11-17-2016, 10:14 PM
Jacques wasn't one for ignoring the little details; in fact, he thrived on them. His position and responsibilities required him to focus on the big picture; projections of supply requirements, application of manpower, maneuvering of forces in the field. But none of that worked without an appreciation of the little details. The stamina of the men and equipment. How far could supplies move a day, what were the road conditions like along the way? Boots, beans, bullet. Morale, the cultural influence and likely loyalties of the locals. Food and water sources for non-combatants. The list was endless.
It was that attention to the little details that also made him so good at things like negotiations, and of course poker. Reading the crowd, reading the people around him. Some of Kallisti's guests recognized him, at least from the news. Some likely from some very heated boardroom debates; he hadn't exactly left the CCD corporate community enthused with their prospective future investments in Sierra Leone. And once word of what had just happened in Liberia and Guinea got out...well, that news, coupled with how he would handle the evening's business meeting would likely keep the rest of those coin-counting leaches off his back for the rest of his visit to Moscow.
"Of course, dear woman. 'There are some things that can beat smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and stupidity can. The best swordsman in the world doesn't need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn't do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert isn't prepared for him; he does the thing he ought not to do; and often it catches the expert out and ends him on the spot.'"
Mark Twain. He grinned, that particular attention to detail allowing him to spare a moment to appreciate her fluid transition from standing applause to the lounging grace of a predatory cat.
"I promise, I haven't the foggiest clue what I am doing. Entirely unqualified for the job. Which, as Mr Twain so eloquently put, makes me quite dangerous."
The band, and the entertainers to whom they had complemented the performance, won a brief applause from Jacques as they took their bows and departed the stage. The display could almost be considered comical, in an odd sort of way. The clap of flesh and blood hand against metal and plastic prosthetic didn't quite sound right, but the sincerity was there. "Rich fools. All their money is spent on things of little importance. Expensive cars. Fine clothes. Expensive liquors."
He held his own drink up for a moment to include himself in the definition, else be seen as a hypocrite.
"How much was this drink? $100 CCD or so, yes? For this one glass."
He took a sip, savouring it; he could no longer import Chateau de Beaulon to Africa, due to import laws on liquor in many regions. Mostly due to religious influence on local governments. It had been a few years since the last bottle of the previous CEO's stock had been depleted, and while there were ways around such import laws, he had learned to settle for lesser brands, or to mooch more heavily off of hosting dignitaries and politicians with whom he had met with back in the days of Legion Premiere.
As heavenly as the cognac was, and as much as he allowed himself to truly enjoy the flavour, there was a sense of foolish guilt that went with it. He was not the Dalai Lama, or some other living saint. He was just a man, albeit one trying very hard to do the right thing. "On average, that could feed one refugee child for six months. Give a man a cow, goats, and chickens with which to earn a living for his family. A year's education for a girl. Fund a small business for a woman. Here, it gets me a very nice drink, which most of these rich men will never give a second thought to."
He glanced towards Caporale Iyer, whom had apparently drawn the attention of a particularly dangerous looking young woman. Dangerous in the way women tended to be for men; alluring, mysterious, confident. He shook his head with a rye smile and turned to Karina and offered an apologetic shrug, "I am told I am a bit of a romantic. Prone to a flare of the dramatic. Je suis désolé, ma chérie. I have not introduced myself. Jacques Danjou, of the Legion. Currently ruler of Sierra Leone, and more recently Guinea, and Liberia, as of an hour or so ago."
As always, there was no title to which he claimed ownership. Titles in Africa rarely had any true meaning. Presidents-for-Life, President Elects, President-Generals. Kings, Emperors, and a myriad other ridiculous titles were held by warlords, tyrants, and corrupt rulers the continent over. He, and his PR department of course, had decided that he would carry no such titles. Of course, that too could and in time surely would be seen with the same sort of mistrust that any ruler there garnered, but he could at least try to make a difference first.
It was that attention to the little details that also made him so good at things like negotiations, and of course poker. Reading the crowd, reading the people around him. Some of Kallisti's guests recognized him, at least from the news. Some likely from some very heated boardroom debates; he hadn't exactly left the CCD corporate community enthused with their prospective future investments in Sierra Leone. And once word of what had just happened in Liberia and Guinea got out...well, that news, coupled with how he would handle the evening's business meeting would likely keep the rest of those coin-counting leaches off his back for the rest of his visit to Moscow.
"Of course, dear woman. 'There are some things that can beat smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and stupidity can. The best swordsman in the world doesn't need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn't do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert isn't prepared for him; he does the thing he ought not to do; and often it catches the expert out and ends him on the spot.'"
Mark Twain. He grinned, that particular attention to detail allowing him to spare a moment to appreciate her fluid transition from standing applause to the lounging grace of a predatory cat.
"I promise, I haven't the foggiest clue what I am doing. Entirely unqualified for the job. Which, as Mr Twain so eloquently put, makes me quite dangerous."
The band, and the entertainers to whom they had complemented the performance, won a brief applause from Jacques as they took their bows and departed the stage. The display could almost be considered comical, in an odd sort of way. The clap of flesh and blood hand against metal and plastic prosthetic didn't quite sound right, but the sincerity was there. "Rich fools. All their money is spent on things of little importance. Expensive cars. Fine clothes. Expensive liquors."
He held his own drink up for a moment to include himself in the definition, else be seen as a hypocrite.
"How much was this drink? $100 CCD or so, yes? For this one glass."
He took a sip, savouring it; he could no longer import Chateau de Beaulon to Africa, due to import laws on liquor in many regions. Mostly due to religious influence on local governments. It had been a few years since the last bottle of the previous CEO's stock had been depleted, and while there were ways around such import laws, he had learned to settle for lesser brands, or to mooch more heavily off of hosting dignitaries and politicians with whom he had met with back in the days of Legion Premiere.
As heavenly as the cognac was, and as much as he allowed himself to truly enjoy the flavour, there was a sense of foolish guilt that went with it. He was not the Dalai Lama, or some other living saint. He was just a man, albeit one trying very hard to do the right thing. "On average, that could feed one refugee child for six months. Give a man a cow, goats, and chickens with which to earn a living for his family. A year's education for a girl. Fund a small business for a woman. Here, it gets me a very nice drink, which most of these rich men will never give a second thought to."
He glanced towards Caporale Iyer, whom had apparently drawn the attention of a particularly dangerous looking young woman. Dangerous in the way women tended to be for men; alluring, mysterious, confident. He shook his head with a rye smile and turned to Karina and offered an apologetic shrug, "I am told I am a bit of a romantic. Prone to a flare of the dramatic. Je suis désolé, ma chérie. I have not introduced myself. Jacques Danjou, of the Legion. Currently ruler of Sierra Leone, and more recently Guinea, and Liberia, as of an hour or so ago."
As always, there was no title to which he claimed ownership. Titles in Africa rarely had any true meaning. Presidents-for-Life, President Elects, President-Generals. Kings, Emperors, and a myriad other ridiculous titles were held by warlords, tyrants, and corrupt rulers the continent over. He, and his PR department of course, had decided that he would carry no such titles. Of course, that too could and in time surely would be seen with the same sort of mistrust that any ruler there garnered, but he could at least try to make a difference first.