"When you say side," the Brucolac said, "do you mean elves and vampir, or Seelie and Unseelie? We are aligned. For better or for worse." He clicked his tongue, pushed himself away from the desk, began to pace across the expanse of the map-lined office. He twitched at the shadow which his cuff cast on his right wrist, tugged at it like something elastic, worried it in delicate movements between his fingers.

"This race war is good for the war of the shards, at a first glance, but I think I can make a good case for Unseelie to wish for peace between us. This place, for one thing, won't blossom as it should if the conflict makes it a target for genocidists or revenge-takers. Whether leech or long-ear." He flicked the shadow away, made it flee to join its fellows in corners. "Well. That's for me to manage." Thinking aloud.

He stilled his pacing and looked to her, his gaze set and calm. "Give me contacts and allies, elves especially who will work with me, and I'll do something drastic for you, in the finest tradition of slickshit smoothtalking politician cunts." His smile was sudden and almost brazen. It made him seem young rather than simply look it. "You're right. Foolish not to try."