The corpse looks at you with bulging white eyes. The face around them does not look…

"Okay."

(Shake your head.) "No."

"No?" The lieutenant's expression is stern and impenetrable. He points at you: "You will get your shit together."

You're sure this has not affected his impression of you in a good way.

For a moment, the hanged man appears to smile. His lips are red like a clown's.

"Bitch-fight, C. Bitches are at it."

"Mhm, bitches about to kill each other, I think."

The lieutenant pays no heed: "We should go and do something else. Give it half an hour. Then come back, when you've gotten your act together."

You've gained a Thought! When this dialogue is over, go to your THOUGHT CABINET and INTERNALIZE it for special bonuses and effects.

"But my shit already is together!"

"No, it's not officer."

"Give me a moment. I got this. Let's try again."

"An appropriate attitude." He withdraws his hand and looks you in the eye:

"Do it without me. I just can't keep it down."

"No. This is a two-man assignment, because it needs two officers to complete. I need your help." He withdraws his hand and looks you in the eye:

"This is bullshit. I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna be a cop."

"Okay. You've said it. You needed to say it, and now that you have..." He withdraws his hand from your back and looks you in the eye:

"Why can't I keep it in if I've been a cop my whole life?

"I've seen captains puke their guts out. It never gets easier, you never get used to the smell. Every Monday is cadaver day -- throw up, investigate, throw up, initial autopsy, throw up, bag it..." He pats your back again.

"Then drive to the station, maybe throw up on the way there if you didn't bag the thing tight enough."

"You seem to be fine."

"I think I've lost my sense of smell." There's a pause.

A white lie.

"Not being hungover helps too."

"Okay."

"Monday -- make sure you bring a handkerchief."

You are being weak. This is weakness -- and it cannot go on much longer, or you will LOSE.

Spit and say nothing.

"Are you okay, officer?" You feel the lieutenant pat you on the back. Heavy, rhythmic pats.

The weight is reassuring. Like a crenel on solid fortification. Pat pat pat...

"You're facing tough odds here. It's aggravated further by alcohol withdrawal."

Spit and wipe your mouth with the handkerchief.

"I think I don't wanna be a cop anymore..."

"Get a hold of yourself." You feel the lieutenant pat your back, rhythmically.

You try to -- very professionally -- look at the corpse, but your stomach contracts. You manage to keep it in once...

The smell is repulsive. It pushes in from your mouth, more instant and more familiar than anything you'd expected; more fever than odour. It fills your mind, flushing you from within.

Try to walk away.

Too late. It's impossible to keep it in. Your body curls and pushes it out. Burst by burst...

Until a pool of vomit lies under your feet -- and your throat stings from the stomach acid.

The smell of Commodore Red rises from the pool. Among it, distilled spirit and bits of shish-kebab.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, happens to everyone." The lieutenant hands you his white handkerchief: "Keep it."

"I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity. You should wipe your mouth after vomiting." He pockets the handkerchief.

"The hangover is clearly making this worse for you. You could use some ammonia -- to clear your head."

"I don't need that shit."

"Sure you do. You just threw up a lot."

"You think ammonia would help?"

"If you can handle the headache," he nods. "Some officers use it to deal with cadaverine odour."

"But not you?"

"I can't handle the headache."

It's more likely he can handle the smell. Unlike you.

"Okay -- where do we get ammonia from?"

"That young woman, the gardener, mentioned she used salts for the smell." He nods toward the plaza.

"If she doesn't have any, there might be some in the Frittte store nearby."

Acquiring Ammonia will provide a MODIFIER to the White Check. MODIFIERS make checks easier -- and allow you to retry them.

"There's the Frittte nearby -- maybe they have some in their apothecary? If they don't..." He points to the greenhouse.

"There's a greenhouse here -- and a gardener with a wheelbarrow on the corner of the Whirling-in-Rags. If she works here she might have something for the smell."

Hmm... pretty clever.

"There's Frittte nearby, east of the hostel. They usually have a small apothecary. If they don't..." He points to the greenhouse.