Conversation · Elizabeth

"I've got nothing to say to you. Why are you wasting your time?" She crosses her arms.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Hmh..." The lieutenant is not satisfied with the approach.

"What are we going to do to you?" She starts laughing. It's a cold laughter, devoid of joy.

You were specifically asked not to say that -- and then you said it anyway. You junior delinquent! But you still did!

"The Union isn't going to do anything to you. It is not a crime syndicate, it is a labour organization."

"Mhm..." A gruff humph from the table. "Goddamn right it is."

"If anything, it is the RCM who do things to people..." She shakes her head. "But we digress."

Why did you say that? Did you forget you're a cop... again?

"Are you Lizzy -- Elizabeth -- Miss Beaufort?"

"I suggest not wasting time on trivial pleasantries and focusing on why you are actually here -- Titus Hardie," she points to the tall man by the table.

Even though she has excellent control over her self, something moved behind her eyes, in the way she stands, in her face...

You caught her off guard. Push her some more.

"Hardie? Not yet, I had another question."

"No. Talk to Titus."

"Easy Leo told me about you, he likes to talk a lot."

"You're not here to chat up the legal counsel, you're here to question these men."

You set the pace and the topic of these conversations here. Establish that.

A man like Easy Leo could have said anything. Do not be restrained, sire.

"He said Mr. Evrart sent you to law school?"

"I represent the Union and these men here." She points to the crew around the table. "Don't make this personal."

A very minor victory.

"He said you're Mr. Evrart's Doux et Sucré Death Machine."

"He said no such thing." She accidentally raises her voice. "This isn't about me."

"Calm down everyone. Let's stay professional."

Dirty tactics, officer.

"He said you were in debt to Mr. Claire."

"He said you're the Union fixer. You fix things."

"I am a legal counsel," she intones. "Don't make this personal."

She shut you down -- because you don't have enough backbone.

"Why are you so aggressive?"

"Aggressive? You make your living enforcing violence. These people are just dock workers."

"Just dock workers? Do dock workers spy on the Police? We let you off easy, miss. Don't think it will happen again."

"We've talked to Evrart Claire. We know who these men are. The Union's militant wing."

"Listen, you Moralintern lackeys. You're a mob, enforcing the unlawful privatization of Revachol. Twenty fat men in the Occident are stealing it all -- and you're their body guards."

"Fuck yeah," the tall, broad shouldered man takes a sip of his beer.

"So ask what you came to ask -- or get back to your commanders."

"The world needs a financial buffer zone. No need to get emotional."

"No one is emotional here." Her expression stiffens further. "Do your job. Ask your questions -- then leave."

"The privatization is not unlawful, it's cool and funny. Maybe you're just not historic individuals?"

"I don't need privatization paeans from a rent-a-cop." Her expression stiffens. "Just do your job. Ask your questions. Then get out of Martinaise."

"I don't know where you heard that, but it's wrong. The RCM is principled and strong, unlike you socialists."

"Get sober." Her expression stiffens. "Do your job. Ask your questions and get the hell out of Martinaise."

"I liked that. Good start. Let's take it a step further -- armed uprising. What are the Union's plans?"

"Look -- a comedian." Her expression stiffens. "Do your job. Ask your questions. Then get out of Martinaise."

Strange. It's as if people don't believe a cop could be a socialist revolutionary.

"Yeah, let's do that. Let's ask those questions."

"Let's." Her expression stiffens.

"Hmh. So you were spying on us. And now you represent murder suspects -- just dock workers."

"Do dock workers spy on the Police? You were on that corner all day. Now we know why." He smiles: "Just dock workers..."

"I'm being aggressive?" She raises her eyebrows. "Listen, you Moralintern lackey, you're part of a mob, enforcing the unlawful privatization of Revachol. Twenty fat men in the Occident are stealing it all -- and you are their body guard."

"I guess you're not a winner after all."

She shrugs. Almost no reaction.

It's in there. She's just stonewalling.

"This is not winner attitude, citizen." (Shake your head.)

"I have heard about your medical condition. People talk. And I have no patience for it. Or pity."

A cheap deflection, but brutal. This did not have the effect you desired, but it did something.

"The obscene sign. You said you would clean it.

"This is about your alcoholism, isn't it? People talk." She squints. "I have no patience for it. Or pity."

"The sign is going to have to clean itself then?"