Franky took in the look of the man, if he were such a thing, before him and passed no judgment. Appearances meant absolutely nothing in a world where gods meddles like children in a pit of sand. It was interesting that the man wore a clean black suit and tie. Distinctly northern sense fashion it seemed, though not as far north as Kalzasi at least. Was he blending into Zaichaer with this? Or did he wear this normally? Was this a man or a god?
Franky dismissed the conjecture forming in his head. None of it mattered. He had clearly become a man of importance since agreeing to Veronica's request, or possibly prior. He locked eyes with the man, with his unending black voids that could be confused for eyes. Then the pain came, starting with the very first scar he'd earned. The slice on his hand when he played with his mom's sword on his Training Day. Every other scar began to feel as though they were stretching, threatening to rip open. His flesh was bubbling again, he could smell his skin burning, it was so acrid, stinging at his eyes. His lungs felt as if they would explode for a thousand years, and yet never did. His eyes were drying, his vision fading, it was just like that day again, they day he'd killed her.
And then the man blink.
Franky was hunched over, his brow sweating, his breath heavy and staggered, as the man thanked him and stepped into his office. Franky knew he was meddling with affairs beyond his scale of power, and yet, this man was coming to him. Just as Galetira had come. Just as Brenner had come. Just as Veronica had come. Apparently what he could do with his life meant more to them than his death would. So even with this charade of pain, pain he'd felt before, Franky was well aware of his own importance in this.
For if there was one thing Franky had always truly known, it was his own capabilities.
And right now, they were endless. This man, this god, this being, whoever he was, came into this negotiation, for what else could it possibly be, strong handed. A mistake. Franky composed himself, taking the time to adjust his collar, pulling the kerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his forehead. He walked back around the office, finding his desk and sitting down in his chair.
He listened to the man guess at what Franky was thinking. Then the man opened some sort of portal or window into a building that couldn't have been more obviously Imperial. The Imperium was so proud of its style, it flaunted it often. It must be Gel'Grandel. Man with silver wings in chains. A large arcane circle on the floor. Franky counted the windows, estimated the height of the ceiling from his vantage point, even looked to see the angle of the shadows within there to see if the sun might be shining in. Franky took in all of it.
A gift.
Franky interlocked his fingers, holding his hands in his laps, still looking the man in the eyes, unafraid of the pain that might come again. He had already experienced it once, for real. He lived with the repercussions every single day. Franky would never be able to run for more than a block again because his lungs were burned beyond repair. He would never be able to see the world in beautiful colors as he once had because his eyes had been burned so heavily. He would never be thought of as a goblin first because the color of his skin was burned away. He would never be called the Scarlet Knife of Risea again, for his hair had all been burned away. He would never be able to truly feel his wife's skin as he once had, for so many of his nerve endings had been burned off. This man could put him through that again, but it would always pale in comparison to the original.
"Would you like a smoke? A drink perhaps?"
Then Franky's eyes narrowed, "Or perhaps a lesson in etiquette? For if you've come to negotiate anything, or to offer anything, you've done poorly."
Franky's hands came above the desk, opening and flipping over, showing the palms, a gesture of openness. "My name is Franky, as I'm sure you know. You know that I'm in league with Galetira. And you know why. I doubt she would've let you know herself, and I know I haven't informed you intentionally. So either you know because my wife, a Seers, is a traitor to me and the Goddess she's loved far longer than she's loved me." Then he glanced over at the shadows in the corners of the room that writhed at every movement of this man, "Or perhaps you've got a few parlor tricks for eavesdropping on a married couple's bedchamber."
Franky's hands turned over once more, interlocking his fingers as he leaned forward on his elbows, "You come in here, without any respect, without any decorum. You've shown that you can make me hurt and probably can kill me. But, like so many others before you, I'm more useful to you alive than dead. Give me your name and what it is you want, or go bother someone else. My days are already numbered, and if you wish to fill them with pain and death, by all means. That's the life I signed up for."
He leaned back into his chair, his hands returning to his lap in their original position, "I don't have all night. You're interrupting a birthday party for a young man who is enjoying himself."