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Chapter 17: 17:13-17:58: Show Me The Goods
You ignore the vendor for the moment to collect some of these juicy thoughts.
BOX OF SUNGLASSES: Abort! These are hideous. What’s more, they don’t even fit your face. You can feel them pinching your nose and chafing against your brow.
SIILENG: “Damn, officer, you look like a mega-secret spy, very secret,” the man nods eagerly. “They’re practically made for you. I’ll let you have them for… two reál and fifty cents!”
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] It’s going to be very difficult for anyone to take you seriously with these things on your face.
Listen to Kim. This sycophantic consumerist agent means only to deceive you.
We rummage through the box.
BOX OF SUNGLASSES: These are all boring. Boring third-rate ho-hum sunglasses made of cheap Seraise plastic. The kind of plastic that melts in the sun.
DRAMA: [Easy: Success] Those UV-stickers are almost certainly just there for show. If anything, these lenses probably direct more UV light *into* your pupils—a UV magnifier.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: This is how a sea monster sees the world. You’ve become a sea monster, Harry—giant, hidden, and… strangely tender at heart. All is blue.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Alright, but these actually make your vision worse. It’s like literally being underwater.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Yes, but they also make your soul quiver like jello. So deep.
SIILENG: “Wow, officer, you look so cool,” the street vendor has picked up his pace again, as you observe the world through deep sea-tinted lenses.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant tilts his head and steps back, eyes narrowed in a thorough examination. It’s a case to him.
Nah.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Easy: Success] The name “Siileng” is embroidered over his breast pocket.
SIILENG: “*Everything’s* cool. The goods are cool, the customers are cool, the place is cool—and one more thing, officer…”
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] ...from out on the bay a cool wind gathers. It sweeps into the city, tugging at the textiles hanging around the stand. Some distance away the sound of a tin can clattering across the street can be heard…
SIILENG: “Oh yes! You got style, you got *personal* style. You know what you like.” He surveys his consumerist kingdom with an air of satisfaction. “You like premium menswear! Look around and browse, everything looks cool on a guy like you. Take your time.”
SIILENG: “Good joke, officer! Here we don’t have permits, just economic freedom. Take a look around…” He takes a deep breath.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Easy: Success] You glance around the decrepit buildings, the miserable weather, the sidewalks strewn with sunflower seeds and the dust-choked air…
KIM KITSURAGI: “It is, yes. Anyone can set up their shop whenever they feel like it.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “If you wanted to be *cynical* about it you could say we’re here to protect the interests of property holders. I’m not, however.”
SIILENG: “My man, officer, *you* make all this possible! Without you, this climate would be extremely bad for business. You’re part of the gossamer state!”
SIILENG: “Yeah—*cool* ruins,” he agrees. “I get to sell quality goods like these by cutting out the middleman. *You* don’t have to rebuild your house. Live in a crater! Or in a tree!” He points to a tree. “*Where* can you do that? Only in here.”
SIILENG: “No need for discounts at Siileng’s, officer. Everything’s already on sale.” He nods towards the crates. “Anything you want, 50% off!”
There’s something almost charming about this dude’s brazen disregard for your basic intelligence.
SIILENG: “You mean these *delicious* pre-packaged, shelf-stable meal kits? Really easy to cook, no hassle, *really* cheap too—buy some, try them out!”
SIILENG: “No problem here, officer. I get all this from one of my suppliers, an extremely reputable guy.”
It literally fell off the back of a truck.
SIILENG: “What?” The street vendor looks over his left shoulder and stares at the lorry—as though he’s never seen a lorry in his entire life.
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] A convincing performance, bravo!
SIILENG: “Look, officer. I’m just the retailer. You’d have to talk to my supplier if you got questions about the supply chain. That’s how the game works.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Interesting.” The lieutenant whips out his blue notebook and makes a note.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] We’ll need more if we’re going to pin this one down, he thinks—good questions, though. Sharp eyes, officer.
Wait, no, I told you not to do this!
SIILENG: “Me? It’s a boring story, officer. Who cares about the past? I’m all business now—all Revachol.”
And this is why!
SIILENG: “An investment?” He raises a brow, intrigued, “What kind of investment?”
FALN SNEAKERS ON A PEDESTAL OF SPEAKERS: A pair of FALN ‘Ultras.’ The design is impossible sleek and simple—a futuristic silhouette with a sleek monochrome colorway, a jet black upper, and a silver-lined midsole.
SIILENG: “Those sneakers, mister…” the street vendor intones. “Those sneakers are the latest FALN sneakers. Super-rare, super-fine, super-cool—only 50 reál!”
Can’t afford these, darn.
FALN SNEAKERS ON A PEDESTAL OF SPEAKERS: These once-respectable speakers have been conquered, reduced to a mere prop by the indomitable FALN ‘Ultras’ atop them.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A small heat emboss on the veneer reads: “Solidarity Aid from the People’s Republic of Samara.” The speakers themselves don’t seem to display any magical qualities.
SIILENG: “Well, if you *want* them…” He pauses for a moment, calculating. “But see, they are the pedestal for my sneakers. If I let go of the speakers, where will the sneakers go? I can’t leave premium lifestyle sneakers on the *ground*… If, on the other hand, you wanted to buy the *sneakers*, too, I could maybe throw in the speakers for a little extra—50 cents.”
Fuck this.
SIILENG: “Don’t be shy, these are premium-class clothes! Good quality fabrics, best retro design! Save the economy with your style, officer!”
SIILENG: “Look around, officer! You see all these premium goods, just sitting there, *not* getting bought? We’ve got to keep the flow of goods moving!”
PILE OF CLOTHES: You find your hands deep in tattered and faded garments made from weird polyester blends that make your body itch and sweat in all the wrong places.
PERCEPTION (SMELL): [Medium: Success] The box smells like cat piss—or like an old person with no money.
COMPOSURE: They itch. Like hell. Like an itch-pit in hell.
No thanks.
Well, that’s all we can do with Siileng.
Let’s head back over to the Whirling-In-Rags and finally talk to the Hardie Boys.
Hey, it’s the gardener!
ELIZABETH: “Detective Disorientated.” She smiles coldly. “Are you still wondering where you are? This is Martinaise, in case you’ve forgotten. I advise you not to overstay your welcome.”
ELIZABETH: “That’s right, I’m not a gardener, I’m a legal counselor for the Dockworkers’ Union.” She crosses her arms. “So let’s get to it—you’re looking for Titus Hardie. You think he has information that will help you. Maybe he does.” She points to the man on her right. “That’s Titus. Talk to him. But know this: I’ll be keeping an eye on you. No strong-arming, nothing official. The district of Martinaise does not recognize your authority to make arrests.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It doesn’t matter if you recognize our authority. We will make an arrest if we have to.”
ELIZABETH: She says nothing; her glare speaks for her.
ELIZABETH: “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.
COMPOSURE: [Easy: Success] Even though she has excellent control over herself, something moved behind her eyes, in the way she stands, in her face…
ELIZABETH: “You’re not here to chat up the legal council, you’re here to question these men.”
AUTHORITY: You set the pace and the topic of these conversations here. Establish that.
ELIZABETH: “I represent the Union and these men here.” She points to the crew around the table. “Don’t make this personal.”
(I ended up misreading the Drama line before and went weak where I should have gone strong. Oh well, we still got something out of it)
ELIZABETH: “What you want is of no significance, *officer*. Don’t test your authority—in Martinaise you are no one.”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] I saw what you were thinking. You want to say ‘what are you going to *do* to me?’ Don’t. Just because it’s in your head doesn’t mean you have to say it.
Fine, geez. We won’t say it.
ELIZABETH: “Aggressive? You make your living enforcing violence. These people are just *dock workers*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Hmm. So you were spying on us. And now you represent murder suspects—*just dock workers*.”
ELIZABETH: “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 bodyguards.”
Sorry, I need to stop for a moment. I honestly have no idea why I picked this option, to be frank. I think I just didn’t understand it in the heat of the moment, maybe? It’s also vaguely sexist, so that’s fun.
Next time, we’re going to interview Titus Hardie.