Conversation · Morell, the Cryptozoologist

"Give up? After we've come so far? Not a chance!"

"Really? She's sighted the phasmid?"

"And I'm eager to return to her, I assure you -- but I can't leave before we've finished with these traps."

"What if I checked the traps for you?"

"I didn't expect you to take such an interest in our work here, officer." He looks at you with obvious surprise.

"Chaos is my method. I am its scion."

"Well..." He doesn't know what to say. "Be that as it may, I'd really appreciate the help!"

"Where are these traps?"

"There are four in total. One is to the south, on this little peninsula -- by the boat houses there." He points south. "It's very near."

"Another we set in Land's End, to the northeast. It's behind a small sand dune there, on your way to the old radio tower. After the church."

"The third is set near the canal, where you crossed. By a concrete slab. A big thicket of reeds going up the slope, and among them..." He gestures to the trap in front of him.

"You should check at least one of those before returning to this one, since I just set it. This one's more of a technicality, but still... better safe and stupid than sorry."

Be careful where you tread in the reeds. Some less conscientious researchers may have left their traps out there -- armed, hidden.

"That seems like a lot. Do we really have time for this... extracurricular venture?"

"What? Aren't you having fun?"

"Even relative to examining a week-old corpse, I'm not sure mucking about in the reeds qualifies as fun... but have it your way, detective..."

If you think it's important -- you have been right before.

"The pursuit of knowledge is its own justification."

"Is it?" he doesn't look too convinced but the small shrug indicates -- why not?

"But, Kim, maybe our suspect is hiding out in the reeds along with the traps?"

The man surveys the cold coast. "I have a feeling the only people foolish enough to spend their time skulking among the reeds are these poor fools... and us. But fine. It's not like we're drowning in leads."

"I'm ready. Let's get to it." (Conclude.)

"Right. Which means you two can pack up and go back to the Whirling."

Whatever he thinks about this detour, it's clear that these men are exhausted and in need of assistance.

"FINALLY! Someone's talking sense!"

"Thank you for your help. Gary and I will start breaking down camp. If you have any more questions, now's the time to ask! We'll be gone once you get to it."

What about his eager-to-leave friend Gary there? Talk to him too, perhaps.

If it's more cryptid-related business you want to discuss, you'll have time for that later too.

But what if the information is vital -- on the hunt...

"Thank you for your help. Gary and I will start breaking down camp. If you have any more questions, now's the time to ask!"

"Finally, you're being sensible! I'll start packing right now."

"What do I do if there's a phasmid in one of the traps?"

"Bring it to me at once. Just make sure the trap is closed tight."

He's not comfortable with the possibility that you'll claim the find -- but he's lying about this even to himself.

"What if I encounter the phasmid in the wild?"

"That's highly unlikely, officer. But, in the event you do..." He takes out a small white spray can. "I'll spray you with a pheromone mixture I developed."

Did you hear that -- pheromones! You were right about the teenagers...

"So it really was the phasmid that made the teenagers make out..."

"Oh, I doubt there's any connection there. Anyway, these pheromones will attract the insect to you, or at least prevent it from bolting at the sight of you. It's quite potent, should last you about a week."

"Lay it on me."

He douses you with the odd-smelling spray and then gives you a satisfied nod.

This is the smell of dying reeds, of longing crumbling into the water.

It's not so different from the putrefaction of the hanged man, actually.

The lieutenant wrinkles his nose. "I hope you're not buying this. He dispenses it without letting you touch the canister, so it would be precious, like holy water..."

"It is precious. A single dose cost me 50 reál to develop. Not that I expect you to understand self-financing one's own research." He looks at the lieutenant with disdain, then puts the spray back in his pocket.

"Lay it on me -- thick." (Present your arm pit.)

He douses you with the odd-smelling spray -- a double helping as you present your other arm pit -- and then gives you a satisfied nod.

"I don't want this, thank you very much."

"Your choice." He puts the spray back in his pocket. "As I said, the chances of you encountering the phasmid are next to zero."

But you... you feel you should have it on you. Something bad might happen.

Don't mess around, take the pheromone, it'll make you sexier.

"It's made of musk and research chemicals. The pheromones should attract the insect to you, or at least prevent it from bolting at the sight of you. It's quite potent, will last you about a week."

"I've changed my mind. Spray me with lots of pheromone." (Present your arm pit)

"We're looking for someone hiding on this very coast. Looking for another thing may lead us to her."

"Why not?" The lieutenant shrugs. "At least it will give us the excuse to look into a lot of reeds."

"That it will." The man cracks an unwieldy smile. "That it absolutely will. I hope you brought your good boots."

"Sometimes it's helpful to take a break and return to one's primary pursuit with fresh eyes." He nods.

"I'm all in with this cryptid shit. I'm hooked."

"Caught the bug, I see." He cracks an unwieldy smile. "It's easier to get caught up in the search than you'd imagine."

"My partner was joking," he says, unsure of himself. "We're on a search of our own. It wouldn't hurt to check the reeds while we're at it... I assume that's what we'll be doing?"