Conversation · Call Me Mañana

"I got that key right here. And let me tell you, it's mighty good of you to help us out during the strike -- working class solidarity, as they say."

"I heard something about a weasel and it didn't sound like a local polar weasel, if you know what I mean." (Wink.)

"Polar weasel? Oh... I know what you mean. I'm pretty sure he's actually Occidental though. So you're gonna be commitin' fratricide, my racist friend."

"What you're looking for is a basement door behind the greenhouse -- that's behind the Whirling-in-Rags -- that's all I know. Our organisation is what you call compartmentalized. Means we keep out of each other's business."

"Okay, but where did you get the key from?"

"The janitor gave it to me. Nice fella. We talked about life and things that really, truly matter." His gaze wanders off into the distance.

"None of this mess we're in. This jivin' and jugglin'... What's it for?" He doesn't wait for your answer. "To feed our children I guess."

"Anything else I should know about this task? This weasel person? When he'll be home?"

He shakes his head. "I'm more of a philosophical dockworker. I like to talk about the big picture stuff. Who I am. Who you are. What we are fighting for..." The man takes a big sip from his flask.

He means he's not gonna tell you, 'cause he doesn't know. But he will shoot his mouth off with you now that you're working for Evrart.

Who he is and what they're fighting for? This is interesting.

Ask him about the Hardie boys.

"Got it."

"I'm more of a philosophical dockworker, see -- I like to talk about the big picture stuff. Who I am. Who you are. What we are fighting for..." The man takes a big sip from his flask.

"Where did you get the key from?"

"I saw an opportunity and I took it. I'm a hustlegrinder."

"Hehe, I'm not so sure about the hustle-grind, but..." He waves at you. "You know, it doesn't matter. It's a good thing you're doing. Thanks."

"I'm not really doing this for political reasons."

"Oh so the none-of-the-above type, are you? I get it, I get it. I like to keep my distance too." He nods. "But it doesn't matter. It's a good thing you're doing. Thanks."

"I'm not opening this door for myself. I'm opening it for all working men."

"I knew this man was a commie." He smiles, tilting his head. "And it's a good thing you're doing too. Thanks."

"I don't know, some whistleblower's I think?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"Of course. I got you -- you don't know anything." He taps the side of his nose with a little wink.

"What's the strike about anyway?"

"Serious business, as I'm sure you now realize. The boss would have been glad to tell you. Alas, you cannot get to him anymore."

"You know... serious business." He smiles. "I'm sure the big boss would be glad to tell you. You'll have to ask him first."

He's a chatty guy. Wants to talk about the strike. Return once you've met the Union boss, and are on a better footing with the organization.

He's a chatty guy. Wants to talk about the strike too. Just can't break the command structure and tell you now.

Feels like he's hinting at something, but you're too hungover (or dumb) to understand right now.

"I'm looking for assistance with a dead body situation."

"Body still hangin' in the tree?" He rubs his chin as if pondering his core beliefs. "Aye, that's a rough pickle... can't help you with that, sorry."

"I'm not really an admirer of dead bodies. Might be someone else from the Union can render assistance..." He shrugs.

What's the matter with this wimp? Is he obstructing justice?!

"Does this mean you can let me through the gate?"

"I don't operate in that capacity. I'm not a granter of passage." He takes a swig and points up the stairs with his flask. "The passage grants itself."

Beneath the jolliness he suddenly seems doubtful.

If it's so simple -- why did the scab leader warn you of the guards blocking the way?

"That simple? I just walk in?"

"Aye -- walk right past Measurehead and go in."

"Measurehead? I think I met him."

"Yeah, the two-and-a-half-metre tall Semenese supremacist up there." He points to the bridge above the gates. "Walk right past him..."

"Right."

"... then press the button to unlock the door..."

"Aha."

"... then go past him again..."

"Okay."

"... and you enter the harbour through the office. Esta!"

"Uh. Gotcha. I think I have some questions for you first."

"Hmm, for some reason it doesn't seem like it's going to be that easy..."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's not completely impossible. For example, you could best Measurehead in a physical confrontation."

"Or you could convert to his Semenese supremacist world view. Or, hmm," he strokes his moustache, "maybe it actually is completely impossible."

"Got it. Another thing..."

"Sure." The man whistles a jaunty tune, the wind rustling his whiskers.

"Has anyone here ever bested him in a physical confrontation?"

"Not yet, no." He fixes his eyes on you, evaluating your prowess. "He's... incredibly strong."

Nothing a couple of solid hooks from Dexter and Sinister won't fix.

"Has any of the scabs tried converting to his world view?"

"Jean-Luc himself would say the philosophy has proven... overly heroic for the scabs to convert to. Not enough intuition."

"Past Measurehead?"