Conversation · Tiago

"You've come back to face your cacodaemons. Good. You ain't gonna outrun them if you don't drop the bottle."

"This is tiresome." [ Leave.]

"Why do you keep talking about alcohol?"

"Estás crudo, wey. I see deep inside you. Your body and spirit are suffering greatly from overindulgment and you don't even know it."

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable. Let's talk about something else."

"I know it's hard to admit that you have a problem... I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look at the damage el vino was doing to my mind and my spirit."

"You know, actually, since we're here -- you may want to pay attention to what the ceiling climber is saying."

If the lieutenant agrees, then maybe, just maybe -- you should pay attention?

Look at these crazies. What is this, a fucking intervention?

Fuck you, crab-man, you don't tell us what to do. Tell him.

"You know, alcohol is central to my identity. If I wouldn't drink I just wouldn't be me."

"The grave's comin' for your little 'identity' sooner than you think, homes." He shakes his head sadly. "You sure you're ready? The Mother could set you free from all that shit." His words echo in the cold air of the church.

"This is the Church of the Mother of Silence. You are welcome here." He sways gently on the beams, waiting for you to take it all in.

You have no idea what the fuck he's talking about. Is he just trying to throw you off your game?

Whatever it is, he's quite confident about it -- just look how gracefully he sways.

'Tis not an act, my liege -- saving, perchance, he hath deceived his very self. This man is a zealot.

This Mother of Silence sounds like a serious player. You might want to be careful, until you find out what you're dealing with.

"For some reason I feel like you have a point there."

"Don't trust me -- trust the Mother. I'm only the messenger, homes." His voice echoes in the cold air of the church.

"Don't trust me -- trust the Mother. I'm only the messenger, homes." His voice echoes in the cold air of the church.

"Who do you think you are? Some crazy guy under the roof? What is this shit?"

"It don't matter who I am, wey. I'm just bringin' you the message of the Mother's love. She don't want you to hang yourself on your own stubbornness." His words echo in the cold air of the church.

"This is stupid. I don't even know what this is."

"You know what this is. It's truth, homes. Join me, become one with it -- aflame with the Mother's love." His voice echoes in the cold air of the church.

Wait, what does that even mean?

"That's all well and good, but we need to talk about the unlicensed occupation of ecclesiastic property."

"The only thing we need to talk about is how the Mother can really help you, homes." His voice echoes in the cold air of the church.

Look at these crazies. What is this shit?

You know, he may be strange, but you might want to pay attention to what he's saying.

"How do you know what I'm feeling?"

"I was like you once -- just dragging my feet to the next bottle... Shit was dark, homes."

"Oh, I'm very in touch with my suffering."

"Not all of it. I was like you once. You don't know all the havoc el vino is wreaking on your mind and your spirit. Necesitas parar, homie."

"Great. More patronising. So original."

"I know it's hard to admit that you've got a problem. I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look into my own heart and see I was in pain."

Is that... a man? Looks more like part of the carpentry of the building came alive and is now studying you intently.

The crab-man!

"Uhm... are you the crab-man?"

The man leans forward a little, fixing you with a steady, unreadable gaze, then speaks...

"Habitual alcohol use has made you into a scared little pussy, homes. But don't worry, everything's gonna be alright -- you've come to the right place."

That accent is Villalobos -- a peninsula in Mesque and a district in Jamrock. There's a sizable contingent of Villalobos-speaking mesques in Revachol.

Hold on, stop it right there. "Pussy"? What's with this?

Hold your peace.

"Here you can receive the Mother's love, and, when you're ready, she will take your hand and lift you out of the despair at the bottom of the bottle."

The lieutenant whispers to you, quietly. "This man is obviously a habitual narcotics user. Do we really need to question him?"

I'm put off by this religious stuff, he thinks -- and maybe the ceiling-climbing, too. It's all very hard to square with the lieutenant's own view of reality.

Hey and what was that about the bottle again? You haven't even drank that much lately! Lay off it already. Sheesh.

"I'm a police man. I need to talk to you about police things. I don't know anything about 'alcohol use.'" (Hide the bottle behind your back.)

"Oh yeah, sure." His eyes remain fixed on yours. "You don't know anything about alcohol use. You've got it all under control, wey. I saw you hide that control behind your back."

"You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through!"

"I was like you once -- just dragging my feet to the next bottle... Shit was dark, homes."

"Okay, fine, I'm struggling. But you don't need to lecture me -- I know what I need to do."

"Not all of it. I was like you once. You don't know all the havoc el vino is wreaking on your mind and your spirit. Necesitas parar, homie."

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable. Let's talk about something else."

"I know it's hard to admit that you have a problem... I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look at the damage el vino was doing to my mind and my spirit."

"I'm doing just fine, thank you!"

"I know it's hard to admit that you've got a problem. I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look into my own heart and see I was in pain."

"I'm a police man. I need to talk to you about police things. I don't know anything about 'alcohol use.'"

"Oh yeah, sure." His eyes remain fixed on yours. "You don't know anything about alcohol use. You've got it all under control, wey. I can smell the control all the way over here."

"Oh, hell no!" [Run away.]