Conversation · Joyce Messier

"I don't want to. I want to know what the pale is."

"I don't think your colleague would appreciate that -- he has already been so patient with this whole... exercise."

"Let's continue with something else, alright?" She leans against the railing: "You can ask about anything else in the world. Anything."

"Okay then."

The lieutenant glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Was he just... worried? That you would find out something awful?

"It is the opposite of reality."

"Got it. Tell me something else then."

"Of course." She seems slightly relieved.

"Okay, but... what is it? A definition..."

"What is this acute encephalopathy?"

"It's a neurological disorder, caused by a lack of vitamin B in the brain. Symptoms include retrograde amnesia. It's... quite serious -- you should get yourself checked out."

She conveys it in short, cold bursts, trying not to invest too deeply in the condition of this doomed detective.

In case he goes down later, souring the entire portfolio.

"I know you've got a lot riding on me. I won't let you down."

"It's not just me, detective. All of Martinaise has placed its chips on your success. I pray we've all bet wisely."

"Got it. Let me ask something else."

"Be my guest." She takes a sip from her thermal cup.

"What causes encephalopathy?"

"Well, it's either bariatric surgery -- or long term alcohol use."

"It's definitely the drinking."

She nods, slowly.

What this boils down to is this reality thing is stupid. Blow this joint, grab a bottle and drain that shit right down your throat.

Yes, and perform auto-erotic asphyxiation on yourself with your funny neck tie. Out in the open somewhere!

Yes! And lie about it too! To her!

Wait, wait, this reality thing is the only game in town. It's probably in your interest not to blow it.

"I have, uh, somewhere to party. Right now." [Leave.]

"Of course," she says, apparently unsurprised. "Well, I'll be here if you need me."

Wipe that urge from your mind and get back to reality.

She stares at you, head tilted to the side, with a slightly concerned look on her face.

"No time for more questions now -- the art world calls. A performative experiment. You wouldn't understand." [Leave.]

"Oh, it's probably from surgery then."

"That seems... unlikely."

"I want to know what you are."

"Hmh..." She hums.

She won't manoeuvre her way out of this one.

"What are you?"

"I am the vilest of the vile," she says with a sudden flash of teeth. "A traitor, a devourer of nations and infants..."

"I am an ultra."

She raises the corner of her mouth smirking, revealing a canine.

It's sharp.

"Dios mío!" (Draw a cross.) "A LIBERAL!"

"Yes," she nods slowly. "I am the nether creature of the forbidden swamp. I pushed the king under a shitwagon and betrayed the Revolution. My kind surrendered the nation to financial colonists..."

"Perhaps you thought we'd gone extinct. After all, no sane person identifies as an ultra anymore. Not in broad daylight." She looks into your eye. "Tell me -- now that I've uncoiled myself -- are you repulsed?"

In her green eyes you see a mixture of truth and self-satire. Decades of guilt and pride.

Forgive her.

But only because you like pearlescent teeth and those light green eyes...

"I forgive you -- but only because you're charming."

"A Deuill," she pronounces: "Who being of great Charme and Guille, sneaketh into the homes of the Godlie."

That dialect is Ubi Sunt?. You recognize the quote from somewhere. A play, written way back in the Franconigerian century...

Beneath her waterproof raincoat and silk shirt is a body imbibed in Numb 12 perfume. You are suddenly and intimately aware of it.

"Wanna... fuck?"

"...steal, kill and destroy?" She counters, quick as a whip. "That they say we've been doing for over four decades now. Perhaps regrettably, I've had my fill for this century..."

"Hmh," the lieutenant hums, reading his notes.

"In any case, I'm glad we can remain collegial despite my scaly bulk. And my perverse need to infiltrate and betray both Kingdom and Revolution."

"Honestly..." she pauses. "I may have even preferred it, had the communards won. Who knows? They might really have built something better. But they didn't, because they lost."

"When the dust settled, the liberals were the only ones left to clean up the mess. By virtue of their survival they were handed enormous power to shape the future..." She turns her gaze to the delta. "This was all our last generation managed."

"That settles that."

"Nothing's settled. It simply fades away..." She closes her eyes. "Like a lover who has lost their faith. Now, shall we return to reality?"

"Would you have done something differently?"