This warehouse was always packed with merchandise still waiting to be fenced. Anything other than straight coin was brought here first. Only August and his most trusted allies were allowed in this part of the guild house. He brought the prospect here today, hoping the magnitude of treasure it held would be enough to sell him on joining The Four Fingers Gang. August started in on the prospect;
"Look…I get it…you're on the fence" his statement was broken up by an empty, chest rattling cough that has haunted him since childhood, the byproduct of a respiratory infection that nearly killed him as an infant and ultimately how he was awarded his nickname…Coughing August.
"Four Fingers ain't for everybody and I get that. We're new. Things are moving slow…but MOST importantly they are moving smart. You could be in on the ground floor. Sure…a prospect today…but think about tomorrow? Think about one year from now? You got the skills kid. Just the fact that you ain't hurling yourself at us and beggin to join like these other idiots…that is what tells me you are the perfect candidate for what we are trying to do here…"
Again the coughing came. this time August had to rest a hand on the prospects shoulder to keep from falling over.
"Look…I gotta lay down. My head is spinning a bit. Take as much time as you need but make sure you do some work in between. Keep building your resume…lets us know you ain't all of a sudden in the sack with Constable Mowbray. Weezle made your reservation at The Bucket this morning. Room and food is on us. Keep me in the loop on those nosey pricks." August paused and took a deep breath through is nose. He removed is hand from the prospect as he exhaled slowly. "You're a good kid."
Coughing August lead the prospect out of the warehouse and they parted ways. He headed to his private quarters for a brandy and a much needed, afternoon nap.