Renaud leaned back in his chair, contemplating the roof.

Married. Well, he supposed that was bound to happen sooner rather than later, but... still.

Married.

He shook his head with a chuckle, rolling up the maps he had been studying. Now that this venture needed to be off the ground, it was time to start assembling the people that might be suited for such a task. And luckily enough he had one of the pieces right in port, just a day or so ago. He supposed that the man would have recovered from his ordeal enough by now, so he had sent some soldiers to escort him to his office.

He wanted to meet this particular fellow face to face.

Maximilien Degare had a head of jet black hair tied back with a red ribbon. The uniform he wore was brand new, a fact made obvious by the sharp folds and creases in his jacket, while his face was scrubbed thoroughly and his beard neatly trimmed. His appearance was somewhat spoiled by a slowly-healing gash that cut down over his left eye and his right arm, which was crooked awkwardly in a sling. "Grand Commandeur," he greeted the man stiffly, eyes roving slowly around the man's office.

"Ah, Commandeur Degare, asseyez-vous s'il vous plait." Renaud gestured towards the chair, but did not rise from his seated position. "Vin?" He put two glasses on the table, waiting to pour until the man had decided.

"Please," Degare nodded slowly and eased himself into the offered seat, sitting rigidly at attention even then.

Renaud poured some wine, raising an eyebrow at the accent. "Ah, yes... Mercer, wasn't it? The son of Pierre Degare? A fine officer he was, at least that's what reputation says. And speaking of reputations, yours preceeds you. You do prefer common to Aquitinian I am told?"

Renaud seemed to be a bit amused at that.

"I would certainly sit and listen to you speak Aquitanean until the sun sets, if you wish it. If you're looking for more immediate results, I would recommend Common. Sir." The man bore the Grand Commandeur's amused look with patience as he took up the offered glass. "Yes, sir, my father. His is a reputation I constantly strive to meet."

"As do we all..." Renaud chuckled a bit, eyeing the other officer. "I hear your ship got attacked Commandeur Degare... my condolances for your crew. But you'd be happy to learn that the dread Kuleliti has sunk her last vessel."

Degare's brows shot up. "That is good to hear, sir; though I should have liked to have a hand in her undoing. Beastly woman. Absolutely beastly." He swirled his wine with practiced grace and took a sip. "My crew... yes. It was a loss I should think unpardonable." He looked up, eyes heavy, and scrutinized the man opposite him. His fate was now in Moreau's hands, and they both knew it well.

"It is simpler for everybody concerned if the Commandeur goes down with the ship so to speak." Renaud sipped his wine, not taking his eyes off the other man. "Indeed, a man with enemies might get accused of cowardice and face demotion, or heavens forbid, even a hanging. The Navy has a certain reputation to uphold after all. This ship was your first command, wasn't it?"

Renaud seemed relaxed, but his eyes were not. They were following every move the other man made.

The man grimaced faintly, but smoothed over the expression with a blink. "It was, sir." And like as not, his last. "I assure you, I ..." he trailed off, and started again. "Had I my druthers, I would not be sitting here before you." This statement was vague at best, and he looked back at the Commander, eyes flat. "Mine was not the only ship sunk at Kullie's claws, was I the only survivor?"