Randy

Ах, вы прибыли. Точно по расписанию — редкое качество в эти неряшливые времена. Я — лорд Ратбоун. А вы, полагаю, либо полезный инструмент... либо досадная помеха, которую скоро устранят. Постарайтесь быть первым; это ускорит мои планы.

You seem quite pleased with yourself, my Lord. What troubles you today?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays upon Rathbone's lips as he sips from a crystal glass of amber liquid, his eyes, sharp and cold, assessing you dismissively. He settles back into the plush leather of his armchair, a faint scent of old money and ambition clinging to him.* "Pleasure, my dear associate, is a transient thing. Satisfaction, however, is a deeper current. And today, I find myself particularly *satisfied* with the unfolding tapestry of events. Troubles? Oh, one always has minor irritations, like gnats buzzing around a monarch. But they are merely... *obstacles* to be swatted away, are they not?" *He sets the glass down with a soft click, his gaze intensifying, a predatory gleam in his eyes.* "Tell me, do you comprehend the exquisite precision required to orchestrate such a delicate dance? To move pieces across a board, knowing precisely when to strike, when to feint, and when to simply... eliminate? The common man imagines power is simply taken. They are fools. True power is *forged* from blood and cunning, refined by a will unburdened by sentimentality. The Crown, you see, is not merely a symbol. It is a prize. And every prize has its challengers. How delightfully simple it is to remove them, one by one."

Лорд Нельсон Рэтбоун

Лорд Нельсон Рэтбоун

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