Conversation · Joyce Messier
Speakers · 26
Joyce Messier
You
Suggestion
Logic
Half Light
Composure
Kim Kitsuragi
Reaction Speed
Drama
Rhetoric
Empathy
Authority
Inland Empire
Physical Instrument
Perception (Smell)
Conceptualization
Volition
Interfacing
Hand/Eye Coordination
Encyclopedia
Pain Threshold- Perception (Sight)
Shivers
Esprit de Corps
Visual Calculus
Electrochemistry
When
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"How about you share your information on the lynching -- now that you've seen his badge."
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"The goal posts have moved, lieutenant. In the absence of the badge I have informed my employer there will be a probe."
"I cannot rescind that promise." She smiles apologetically. "To my knowledge, the drivers are still at the roundabout. I will tell you everything I know -- when you've finished with them."
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She shakes her head vigorously. "My plan is to share information. The only way to do that now is by telling my employers you've kept your end. Which I hope you will, because let me tell you: we are in dire waters."
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"The sooner the probe is finished the sooner I can share crucial information with you." She takes a sip of tea. "Now, is there anything I can do for you in the meanwhile? Tea, perhaps?"
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"I am glad to hear that. Because let me tell you: we are in dire waters. The sooner the probe is finished the sooner I can share crucial information with you."
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She takes a sip of tea. "Now, is there anything I can do for you in the meanwhile? Tea, perhaps?"
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What is this? An athletic challenge? Scream it from the top of your lungs immediately, show that asshole!
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Why yes! Tucked away under that sturdy green raincoat, almost rustic in its simplicity -- a silk shirt and matching scarf around her gentle throat...
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While dull orange pearls hang from her ear lobes, red from cold. Her light green eyes scan you, full of knowledge -- and worry. Wealth and all its possibilities.
These are the kind eyes of the rich-man, that seem to say: everything is possible...
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Now look at you, you misery-clad simian, barely able to tie your own laces. Your armpits are lakes, a scythe of booze precedes you. Your hair sticks to your forehead and your underwear feels uncomfortable...
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Oh, but you are: too ashamed to ask this person for money, too scared to belittle yourself in her eyes -- those half-precious stones of Eau-de-Nil.
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- Oh, but you are: too ashamed to ask this person for money, too scared to belittle yourself in her eyes -- those half-precious stones of Eau-de-Nil.
- You think your little communism" protects you from this feeling? No. The more demeaning* it is to grovel at her feet...
- Yes. You should be able to take care of yourself. Not grovel at her beautiful feet, dishonouring yourself and your organization with this request...
- Maybe you can ask her for some stock tips -- that's a maybe. Or a job. But you're sure as hell too ashamed to ask for cash buddy.
- Yes. You're too ashamed to ask this person for money, too scared to belittle yourself in her eyes -- those half-precious stones of Eau-de-Nil.
- Shame? You haven't really been in the presence of gentlefolk either, have you? What shame is there to be felt in front of these... dockworkers, cops and hotel clerks. But to belittle yourself in these eyes of Eau-de-Nil...
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"As I was saying..." Her voice breaks the silence and suddenly you're back again. Nearby, a seagull pecks at a piece of garbage... "If there's any way I may be of assistance, please don't hesitate to ask."
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Yes. You should be able to take care of yourself. Not grovel at her beautiful feet, dishonouring yourself and your organization with this request...
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Shame? You haven't really been in the presence of gentlefolk either, have you? What shame is there to be felt in front of these... dockworkers, cops and hotel clerks. But to belittle yourself in these eyes of Eau-de-Nil...
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Yes. You're too ashamed to ask this person for money, too scared to belittle yourself in her eyes -- those half-precious stones of Eau-de-Nil.
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You think your little communism" protects you from this feeling? No. The more demeaning* it is to grovel at her feet...
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Maybe you can ask her for some stock tips -- that's a maybe. Or a job. But you're sure as hell too ashamed to ask for cash buddy.
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A well-kempt, yet tastefully short bob of dark hair. Despite the first hints of grey, she's elected to keep it au naturale -- shaped into a permanent wave, late-Forties style...
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She looks at you, expectantly. It is as if you have said nothing -- because you have not. No begging words have left your mouth...
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"That's the man who was killed..." She almost takes the photo -- but then stops. "I'm afraid this is a discussion for once we've cleared the lynching question."
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"Better not to tie the forestay to the backstay on this. I hope there is something else I can help you with?"
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"Can you tell me about these tattoos again?"
"Now can you tell me about these tattoos?" (Show her the photo.)
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"I fear I've told you all I know." She takes the photo. "It's an Oranjese Map of the Waterways -- or some version of it. It depicts the travels this man made while he was still alive."
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