblade will handle figuring this out."
"Floran, ssstrongest accountant!! Can balance every cossst!!"

    Biteblade seems eager to get to work on setting up the current transaction with Hornigold, who for reasons unknown she will attempt to hug at least once. She is just sort of like that. George gives a snap, a fingergun, and a wink to Pavo, who seems so much like she would rather be the one to head off to go get that gold. "Sure sure, cap. Let's hit the road." he heads along with Flint, red eyes gleaming very softly as they hit the warm exterior light, with the posture more befitting someone on the way to go get snacks from a vending machine.

    "Good seein' Nassau coming up to speed. It's gonna be a good place to get things done, from the look of it." He says, flashing a grin to Flint and cocking his head towards the town as they come back into view of it. He jams his hands in his pockets to rummage around for cigarettes. "That Urca shit was a close call for everyone and everything, huh? Takes guts or a real big reason for a gamble like that. Reminds me of business back in the day. Tough to get profit these days anywhere but the edge."

    "So, what can an old guy like me help you out with, Cap? I'm sure I've got tons of elder wisdom here somewhere, under the jokes and shrapnel." He does not have any actual shrapnel in there!! He's not even that much older than Flint, probably. Well, in pirate years, anyway. "We do a bit of piracy and building ourselves, always glad to share the notes."
Captain Flint No one could agree more with George than Flint, and 'up to speed' is precisely the name of the game. Nassau will need to modernize, if the small port town (and the island upon which it sits) is to survive the attention of the powers that be.

     "The world isn't what is used to be," Flint muses as he tromps along the dirt road with George. "Even before Unification. History books in more modern worlds call this the Golden Age of Piracy." He pauses, brow furrowing in thought. For a moment, he takes his attention off of George to sidestep the encroaching frond of a nearby palm. Shuffling back into place, he continues.

     "As a fellow human I'm sure you know our people don't assign that name to things that last. Aboard the Walrus, you told me that ventures like this one--an independent free state--don't typically last. Has your position changed?"
Starbound Flotilla     George's eye shines a soft red for a moment. "Can't make much last." He says, in a frank tone that sounds more like "whaddya gonna do". "That's just the way the system works. Only thing that lasts are people, ideas, and consequences. Sometimes only the last one makes it." He finally retrieves that cigarette pack in time to brush aside the frond as he passes as well.

    "Everything can burn eventually. Trust me, when you get old as I am you stop worrying about what is or isn't gonna go on forever. That's not the point. The point isn't that you /build/ something to last." George retrieves a lighter, his "lucky" lighter. Sucks at lighting, though, as evidenced by his repeated flicks. "The point is what you do with what you build while it lasts. Eh, I'll be dead and gone in a handful of decades, sure. Stuff I built, probably, too. But the consequences of what I did? That's gonna last." He doesn't note what he did, precisely; it's a private matter to him, but he's actually being just a little more honest with Flint than he usually is in public.

    "One day the Flotilla's gonna be dead and gone, all of us. Hopefully Albert first! But hey, we carved out our niche. We made some changes. The kinda changes that'll keep our /kind of work/ alive. People are gonna see the way worlds got changed and they're gonna say," Fwish. There goes that lighter, and George takes a deep drag of the cigarette and exhales heavily. It smells like nothing Flint's ever smelled; the secondhand smoke has a scent more like a hospital than tobacco. "'This is a world where I can make my own Flotilla.'"

    "I think Nassau can last long enough to do what you need to the world. Question is," George's eyes seem to gleam a brighter red than normal amid that smoke. "What do you need to do to the world?"
Captain Flint Flint's face softens, at George's words. They're real, and honest, but not antagonistic as he's so often experienced. Not trying to tell him that his dream is impossible, but simply advising him to allow for some reality. He frowns thoughtfully, finding the smell of the cigarette oddly appropos of the situation--perhaps because the sterile smell reminds him of Howell's medical supplies. In a sense, Nassau's sick, and so is the rest of the world.

     "Had you asked me that question some months ago, you would find me a different man, with a much different answer." He stops in his tracks to rest against the slender trunk of a tropical tree. "At first, I thought the ills of the world were England's doing, alone. The more I've traveled through this Multiverse, the more I've read..." He takes a glance behind him, up towards the Fort--but it seems as though he's looking past it rather than at it. "The more I understand the role capitalism plays."

     "I want two things from the world. First, to see England brought low."

     He turns around, facing George with an intense, appraising stare, his eyes burning with zeal. "Second... a lasting, communalist society here on New Providence. The state shall be governed solely by a confederation of equal municipal entities, none among them named as leader." His voice raises, and he steps closer.

     "No markets to create false scarcity, no money to impose social class. No masters. No slaves. Free education, at every level, for everyone. No armies to exert their will and call it order; every man shall have a stake in the defense of his home, for property will be in the hands of the community--even the Fort."

     "Especially the Fort." He quiets down, and the look in his eyes subsides, only slightly--but he places a hand on George's shoulder. "All this, so that the world can see they need not bend knee to tyrants and thank them for it."
Starbound Flotilla     "Then what you're gonna wanna look for here is how to make it so the people can keep all that power." George says, grinning a little, accepting the hand on his shoulder placidly. There's enough ambiguity in this situation that he can't tip his entire hand -- he's not remotely psychologically capable of it -- but he can tip a little. "Authority's a kind of violence. I can respect a guy with interests as pacifistic as yours!" He makes sure to cover as much of the raw personal philosophy on his part with a joke. It's unclear how effective that might be.

    "That means showing the world it can work, giving the world the tools to make it better than its competition, and," He takes a rather deep drag on his cigarette. The scent of assorted medical chemicals feels invigorating after enough time. "Killing the people who're white-knuckling the disparity." A few expressions play out over his eyebrows and jaw, as if he's trying to find a place to settle his face.

    "I caught a good hunch that I was gonna like what you're doing. If you're telling the truth -- and you sure look like the kinda guy doing that -- then I like it more. I don't think it's gonna last forever because I don't think anything's gonna last forever. But I think you can force the world to be the sorta place where it's a lot easier to make that sort of thing. The sorta place where people will still do it all on their own." As always, he has no faith in a large organization. Some things never change. But he likes anything that espouses the ideals of the removal of a leader.

    He puts a firm hand against Flint's own shoulder, matching the one on his. "You build up Nassau, and you'll change the way the world's gonna turn out. There's just no way not to. Far as I care, doesn't matter how long Nassau the /place/ lasts, long as it's long enough to make Nassau the /consequence/ hit the world hard."

    He takes another drag on his cigarette, then gestures gently with it, letting smoke spill up his face while he closes his eyes for a bit. "I've got plenty of my own reason to help you out on this project of yours, Flint. Especially taking down England, but all the rest. If you reach your finish line, it's gonna be a win for me too, not just 'cause I like the sound of what you're saying. Can't promise the rest of the Flotilla's votes are always gonna fall in line on it all. Seft's a softie, and Albert's got a stick up his ass. But I'm lovin' your plan, Cap." An eyebrow pops up, and the gleaming red eye opens for a moment, in a relaxed way. "I'll do what I can to make it work. I'm onboard for your idea."
Captain Flint Flint really, truly softens at George's approval, in a way that he rarely ever does anymore. His smile is wide enough to reveal the creases at the corner of his eyes--laugh lines, from a man usually sardonic at best, and, by the admissal of his own crew, violent and bloodthirsty at his worst. He chuckles, knowing full well how charitable it is to call someone like himself pacifistic. The hand on George's shoulder is removed, then held before him in a silent offer to shake hands.

     "We'll have our work cut out for us," he says. "Even here on the island, there'll be opposition. The slave masters, a good deal of the other captains, Hornigold, the island's de jure governor, and perhaps even his daughter, its de facto governor." He takes a moment to gaze at the expanse of Nassau beneath them. His thoughts turn to Eleanor Guthrie, the aforementioned 'real power' on the island.

     "She appears sympathetic to my ideas, and funded the Urca hunt, to that end--but one never knows how someone will react to a sudden loss of perceived power." Eleanor is a smart woman, but stubborn. If she decides she'd rather not do away with capital, she'll be an intractible opponent, especially if any of the other captains side with her.

     "If we succeed, if we create this new society, know there will be a place there for you."
Starbound Flotilla     George shakes the hand, in a relaxed way but strong way, like it were a judo move. "Pavo and I have our disagreements, but she's right about one thing. Everything that's worth getting and doesn't have a high price has already gotten snapped up. We'll have our work cut out for it 'cause it's worth the ending."

    Then an eyebrow raises. "And here I'd gotten the impression from your crew that you didn't deal much with women like that." He says, in a way that just perfectly obfuscates whether or not the crew had been talking to the Flotilla about the Barlow Woman, without leaving it out of the question. "As for how they react? Depends, Flint. Some people have power to accomplish a goal. Power's a means to an end. Once it's done, they don't need it. Some people..." He finishes off his cigarette, flicking it to the ground and stomping on it. The gesture tells of just a little aggression. "Some people just want power for its own sake. Those are the kinds you can't stay with long."

    The last bit of conversation sets his mind into an odd place though. His teeth grit and grind just slightly and his face gets somberly contemplative. "Place for me. Heh." The skepticism leaking into his voice is soft, but just barely noticeable. Then he swaps back to his usual pathological mode of quiet, comedic coverup. "Well, that depends. Most homeowner's associations get real sour about my Friendship Tunnels, you know." He's sort of passing the statement off, pleading the fifth in a way. It's likely that the old man doesn't see much place for himself in any hypothetical society.
Captain Flint Not at all surprised by the firmness of George's handshake, Flint returns the gesture. Perhaps George is talking about Miranda--but he might also mean Eleanor. "You'll find I deal with women and men in equal measure," he says, painting an equally ambiguous picture for George.

     Seafoam eyes follow the trajectory of the spent cigarette, and the boot which so eagerly crushes it. The captain's gaze flicks back up in time to see the somber expression darkening his more contemporary guest's visage. His own face hardens with determination--something has isolated this man from his fellows, and he's not entirely certain it was deserved. "I mean it," he states simply.

     "That day isn't here yet, however." He thrusts his hands into the pockets of his long coat, continuing down the rest of the way towards Nassau Town. "Let's be about it--I'm sure your friends don't have all day, and I know Ben's going to tell them about that fucking chair of his," he chuckles.

     As he walks, occasionally stepping aside to avoid the odd bit of foliage, gnarled root or rare fellow pedestrian, a new thought occurs to him: a litmus test, to see how willing Ben would be to share the fort. "...I'd like a community center in the fort." It'd help establish a sense of, well, community, and help avoid the creation of a state military force. "Whether or not Ben would agree, how much would that cost?" It's almost certain in his mind Ben would have a fit, considering he doesn't let anyone into the fort without good reason. There'd be cries of security this and mayhem that. "And, supposing he doesn't, what means can you employ to build it anyway?"
Starbound Flotilla     George has a moment of severe discomfort about the topic of his acceptance in just about anywhere, in a way that's hard to find. The man sways, shifts, and adjusts his posture in strange ways so often that it's hard for anything but the keenest of eyes to detect the flashes of discomfort or enthusiasm in a sea of constant chaos. Consistency is death for George, but it's something that sticks in his head in a strange way. The offer's firmness is given a certain aspect of psychological weight. It's not clear how that offer's going to influence how he deals with Flint, but there's a moment in his shifting and chaotic mixed reactions where it seems like it's become likely to become a deciding factor in something in the unforseeable future.

    But that isn't here and now, where George spends some time tapping at his chin. "Well, if you don't mind the prefab plasticement stuff, I don't think it'd cost much at all. You guys have a good talent for adding some flavor to the flavorless stuff. I'll get you some event space, food and basic medical, education space, the works. Your boy there gets angry, I can just attach it to the side. If he's okay with it, I'll give you a nice security airlock. Good for security, busts up the state military atmosphere. Break up the ol' pirate aesthetic a little, but better than a salty captain." George crosses his arms, and then considers the cost... "You know what, call it some faith in the Nassau experiment. You pay for everything after the thing's done, feeding the generator and keeping it all up and running and all that. The Fort's main facilities got enough cost I can't take it pro-bono. But a community center? I'll do that one for you at no cost. How's that?"
Captain Flint "Perfect, George--thank you." The pause involves Flint making eye contact, to properly communicate his approval and gratitude. Attaching it to the side of the fort hadn't even entered into his mind, but it's a much more stable solution than the admittedly violent one he was already cooking up. Hopefully, Ben will see reason.

     Eventually the wet, damp smell of the forest begins to change, away from the lingering hint of tropical fruit and the still fainter smell of the plantations. Yes, that tell-tale garbage stench of Nassau is there now, but thankfully, Flint is pretty quick in getting to the warehouse.

     Out in front of the building stands a wooden platform that serves as an 'office' for the clerk, in the employ of Eleanor Guthrie. "Withdrawal from the Urca account," states the captain matter-of-factly.

     The attendant's eyes widen slightly at the size of the withdrawal, but most people in Nassau haven't even seen that amount of money up close--thanks to the Flotilla's generosity, and George's in particular, some will remain for other projects. The money is disbursed in the form of black pearls, then verified by a lapidary on-call to ensure the value is accurate.

     "Here you are," Flint says, handing the small bag of pearls to George. "Take this back to your compatriots, with my blessing, and let me know if Ben won't budge. I've some planning to do, but I'll be at the tavern this evening if you care to talk."
Starbound Flotilla     George heads on through down to the warehouse, following along. "Man, Pavo would flip, probably. Flip in the larcenous sense." George says. Then he asides to the attendant, "Hey, if a yellow-feathered bird comes around here, about yeay tall, make sure you double-check everything before and after." Is he... joking? Is this a joke? Hopefully. Then George takes the bag with a grin and gently hoists it up to eye level. "You could beat a man to death with all the lustre in this. I like it." He says, brightly.

    "You know, the Hylotl have this fantastic thing where they yank all the non-carbon stuff out of a pearl to do some fantastic stuff with the organic layering structure. It's great, I might try dippin' into that now that we've got some of the proper material for it. I'll let ya know how it goes!" George says, giving a thumbs up. These guys are so focused on the practicality over the arbitrary value in almost anything; little is value for value's own sake to the Flotilla, for whatever reason.

    "Been good doin' business with ya, Cap." George says, slipping the bag into his Matter Manipulator at his side. "I'll come back if Ben starts anything weird. Should be gettin' things up to par in a matter of days, I'm sure you'll love the stuff." He acts just as he had normally, with that same casual joking style, heading out on his way up, and leaving absolutely no sign to any observer of the dramatic exchange that had occurred in the privacy of that jungle.