Conversation · Horse-Faced Woman

"Yes," she looks at you. "What is it?"

"Did you just call me Harry?"

"Yes, I called you by your name, what about it?" She sounds slightly agitated and... sad.

"How do you know... my name?"

"God, everybody knows your name..." She waves at you in a discarding motion. "Please go finish your investigation, so everyone can go home."

"My name is Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau."

"Honestly..." Her sad eyes scan your face, looking for signs of deceit. "I don't care. I don't think anyone does anymore."

"Is that... my name?"

"No, Harry... it's not your name," the man scoffs. "Your name is Baron Von Kikkenberg -- cool guy."

"I don't understand what this conversation is about anymore." She's trying to look elsewhere.

She's obviously a bit uncomfortable in your company.

"Nothing, ma'am."

She doesn't reply, but her eyes are still sad.

"The name's Tequila. Tequila Sunset."

"So what Precinct are you from?"

"What Precinct..." She just sighs.

...am I from? God, he doesn't know.

"Fucking deranged lunatic..." The sunglass-wearing man pushes through his teeth.

You're getting an intellectually unsatisfying vibe from this conversation. Maybe you're doing something wrong?

"Are you with him?" (Point to the man with sunglasses.)

"Of course I'm with him..." She seems startled by her own tone. "Why do you ask?"

"Is he famous?"

"What? No. No, he's not... what are you talking about?"

"Actually never mind. Don't tell me about it. It will just turn into another..." She stops mid-sentence.

Whackathon? Shitshow? Pity party?

Five-machine pile-on?

"Nothing, just wondering..."

"The sooner you figure this hanging out, the sooner everyone can go home."

"He's an asshole."

"You're an asshole!" He pauses. "You know what, maybe we're both assholes..."

"Please," she looks at you, then him, then you again. "Let's not turn this into another exchange, okay?"

"He seems like a cool guy."

"Well, he's not." The man interjects -- his voice is stern. "He's a sack of shit barely kept together by crazy glue -- but at least he tries. Unlike you."

"You look cute together."

"And you look like you don't bathe -- on principle," the man with sunglasses interjects.

"I bet you liked that, didn't you? Let's be honest, that was some first rate karaoke."

"Uh... okay. Yes, that was pretty good."

"What? No. Nonononono!" The man with sunglasses shakes his head stubbornly. "There are universal standards of good out there and that... that was just complete shit."

"Jean," she quietly interjects, giving you a compassionate side glance. "He's not right... treat him like you'd treat McCoy's little brother."

Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor John "Archetype" McCoy's younger brother Lance McCoy, although a man of 32 years, will mentally never surpass a six year old.

Wait... what? John? Lance? Who are these people?

No idea. Just passing on information stored in your fractured neural cortex.

From within your mind-haze you hear the end of a sentence: "...and I'm not going to pretend like he's got a learning disability!"

"Hey, I'm standing right here!"

"Yes, and I'm wondering why? Don't you have a case to solve?"

"Yes, did you want something from me?"

"I'm not handicappable."

"Now he's got a problem with learning disabilities... is that supposed to be ironic?"

"Jean, detective." She looks at both of you. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Maybe it didn't go as well as I thought..."

"You think so?"

"It was very nice. Different, but good kind of different. I liked it."

Sssssssshe's lying. Probably hated it. They all did.

"I know this might sound weird, but are you... a firefighter?"

Her brown eyes linger on you for a moment.

"No, Harry, neither of us are firefighters," she says with a heavy sigh, and falls silent.

Whoa, how does she know your name? She probably heard it from somewhere. You have to be more careful. Names are dangerous.

Did she just call you Harry? These people do NOT know you! You don't have a name.

"Do you work for the animal control?"

"No, no I don't." It doesn't look like she does -- the police uniform she's wearing is a dead giveaway.