Scene #6982: Mazel Tov Socioeconomics 101

Owner	Pose
Raphael Cousteau	"It's Martinaise, baby." The Martinaise district of Revachol is still cold, wet, wartorn, and awful. The Warpgate everyone used last time remains open. To clarify further from last time, it opens up in the ruins of a bombed out building just on the edge of a roundabout. The roads are packed with semi-trucks, all of which are circled in an unending traffic jam, having made a futile journey to the Harbour in the northeast. The center of the roundabout, a dramatic half-finished attempt at a glorious statue to some fallen monarch of ages past, has been defaced with spraypaint. FUK OFF The message is apparently sent to those travelling through the initial Warp Gate. There are some broken boards nearby--it would appear that at least one group tried to board up the Warpgate, only for another to tear them down. Truck drivers have been occasionally passing through in order to purchase food and drink to bring back, but noone seems interested in selling their goods to the Multiverse at large. The Whirling-In-Rags rises over the truck gridlock. The Dockworkers Union seems to have settled on guarding the Harbour. Measurehead is back on the walls, guarding the all-important glowing button that the scabs around the gate seek to approach. The man in the red beret is back to his little watchtower beneath. The corpse is gone from the tree. Everyone was happy about that. Cuno and Cuno-Esse are still in that yard, as they are wont to spend their time as of late. The hostel's manager opens the nearby dumpster, throwing in a bag with an exaggerated sigh, before retreating into his charge. The bridge to the southwest had been previous disabled due to 'some idiot doing a jump over the canal and smashing a sign down and blocking all the machinery', but it seems they've had a chance to fix it. The fishing village to the southwest and the boardwalks are all within walking distance. The radio request for a meeting comes from further north in the city block, near the docks.
Pazkar	Pazkar is standing outside the Capeside Apartments as soon as the call goes out, heading over there on-foot. He passed people by in his golden armor with reb orders, silent, but instead of entering the apartments, he goes looking for Joyce Messier. It was a woman's voice... So the first woman he sees outside the docks is who he approaches. I am the unbreakable Pazkar of the Paladins. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please give me a 'lowdown on reality'. Yep, she gets textboxed immediately.
Staren	Staren walks out of the warpgate in armor, although it looks lighter and less bulky than Pazkar saw before. This might be overkill, but JUST IN CASE. Confronted by the ring of trucks, Staren manifests energy wings behind his back and flies over them, landing on the other side and heading north, following the request for the meeting.
All-Seeing Eye	All-Seeing Eye is here, after having read the report from the initial investigation. He never arrives without an outfit planned, and today, he's repping his home country. A black synthetic leather longcoat provides some protection from the cold, while a utilitarian grey jumpsuit is on display beneath it. The legs of his jumpsuit terminate in synthetic leather jackboots, and his hands are hidden by gloves matching the color of his longcoat. His long, braided raven hair rests upon one shoulder, spilling out from beneath a ushanka. Upon the front of the ushanka, there is a silver embroidered emblem--the national emblem of Claslat, a hammer striking an anvil, encircled by a gear. His usual smile is replaced by a sad expression--'oh, my,' it seems to say. Martinaise spreads out around him in a 360 degree panorama. In one moment, he gets a fairly complete idea of what this place is like. Scabs, gridlock, graffiti, delinquent and unsupervised youth... "I've arrived," he announces firmly. "And not a moment too soon. Goodness, what a mess." He tsk-tsks, shakes his head, and taps a finger to his temple. So, someone wants to meet. He has a decent idea of who it might be, given that Joyce introduces herself over the radio. It's a simple matter to pinpoint the location of the broadcast, given it was made for the purpose of meeting in the first place. A strikingly beautiful man with warm taupe skin and eyes like gold strides into view. Pazkar is a hard figure to miss--and so Eye is beside him shortly. "Senior Labour Negotiator," he says, offering a curt bow of his head. "A... pleasure to meet you in person," says the Exalt with a sweet smile. He extends a hand to shake, if they do that here! "All-Seeing Eye. From the radio?" He wrinkles his nose playfully, then gets right down to business with that same chipper demeanor. "Some preliminary information about your world would help--we've only just begun compiling information." He nods along with Pazkar. Then... "I'd also like to hear a... description of events so far, with regards to the strike and the lynching--from the perspective of your organization. Is that reasonable?"
Flamel Parsons	Flamel Parsons is here, looking only just slightly out of place with his MIB aesthetic in the Eastern-European Nightmare Land that is Revachol -- welcome to it! He's content to take things at a slow pace, walking leisurely towards the offered meeting. He's interested in the reality, of course, but the one he's actually here to speak to is the Detective himself, the one who professes and sometimes demonstrates supra natural psychometric abilities. Not that he doesn't appreciate a reality-lowdown. "Hi! I'm Flamel Parsons, agent of a vague yet menacing government agency. I'm mostly getting involved because of alleged supra-natural aspects of the case in this area! But I love learning the standard perspectives on reality as well." He speaks chipperly once he gets to the meetup-spot. He's also on the lookout for anyone who looks the way Cousteau sounds, because that is certainly a man for whom there will never be an ounce of meaningful differentiation.
Tohru Adachi	'They never would have loved you anyway.' Who the hell opens up with that after asking a small question anyway? It's the sort answer that makes a guy want to commit a large disappearing act where the person never returns. Luckily for Raphael, Adachi is a '''changed''' man. Also luckily for Raphael, there's no TVs for him to disappear into even if he wasn't, not to mention the large crowd of people. So the corpse of a cop gets to live. The not so lucky thing is that now the ex-cop is in Revachol and /on the case/. Bummer. Adachi arrives in his usual sloppy suit and tie combo, with the only addition being a rather out of place raincoat slapped on top of it. But given the aesthetic of the area, maybe it really isn't that out of place. There's no real attempt to mess with the surroundings, or talk to the locals for any details. Just a straight beeline to the docks. They're small time, and also, mostly kind of ugly. Like. Damn. If they're attempting to match the small city they're in, then the people here pretty much did it in spades. Once down by the docks, the aloof criminal greets everyone with a 'friendly' wave, his other hand fiddling with something inside his jacket as he gets himself situated. "Talk about a dump of a city. And here I was thinking that Japan was as low as it got. Soooo... Joyce was it? Tohru Adachi, former ace cop. Give me the down low and I'll have this aaaaaaall sorted out. Probably."
Raphael Cousteau	A gray-haired woman stands on her boat with the same majesty of a world explorer. A thick green coat wraps around her, and an orange scarf grants her some color on her cheeks. Still, she seems lively enough. She is unsure what she expected, but by no means was a hulking man in golden armor with embedded rubies one of them. Neither, she supposes, was another man wearing armor, but this time with a faux tail and ears like some sort of cat. Her eyes close a moment. She opens them again to the sight of a man made out of some sort of porcelain, also with a gem embedded in his forehead. Seolite-esque clothing. But this is why she's Senior Labour Negotiator. She doesn't let things throw her off. This was a clear strategy from these 'Multiverse' people. She allows a wry smile, in fact. Sending out a bunch of weirdos, including a mute one with some strange projection technology, is a fantastic negotiation tactic. Ah, at least these two men are wearing suits. Whiplash. Now that's a tactic if she's ever heard of one. "A bit early in the year for this sort of holiday, but I'm sure I have treats for all of you," She jests. She takes a moment to compose herself again, managing to disguise it as adjusting her scarf in the light wind. "Welcome, all of you. Even the one from the 'vague, yet menacing government agency'. You'll find we have plenty of that in Revachol, perhaps you'll get along just fine." There's a smile of mild warmth, and a sigh of nostalgia. "Very well. You are standing in the city of Revachol. This was once the capital of the world, in a better time. You're on the Insulindian isola. Apparently your 'gate' just by the harbour bypasses the pale--" She stops herself a moment. "Which, somehow, none of you have heard of. Neither had the officer from the 41st precinct, but I understand he had ..medical episode. I look forward to finding out why I'm explaining it to all of you. I'm sure it's going to be a lively discussion. The pale is the connective tissues of the world. It's what separates each isola from another. It's the antithesis of existence in every sense." She gestures to the distance. Come to think of it, it's only clouds in the horizon, and in the sky. "It defies the laws of physics, psychology, linguistics...and the further in you go, the more laws it breaks." "Did you not invent these gates to get around this? They seem like a stunningly creative work. It certainly has some grave implications for Wild Pines, the Union...for everyone." Meanwhile, inside a building somewhere, a man in a green coat stands in front of a man in an orange bomber jacket. "I want to go try talking to the cargo container again. I think it'll work this time." Kim Kitsuragi pinches his nose. "If we could please not be sidetracked from our...investigation into this Entity, which itself a sidetrack from the murder we are supposed to be investigating, I would appreciate it greatly."
Staren	"Holiday?" Staren tilts his head. When directed to the pale, he looks at it curiously, and sends a drone to investigate. "Fascinating. It does sound like some of the more unstable parts of the Multiverse..." Staren turns to focus on her while his drone sees how far into the Pale it can go. "The gates were invented long ago, but they're not the ONLY way of getting around... now that you're part of the Multiverse, if you went into the Pale far enough and survived, EVENTUALLY you'd come upon another world. It might be light years, though." Staren continues, "Most worlds, before they become part of the Multiverse, aren't surrounded by a Pale, there's just... an entire universe. Planets are seperated by space, but... space doesn't sound quite like the pale. It's just a... void of nothingness, but you can see distant stars across it... do you have stars here? Anyway, worlds are joined to the Multiverse by forces we don't really understand; we just make use of the warpgate network as best we can, but everything rearranges itself every five years or so. it IS possible to build more gates on purpose, but usually they just kind of appear on a world when it unifies. Um..." Staren scratches at the chin of his helmet. "It sounds like we come from very different worlds. So a lot is going to need to be explained. On mine, interdimensional travel was known besides the gates, but you gad to go through some kind of portal or rift in reality to get there, you didn't just... go far in one direction."
Pazkar	Pazkar just stands there, waiting. As Staren talks, he doesn't interrupt. He waits until Staren's done... To ask entirely unrelated questions. We are assisting in this 'lynching', as you referred to it. Do you know anything about the victim that may be useful? We believe he was Wild Pines as well. Perhaps an identity? Pazkar's helmet shifts towards the way to the apartments. His quest is on his mind. But he has one more. NEW QUEST: SOLVE THE REVACHOL MURDER'
Flamel Parsons	"Oh, Gates weren't invented by us normal people! We think they were invented by an older group of people called Custodians. We're not sure, because all of them are dead now! A faction called the Confederacy killed them, and then the Confederacy died, so we don't know much." Flamel explains. "As for grave implications -- less than you'd /think/ for a harbor! I don't really know what all is done with the harbor, but I do know that logistically it's quite difficult to use a Warpgate for mass shipping needs." He gestures to Adachi and his commentary. "Usually, it needs a lot of money. And I think there /might not/ be a lot of money here! Technique, training, equipment, infrastructure, maybe a larger artificial warpgate -- that kind of stuff is needed for /full-scale/ warpgate shipping." Then he tilts his head. "How does the Pale defy linguistics? Is it because you're describing nothingness as lighter and less colorful than something else?" Okay, no, let's focus. "It breaks down /psychology/? I'm actually a mental expert myself!" Flamel flashes a badge here, one with a weird logo of a brain, possibly blossoming out of a flower or something like that? He flicks the badge away and instead brings out something more like a casebook. "So this is very important, and also, very bad! Does this Pale constitute a psychohazard? Please explain, are we talking about effects that are traumatic, amnesic, pseudo-perceptive, metacognitive...?"
All-Seeing Eye	"Not us personally," says Eye to Joyce, his tone a combination of merry and didactic--not unlike a tour guide. He nods in agreement with Staren, and allows the inventor to take the lead on the explanation of the Warpgates. "They tend to appear on their own, as part of a larger process. /That/ process is, itself, still hotly debated in academic circles to this day." Staren mentions artificial warpgates, and he can't help but chime in. "As my people did!~" He swells with Claslati pride, for a moment. Eye then rests a hand upon his chin, supporting it with the opposite arm. "Hm... in any case... the /practical/ explanation is that you are now part of a much larger existence. Your world, as you know it, has been woven into this existence, like a square on a 'quilt.'" He says 'quilt' with audible quotation marks. "There likely isn't much money here," says Eye to Flamel. "Of course, that /is/ only a problem on worlds who bow at the altar of money. Tragic, really." He shakes his head sadly. "Citizen Messier--it might help us track down leads if we could get an idea of why the workers are... 'on strike,' as they say. Do you, personally, believe the strike is the reason for the lynching?"
Tohru Adachi	"I thought were here to help investigate a crime or something, not discuss bullshit physics. Like man, I'm done with stuff like magic fog and psychological landscape nonsense, just point me to the murder or whatever." Adachi rubs the back of his neck in annoyance. Just great. Seems like this place is more than just your average dumpy city. "That said, you mentioned another cop yeah? You ain't talking about that Raphael guy, right? That Yes Man guy with amnesia? Cause if you are, I'm pretty sure I'm starting to piece together something now. So tell me, what happens to people who come back from this Pale thing?"
Lilian Rook	"I've heard a little of it." says Lilian. She is there, in a long, slim coat done up with gold buttons and links, tall, heeled boots proof against the mild coastal winter slush. Her hair is pulled back in a celtic knot and folded ponytail, sidelocks looped back over her shoulders, unwilling to let it loose in this place. A black iron necklace chain vanishes into her collar, at odds with the links and earrings. "And it's closing in, isn't it?" The only other woman, albeit fairly younger than Joyce, asks the question almost rhetorically. Darkly. With far too much surety. The heavy pause that follows after is only broken once Staren launches off, at which point she cuts him off immediately, talking over him with a sharp, surprisingly resonant "No one cares." It somehow spitefully drowns him out for a brief moment without actually raising her voice. "Besides. We're not talking about a lynching. Not really. The man was shot before he was ever hung. They've strung up a corpse; someone never had the guts to overpower him as a mob and choke the life from him. Likely not the brawn either. He had armour on. I assume as a career statement, not a fashion choice." There's no 'assumption' to it. Everything she says is verbally Fact. It is Fact no matter how suspiciously one might look at the well-dressed yet comparatively extremely normal outside. Normal and yet vaguely Perfect-Looking. Just slightly difficult to look away from. Hard to disbelieve entirely. The sense that she knows even more, that she hasn't let on yet, is uncanny and unmistakable. "Tell me Joyce, what is it that you really want here? It can't be pleasant or productive dealing with this rabble." Whether she means the dock strike or the Elites isn't clear. ELSEWHERE: Cousteau and Kitsuragi are followed by a rather large, striking black bird. It doesn't tail them precisely, but rather, just kind of seems to be constantly somewhere that has a line of sight to them. It doesn't ever seem to make any noise between places. No flapping wings. It might be a bunch of different birds, but then how many like that do you see?
Raphael Cousteau	Staren's drone continues for a distance. They're fast, so this doesn't take excruciatingly long. The first thing is that at the edge of the pale, matter starts peeling upwards, as if slowly being ripped apart. Think the rocks rising up whenever a Dragonball character powers up. The drone does not return anything meaningful from the pale, with..any of its sensors. The temperature of the Pale is 'NAN'. The amount of light reflecting from the pale is 'NAN'. Every single sensor returns 'NAN'. This is not an absence. This is an active inverse of presence. There is not matter here, there is an active opposition to matter here. "That toy of yours isn't coming back, you should probably know," Joyce says to Staren with a sad shake of her head. "I hope it wasn't too expensive." Then Staren starts getting incorrect telemetry, as the drone passes through the 'near pale', and then the drone's rotor stops working. It's still spinning. There's still air there, according to the sensors, directly around it, but the rotor is no longer adding velocity meaningfully. Gravity is not applying /acceleration/, but the drone is definitely lowering. "You'll want one with helium or hydrogen balloons. Acceleration is one of the first things to go, in the Pale..." She offers him a smile. It's intended to be consolatory, but it comes off somewhat predatory nonetheless. "But it's good to know you don't know much more than I do. I feel much better now." Her scarf twists a bit. The drone's last transmission is of a man screaming, "We were ... to find out ... ourselves!" before it..stops entirely. Pazkar has her attention next. She gives him a very serious nod. "Yes. The lynching. Now, I told the detectives earlier that I wasn't authorized to speak certain details to those who couldn't prove themselves to be from the Revachol Citizens Militia, and Detective Cousteau seems to have misplaced his badge...but this is hardly a regular situation. Maybe if.." She trails off. But All Seeing Eye is pressing the issue again, and so she's compelled to respond somewhat. "Oh, there's plenty of money here. It's just all across the river." She gestures east. "The Harbour itself handles eight percent of the world's trade, and it..nominally, belongs to the Wild Pines Group." She sounds a bit proud of that. "As for the Dockworkers Union, they've been on strike demanding...well. The usual wage increases, but more pressingly, they want..." There's a pause. "They want 'full representation'. Which in this case, means they want every worker of that Harbour on the Wild Pines board of directors. Unthinkable, even if there weren't thirty-two hundred of them. We thought it was a joke, at first, but they don't seem to want to budge from this point...As for whether it's related to the lynching, it would make sense, no? The deceased worked for the company. I'm no detective, but I think this is a fairly open and shut case."' She lets Flanel give her a positively fascinating breakdown. There's a soft smile, and genuine nodding, as she listens. "Yes. I wouldn't hesitate to call it a 'psychohazard'," She agrees. Adachi seems to want to get down to business. That's fine. She can address his other part first. "Officer Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau, I believe he said, yes. As for 'pale', one becomes..nostalgic, at first. Your average person should not be exposed to it for more than six days a year. I'm specially trained for up to twenty two days, but..." She smiles. "I'm certainly heroically overradiated with the past, I think. But I'm not a medical professional, nor a psychologist. I'm not able to offer an opinion on his..medical incident, but I do not believe it has to do with the Pale." She doesn't seem to have given a damn that Adachi called this place a dump, at least. "...It was much better, before the Revolution. Maybe you'd like to try Revachol East, if you like classier places." (Continued.)
Raphael Cousteau	And then, Lilian Rook was Not There. Now she is. The woman's eyebrow raises. She does not visibly show it, besides a slight start and a departure from her smile. No. Whatever that was, she won't bend or break here. She's been through worse. "...It seems one of you has done their homework. Yes. The Pale is expanding an unknown amount every year," She agrees. "Of course, we can't measure how far. It's hard to measure that which is immeasurable by meaningful terms." The second question merits a moment of thought. "...It's somewhat pleasant. I have good memories of Martinaise, and it's an excuse to use my boat." She raps her knuckles on the mast. "Though it's true, I'd prefer this matter be resolved as quickly as possible. " That said, she's intrigued. So he was shot first, and then lynched. She hadn't known that part. MEANWHILE, elsewhere... Raphael looks at a bird, just outside of a local pawn shop. > Have I seen this bird before? PERCEPTION (Sight): Why the actual fuck do you -ever- think you can distinguish birds? By sight? From twenty feet away? Raphael pockets a small pill bottle, looking mildly disappointed with himself. By which I mean he's still wearing that same impossibly awful Expression he's always wearing, and Kim follows along. He seems to be jogging towards a bookstore.
All-Seeing Eye	"Ah ah ah," says Eye with a gleeful smile, and a wag of his finger. He contradicts Joyce with that same smile. "Before the predation of foreign powers /following/ the Revolution, you mean," says Eye to the representative with a little smile. "I did a little... mm... research, before I came here. One /does/ wonder..." He places his finger on his lip again, but this time it's exaggerated. A pouty, affected 'thoughtful' frown, and an 'innocent' look towards the sky. "Just what frightened them all so badly?" After making that point, he shrugs his shoulders and gives a little hum, as if to say, 'who knows'--only in the most smarmy, fake-innocent way possible. "Comrade Rook, I believe," says Eye to Lilian. "Warden All-Seeing Eye, as you no doubt guessed by the melodious~! sound of my voice." He sings the last few words, and he's actually pretty good. He sounds like an 80s R&B artist, really, with a lovely falsetto to accompany his already high tenor register. He clears his throat. "Our differences aside, we share a desire for a quick resolution," says Eye. "I believe I've spent enough time here. You may contact me at your leisure, if you need me!~" Eye decides that time is a luxury, and they need more of it. The best way to keep this from escalating any further is to remove volatile elements from the equation. The scabs do present a threat to local stability, and the loudest threat he's so far witnessed. He leaves, in search of where they're currently congregating, and takes a moment to get a look at his surroundings--exit routes, chokes, places where enemies might possibly ambush him, places where he might do the same--if necessary. He doesn't make an effort to blend in or hide.
Tohru Adachi	Adachi shrugs off the invitation to a more classy area almost immediately, shooing at Joyce rather lazily. "Nah, nah. Buzzkill places like these suit a guy like me perfectly. But you all need to lighten up a little and learn how to bant like lil Miss High Society over here, it's kinda killing my vibe." He falls a bit quiet after that, rubbing his chin in thought as he looks out across the sea. People feel nostalgic when they're out there, and apparently it's some sort of hazard that slowly deconstructs psychological things as well. The thing is, Joyce never did say what happens if you're out in The Pale for longer than you should be. Do you just die? You probably just die, given that there's currently no reason to believe this Pale thing and Raphael's amnesia are connected at all. He breathes in sharply, pocketing the idea for later, before moving on to more pressing matters. "A strike? A murder? Well, I'm gonna have to agree that it's probably connected, but the thing I wanna know is who got it in the worker's heads that they all deserve to be on the board of directors. I mean, I'm totally all for getting what you're owed, but most people on the work force aren't really this ambitious as far as I know."
Pazkar	Pazkar listens to Joyce and the talk about the Pale and the murder, as well as this silly thing of 'everyone wanting to be on the board of directors'. She can't say anything, but she was about to... Please finish what you were saying before. Do you have a quest, before we can gain information? It's simple. It's succinct. He wants his new quest so he can go solve it and his other two.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel squiiiints hard, and frowns, gathering muscles in his face towards the middle. "Huuuuh. Horrible! Well, everything connects eventually. Random facts always have some way of connecting to relevant ones. Nostalgia... must be metacognitive memory effects. I'll keep aware of it, ma'am! Thanks for your help." He looks to All-Seeing Eye and plasters a grin across his face. "This is a trade port! I think those /are/ the altars of money. This is where you sacrifice people to it, like the mouth of a volcano." Flamel looks back now, elsewhere. "So, a world suffering an encroaching, physically-manifesting psychohazard, complete with radioactive energies... Now /I'm/ feeling nostalgic! Let's do some investigation then. Where was that corpse? I want to go do psychometry, back where it was." He intends to walk off towards that, and see if he can plug his CLAIRVOYANCE into the area.
Staren	Staren rolls his eyes when Lilian makes a show of suddenly appearing. He retorts to her interruption, "One day, /someone/ will." "It's fine, they're disposable. Curious, these sensor readings SHOULD be impossible..." He blinks at the final message. "Is there usually... screaming?" The subject of the crime people were asked here to help solve comes up. "Lynching? That implies a group of people, doesn't it? Lots of witnesses..."
Lilian Rook	The minute Lilian hears the workers' full terms from Joyce, her eyes widen in completely unguarded shock, her shoulders twitch once, and then she begins laughing in that stiff, unblinking way of someone who still partly expects to hear 'just joking' at any time. "That's it? Here I'd just . . . just assumed it was the usual about pay and benefits and rights and the parent company was being stingy. The entire harbour crew on the board? What do any of them know about anything besides hauling boxes? Good grief!" Flamel aside tells Adachi he shouldn't call out the place on being poor. Lilian assures him that it's okay if someone who obviously looks poor is the one saying it, before getting back to business. "Indeed I do recognize it." Lilian says to All-Seeing Eye, honestly. "It'd be hard to forget so quickly. A pleasure. Please abstain from organizing any more communist revolutions." she says. "Every single attempt at any kind of government has failed here, including a peoples' government. It's an inauspicious pattern, to say the least. Asides, it won't be here forever." Lastly, to Staren. "An entire crowd of people who have a vested interest in not telling you anything. Go ahead and try asking. I'm sure there's enough lead pipes and concrete shoes between thirty two hundred people to satisfy your curiosity." Right. Because he's a cat. Before leaving, she does want to ask Joyce one thing, though it doesn't seem entirely like she's actually listening out for the answer. "I'd like to know a little bit about who Wild Pines have hired on as security, and why it's so 'difficult' to get any kind of police action deployed here. The officers on duty were a week late. What would you know about that?"
Raphael Cousteau	Joyce tilts her head. "We'll have to agree to disagree, Warden All-Seeing Eye," She manages to say without the slightest irony. "That said, perhaps it might have been wondrous. We'll never know. ..and I'll be sure to contact you should I need you for anything." Her eyes drift to the side. She honestly has absolutely no idea under what circumstances she would need to talk to an incredibly effeminate communist --demigod. Demigod sounds right. At least he's a change from the usual fare she's dealt with in this city. 'exit routes and chokes' aren't too complicated. This is a city block. If you can maneuver around the massive traffic jam of semi-trucks and motor carriages, you can freely escape and ambush to your heart's content. Many buildings are blown to pieces around here, but there's a lovely hostel with three rooms upstairs, a shack near the greenhouse out back, the imposing Harbour with its offices, a man in a green coat reading books outside a bookstore, with an endlessly patient man in orange bomber jacket following behind him... Endless potential, really. The man leading the scabs seems to be giving him multiple glances, and perhaps a sneer, but nothing else. As Adachi speaks, she seems a bit more animated. Ah, here's a topic she's fond of. "Evrart Claire. Head of the Dockworker's Union. Unless it's his twin brother, Edgar Claire. They..take turns at its head," She says, delicately. This is the most obvious 'bullshit shenanigans is happening' flag she can muster. "Most of the workers only read the pamphlets that discuss demanding 'democracy now'. It's not a hard sell to Revacholians. We don't have that much control over our own affairs anymore, really. Not since becoming a 'Special Administrative Region'." Lilian gets a nod. "Isn't it interesting? Why indeed is that so important to the Dockworker's Union that they'd throw out the previous negotiator, who let them have...very generous terms last time? And all they ever do is double down. ...Ah, yes. That question." Her gaze turns to the side again. "Strictly speaking, this area isn't officially policed by the Revachol Citizens Militia. Nobody entirely knows for certain who, in fact, is in charge. I believe you may want to ask Detective Kitsuragi for more information." She pauses a moment. "Detective Cousteau arrived the day the call was made. Four days after the lynching." Her mouth tightens. "I am lead to understand he suffered a.. very unusual medical episode, leading him to lose an additional three days of time, but to trust in his ultimate competency. I would never express a distaste for the RCM, but additional hands couldn't hurt." She is, absolutely, not trusting in the ultimate competency of 'Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau'. (Con't)
Raphael Cousteau	Pazkar gets her attention next. "...A quest. Well. That I can provide. How would you like to stop a drug smuggling operation going on with the de facto assistance of the union, bringing dangerous drugs to the unaware, innocent citizens of Revachol? It would go a very long way to giving me more leeway to give information to you all.." She becomes incredibly warm and welcoming to the man who has just offered to do things for her in return for something she wants to do anyway. She's very happy with that. The strange cat man, whose tail and ears are starting to seem very, very strangely real, gets a nod. "The pale defies all measurement. You're with the Paladins as well, correct?" She asks Staren. "I believe your RCM contact, Detective Kitsuragi, mentioned the Multiverse classification being 'exoenergetic', in a failed effort to distract Detective Cousteau from the subject. Perhaps that means something to you. As for the witnesses, perhaps you might try the Union hall at the Whirling in Rags hostel, just where the corpse was. I'm sure they'd be happy to speak to you." Speaking of 'the area with the corpse', Flamel's psychometry reveals.. Eight figures crowd around nearby the tree. One of them is carrying a body. It's indistinct. "Alright, so we just hang him up here?" A male voice. "We have to. It's the only way. Besides, you'd have done it anyway, right?" "Right." A fat man, carrying a corpse, assists. A belt is thrown around the tree, and the body is hoisted upwards. "Fucker deserved it anyway. Come on, let's get out of here. Tell her that her problem's solved, Ruby." The procession leaves. Yes. This man was dead before he got hung. This is without question.
Raphael Cousteau	"...Ah, yes." Joyce looks to Staren. "...You'll find the Pale is mostly made of...rarefied 'past', rather than matter. I imagine you picked up some of it."
Pazkar	Pazkar would appear friendly if he had a face to make reactions or a voice to make tone. But he doesn't, so he's just standing there, intimidatingly. How villainous. I accept your quest. What must I do? I will get started immediately. Well, Cuno's dad, you've been spared. It's drug busting time, as he waits for an answer.
Staren	Staren sighs at Lilian's comment about uncooperative mobs. "Look, I don't usually investigate crime so much as prevent it from reoccuring when local law enforcement is non-extant. It's not really my wheelhouse, but I figured I'd come and see if there happened to be anything I can do. I suppose if anyone's dumb enough to attack someone in power armor could be a start though. At least we'd know who knows something..." "Who was lynched and do we have a motive, again?" Staren shakes his head. "Not with the Paladins. The Concord. Although I'm not the best at public relations... figures, just wanting to help people and ofering to bring back the dead doesn't make a great impression. Exoenergetic? Hmm... interesting, but not relevant to this case." Staren blinks. "Wait a minute, Flamel's HERE. Can't we have him look for psychic impressions near the scene of the crime?" Staren looks around. "Where'd he go? And what's this about stopping drug pushers?"
Flamel Parsons	Flamel is joined by a crowd of shades, a mass of ghosts. He counts, carefully. He listens, with keen ears. This, this is not the murder -- if the murder happened here, the impression would be deeper. This is the followup. What did they do? Why move the body like this, to hang it? /After/ the body was otherwise killed? He makes a note: A group of 8, someone named Ruby, and the odd dispairty in the timeline. Flamel is back from his examination! He wanders over right as Staren speaks. "Huh? Where'd who go? Sorry, I was out looking for psychic impressions near the scene of the crime." He speaks up. "I've got a number for a group of witnesses, the first name of a witness, and a time disparity in corpse condition. Best I could pull out of the past! The courtyard isn't where he was killed, so we need to find /where/ he was killed."
Lilian Rook	"Ah yes. Democracy." Lilian replies to Joyce, in the most perfectly, sterile, glass flat and neutral tone. "They're those types. I see. I do indeed wonder why they'd negotiate as poorly as is conceivably possible. All whipped up into a frenzy too, as a single united yet chaotic mob with a totally useless purpose that causes a gigantic mess." She is not wondering. "Perhaps I might ask him." She isn't clear on whom she actually means, on purpose. "Thank you for that. Hopefully you can be back to your boating soon." Immediately, the obvious chain of events comes down from shaking the barrel and seeing what comes out. When Lilian goes walking, of all goddamn places she could pick around town, she goes all the way up to the blockade, so obviously of the social class that is probably exploiting these people, and flags down Measurehead. Still exuding an outright unnatural aura of 'fuck right off' from her very being, navigating to the crowd, she holds one hand up before he starts babbling, and hands over a little note on a clean square card, with a photo attached. "I believe you got off on the wrong foot with Mister Stark before." she says. Not 'we' or 'with us'. "But after sizing up the situation in this town, I believe your 'friends' may have a point. In the interests of making up for the other day, and ideally, getting to speak to the right people, I have some information here that you and your supervisor might wish to know." She hands over the note, wiggles her fingers with a smile, and walks off again, nonchalantly.
All-Seeing Eye	As Lilian strides in, Eye's vision is awash in lines, figures, warnings, assessments. His vision is augmented. The entirety of the scabs stretch out before him, his vision zooming in and out, examining every detail of his surroundings. A purple grid overlays everything, and everyone, divides it all into portions referenced countless times a second. Squares of interest are highlighted, stored and erased as needed. An alert flashes in alarming RED as his vision notes two clusters of squares. Above him, each one placed upon a rooftop. Two 'scabs.' Only one of them is holding something. He zooms in. It's a weapon. A sniper rifle. He smiles. "Greetings, comrade!" Eye gives the scab leader a friendly wave, and strides confidently up to him. "My designation is All-Seeing Eye. I'm a Warden of the Paladins--a multinational, publically funded peacekeeping corps." He uses those words, specifically to draw suspicion. "I just wanted to ask--are those two workers on the roof alright? I couldn't help but notice one of them had a rifle, and... goodness, I do so hate violence." His tone of voice suggests that he does not, at all, hate violence. The forward inclination of his head says 'I dare you.' The eye contact adds, 'bitch.' "Before we begin," says Eye, removing a glove to check his nails in front of the scab leader--a calculated show of disinterest afer his forceful introduction. It's meant to be insulting. "I would like to advise you that you are quite safe--especially with me around.~" He puts his glove back on, checks the other hand. Puts the other glove back on. "I am equipped with a number of features--for instance, your surprisingly well-built fellow dockworker up there, the fellow with the rifle? Rest assured, comrade, that if it were to misfire, both comrade Rook and myself would be just fine! /Just/ in case you were wondering." He wrinkles his nose playfully, and points affably at the Scab Leader. "You know... come to think of it... you three are in fantastic shape! It's inspiring to know that, even though you're so well-off, you still support your comrades." 'I'm wise to your shit,' says his overly pleasant tone. "In any case... might I ask who hired you?"
Tohru Adachi	"Hmmm. Alright. I think I get it. Bunch of dumb idiots getting roped along by someone else. Happens all the time. Still, really, A lot of moving parts to this mess. Almost makes the actual lynching feel like a side note more than anything." At this point, Adachi feels like he's probably gotten almost everything he needed from the woman regarding the situation. Or at the very least, any additional insight he's going to get from them is just going to be a bonus. He's starting to lose interest, which is sort of apparent as he removes the revolver he'd been fiddling with in his jacket and begins messing with it in the open. Spinning the cylinder, twirling it around his finger like a hot shot, and overall just doing very uncop-like things with the instrument of death. "So Evrart and Edgar huh? The twin bit sounds like you're messing with me, but how bout you tell me about both anyway. Like, personality, looks, tell signs when you know they're bullshittin ya. That sorta thing." Despite the lack of interest, he still tries to keep the conversation going, if only because it's probably expected of him. And also because he's really not sure what to do outside of branching off and exploring, but everyone else is doing that so that'd be kinda lame.
Raphael Cousteau	Walking up to the blockade and up onto the wall brings Lilian past the man in the red beret. He does not seem fazed by her otherworldly appearance, and even tips his beret in deference, with a charismatic, lackadaiscal smile. "WE DESERVE TO FEED OUR FAMILIES!" The leader of the scabs calls up. "So do we, scabs!" The man calls back, with a dismissive wave of the hand. Clearly, he's making zero effort to stop Lilian in the slightest. Atop the wall, Measurehead is surrounded by fawning girls of..varied ethnicity. He's emotionless as she walks up, having clearly rationalized away his previous defeat. He takes the note as an offering. "I AM WILLING TO OBSERVE YOUR OFFERING OF RECALCITRANCE." He states. The note and photo are read and observed. His brow twitches. He looks to one of the girls, handing her the note before pressing a nearby button. There is a click from an electronic door just along the way. "TAKE THIS COMMUNICATION TO EVRART," He asks of his fawning lackey. "...YOU ARE OF CLEARLY GREATER GENETIC STOCK THAN I HAD PREVIOUSLY BELIEVED," Measurehead says to Lilian. "PERHAPS YOUR HAPLOGROUP HAS NOT FALLEN PREY TO THE VICES AND NAIVE COMMUNISM AS I SUSPECTED." In her own, peculiar way, it appears Measurehead has accepted Lilian's acceptance and conceptualization of his Advanced Racial Theory. Hooray, friendship...? There is some fast radio conversation between the mercenaries on the roof as the obvious 'strange white alternate universe communist' starts calling out the leader of the scabs. The same man who has been protesting the Union's protest--the large one, the leader of the scabs, looks to All-Seeing Eye, then to Lilian on the roof. The man with the sniper rifle starts training it on Lilian, after some discussion. "...Wild Pines, dipshit," He says fearlessly, albeit at a lower volume. "..and if you know what's good for you and that bitch up there, you'll keep your mouth shut. We're trying to find out who killed one of our men. And if we don't find out..." He says, "...well, that's not your problem, is it? It's our fuckin' problem. Now get out of my face." He looks back up to the wall. "RIGHT TO WORK! RIGHT TO WORK"! MEANWHILE, back at the dock... The unusual revolver play gets Joyce's eye. "Fat, ugly, wretched men who are /always/ 'bullshitting' you, at all times." She seems content just to let loose, on that one. "They take turns at being foreman, one election after the other. They have for ten years. And you're with these Paladins as well? You seem somewhat more..lackadaisical than your friends. Perhaps you're with that 'Concord'." Joyce is also happy to get an update on the investigation, out loud, for absolutely free. That's pretty great. She's down with this. It's pretty disco. "Excellent. I have full confidence that you have things under control, Detective," She decides to address Flamel as. It's Not Wrong enough for her purposes. And then.. the 'catboy'. From the 'Concord', who are a 'problem that will solve themselves'. Which, to be fair, clearly comes from their rivals. Perhaps she can play this properly. "The man lynched was an employee of Wild Pines. I assume the motive has something to do with the dockworker's strike. He's from the company the Union isn't fond of. What else do you need?" She smiles. Let's see what this 'Concord' can do.
Raphael Cousteau	Pazkar gets a nod. "...Perhaps ask the lorry drivers. We have reason to believe one of them is transporting the raw materials from the Harbour to the various labs where the drugs are made. I'm sure someone with your..force of personality can get the answers you're interested in."
Staren	"I told you, I'm more an investigator of science than of crimes. The Concord is less of a police force, and more of a group that Gets Things Done. So it depends on whether you like the things we do... I'm not going to moralize at you for an hour about whether I'm a hero or a tyrant, it never convinces anyone." Now where'd Flamel go? Oh, he's back. Having been fumbling for a metaphorical handhold in this situation, Staren latches onto Flamel (metaphorically.) He smiles and his tail twitches. "Excellent! If you know who some witnesses are, let's go talk to them. Even if they're not willing to talk about who did it or why, maybe they'll let something slip." Plus, he can plant bugs.
Pazkar	I will get to work immediately. Pazkar moves to leave, nodding, before turning to Adachi. Would you like to assist me? Either way, he heads off the long way, walking towards the lorry drivers. The first lorry driver he sees is approached, and gets those text boxes. I am the unbreakable Pazkar, assisting in a murder investigation. Can you assist me by answering some questions?
Flamel Parsons	"Detective! That's a good ring to it. I think I'm..." Flamel puts two fingers to his temple. "Six... Seven percent detective by connectome-volume. You'd be _surprised_ how many detectives go into my job! Alright, I know a name of a witness -- at least a witness of the hanging. But I don't know /what/ they are -- just their name. So, we gotta go looking for that! Let's start..." He thinks... "Oh, we can just start right here. Hi! Ma'am, you wouldn't happen to know who around here might know the /names/ of everyone, would you? We're looking for a probable witness to the crime, someone going by the name of Ruby. I think they can tell us a lot about what happened! It should be a fantastic starting point." Flamel settles on questioning Joyce, figuring the name is a reasonable trade to subtly provide to her. He figures having her... /favor/ and demonstrating his competence is a good idea here.
Tohru Adachi	"I see. I see. Typical fat ugly bastard type, huh? Figures. As for the brother, I wouldn't be half surprised to learn that his 'twin' didn't really exist and this is some sort of ploy to trick the common guy. People don't like it when someone is in power indefinitely, after all. But that's just a bit of conspiracy crafting on my end, so don't write it down as anything concrete. Or do! I ain't your boss." Adachi pauses mid sentence after realizing that Joyce seemed to be eyeing him up. Is she into his gun, or is she just admiring his tricks. It has to be his tricks, yeah, definitely. He tosses the gun behind him like he's going to discard it, but weirdly, the gun never hits the ground once it goes behind him, like it straight up and vanished. He doesn't pay that detail any mind though, and just continues talking. "Nah. Not Paladins or Concord. Not deluded and talented enough for the latter, and I wouldn't even make it through the front door of the former. Nah, I'm a Watch guy. Think of them like Robin Hood I guess. Easiest explanation I can come up with, I ain't got time to crack open a dictionary like some other people." He pauses again, this time reaching into his loose fitting jacket to pull the same gun he tossed previously out again. Though he seemingly has to reach further back to pull it out compared to last time. Weird. "Huh? Yeah, I guess? Wait, what are you doing again?" Obviously, Adachi hadn't really been paying attention to Pazkar, but at the very least, he seems down. Probably.
All-Seeing Eye	"Thank you," says Eye quietly. "I appreciate your brevity--and your truthfulness." The Exalt's eyes do not move from the Scab Leader. But, somehow, he sees it. "But, darling, please. I'm not called All-Seeing Eye for no reason." He sees the rifle move back towards Lilian. "I can see your man lining up a shot. A shot." He giggles, shaking his head. "How inefficient," he says, in the exact same tone as 'how embarrassing.' "From this angle... with this windage... I have thirty seven, all of which I could make without harming a single ally or civilian." He flips his hair over his shoulder. "No, I believe I'll stay right where I am. It works out for me, you see--because I wasn't finished. Darling... you'll /know/ when I'm finished." He inclines his head again, in that 'friendly' way. "In case you haven't guessed, I'm working this case now. That means..." He pauses, deliberately patronizing. "That I do the legwork, I make the arrest, and if I see a rabid animal straining at its leash, I kill it. Now," he says, while the sniper is still looking at Lilian... "If you don't like that..." Rrrrriip. "Here's a complaint form." He says it merrily, with the most saccharine of smiles. He drops the Paladin-branded form to the ground. It slowly flutters down. "Now... if you'll excuse me, I'm finished. With you. Good-bye!" "Attention, workers! If I might get your attention, please! Comrades, please, if I might have your ear!" He wades into the crowd, using his vision to find a spot that will be difficult for the merc on the roof to make a shot from--not without hitting scabs. "My name is All-Seeing Eye," he says. "I come from a place where people do not have to fight with one another over the basic necessities of life. I come to you as a member of the Paladins. Please, comrades on the roof--my message is for all of you." He points at the mercenaries on the roof, pointing them out to the scabs. "You accepted a job offer in good faith! You came all this way, and all that meets you is a barricade. All you want is a wage to pay for a full belly and a roof over your head, and you believed the Wild Pines group could get you that! They're using you, comrades! But I'm not going to turn you against them--I'm going to use my station to pry their thumb off of your necks, if, sadly, only for a moment." "Any one of you who fears for their own livelihood may speak with me, or any other Paladin on-site today about that very thing. For four days, we will negotiate with the Wild Pines group to ensure that you are more than just game pieces to be moved around! For those four days, you will have rooms and sustenance, guaranteed. There is no need to stand on your feet for people who will not lift a finger for you!"
Lilian Rook	"You'd be forgiven for getting the wrong impression. The differences are very subtle, but very important." Lilian nods to Measurehead on her way out. "I'll tell you about the phrenological characteristics later; I just thought you should know about this most pressing of matters first~" Given that All-Seeing Eye said some things, and clearly has a grand plan with the scabs, Lilian abdicates the area gracefully (and subtly flips off the mercs on the roof that the Alchemical points out with a smirk). From there, she decides to track down Kim Katsuragi and Officer Cousteau to see what they're up to. Also there is a large black bird following the Concordites.
Raphael Cousteau	In almost all other cases, Staren's words would have been political suicide. For her part, Rejoyce Leyton-Messier pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag. "Hero or Tyrant, you say. You'll find that only one person gets to decide that, in the end. They call them historians. Many here would tell you that Revachol never did better than they did under tyrants. Except Fillppe III, of course, but it's not as if any other form of government did well here either." Puff. "For what it's worth, I don't care one way or the other. You're standing in a graveyard where the saints and demons both rose to prominence and fell, Concord man. Whatever your dream is, I promise you, it will fail here as well." Puff. Joyce closes her eyes once. "The communards, the loyalists, the ultraliberals...nothing works here." Flamel gets a more amused response. She laughs. There's a tinge of sadness to it. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone around here, besides the leader of the Union. Since you're as lost as me, though, perhaps..the Union Hall in the Whirling-in-Rags. I understand many of the dockworkers have their meetings there." She offers this delicately. It might be worthwhile to tread lightly. Adachi gets a shake of the head. "Oh, no. Edgar and Evrart are very subtly different. Edgar has a lazy eye, Evrart doesn't." Still, that's Pazkar and Adachi gone. She's running out of people to deal with. She supposes that's only fair. She's done an extortionate amount of negotiating. Measurehead allows Lilian to leave with no further complaint, resuming his vigil. The mercenary with the sniper rifle seems significantly agitated. It's only after a message on his radio that he does not immediately shoot Lilian, though his rifle shifts about. He very, very clearly wants to, even if the merc on the other roof is making negative hand motions and talking firmly into her radio. Thanks to Bird Surveillance--specifically, one peering in through a chimney window, Lilian is able to first find a dilapidated--apartment/office building next to the Whirling-in-Rags. The door's unlocked. She finds some sort of..failed ice cream business, passing by two ice cream making freezers, and, for some unfathomable reason, a giant fuckoff polar bear-shaped refrigerator with glowing red eyes. This isn't cartoonish. This is actively 'will murder you' eyes. The fridge is also empty. There's a functional furnace nearby. Stairs lead Lilian through what appears to be some sort of well-rifled-through office dedicated to..something involving something that looks like elves. Some stumbling about darkened hallways later, and following the voices, Lilian finds herself within distance of Kim Kitsuragi, Raphael Cousteau, and some friendly sounding woman in a pretty, sunlit refurbished coal chimney office. "Oh. If you'd like a custom die, that will be 8 Real..." Raphael responds. "Absolutely! Let me just pass that over. And you said you didn't hear anything on the night of the lynching? Nothing at all?" "Well, I'm usually wearing my headphones, so a few people shouting might not have gotten through..." All-Seeing Eye's words reach the scabs. They look at him, panicked. "COMMUNISTS! HE'S A COMMUNIST!" The fear is palpable in them. "Didn't they all die in the Revolution? Are we going to die? Is the Coalition going to come back?!" The mercenary All-Seeing Eye is dealing with looks angry and baffled. He was not expecting the psychological tack of 'traumatize his scabs'. He's not sure what to do now.
Flamel Parsons	"Oh, perfect! That sounds like a great spot to start this off. And it sounds like a great spot to hang out in general! I haven't seen a spot named Union anything in a long time! Some kind of... cultural taste thing? There was a big thing a while back called the Union, so you'll probably get some confusion about that sometimes." Flamel starts, tapping his finger on his chin like it's tapping salt out of a mental salt-shaker. "We'll check out the folks there! Thanks, ma'am, we'll have this case figured out in no time." He will not have this case figured out in no time. "Are you wanting to follow up on my lead too, Staren?" He figures the guy is trying to stay on-course, and he's out of his investigative element. So he offers to bring him along! "We can go see what's at Union Hall and the Whirling-In-Rags in general. I usually can't pick much up clairvoyantly from spaces like that, but who knows! Maybe one of us will have something we can do there. Or we can stake it out!" He snaps his fingers as he's already walking off. "You could bug it! I usually can't much bug places, myself. I've always wanted to do proper surveillance like that, instead of psychic surveillance! Let's go case the space and then you put something down for when it's next got people doing what they do there."
Staren	Staren exists in a state of perpetual political suicide anyway. One day his honesty will matter. That's what he tells himself. If you'd lie when the world is in danger, that's exactly when noone will trust you... Staren listens curiously. "Well. If people hate it so much, they're free to leave, now, and start up whatever society they like." He then accompanies Flamel to the Whirling-In-Rags. Staren nods mutely in response to the direct question adressed to him. When bugs are brought up, he admits, "I was thinking that. If we don't find anything... We'll come back to the warpgate periodically and check in. The bugs should last four days." He absolutely will hide some bugs around! And maybe stick some on people if he can find a subtle way to do it.
All-Seeing Eye	"..." Eye is bewildered. He looks from the Scab Leader to the crowd. Then back again. There are two men who are now utterly confused, as opposed to just the Scab Leader. "This is how the working class of your world responds to their own liberation? Darling..." He shakes his head as if trying to shake off a dream, then holds both hands out. "I'm speechless." That is probably going to make the Scab Leader very happy--almost as happy as he'll be to see that Eye is on his way out. He lifts one hand, makes a V with his fingers, and touches them to the back of his own head. The message is clear: 'i really do have eyes in the back of my head, and I'll be watching you.'
Raphael Cousteau	Bugging the Whirling in Rags turns out to be relatively simple. You have to sneak around 'a woman in a wheelchair', 'a bored manager trying to fix a piece of taxidermy', there's pinball machines everywhere, and one guy has passed out. There's a somewhat bored looking blonde woman with a cigarette on the second floor who moves back into her hotel room almost immediately upon spotting Staren or Flamel. No matter how cleverly placed, all of the bugs on the second floor hear the exact same radio playing the exact same disco song, over and over again. They are later found to be in a small pile on a table, hidden under a newspaper, next to a radio. Somebody, it seems, has a sense of humour. "We had your liberation once! It nearly got us all killed!" One of the scabs replies. Literally everyone in the vicinity is very happy for the deescalation of events as All-Seeing Eye leaves. Even Manana moves from 90% chill back up to his regular 99. For now, Pazkar and Adachi might have to question the lorry drivers later. The whole mess with All-Seeing Eye seems to have convinced most of them to sleep in the back of their trucks early, tonight. Or wherever it is they've gone. It's a graveyard out here. Kim Kitsuragi seems very, very keen on leaving with Raphael and Lilian. The time for questions is very clearly later. Something about what is going on is bothering him very seriously, and he will not stop writing in his notebook.