Conversation · Washerwoman

"Suit yourself," she says, tucking some loose hair back under her shawl. "But should you ever need shelter, remember old Isobel and her shack by the sea."

"One more time: I can just have the room?"

"Aye." She nods and looks at the shack. "The room is pretty bare bones, but it's got a bed and roof over it. That's more than some folks have around here."

When Vaasan communist revolutionary Ignus Nilsen was in hiding, he stayed in a hut on the boreal plateau for ten months.

"I don't need much. This sounds just fine."

"An uncomplicated man," she nods approvingly. "I take it that means you're interested?"

"Don't get me wrong, but 'bare-bones' isn't usually my style." (Point at yourself.)

"I can see that," she nods, a clever flicker in her eyes. "Everyone can see you think well of yourself. Now are you interested or not?"

(Nod.) "This could be the first chapter of my rags-to-riches memoir."

"Surely not the first one..." She looks you over, a clever smile on her lips. "So are you interested or not?"

"Now this is real Revacholian hospitality. That Garte must be half-kipt or something."

"Go ahead," she remarks sharply, "call people rude things. We've heard worse here. Now are you interested or not?"

"Unfortunate that incremental development hasn't elevated this neighbourhood yet. I see potential here."

"Any day now." Her eyes turn to the sky. "I'm sure of it. Are you interested or not?"

Sire, she doesn't believe things will ever improve around here.

"It would help me stay in touch with the proletariat."

"You best not be plotting another revolution under my roof," she mumbles. "We barely got through the last one... But the room -- do you want it?"

"Wait, why isn't anyone using the room?"

"My kids grew up and left, like they do. The house is long empty now. I live in the small side attachment -- it's easier and cheaper to keep warm."

It's not that she misses the kids -- they've been gone too long for that -- but deep deep down the old woman is incurably lonely.

"Wait, hold on, you're just giving it to me?"

"No one is using it and god knows it's not much anyway." She tilts her head on the side, pondering over something. "You can stay there."

"There's this guy -- Garte -- who makes me give him money every night just so I don't die out in the cold."

"Mhm, that's exactly how they get ya. That's why we built our own cinder block houses on the seaside. So we don't have to give money to those crooks..." She looks around. "They might not look like much, but they're ours."

"Okay, I'll take it." (Get keys to your new home.)

"How much is it?"

"About the document you signed... Evrart plans to muscle you out with construction noise."

"Heh..." Not a muscle moves in the wrinkled face. "I'd like to see him try. If anything, I am gonna muscle him out with construction noise."

That doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

She doesn't seem surprised by this sudden twist.

"Get out of here, trying to ruin my day!" She raises her bony finger. "And that youth centre better be a good one or you'll have trouble from me."

"Trouble how?"

"I wield an army of drunks." A clever smile passes her face. "Do not underestimate the effect of such a force if it's pointed to the right direction."

"I have 30 minutes to spare, would you still wash the jacket for me?"

"What's further down the coast?"

"Not much..." She replies and wipes her forehead. "There's the abandoned church -- the Dolorian Church of Humanity. It's been there since before my time even."

"Why is it abandoned?"

"Some things just don't fly, officer." She smiles a gap-toothed smile and smells the air. "Look around. Who'd go to church here? They built it three hundred years ago, must have been nicer then..."

"So they don't hold services there anymore? The Ecclesiastes?"

"No. They've tried, but things just keep happening. Crime. Accidents. Other things. The place never stays open." She frowns. "It's a pity. It used to be such a nice church."

She's not telling you all she knows. Keep her talking.

"What else is on down coast?

"Before you get to the church, there's some ruins -- an apartment complex, or some kind of electrical plant... Run down bunch of houses, empty."

"Which is it then? Apartments or electrical plant?"

"I don't know exactly. A pre-war place. It used to be something." She shrugs. "Before the war. I wasn't here then, you know. Was born in Samara."

"Anything else of note?"

"Of note? The old fishmarket up on the boardwalk. But it's closed."

"Alright. Got it."

"As I said. It's a peninsula. There's no one there. Just ghosts and vagrants. And teenagers making out."

"Who'd want to come to a fishmarket here?"

"No one, that's why it's closed." After a long pause, she adds, "It was once a bustling place, back when I was young and so was everyone else..."

"Now what catch we do bring in goes straight into a lorry for the Delta or somewhere else."

"That's it? There's got to be more along the coast."

"What, you're one of those real-estate people with big plans? If you want a development opportunity, you can check out the abandoned building over at Land's End."

"Used to be a supply depot... we think. Sending goods and ammo across the bay. It's jammed shut, though. We tried to get in, see if there was anything to sell or scavenge, but it's impossible."

Nothing is impossible, surely.

"And now you know everything there is to know about this coast." She drops a bar of soap into the bucket with a splash.

"Okay, thanks, I've heard enough."

"I get the feeling you're leaving stuff out. What else is going on?"

"Well, there's that music. Music from across the sea." She scoffs. "It started a few days ago and now it's blasting, even through the nights."