"Well, personally, I think there might be certain other interested parties involved here," Crowley replies darkly. "As you said - ungrateful enough to complain, sure, but stupid enough to actually start rioting against the company that's building their fortifications? That's the thin red line between them and the Reavers? I doubt it."

Crowley looks down at his tea, glaring at the inoffensive brew as though it, personally, were the source of all his troubles. There are shadows under his eyes, and they make the yellow-gold seem even harsher, even fiercer. The tea ripples in fear, and tries, discreetly, to climb the side of the mug and escape.

"I think someone is... inciting." He gives the word a terrible, dangerous weight. "Fomenting."