Conversation · Lilienne, the Net Picker

"Be careful out there. Sea's calm as death, but still... there are ruins underwater. You can scrape the paint... or worse."

"Nice sword." (Point at the sabre on her hip.) "Does it come with a story?"

"Unfortunately, the factory sold this one with a three-year warranty instead of a story." She smiles at her own joke. "It's to intimidate folks, mostly."

"Isn't that what guns are for?"

"Guns are expensive... and fragile. I think." She shrugs. "Besides, I got kids. Can't have guns around them and sometimes a sharp blade is enough to keep folks at bay."

And sometimes it isn't.

"Why do you need intimidation tactics?"

"From time to time people need a lesson in respect. That's just the way it is. Back in the day I caught the eyes of many men and believe me," she adds, tittering, "men need a lesson in manners from time to time."

"So where are all the men now?" (Proceed.)

"Some went to patch their wounds, their lesson learned, others were more thick-headed..." She looks down. "And one of them I ended up marrying."

"Wait, why? If they're thick-headed..."

"Guess I enjoyed the way he bled." Her expression doesn't change. It's hard to say if it's a joke.

If it is, then why the melancholy?

"Where's your husband now?"

"Gone."

The harbour seawall endures the wash of the freezing waves. Many things wash up against it and onto the beaches of Revachol. Some inanimate, some just no longer alive... You shudder.

"Gone? Coward! I would never leave anyone."

"Uh..." She raises an eyebrow. "Good for you. He, however, was lost to the waves. It's been quite a while now."

"Oh..." Say no more. Wait for her to continue.

"He didn't respect the sea. Went out there drunk like a skunk and sure enough one day the boat was found floating empty. The bloated corpse turned up two weeks later."

"Now, before you tell me how sorry you are for my loss, know that it was four years ago and I've moved on. There's only so much mourning you can do for a drunk with sinewy muscles."

She really liked those muscles though. It's in the way she pronounces 'sinewy'.

"Yeah, death is nothing. I shit on death."

"I don't. But us working folk don't have the luxury to be bed-sick with melancholy." She crosses her arms. "I buried him, mourned for an appropriate amount of time and went on."

"Life didn't really change that much for me and the kids..." She glances at the village where two little kids are playing with what look like rocks.

This is neither a touchy nor a very interesting topic for her.

She looks like she's ready to go on a date with another -- better! -- drunk. Ask her. Both of you could need some action.

Do it! Hit on the widow! It's the right thing to do.

"Time really is the best cure for sorrow, isn't it?"

"Us working folk don't have the luxury to be bed-sick with melancholy." She crosses her arms. "I buried him, mourned for an appropriate amount of time, and went on."

"It's healthy to let go and move on. Gotta keep the wheels spinning."

"You should have thrown yourself in the waves after him." (Nod sagely.)

"Oh? The kids too, right?" She doesn't wait for your reply. "Working class people don't have that luxury. That's for rich folks. We just go on."

"I buried my man, mourned for a month and that was it. Life didn't really change that much for me and the kids. Not for the worse at least."

"He died? Was he... murdered?"

The lieutenant shakes his head again.

"Yeah, by himself. Inadvertently." She continues with a frown. "He never respected the sea. Went out there drunk like a skunk and sure enough one day he didn't come back."

"That's bad... What happened?"

"Who knows, maybe he fell over?" She shrugs. "He didn't respect the sea. Went out there drunk like a skunk and sure enough one day the boat was found floating empty. The bloated corpse turned up two weeks later."

"Gone where?"

"To the waves." Her eyes stop in yours. "The sea took him. It was a long time ago."

"He disappeared? Sounds like a missing persons case."

"It absolutely does not," the lieutenant quietly interjects. "We are not going to look for him."

"No, no. There's nothing to find. He's dead. Lost to the waves."

"Why don't more women arm themselves if it's so effective?"

"What makes you think we haven't?" She smiles. "Heh. The truth is that almost everyone in this life is scared and tired and stupid and too dull for that."

"That goes for men too, but they put on an act for us. Pretend like everything's good and living in shit doesn't bother them. Like anyone falls for that."

That does not go for real men. It does not go for you. Show her. Show her The Wonder.

Coach means The Expression.

"True. Most people I've met are scared."

"Aye. No one wants to talk about how frightened they are. But only frightened people are really dangerous -- and plenty of them are dangerous."

She's not afraid, however. Does that make her not dangerous?

"Behold!" (Point to The Expression on your face.)

Her eyes meet yours and suddenly she starts laughing. It's hoarse. As if she hasn't laughed in a while.

Not bad.

"Do you like it?"

"Sure." Her face straightens. "It looks as if you could face-down any horror in the world with that same unchanging grin. It's like a shield."

The traces of her laughter are still there -- in her eyes, fading fast.

"Find someone else to laugh at, I'm not a clown!"

"I apologize," she replies with a nod. "It looked like you could face-down any horror in the world with that unchanging grin. Looked like a shield."