Conversation · René Arnoux

"Yes..." The man nods. "The terrain here provides an interesting variety to a familiar game."

"Was there an earthquake here?"

"No," he replies, gaze wondering over the bay. "It was left by heavy artillery fire."

Heavy artillery fire you say? That's the best kind of artillery fire. Very interesting.

"Okay, it's a crater left by artillery fire -- but why?"

"Why what?"

"Why was heavy artillery used?"

"Because that's what happens when communards hijack your country, execute your supreme leadership, and turn your capital into a slaughterhouse. You use heavy ordnance to clean up your home."

"Did you use artillery fire against them?"

"Sadly, no. It was the foreigners who brought them to their knees. We fought valiantly -- too valiantly. So valiantly we got licked," he adds, squeezing a boule in his fist.

"Should've fought dirty. Like they did with their suicide sex cult propaganda and mad anarchist women strapped to shrapnel bombs. We didn't though. And we lacked calibre. God bless him, but the suzerain's cannons simply weren't big enough.“

It was probably a bit more complicated than that.

(Look around) "I understand. I'd bomb this place too."

"This place is the damn Beachhead, son," he says, pointing to the bay. "They didn't do it because they didn't like it. They had to soften the commies up first."

"The Beachhead?"

"Yes," he nods, inspecting you with some disdain. "The military-coordinated amphibious landing to take back Revachol."

He finds your lack of historic knowledge troubling. A sign of mental deterioration in the proceeding generations.

"Martinaise was used as one of the three footholds in Revachol during Operation Death Blow in '08. The other two are off in Stella Maris and the Delta." He points to the northeast.

Nod thoughtfully and turn to look northeast.

"This here is blood ground, where Coalition boots first made landfall and cleaned those rabid dogs out. Most likely," he says, looking down at the soil, "we're playing pétanque on their mangled corpses."

"Blood ground..." The other one shakes his head. "You got old René going there. Like he isn't angry enough already..."

"Hold on -- the Coalition?"

"Mhmh," he grunts. "Don't get me wrong, officer. I hate those foreign dogs. But the enemy of my enemy and all that. They're the lesser evil."

"Actually I already know all this. I just wanted to know if you do too."

"Yes, dammit -- I know! They laid the fire of hell on this city before they stormed it. And it worked, too." There is a strange gleam in his eyes.

He approves of this radical approach. Knows it was necessary.

"The rest of the city got cleaned up, but Martinaise they keep as a monument." A dark shadow runs across his face. "And now the Union socialists are practically running the place."

"Well, it's your own damn fault," the jolly man remarks. "You, we, the Coalition, Revachol -- whoever you wanna blame -- never finished the job. Officially the Party never surrendered. Of course they still hold influence."

"You don't even begin to truly understand the players on the table, let alone the specific circumstances surrounding the..." He stops mid-sentence and turns to you. "What do you think?"

Thinking men have opinions on these things. Present one.

"Commies just don't understand how money works."

"No, they don't. But I'm sorry it had to be the Coalition. After eight years of fighting rabid commies, boiling cats for food and drinking piss in the mountains..." He takes a deep breath.

"I would have preferred if the right honourable King Guillaume returned to Revachol or even if that damn clown, Frissel, had risen from the grave and led us. Sadly that was not the case."

This Royal failure weighs heavily on him.

"Instead, all that is just, holy, and beautiful in the world was wiped away and now it's neon signs with toothpaste ads everywhere. Foreign influence peddling garbage and stupid music on the radio." He sighs.

"This is just what the commies wanted. This was their plan all along. This is what they wanted to replace the rule of the Suzerain with."

"Who was this Frissel?"

"Damn Frissel -- he was the king we couldn't protect. The carabineers failed him... and the crown." The old veteran falls silent and massages his chest. "He died in the hands of the hoi polloi in a very public execution."

He slouches as he says that. It makes him smaller, admitting they left the king to the mob.

"You mentioned Guillaume?"

"A true King in both blood and mind. Led Revachol before Frissel. He would have been better, but the damn commies drove him into exile."

Wait, Joyce said Guillaume ran and his nephew, Frissel, was shot in his place.

"Commies didn't drive Guillaume out. He left, when things got bad and left Frissel to take the hit."

"This is communard propaganda! Guillaume would never do something like that. He is LE LION."

There is not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that this is the truth.

Exiled? Joyce said Guillaume ran and his nephew, Frissel, was shot in his place.

"Oh, okay."

"What else?"

Some manner of self-deceit is present in his thinking. Sounds like this Guillaume abandoned him and he doesn't want to admit it.

"Hmm... what exactly is a suzerain?" (Conclude.)

"The Suzerain is the King. Has everyone forgotten already?" He then slowly nods and says to himself: "They've forgotten already."

Soon they will forget everything. Him too... Then he chooses anger over melancholy.

"It's no use talking to you. You were still in daddy's balls when it happened. When we took our last stand against the filth and rode the cavalry straight into gunfire."

An extremely inadvisable strategy against automatic weapons. Be sure not to make the same mistake.

That's our guy! The way he speaks about the war and the bygone days -- Kingsman through and through -- ask him how to turn back time!

"How does Filippe the Third factor into this?" (Point towards the monument.)

"He doesn't," the veteran replies sharply. "That was one hundred years ago. Ain't got nothing to do with anything."

Something moves in your gut. It's almost like a tug.

"This Coalition seems quite capable, actually."

"They're not. And I'm sorry it had to be them. After eight years of fighting those hyenas, boiling cats for food and drinking piss in the mountains..." He takes a deep breath.