Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"Okay then -- I'll cut you some slack."

"Thanks." She smiles. It's a sad little smile, like she's some miniature bird or tiny field mouse.

Behind it is deep, boundless gratitude.

"Then lie to me."

"I don't want to lie to the law. It's not my style." She smiles. It's a sad little smile, like she's some miniature bird or tiny field mouse.

Then she whispers: "I'm just a girl whom windows break around."

Let her be.

Harry, you're becoming soft.

The lieutenant makes a note in his notebook.

He finds the answer unsatisfying.

"What's funky?"

"Believe me, you don't wanna get into that shit." She flicks the ash from her cigarette.

"You're right."

She nods, inspecting your sideburns. "You've got it bad as it is."

Funk is an aggressive resurgence of The New aesthetic of the Revacholian Thirties, but this time originating in Graad. It's brought there by the Iilmaraan diaspora. Funk is more masculine and guitar-oriented than disco. Even more dangerous.

"I do."

"No-no." She leans in to inspect your sideburns. "You've got it bad as it is."

"You have quite the collection of prescription drugs down there."

"Hmh?"

"Narcomania is nothing to be proud of, miss."

She almost spits out her coffee: "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No-no! You said narcomania. What kind of word is that?"

"It's a word. Let's get on with it."

"Sure," she smiles. "Onto where?"

"Cool. I took some. For personal use." (Show her the Preptide.)

"Huh?" She looks at the drugs in your hand. "Motherfucker took my Preptide! Looks like you owe me one, officer. I'm talking serious corruption here."

"This does not amount to actual corruption. I can easily log it under a confiscation."

"Tsk... tsk..." she says to herself with a smile. "Robbed by common highwaymen."

It's hard to tell if she means it in earnest or as a joke.

She's not angry, but it's true: she's gonna have to find some more Preptide now.

"Just looking out for your health, miss."

"Tsk... tsk..." she says to herself. "Took it like a common highwayman. Don't think this won't come up again during what will be an opportune moment for me, Officer Disco." She smiles.

"I was undergoing a massive speed hangover. I needed to prop myself up."

"Wow... a hardened, callous highwayman. Don't think this won't come up again during what will be an opportune moment for me, Officer Disco." She smiles.

"It was confiscation."

"Tsk... tsk..." she says to herself. "Like a common highwayman. This will come up again during what will be an opportune moment for me, Officer Disco."

"That's all as far as that goes, then."

"Very funky." She takes a drag, looking you straight in the eye.

"You seem to have, among other things, Preptide."

"Oh yes. One of my favourites. It cures many ailments."

"Like what?"

"Like not being able to stay up for 36 hours." She thinks. "Not being happy. It cures those ailments. It's just a mirrored speed molecule, basically."

"The collection includes NACRA -- an opioid antagonist."

"Comes in handy when you've done too many opioids."

"Is that something that happens to you often, miss?" His tone isn't aggressive, just inquisitive.

"Better safe than sorry." She takes a drag and smiles.

"Does that happen to you often?"

"We're done with this subject."

"Sure," she smiles.

"In my head it designates people who abuse substances."

She laughs, turning to the lieutenant. "There it is again -- man of words. I can appreciate that."

She laughs: "There it is again -- man of words. I can appreciate that."

"Mhm," she nods, smiling: "I.e. narcomaniacs."

"You heard what I said: Narco-mania is a serious issue and nothing to scoff at, miss."

"Oh my god, now it's turning into Narco Mania. It's got to be serious if it's two words."

Her face lights up with laughter. "I'm sorry," she gathers herself.

"It was quite impressive. How did you amass such a hoard?"

"With money, sir." She takes a drag. "It's not exactly the Antistar-sized caboodle I intend for it to be one day, but it's getting there."

The Antistar is (or was) a Vespertine rock and roll star, who liked to do drugs. He did so many drugs he eventually mutated -- into a corpse.