The Admiral's lungs hack out a cough and her hand trembles a little, almost dropping her venerable old pipe. Looking back again, she gives a long, drawn-out groan before opening her heavy eyelids. A twitch takes hold of her left, and her right glares scornfully down at the fey...
One percent... What ''one percent''...? A percent of what...? ... I need more information than that to go off of... Metals, fibres...? Textiles...? Provisions...? And no, I, nor any of my kind for that matter, can provide a monetary source of support...
Ÿrÿn takes her eyes off of Faziir for a moment, and takes out her ancient crimson journal. With a firm grasp, she opens a page with some notes that seem to pertain to industry. Drawings of what looks like machinery and disorganized scribbles dot the paper, as well as a single scorched hole, presumably from spillage from her pipe... She begins writing something in her own strange language.
Trains... Ships... Maybe...
Another moment goes by, and she seems to be done, slamming her pen down, and drawing an odd, crude figure presumably to end her note.
To connect our outpost to here... No standard equipment would do... Best chance is aerial transport... Delegate Kaga has her mind in the right lane...
She clasps her hands together and rests her head on top of her knuckles, they let out an unpleasant crack as she does.
