"What now?" She crosses her arms impatiently.

"What now?" She crosses her arms impatiently.

"What are you doing here?"

She sighs and looks around. "I need to get it ready for the next lease, but as you can see, the previous tenant completely trashed the place."

"I fuck shit up too."

"Heh!" She smiles aggressively. "Sounds like you've spent too much time undercover in some rock band."

It's not a compliment.

"Who lived here?"

"It was some kind of a moribund old man, who used to be a business owner. You'd think they'd make rent..." She stops, hesitating.

A sudden serious look crosses her face. This story didn't have a happy ending.

"But -- that was months ago. Anyway. Was there anything you wanted, or is that it? I'm in a hurry."

"Reprehensible. Who lived here?"

"Sounds like they knew how to have a good time."

"That's all, thank you." [Leave.]

"Of course," she replies with a smile, but her eyes remain glazed over -- she's been waiting for you to leave.

"I glimpsed a foreclosed apartment down the hallway."

"Oh, that's another huge mess. The former tenant owes us three months of rent, three! We closed the apartment and planned on auctioning off the valuables, but..."

"And again, I have no idea how stupid mistakes like this can even happen, but Ron, when he came to close the door, didn't close the neighbouring door! And there's a hole in the wall!"

So preppy! She's probably on some low grade performance enhancers. Like Preptide or Pericanine.

"A hole in the wall, can you believe it?" She spreads her hands. "And then the tenant ran off with his stuff. He's gone, the money's gone, just like that!" She snaps her fingers.

The sum must've been puny.

Oh, it irks her. The incompetence.

"My money has also disappeared, I think."

"Well, it does not disappear from my hands, no, I don't let it."

"It couldn't have been that much money. These apartments look pretty shabby."

"These apartments are perfectly fine! They have gorgeous architecture, a million reál view of the bay, good ventilation, neighbours, life, spark... And they are affordable."

"I'll tell you, Martinaise has a future -- in a few years it's going to blossom with artists and creatives and those radiocomputer wizards."

The radiocomputer wizards are invested with magical economic powers.

It's as if they're real wizards, able to resurrect dead real estate and breathe life into bank accounts.

"So wait, what happened with the wall?" (Proceed.)

"Don't ask me what happened with the wall, I have no idea how we're going to find the time or resources to fix it."

"Both apartments are now unrentable. Both!" She's still shaking her head, manicured hands now crossed over the chest.

"Who lived in the foreclosed apartment down the hallway?"

"Isn't it a bit late to be working?"

"It is." She breathes in and out to the count of three -- it looks like some special stress release technique -- before she continues...

"Everyone says that real estate agents don't do anything, but here I am, in the middle of the night, cleaning up someone's 'crash pad'."

"So, the sooner we get this over with, the better." She means you -- time for the next question.

Come to think of it, she does look incredibly tired.

"Satisfied? My name is Marielle Charpentier and I'm an agent with Martinaise Realty Associates. I am not breaking in, as I have every right to be here. The keys, see?" She jingles a set of keys in her hand.

Boy there are a lot of different keys there. More than twenty at least...

Her voice is really cheerful despite her obviously hating you.

"Do you want to see my ID as well? You can't legally ask for it, but why not? Want to see my residence permit, too?" She fumbles through her purse, fishing out a light paper-clad passport.

[Leave.]

Inspect the passport.

It feels flimsy in hand, with the words 'Revachol Zone of Control' written under a nondescript municipal logo. There's a picture of her with shorter hair inside, along with all her personal details.

Be friendly.

"Nice haircut." (Hand back the passport.)

"Thank you." She slips the passport back in her purse. "Do you have any questions? I need to be back in midtown in an hour."

"Everything seems to be in order." (Hand back the passport.)

"I don't need your ID, I just need to ask you some questions."

"Very well, but please make it quick." She slips the passport back to her purse and checks her watch. "I need to be back in La Delta in an hour."