Part 37: 17:02-18:21: War Stories and Boxing Trivia
Chapter 37: 17:02-18:21: War Stories and Boxing Trivia
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You end up wandering aimlessly back to the roundabout, running into René and Gaston again. Looking for a distraction from your own disgust in yourself and the world, you steel yourself and decide to ask René the question that has so eluded you from the moment you met him.
We put a point into Composure to unlock René’s White Check.
COMPOSURE: A crowned head in front of two crossed rifles. The medal hangs from a blue striped triangle.
COMPOSURE: A small blue star inside an orange sun. It has the word *Vaillance* written below.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “For bravery,” he interjects.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “For doing my duty in the heat of battle, for looking my mortality in the eye, when men like Gaston here hid in the bushes and shat themselves…”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “It was on the first months of the Revolution here in Revachol. Unrest was spreading like wildfire. Marauders had taken most of the Couron and were getting *really* ambitious. King Frissel thought he could end it all in one decisive strike.” The old carabineer runs his fingers over the larger medal. “Sent his cousin, Drysant, to put an end to the unrest. Alas, the young Drysant was all piss and no vinegar, wearing a tunic of purple velvet and cockatoo feathers to battle.” He spits. “Even his rifle was *gold-plated*. Shone from five clicks away. Can you imagine the asininity?”
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] He really despises that Drysant-fellow.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Purple velvet tunic,” the lieutenant says thoughtfully. “That isn’t exactly *camo*.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “To keep the long and bloody story short, Drysant marched us against the partisans in Couron. And when I say ‘marched’, I mean made us walk into captured enemy territory single-file, like toy soldiers, while he rode in front on his giant red stallion.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “I got shot in the left shoulder and went down. Just a flesh wound, but just as I turned over, the prince fell into the mud next to me. He was missing his lower jaw. Then his horse, driven mad by the noise and smell of gunpowder, stepped on my leg and shattered my knee.” He pats his right thigh.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “I grabbed my sidearm and shot the beast in the head. Then everything went black.”
GASTON MARTIN: “*Capitaine Arnoux—le fléau des chevaux*!”
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] The bane of horses.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “When I came to, it was all over,” he continues, ignoring his companion. “It was just me and jawless Drysant, gurgling in the blood-soaked mud right next to me.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “He didn’t.” A shadow of respect crosses his face. “I hoisted the prick on my back and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up. Through some miracle we both survived. And the jawless freak convinced Frissel to give me a medal for not leaving him to die in his own blood, piss and shit. He was the commanding officer and I was on duty. Just doing my job. Shouldn’t hand out medals for that…” He shakes his head. “13th months later I received ‘The Sun’. For distinguished service. It’s not worth mentioning.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Because he was a *god damn* dandy!” he exclaims furiously. “Had no goddamn business leading men or even being on the battlefield. All he was, was *related*. That’s it. Royal blood alone doesn’t make army commanders. He was a stupid kid, only interested in horses, hair styles and *manloving*.” He spits. “And *seven hundred and eighty two* Royal Carabineers are dead because of his incompetence.”
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Whooa, *manloving*? Is that even a word?
RENÉ ARNOUX: The old carabineer stands quietly like a statue, his features motionless.
GASTON MARTIN: “What *Monseignur Modestie* is not telling you is that he crawled over seven kilometres before the cavalrymen found him and Drysant. Two days later that was. And that even whilst crawling with a mangled half-dead prince on his back, he still managed to murder three rebels on his way.”
GASTON MARTIN: “Sorry, officer, but you’re reading me all wrong.” He chuckles. “I’m a man of peace and these kinds of bloody ‘heroics’ are only impressive to men like René himself. Certainly not to me.”
GASTON MARTIN: “Maybe, maybe, but also bare in mind, officer…” He points to the sun-shaped medal on René’s chest. “They don’t hand these out for anyone with a service record. Oh no, you have to get shot.” He nods eagerly. “Repeatedly. And you need to get your hands bloody too. Really *really* bloody.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Bah!” His gaze wanders over the bay. “There were many such stories in those days. Many such men too. True Revacholians, men with *backbone*.”
GASTON MARTIN: “Oh yes, René, yes…” The jolly man nods meekly. “Men were bigger, girls were prettier and everyone was a *fascha*—Lord, please bring those days back, if you can!”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m *not* getting into this with you again,” he mumbles through clenched teeth and turns to you. “Officer, was there anything else?”
Oh boy, sounds interesting! Where could *this* possibly lead?
RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m not following you.”
…Oh god.
RENÉ ARNOUX: The man stares at you, silently frowning.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “You’re talking about getting black-out shitfaced drunk and going into delirium, right?” he asks impatiently.
’RENÉ ARNOUX: “How so, then?” He leans in with his hands on his hips.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant sighs audibly, but keeps his eyes on the notebook.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “And I thought getting my knee shattered and surviving on rat carcasses in the trench was bad… here, have one of my medals! You’ve earned it, *officer*.”
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Your sarcasm will be your undoing, old man.
RENÉ ARNOUX: The man shakes his head, mumbling something under his nose, then turns back to you: “Can we get back to our game now?”
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] He mumbled: ‘You certainly had me fooled.’
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] This feels *honourable*. You did the *right* thing not taking the medal. The *good* thing. Your chest is buzzing with pride.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You continue your effort to get as far away from Apartment #20 as you can, heading now to the coast. There was a decrepit church you never investigated in that direction, and you recall hearing a kick-drum pulse somewhere in the area. Might be worth looking into.
(This observation is a reference to an earlier observation we somehow didn't get the follow-up to when we originally saw that motor carriage wheel, possibly because we lacked the stats or something for it)
ARIST: [Easy: Success] There’s that low, constant thrumming of the kick-drum pulse to your east. You can hear it as you get closer. There’s a strange shape you can’t make out across the gap, but you decide to look at the church and this side of the ice first.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Why would anyone hide money in—whatever, it’s not worth thinking about.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Not just money—some of these holes have over-the-counter drugs in them. Look, Nosaphed, Magnesium…
ARIST: Why would anyone—nope! Not doing this!
Church time.
CHURCH DOORS: Nothing happens, only the sound of the padlock rattling against the door.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t think that’s going to work…”
CHURCH DOORS: This cheap-looking padlock is sturdily built. It shackles together a hasp and a staple screwed into the wooden door. The lock is adorned with a yellow sticker.
KIM KITSURAGI: He takes off his glasses and uses a blue handkerchief to thoroughly wipe them clean before inspecting the sticker. Then he looks up, pauses and replies… “No.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I haven’t seen that sticker before. And I am not a youth.”
CHURCH DOORS: The padlock passes through a staple that’s been hastily attached to the wood. Closer inspection reveals that one of the screws is not a screw at all, but a nail. The work has been done recently and is unprofessional, to say the least.
KIM KITSURAGI: He takes a step back. “Maybe we should circle the building first and look for another way. The building has seen enough mistreatment.”
Nahhhhh.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You first attempt to get around the ice by going northwest and taking the long way around the building, but find no opportunity to pass through the reeds north of the building.
ARIST: [Trivial: Success] Go this way, genius.
Northeast of the church, we have a thought.
(Note: seagull may be cropped out of this shot, oops)
ENDURANCE: Think about the seagull’s story. It’s one of endurance—and adaptation. The seaside was paradise once. They were birds of that paradise. Then their paradise became *shit city*. And what did they do? They became urban survivors! Eating burgers out of trash cans! Killing and eating pigeons!
ARIST: [Medium: Success] That was oddly inspiring. Thanks, Endurance.
ENDURANCE: No problem. I’ve got all kinds of thoughts about the current political situation if you’re intere—
ARIST: Well, that’s all the time we have, so busy, talk to you later, man!
Yes, it must have taken a lot of patience to do… whatever that is, sticking out of the ice.
ACELE: “Oh, hello there.”
ACELE: “Huh?” She looks up at you, distracted.
ACELE: “Yeah, well…” She tries to think of something to say. “Look man, fuck the hat.”
I don’t even want to think about what will happen if we botch this one, let’s not.
ACELE: “I’m sorry I said ‘fuck the hat.’ I was concentrating on something else…”
ACELE: “No.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Just no?”
ACELE: “Acele.”
ACELE: “Okay, well…” She hesitates. “It’s Berger.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] A very common name.
ACELE: “A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Nope.
ACELE: “Um…”
ACELE: “What is it with you and this Mike guy?” She pauses. The question is rhetorical.
ACELE: “Oh man, you haven’t been to The Paliseum?” She forgets herself for a moment. “It’s *the* coolest place in this whole drug-addled shithole. It’s a music club and a synthesizer workshop. On Boogie Street, in Jamrock. Musicians live there, like… real musicians. I once saw Arno van Eyck!”
ACELE: “Oh yeah…” She looks you over, assessing your age. “Guess you wouldn’t know van Eyck. Or really be a Paliseum-going kind of person…”
ACELE: “A ‘skull thing’?” She shakes her head. “Man, you sound like a hundred years old when you say that.”
ACELE: “I don’t know, man… things. Just stuff you need for life.”
ACELE: “Anyway, I thought I’d make some, too. It’s supposed to be, like, a music place anyway…” She rubs her shoulders and looks around. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. They use synthesizers, too. I don’t have a synthesizer.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] She looks at the recording device, the thing she thought would fill her hours with joy and escape. It’s turning out to be an empty fantasy. She feels childish, very useless all of a sudden.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] The sharp drop in endorphins is almost visible. Like a warm blanket has fallen off her shoulders—the wave of chill, the quivering jaw. Indications of a drug high.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Take this, you’re cold.” The lieutenant begins to take off his jacket.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] No, Kim! Don’t lose the sweet bomber jacket!!!
ACELE: “No man, fuck that, I’m cool… I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry about the *fuck*.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] As much as you would normally love to help this girl, you value Dick Mullen’s hat too much to give it up. Besides, it was a gift from a child.
ACELE: “That.” She nods toward the church. “The boys think it could be a *place*, like The Paliseum or something. Stupid. It’s really…” she pauses, “not gonna be a Paliseum, that’s for sure.”
ACELE: “Yeah, Andre and the guys. They’re inside. In the tent.”
ACELE: “It’s supposed to become, like, a club. For *anodic dance music*. Like that new style of synthesizer stuff they play at the Paliseum. Except that… yeah.” She looks at the old wooden church up on the poles. As a mean wind comes bellowing in, the six-story structure lets out a doleful shriek.
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] The floorboards are twisting and the shooting beams are slowly cracking like bones. Far east of the golden Delta, beyond the industrial port, there is a black patch of unlit coast with the smallest creatures on the ice… There will never be a club for anodic music here.
ACELE: “Synthesizers and tape consoles, microcomputers too. Anything that uses electricity, but isn’t guitars… also found sounds. Stuff like that.”
ACELE: “I know.” She nods towards the sloping mass of wood on the coast, then shivers. “It’s not my idea. Andre and the boys found the place. It was supposed to be deserted, but now they can’t even take it…”
ACELE: “Not really, no.”
ACELE: “Well, it’s just questioning, right? You’re questioning me—it’s what cops do.”
ACELE: “Um… thank you?”
Goddammit.
Well, that’s enough out of Acele for now.
Here’s the Contact Mike thought we gained.
It seems these posts near this… tent… have been decorated.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] What’s that standing up over there? Go investigate.
ARIST: Now that you’ve unlocked that rather pointless little shortcut, look into that tent situation.
ANDRE: “Sorry.” He points his thumb at the lieutenant. “We barely have room for one.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You go ahead, I’m too old for this…”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Easy: Success] I’m actually not, he thinks. I just dislike delinquents.
We’re leaving Kim behind and heading into the belly of some manner of beast…