Conversation · Call Me Mañana

Hmm... maybe that would work? We'll have to see.

"We sure do, and don't you forget it."

"Aye-aye, sir." The easy-going man winks at you.

"I'm pretty sure we don't. At least not all of these things."

"Olá, wandering man." He looks at you with soft and hazy eyes. "How can I help you?"

"You a scab now?" The man with jolly eyes winks at you.

Walk away. [Leave.]

"What exactly is a scab?"

"A kind of a worm, content with mere survival. They come, they want to do our job for shittier pay, screwing over both themselves and us. Everybody loses."

"You don't seem to like them much."

"Gotta be bloody stupid or freakin' evil to scab. Or, I guess... scared, maybe. But scared of what, of who?" He looks at the mass, squinting his eyes as if trying to ascertain what they're scared of.

"Personally, I'd rather beg than scab. If the gentlemen shouting on the street came begging, maybe they'd have gotten something."

(Shake your head.) "It's better than begging, c'mon."

"Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do." He nods knowingly. "But these scabs ain't begging -- they ain't holding on to their integrity."

(Nod.) "Have you tried talking to them?"

"We've explained the matters, but they don't listen." He shakes his head. "This lot would be reasonable and go home if the big guy wasn't riling them up all the time."

Big guy -- he means the leader of the scabs.

"Hold on, where did they all come from?"

"Beats me. Somewhere in the ground, I think."

"No... I don't want to deal with this again. Did you just call me a f*g?"

"No-no, I said scab."

"Yeah, I'm a scab -- poor and downtrodden." (Wave your fist.) "Right to work!"

"Good one, officer." He grins. "Don't worry, we here have solidarity with the RCM."

"Imagine -- you cops going on a strike, but then another cop comes in and says: 'Let us cop! For less money.'" He chuckles, then realizes:

Psst. Show him your stolen card. Now hast arrived the perfect moment!

"Speakin' of! What brings the RCM here? To the Wild North? Come to see the strife?"

"I'm not a scab. I'm a cop." (Proceed.)

"Ah, I was just messing with you." His smile deepens his wrinkles even more. "No one's ever seen a cop scab."

"Scab?" asks a man with jolly eyes, tilting his head.

You're hazy on the notion of a scab. Smells like politics, though. Maybe it's got something to do with the flask he reaches for, from time to time?

What did he just call you?! A f*g? Oh no, not this again, you just got away from that fucking kid...

The boiadeiro stares at you with respect -- then gestures towards the trickles of blood adorning your clothes.

"Yeah, I got shot. No big deal."

"Yet you live?" He nods approvingly. "It calls back to an older era, where this was commonplace. You have a true boiadeiro heart."

"Right. So where is everyone?"

"Hidin', gatherin' themselves. The harbour's in full lockdown, friend. No getting in or out... for the time being."

"You can't help me get inside?"

"No, man. Not today. Today is war."

He says it matter-of-factly. Like it's no big deal.

"What's going to happen next?"

"Time will tell..." He shrugs. "I'll tell the bossman you dropped by. I'm sure he'll be glad."

"It really hurts, Mañana. Pain -- that's what your strike brought upon us."

He shrugs. "Any political movement goes through a period of strife. Shame you got mixed up in it, though."

"Yet it calls back to an older era, where this was commonplace. You have a true boiadeiro heart."

"Danger comes with the boiadeiro lifestyle, right?

He shrugs. "There are types of danger. The one I'm usually concerned with is lung cancer, or getting mauled by wildlife. Not... bullets."

"It calls back to an older era, where this was commonplace, though. You have a true boiadeiro heart."

"So..." He stares at you with his hazy eyes. "How'd you like our harbour?"

You've been in there, he means -- talked to the boss man too probably...

"Complete shit."

"It's but a rest area on the path leading across open plains," he notes solemnly, then turns to you, a wide smile adorning his face:

"Right! You talked to the boss, eye-to-eye -- like men of the plain. If you have any more questions, I'm set to talk."

"Was nice enough."

"Labour utopia." (Nod approvingly.)

"Knocked him out good..." he greets you. "Like the flying desperado!"

"Who or what is a flying desperado?"

"It's that really cool flying desperado spin kick you did, boiadeiro. Often performed by the most hard-bodied boiadeiros on the steppes."

"It was nothing."

He nods energetically. "So, what's on your mind this time?"

"Yeah, I sure did that thing."