Conversation · Novelty Dicemaker

"Oh, right!" She rubs her forehead; her scarf has left a faint line on her dusky skin. "I hope you didn't try to ring me."

"I think none of those doorbells work, including mine. I'm still in the middle of connecting the wires -- sorry about the confusion."

The doorbell with the empty name card must belong to her then.

"What happened to the gym?"

"It wasn't merely a gym, it was Artemitep's Boxing Club -- a community project created to steer at-risk youths away from drugs and crime."

"And who was Artemitep?"

"A kind man... from Zsiemsk. I heard he had some trouble with the law when he was younger, and that's why he wanted to start the gym, as his way of giving back."

"Maybe that's what Cuno needs -- a community-centric boxing club."

"Hm, Cuno." Her eyes narrow in the dim light. "Who's Cuno?"

"He's sort of the king around here."

"Oh, yes -- you mean the kid with the sailor's mouth? Yes, I've heard him yelling profanities in the backyard..." She looks out of the window; it's oddly quiet there at the moment.

"I think it will take more than a gym to help that kid."

"Oh, you mean the kid with the sailor's mouth. Yes, I've heard him yelling profanities in the backyard..." She looks out of the window, her face reflecting back in the dark.

"Indeed, who is Cuno... Your guess is as good as mine."

"He's a little ginger gremlin who likes to defile dead bodies."

"How did that community project work out?" (Conclude.)

"It didn't. If anything, it made the youth situation in Martinaise even worse. At some point, someone started a rumour that the punching bag downstairs was full of amphetamines."

You should've known it!

It's not really full of that. No one would store their drugs like that.

"Eventually the Coalition took away the funding and the club went bankrupt. This was a few years ago. It's gotten much more peaceful around the plaza ever since."

"Judging from the kids I've met so far, it didn't really work, did it?" (Conclude.)

"Actually, I had other questions..."

"Good. I hope it clarified things a bit. What else?"

"What's up with the broken windows?"

"Oh, this one's a mess." She sighs. "There used to be a company that promised to repair windows 24 hours a day. What could go wrong with this one, right?"

"Turns out the business was actually set up as a front for an illicit group that was producing snuff milieus -- who would have guessed..."

Hm, what's a snuff milieu?

Trust me, you don't want to know.

"And they never cleaned up the debris either. Now it's just littering the hallway and I have no idea how to get rid of it on my own."

"Cool, very cool about the debris -- but what's a snuff milieu?"

"It's a sub rosa radio station that broadcasts real murders, with real victims. Some people pay good money to get off on it."

Nothing changes in her tone as she says that -- as if it's just another piece of information to lay out for the world.

What does she mean -- to get off on it?

"Don't worry, the ICP has a separate division that deals exclusively with unlicensed sub rosas," the lieutenant turns to you. "This isn't our problem."

"Good luck with that. It's not easy catching those perpetrators." Then she lets the thought go.

"That's horrible. Were they arrested?"

"I believe the ICP got them. They have a special division that deals exclusively with sub rosas."

It's the copopedia reporting in: ICP stands for International Collaboration Police.

"In any case, I don't think it's your job to worry about what happens on milieus. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it -- things like that are better forgotten."

"Wait, people do that?"

"People do that," she nods. "I believe the ICP got them. They have a special division that deals exclusively with sub rosas."

"I don't want hear about this sick shit anymore."

"Good call." She lets the thought go.

"It's a shame about those windows. I'm not even going to ask about that milieu..."

"Yeah, don't." She looks down, then up again.

"What's with the rotor blades and skis?"

"They were made by a company called Slipstream. After they 'pivoted' from making rotor blades to skis, their chief executive took off on a 'vacation'... with all their money." She rests her chin on her hand with an impish smile.

"Honestly, I think it's quite funny. I think he's still sending out holiday transmissions from Touloula or Tioumoutiri or Khasht-Kor, or wherever he is."

"That's illegal -- running off with company's money like that. Why hasn't he been arrested?"

"Sure, it's illegal, but it's not exactly anything extraordinary in business. Besides, Slipstream is history now. All their remaining assets got seized by the bailiffs in '47. I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around."

They were just props. Why return to them?

Maybe you could make a sword out of one... No, wait, forget it. It would take too long.

"Interesting. What do these transmissions say?"

"The usual, I imagine -- that he's been thinking up all kinds of new business plans and can't wait to get started on them just as soon as he returns..." Her smile widens, before she sees the lieutenant's face behind you.

"Men like that are a curse." The lieutenant is stern.

"Sure. But Slipstream is history now. All their remaining assets got seized by the bailiffs in '47."

"I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around in the house... Not much use now, I guess."

"The usual, I imagine -- that he's been thinking up all kinds of new business plans and can't wait to get started on them just as soon as he returns..." She laughs and turns around in her chair.

"But Slipstream is history now. All their remaining assets got seized by the bailiffs in '47. I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around in the house..."

(Look at your feet.) "Unhonourable..."