OOC: Sorry for my long absents, grad school applications have dragged on far past my liking. IC: Knýtlingsfort, OLR. Had things not been turning out such a profit Dwbeque would have been more pissed about the the ongoing interference of whom he and the other executives referred to as "hooligans." Partisans were something he was use to back home; the communists were known to protest or strike at the drop of a hat. In Radilo, though, they didn't have guns and were kept on a tight leash by their bosses in Nouveau Port. Of course they didn't have as much to bitch-a-mount; workers in Radilo had it pretty good: high wages, full unionization, great benefits, even imported "exotic white" hookers paid for by the company. Workers up north had to be content with whatever wages and benefits the "hooligans" could get for them. Because of this, it was to LP's advantage that every piece of gem-quality carbon that the Himyari soil could offer had already sucked up--they didn't have pay the costs to employ Radilan workers. This, in turn, made putting up with partisans worth the investment and frustration. His intercom light came on. "What is it?" "Sir, they tied up another mine." "Which one?" "A small one outside Viewhawk." "Shit. Why?" "Same reasons as before, sir." "Has Viewhawk itself been re-opened." "Ought be by tomorrow, sir." "Alright, thank you. Keep me updated." "Yes, sir." Dwbeque grunted. He took out a bottle of whiskey and a glass from his desk drawer. He poured himself a drink. He preferred it with ice, but he lacked the desire to stand up and get some out of the small freezer in his office.