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Chapter Text

YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - A serviceable enough vehicle, the "gets the job done" sort of MC, finally assigned to you after many loud arguments in Pryce's office. Jean stood against you every step of the fucking way, but even the years of dealing with your bullshit didn't prepare her for what Harry Du Bois is like when she *wants something.*

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - She knows what it's like when you want to drink - the good old days. Nothing could stop you. Then or now. In Revachol you're never too far form a liquor store.

AUTHORITY - She shouldn't have gotten in your way. You're *her* superior officer. She satellites *you.*

SUGGESTION - She wasn't used to you wanting something other than a drink. Doesn't really recognise the person you say you are. A sober Harry Du Bois. Wasn't that supposed to be some sort of oxymoron?

VOLITION - It's been good for you. Like you predicted - you sleep like a baby now, and actually feel… refreshed… from sleeping. Turns out that blacking out is *technically* not the same as sleeping. Who knew.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Mystery surrounds why stupid evil apes even need to sleep. Energy conservation, recovery, brain maintenance, a reset for your piddling thoughts, it's all mere speculation. What is known: all sleep excretes prolactin, which helps mammals produce milk. There are two general types: REM and non-REM. Low-quality sleep over an extended period of time is speculated to cause heart problems, obesity, and "really fuck you in the head." That was the official scientific conclusion, but they probably printed something less explicit.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Godly: Failure] - The dreams haven't stopped, though. Like Ancient Reptilian Brain and Limbic said, every night you find yourself standing ankle-deep in water. The person across from you is always holding an airship suitcase. Every night you try your best. Every night they leave.

YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - The MC is jolting with every stray pebble in the road. 

VISUAL CALCULUS - The shocks are basically non-existent. Parts of the chassis are held together with silver gaffeur tape. The car winks jauntily into the coming darkness of evening, a headlamp shattered. Rust has eaten away at the underside.

So they gave me a piece of shit.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - An apt metaphor for its owner, isn't it? Amazing how our objects come to reflect who we are. 

LOGIC - They only relented *because* it's a 'piece of shit' and no one will miss it if you wreck it. It's on a one way trip to the décharge with you in it. Arguably cheaper than decommissioning it. Less paperwork too.

HALF LIGHT - They're trying to kill you with this half-rusted vehicle. You should abandon it immediately. Pull over. Run out. Run away.

YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - But it's motorised. And it's yours, sort of. Other than a mostly empty apartment full of Mazovian texts you clearly stole once upon a time and your amazing collection of disco clothes which are mostly maybe probably not stolen, it's just about the only thing you do own. 

YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - It hums under your grip, understanding its place in the world.

INLAND EMPIRE - You should give it a name.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - That's all me - I got it. Get back to me in five. Worry if I don't have something in twenty. 

PAIN THRESHOLD - It certainly beats walking to the GRIH. These shoes - they're *not* made for walking.

SAVOIR FAIRE - No shoes are *only* made for walking. Anyone who says that is lying. Shoes are an expression of the self. Expression of dance.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - You don't remember the thrill of weightlessness of a car that doesn't fly, but I'm here to tell you that it's great. 100% worth it, would do again. Hard. Core.

VOLITION - Doing it again is a good way to ensure no one will ever trust you with another vehicle ever again. Ever. Even a barely functioning jumble of parts like this one.

PERCEPTION (SOUND) - A small sough of adjustment emits from the seat next to you. 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is looking out the window, face blank with thought, listening to the dead noise of the flickering radio and the texture of the motorway under the wheels. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her upper half a lump of orange as she looks into the pinkish clouds of the setting sun. The landscape whizzes by in the reflection of her glasses. Rather than primly keeping her legs and feet in the foot well with her posture straight like her lieutenancy depends on it, she's curled up and slouched in the sink of the seat, her left foot braced against the glove box where it will surely leave a dusty print. 

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Her knee is also bouncing erratically, adding to the shaking of the cabin. 

VISUAL CALCULUS - A shaking knee isn't going to have that large an effect, even for this junk. She's matching the rhythm of her foot to the shuddering of the motor. Making herself a part of the motion. A nervous habit. 

Nervous? Why is she nervous?

AUTHORITY -  The lieutenant is not comfortable being driven around. It's always been her role: A pilot. Hence the jacket. She likes to be in control.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - Have you forgotten that your last 40 is now in the sea? This is not an enigmatic riddle of ages.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - You know the lieutenant well enough by now. She's excited. Eager to get there. She's not *really* thinking about your driving at all. Her mind is on the prize at the end of this journey. 

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - You should say something. This silence is suffocating without your voice and you need to splinter it around you. You *need* to say something. 

SUGGESTION [Medium: Failure] Something deep, something that tells her you're interested in her as a friend, excited for her as much as she is. Not something vague and unhelpful like-...

"All right?" 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant turns to you, eyes still distant. "Hmm?" Her hair bounces as she turns, air dried and fluffy. The tips are weighted with hardened gel and they flop heavily over and into her eyes. She shoves them back up out of her face and holds them for a second in an effort to make them stand. It's unsuccessful.

SHIVERS - In the world that is around thirty minutes ago, a middle-aged woman dives her fingers into the container of pomade and curses as she shoves it through still too wet hair. Curses the pomade, curses the length of the shower she just took, which she justifies the length of because she's going to be with *Harrier Du Bois* for the next several hours though why that should *even matter* is absurd, curses the passage of time, curses her heavy Seolite hair that fights anything but the most stubborn of hair gels. Harry's about to be here, she mutters to herself, willing the pomade to set, knowing nothing can be done about it. She gives up, rushes into the bedroom to get dressed.

"You just seem…"

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - Do not say 'anxious.' Or 'worried.' You'll just be reminding her why she should feel those things when you do, bring awareness to the fact that she has placed her life in the hands of a woman who destroyed upwards of ✤50,000 in RCM property in one fell swoop.

"... wired."

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Do not look from the road. Do not take your hands off the steering wheel. It will not help your case that you are a capable and safe motorist that does not drive MCs into the sea. 

(Point as best you can with your chin at her juddering leg.) 

KIM KITSURAGI - Properly made self-aware, her leg thumps down quickly back in front of her, knees locking together. She sits up, straightens her back. The decorated lieutenant-detective of the RCM returns to the present world. 

KIM KITSURAGI - Her hands remain tucked under her arms.

COMPOSURE - She's a little embarrassed that she was being so obvious about it. She's going to try to laugh it off.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I suppose I'm a little excited." If you looked at her, you would see one of those almost imperceptible smiles she makes when she's trying to cover for something she didn't mean to reveal and that you caught.

"Hey, who can blame you? I couldn't believe it when they gave me this baby." 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes." A thoughtful pause. "I'll admit that I did not think they would allow you another vehicle."

ESPRIT DE CORPS - But if they did, it makes sense it would look like this, is how she wants to finish that sentence.

VOLITION - She doesn't, though. Wants to be nice. You're doing her a favour.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I appreciate you providing me the transportation, detective. I know you have cases to get back to." We all do, she doesn't say.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Under the curved roof of Precinct 41, cigarette ash falls into a coffee cup as Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare droops over her papers, weighed down by a microsleep before jerking herself awake. It's only early evening, but she will stay for another five hours at least, well into the night. She thinks it's ironic and extremely annoying that her medication keeps her up but never when she wants to actually stay awake. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - She takes a swig of the coffee, spits it out when she inhales a mouthful of ash along with it and takes a moment to wait the flavour off her tongue. It does not fade. Carcinogens mingle with tannins. Cancer in a cup. Finally she shrugs, finishes the mug anyway without the energy to make herself a new one without cigarette ash creamer. It'll be brought to her by Patrol Officer Judit Minot, keeping her company as she usually does on long nights at the 41, avoiding needy husbands and loud kids. It's not a great reason, but at least the 41st gives her an excuse to be away, to give into poor parenting. 

"It'll be good for Vic to work a case alone. Can't ride my supercop coattails forever, you know. Someday she's gotta pull herself by her own bootstraps."

KIM KITSURAGI - "You are aware that that is not the original context?"

"What?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shifts a little with her nugget of knowledge. As far as esoteric information goes, she rarely gets to trump you outside of motor engine discussions or the latest TipTop news. "When the phrase originated, it was not meant to be used to encourage ambitious attitudes. The opposite, actually, to refer to something that is physically impossible to do - to pull oneself up by their own feet." A derisive exhale through her nose. "Now it's used by the general populace to blame those disadvantaged for their already dispossessed states."

ENCYCLOPEDIA - True.

RHETORIC - 'Disadvantaged for their already dispossessed states'? That doesn't sound very moralist.

Holy shit, has she *actually* been reading my recommendations?

RHETORIC - A bright new future for communism has breached the Pale! Screw 0.001%, we're looking at *0.002%*. 

"I hope you're not suggesting that Vic's promotion is impossible, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I am suggesting no such thing. I was pointing out to you that this is what *you* are unintentionally saying. That you are expecting the impossible out of her."

"Am I? I guess. I mean, Vic's a good cop, but with the depression… Not everyone's meant for the job."

VOLITION [Impossible: Failure] - Well don't say *that* out loud. 

COMPOSURE - It's too late. Congratulations. You have now revealed unedited thoughts about your actual partner to your colleague. And you sound like a real asshole.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is considering your words. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't think that you're in much position to judge her for being mentally unfit for this profession. Officer Vicquemare has shown herself to be a more than capable officer *and* leader. She took over during your absence, after all."

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] - But is she a *detective*?

"But is she a *detective*?" 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Detectives are of a particular breed," she assents. "In fairness, it's possible she is not interested in being a detective. It's not a requirement."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I do think she has the makings of a decent one, however, if she so wishes. I suppose it's hard not to pick up something from being your partner."

EMPATHY [Godly: Failure] - Is that a compliment for her or a compliment for you? Her voice gives nothing away. 

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

COMPOSURE - Her ears redden a little as it alights that she has complimented you inadvertently. She *had* intended the comment for the Satellite-Officer. The lieutenant feels she compliments you too much.

Does she? When?

COMPOSURE - It's rarely with you around. She's careful about how much she lets on about her opinions of you to your face. Most people do, but her more than others. There could be something there. You could press her; it's a weak point.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, well. You're a good mentor. I imagine it's another holdover from your life before, when you worked with youths." The last word is said with a bit of distaste as her typical disdain of teenagers rears its head. She affixes you with a measured look you feel rather than see because you're being a very good driver today. "When you're sober, that is."

"Only when I'm sober?" 

SUGGESTION - Pathetic. You couldn't sound more like you're fishing for compliments.

KIM KITSURAGI - "My observations of you are one-sided by nature, detective. I have only met the version of you that exists now. But from what others have told me… yes. Only when you're sober."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Is being a *good mentor* even worth it for that? No one appreciates what being a *good time* is. This is the downside of being around people who have a high possibility of being narcs.

LOGIC - Eh, the RCM is 50/50 at best. Depending on the day it's 80/20 pro-drugs.

SUGGESTION [Godly: Failure] - You should say something back. The lieutenant gave you a compliment. The least you could do is return one. Maybe something about how she's a good mentor too.

DRAMA [Easy: Success] - Tell her she's the best detective you've ever met, ma'am. Better than you. Better than Dick Mullen. Better than *Berdyayeva*. She'll be over the moon.

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] - Tell her that she'll be a great comrade for the upcoming revolution, especially now that she's reading your books.

AUTHORITY [Challenging: Failure] - Do not supplicate yourself to give *compliments*. People who give compliments are those who see themselves lower.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Heroic: Failure] - Tell her that her hair reminds you of a soft goose wing laid gently upon her head, deceptively organic as a marble Meteoran sculpture. 

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - You don't *have* to say anything back. Compliments are not given to be returned.

I want to say something. She's got a lot to compliment. How hard can it be to compliment a decorated lieutenant of the RCM? 

"I think you're a good mentor too."

KIM KITSURAGI - Out of the corner of your eye, you see the lieutenant regard you sceptically. 

DRAMA [Trivial: Success] - I'd say she did not buy that, milady.

But it's not a lie.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - Partially because she doesn't believe it of herself. The Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder that makes her punchy around juvies means she's aware of how she comes off to them. Her interpretation of mentorship is the world weary adult to innocent child type, which she explicitly avoids.

"Not to like actual kids or anything," you clarify. "But I've seen you be a good one. To Jude. To Nins."

KIM KITSURAGI - "'Nins'?" A pause as she tries to connect the name. "Ah. Officer Ninel DeMettrie?" 

PERCEPTION (SOUND) - The roll of her tongue as the 't's slide into 'r' gives you a little shiver.

(Nod to hide it.) 

KIM KITSURAGI - "The DeMettries are in no need of mentorship. They're an expansive line of RCM officers. You will recall Alice, of course?"

LOGIC - The young woman on the other end of the line of the shortwave radio introduced herself as Alice DeMettrie. So there are three DeMettries in the 41, at least one in the 57, and, at that rate, likely more littered throughout Revachol. An expansive line indeed.

KIM KITSURAGI - "She is one of two DeMettries in the 57," the lieutenant confirms. "I assure you that if a DeMettrie is doing well, it is not by my hand. Often quite the opposite."

RHETORIC - She believes this, and it's not *un*true. DeMettries are hard working walking walls of authority, but Officer Ninel DeMettrie's record *has* taken a bit of a boost working under the lieutenant.

"I guess you're right. The fact that her solve rate went from four a year to four in the past eight months probably has nothing to do with your influence."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant blinks, considering this fact somehow for the first time.

ESPRITS DE CORPS - She hadn't been counting. That's not how she measures others, especially those she commands. It's only when she compares herself to peers and superiors. Like you. She's surprised to find out that *you've* been counting, and that you noticed.

KIM KITSURAGI - And she's a little pleased about it. The compliment works. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "When you put it that way, I suppose I may have been good influence for her. Perhaps I should take over for juvie duty." Even saying the statement out loud as a joke is making her insides curl. The thought of it disgusts her. Deeply. 

"Perhaps you should." (Pretend to think about it.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "That was a joke," she rushes. She knows you're probably teasing but isn't willing to take any chances. "Please don't."

AUTHORITY - The lieutenant does not give herself enough credit. There has to be at least two dozen or so binos in the juvie squads that would bend to her every word, eager to please. Her coldness would invite the most obdurate of children to get on her good side.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - And at least half of them would be head over heels with her. She hasn't met the *right* juvies, but there's plenty that would find themselves very quickly in the homo-sexual underground trying to find someone with her aloofness or at least trying to emulate it. She certainly inspires *you* to be cooler, not that it's worked.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I'm *trying*. There's only so much that can be done.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shuffles in her bomber, searching for something. Finds it. "Could I smoke?" It becomes clear she's holding her cigarette and lighter in her pocket, looking to you for permission to take them out.

AUTHORITY - In *your* car?

EMPATHY - It'll help her nerves.

LOGIC - She'll do it out the window. There's also simply no way an RCM car has not been smoked in. It's not going to reduce the resell value of 0 reál.

YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - As if on cue, the engine gives an infirm cough. Both you and the lieutenant look to each other, pause to see if the noise returns. After a few minutes, it doesn't.

LOGIC - *Not* a good sign, though.

"Sure. I think smoke is the least of this girl's worries."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant nods gratefully, slides a slim white cylinder from her packet, and lights up. Smoke gently attempts to fill the cabin, but gets sucked out into the whirling void of the motorway when she wrenches a window open. The glass shudders loudly in the wind and speed and probably won't survive this journey. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Is it still worth it to name the car? I'm toying with a few options.

Okay, shoot.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Betsy. Classic. 

Boring.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Vodka Sunrise. Goes with the Tequila Sunset thing.

Too derivative. Trite. Not who I am anymore.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Okay then. Ludmila. Means *favour of the people*. 

ENCYCLOPEDIA - If chosen, your carriage would share its name with Ludmila Natalyevna Kim, the founder of the Mazovian movement in Seol. Seems there's been some struggle happening between the two major nations there: Dyosyeon and the Great Wa Empire, and Ludmila is part of the former, fighting for Dyoseon Independence with her Graadian education. Information is piddling, unsurprising from the isolationist isola, but it appears that trouble - and communism - is brewing across Elysium.

Potential. Works on a lot of levels. We'll see how long Ludmila lasts.

LUDMILA, YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - Cool. The window is about to fly off. 

VOLITION - You should really do something about that. If it does, it could hit one of the many vehicles behind you. Cause accidents. Endanger the public.

INTERFACING [Challenging: Success] - Having gotten used to the quirks of driving this husk of a motor carriage, you manage to keep an eye on the road and reach out a steady hand across the lieutenant to grab the window. The shuddering stops but the glass flaps in your grip, trying to break away. You attempt to wrench it from the already weakened hinges.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Medium: Success] - The window loosens and gives away under a sharp pull. Metal groans in angry protest as you tear it out.

REACTION SPEED [Heroic: Failure] - Look out for the lieutenant!

PAIN THRESHOLD - She chokes a little in surprise as you accidentally elbow her in the face, hitting her nose and crushing her cigarette. Her hand flies to cradle her nose as a reaction rather than real pain.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - She could have just asked, she thinks, annoyed. It's not that hard to rip out a rusty window. No need to put us both in danger over it. 

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She waves you off. "I'm fine. Eyes on the road." She flicks her ruined cigarette out the new opening, lets inertia whisk it away. Then takes the window pane from you and tosses it backwards into the cage, clearly irritated. Her ears are lightly red.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - Not irritated at you. Irritated at herself.

VISUAL CALCULUS - There should have been plenty of room between her and your arm - the lieutenant must have been leaning forward for you to have hit her. Why?

INLAND EMPIRE - For a better look. At you.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Probably checking out the guns under your shirt. Who can blame her. You're a magnificent specimen. A girl worthy of a fight.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant gives no response to your silent thoughts, only pulls out a fresh cigarette and tries to light it carefully within the small windstorm of the MC. In the limited space of the car, circulation swirls around her and continuously whips the flame of her lighter into nothing. A few more tries and she gives up, carefully places the unlit cigarette back into the packet and stuffs everything back huffily into her pockets. 

Doesn't Kim usually only carry one?

LOGIC - It was a rushed morning, she didn't have time to isolate her singular cigarette, just crammed the whole packet into the pocket before she left her apartment. Worked out, since she just lost her first one. Now she's wasted her cigarette and didn't even get to enjoy it. For what? 

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Again, a peek at the biceps? There's no shame in the admiration of your obvious strength. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - … *Only* the biceps?

Wait, are you suggesting that Kim was *checking me out*?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Look, we're all well aware of which way the lieutenant swings, are we not? Does she not have needs, the way that you do? Is she not *always observing*? You've got a pair. They're not great, but they're there. This is hardly university level entroponic theory.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The angle she was at *would* have allowed her the view.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Hypothetical and speculative images flood your head unimpeded and ready-made from previous trips to the well of theoretical fraternisation. Your thick fingers would spread out over her back, and she would push her better maintained, soft chest into yours…

(Stop thinking about her like that.)

SUGGESTION - Just as a reminder, you also elbowed her. In the face. Ruined her one cigarette for the day. 

VOLITION - Even if her checking you out was possible, which it is not, this wouldn't go anywhere right now, if ever. The lieutenant would never dare to fraternise with another officer. *Especially* a superior. Especially *you*. It'd be more trouble than it's worth. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - But what if she *wants* to?

Do *I* want to?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - I mean, probably. You've certainly thought about it enough.

LOGIC - Yes. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Weren't you just projecting all your sordid little thoughts onto imaginary juvies that have crushes on her? Compliment her? Get a little weak in the knees over her saying 'DeMettrie'? Aren't you already a little bit wet from your mental image of what the lieutenant would look like naked? 

SUGGESTION - Wanting to emulate someone isn't the same thing as wanting to sleep with them. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It is for you. Are you forgetting how you met-...

INLAND EMPIRE - DO NOT GO DOWN THIS PATH.

KIM KITSURAGI - Having lost her cigarette, the lieutenant has now taken out her notebook to pass the time between now and arrival at the 57. Wind is buffeting her hair around madly, destroying whatever structure the pomade had managed, and it probably isn't doing you any favours either. The pages flutter frantically around her gloved hands, like a hummingbird caught in her grip. 

LUDMILA , YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - You drive for a few minutes in silence, the only sound being the rushing of unrestrained wind inside the car.

PRECINCT 57 - Unlike the curves of the ladybird-like 41 with some attempt at architectural aesthetic, the building of the 57 juts into being, plain and bland as its surroundings, a simple box made of duraluminium from where you see officers exit for the evening as you pull up. More boxes burst from the sides, childish building blocks of motor garages. 

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - As the sound of the engine fades, you hear a finality in its last whirrs.

LUDMILA , YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - Concerned, you turn the ignition as the lieutenant tucks her notes away and exits the car. It sputters, the indicator on the pre-heater gauge dowses wildly for energy, swinging back and forth. It finds it just as you're about to give up, and roars the engine to life, but you doubt it'll work a third time for the drive home.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Just give it some time to cool off, detective. Old engines can be touchy."

LOGIC - The torque dork would know best. It'll also be easier to try again later, without time being a factor.

(Turn off the engine and get out.)

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - A voice approaches from the entrance to the 57. "Holy shit, is that Lieutenant Kitsuragi?!" A Samaran man in his thirties in full police black rushes over to greet the lieutenant. His hair is just starting to pepper with grey. Another decade will turn it completely white prematurely. He draws her into a hug before she can stop him.

KIM KITSURAGI - And she would have stopped him, but it's too late now and she's clearly used to it. The lieutenant loops one arm around to give him a firm press and complete the hug perfunctorily before drawing back. "Evening, Ace."

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - The air chills with night air. Fall teases the edges of the season. Your arms are empty.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - The main character from whom much of the RCM takes their namesake (at least three in the 57, as the lieutenant has mentioned before) is the daring and dashing Ace Sauvage of the radio show Ace Adventures. In comparison to Dick Mullen, an unfuckable grizzled detective who somehow is always five cigarettes deep during a conversation and is also always fucking incomprehensibly leggy women who die within the following three or so chapters, Ace Sauvage is a high octane action hero - if the Man from Hjemdall was a cop. Well, the Man from Hjemdall already kind of *is* a cop, enacting justice on evil and so on, but Sauvage lives in a different kind of fantasy, an idyllic world of moronic crooks (who are *coincidentally* likely to be Semenese or whatever immigrant fear is the most recent zeitgeist running through the populace of Vespertine) and huskily voiced women who are alternately attracted to him and are also perpetually doomed to betray him. 

AUTHORITY - As is the wont of women.

ENDURANCE - You may quibble at how the villains are always some form of immigrant, but you're not appreciating how Sauvage represents the Occidents who are fighting the real war against the rising tide of foreigners. One needs to fight violence with violence.

Okay, enough.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You're not a die-hard fan of either, but you like them both well enough. Mullen's plotlines are incomprehensible, always throwing so many suspects into the mix that the result is usually unsatisfying as the author circles the drain. Desperate fear becomes evident in its plot, not by the character, but of the writer, as they become terrified of being predictable and the reader figuring out the direction too quickly, resulting in a circumlocutory mess where no possibility is presented more clearly than any other. The role of culprit can be easily swapped between any of three to five standardised characters, a world where a guessing game is presented as detective work. Ace Sauvage, on the other hand, doesn't even give a pretence of casework. Oftentimes crimes happen directly in front of him so that it can be unambiguous that the man he beats the shit out of deserves the overt police violence that unfolds audibly for the next five minutes, maybe with some torturous interrogation in the mix. If attempting some form of mystery, it's not uncommon to pick up on the soundrel in the first minute or so.

LOGIC - He's 'Ace Sauvage' cause he's an *ace* and he's *savage*. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - There are times where you can't help but wonder at the quality of creative education in Vespertine.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Admittedly, they don't ask to be serious literature - you don't treat them as such, or you try not to. But Dick Mullen annoys you though more often than not, since solving a puzzle should feel like solving a puzzle, not closing your eyes and coincidentally pointing at the answer, but you've definitely read more Dick Mullen than you've listened to Ace Adventures.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - And what can you say - being an unfuckable detective who inexplicably fucks constantly is an aspiration.

RHETORIC - Though there's plenty to be said about the way that both portrayals of cops perpetuate violent methodology in the RCM. And just the *rampant* sexism.

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - "It's great to see you! How goes life at the Bloody Murder Station?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Full of bloody murder," the lieutenant deadpans. "I suppose I can't complain. Bloody murder keeps me occupied."

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - The one of three men called Ace laughs. It's a little too loud. Forced. "You know, no one ever believes me when I say you're funny. What brings you back to our side of the river?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The precinct building flickers in her eyes as she readjusts her glasses, not interested in continuing the conversation. "I'm here for the auction."

ALICE DEMETTRIE - "Lieutenant?" Before the man called Ace can respond, a shock of red hair joins. You recognise the voice you heard months ago over the radio in Martinaise. This is Alice DeMettrie. "Is that you? It's been a while!"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant prepares for another hug, relaxes visibly when it doesn't come. The communications officer clearly knows her better than that. "It's only been a few months."

PRECINCT 57 - More noises of surprise begin rippling through some of the officers who are heading home for the night, detouring their route to the motor garages. Soon the lieutenant is swamped by a small crowd of people checking in on her, asking eager questions about the 41st and how she's been doing.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The lieutenant is regretting having shown up early, but plans had been made when she hadn't prepared that her former precinct would want to greet her. It had seemed easy enough for them to let her go when she requested transfer. Sure, there had been the usual solemn handshakes, the respectful nods. But no one had much indicated they would be interested in seeing her back. 

SUGGESTION - Shouldn't you introduce yourself? 

AUTHORITY - Should you have to? Make the lieutenant do it.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant breaks away from the group of well-wishers and rushes to your side, keeping her pace controlled so that she is definitely not *running away*, as this would be *undignified* and *rude*. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois," she introduces you quickly to the curious eyes who know you by reputation alone, a reputation you're still in the midst of discovering, let alone how you feel about your relationship to it. "Questions regarding the 41st should be directed to her; I've only been there less than a year. The lieutenant double-yefreitor, on the other hand, has been with the 41st for almost two decades." She looks at you apologetically, fully aware that most of those decades are still not accessible in your addled mind.

HALF LIGHT - This is a foul, dirty trick. Throw her back into the dogs. Leave her behind at the 57th and make her walk back to Central Jamrock.

(Whisper to the lieutenant.) "This is a little below you, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - She places a hand on your shoulder and leans into your ear. "I apologise, detective."

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - There's no need to get this close. The group is still far enough away to be out of earshot. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "But I *have* to make it to that auction if I want any chance."

EMPATHY - She's desperate. 

VOLITION - She'll *owe you*. She knows that, and she's willing to take the risk of owing *you* a favour. 

ENCYCLOPEDIA - She owes you two favours, actually, since you drove her here.

SUGGESTION - Leverage is simply falling out of the sky into your lap. Leverage you could use for the rest of her secrets, powerful tools of can-opening. 

(Nod.)

KIM KITSURAGI - With your silent permission, the lieutenant breaks for the entrance of the building as the group descends upon you. 

COLLECTED MISCELLANY OF PRECINCT 57 - The black and blue mass of eight mostly uniformed officers shuffle in close, and you pick out the markings on their badges. A 'S-LTN,' Four 'SGT's, one with an extra' S' rank and another with a 'YFT', and three 'PTL's. Two in plain-clothes - far less than what you're used to inside of the 41st. At least one of their captains must be a real stickler for the uniformed look. 

VISUAL CALCULUS - A lieutenant, four sergeants and three patrol officers, all acquaintances of the lieutenant-detective. This group used to be her responsibility, under her lieutenancy.

She had *four* sergeants?

VISUAL CALCULUS - No. Two of them have been promoted from patrol with her help and are under other lieutenants now. But one of them did take a yefreitor to prevent usurping the lieutenant at her rank.

AUTHORITY - Impressive. A sergeant turning down lieutenancy takes a lot of respect.

Wait, one of them is a satellite lieutenant-rank. Is that her former partner?

LOGIC - The man who is one of the Aces, who greeted the lieutenant earlier. He strikes you as the type who does not refer to his partner by anything other than a first name or a puerile nickname. He referred to the lieutenant as 'Lieutenant Kitsuragi' and gave her a hug, which she notoriously dislikes. He must have been one of her last sergeants before her transfer. They didn't really know each other *that* well. He now satellites the man who *was* her former partner. Who isn't here. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The man is another Ace and has headed home early to tend to his child in lieu of his wife. Despite being the ideal gambler's hand, the pair of Aces don't really get along and the personal affairs of the lieutenant's former squad are worse than ever. The Ace that stands before you will be a sergeant again before the end of the year, but he hasn't figured that out yet. 

How does she have so many subordinates? 

ENCYCLOPEDIA - The average lieutenant handles at least ten lower ranked officers as part of their work. Two sergeants, eight patrol officers/juniors. Décomptage system of pairs.The lieutenant has explained this to you before, I don't need to get into it again.

Well, *I* don't have ten lower ranked officers that I deal with. 

LOGIC - Torson and McLaine are not in your unit and wouldn't want to be anyway - they think that being subordinate to women is beneath them, but you do oversee them, somewhat begrudgingly. They *must* count because they take over for C-Wing when both you and Jean are out, which you've both tried to limit as much as possible. They're a fun bunch when they're not being assholes, but they're assholes nearly all the time and they bring out the asshole in you when you're not careful. Ninel is under the lieutenant's leadership, not yours, as established. Other than that you have… Jolie, the other DeMettrie? And Judit, of course. So, two sergeants and two patrol officers. A shockingly low number. 

VOLITION - You drove the rest of them away. Even if you hadn't, something in you doubts they would feel the same kind of admiration of you, a renowned drunk with an explicit death wish and loud erratic behaviour, as these officers do to the lieutenant. 

AUTHORITY - They've also been keeping you free of more subordinates until they're absolutely sure you've got your shit together. The satellite-officer can only do so much when she's already babysitting you. It might take a while.

JEANNETTE ARMAND - The sergeant-yefreitor steps forward, late thirties, has a Suru face interrupted lightly by Insulindian features and is sporting a buzzcut hairstyle that is prickly from recent trimming. She wears two studs in her left ear. Her clear preference for infraculture is a visual contrast to her exceedingly professional appearance otherwise. 

SAVOIR FAIRE - All in all, you're tempted to ask her if she's heard of anodic music, but get the feeling she would think it passé. She probably listens to *cathodic* music or something else cooler and exceedingly hip. You should make friends.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - A member of the underground, alright. 

AUTHORITY - What is a woman like this doing as a cop? 

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - She wanted to stay more than she wanted to leave. Though she's not planning to stay for much longer. 

EMPATHY [Hard: Success] - There's not much keeping her here without the lieutenant. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Someone has a crush. The two of you should talk. Maybe she has tips on how to manage it.

No one said I had a crush on Kim.

INLAND EMPIRE - It's *obvious*. 

LOGIC - This is true. Analysis isn't necessary when the answer is apparent. There wasn't even a *trivial* skill check for that one.

JEANNETTE ARMAND - "Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois, Sergeant-Yefreitor Jeannette Armand. We've… heard a lot about you." Extends a hand.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - And not much of it good, she thinks. 

(Shake her hand.)

JEANNETTE ARMAND - Sergeant Armand continues to introduce the rest. "My colleagues here and I were under the lieutenant's command before she transferred," she says, confirming your deductions. "Well, I was, along with Satellite-Officer Esmat Bošková here." The mentioned woman nods to you in simple greeting, her blonde hair pulled back primly in a tight ponytail that makes her look ethereal but not in a good way. "As were Patrol Officers-" She motions to them in turn. "Ximo Tomas, Barthéléme Sault, and Trinh Sharma." The three men give you small salutes. "Sergeants Médéé Lebedev and Einar Saqqaf both used to be before they moved onto other commands. But they do owe their careers to the lieutenant."

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Inside Precinct 57's West Auxiliary Garage, a variety of patrol cars are lined up, a mixture of 40s, Kineemas, and Tiquets (a budget compromise between the sports-like Kineema and the practical seating room of the 40). Stripped of their blue colour, they stand at attention like retired corporals trying to live one last heyday as the lieutenant-detective peruses them for fitness. She resists running directly to the Kineemas, and starts at the beginning of the line, a 40. She opens the door and pokes her head in, checking the gauges, engine, fuel tank, levers and seats all in turn, noting anything obviously broken that can't be fixed. She jots them down in a back page of her Mnemotechnique and moves to the next car.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Her former Kineema is not here. It wouldn't be. She knows that, but is still saddened by the lack of it. Likely it is in the care of her once-partner who keeps it well maintained without her - the effort she put into it wasn't easy to let go, but she trusts him. Engines were one of the things they bonded over. It didn't make them friends, but it did make them better partners when things got touchy.

MÉDÉÉ LEBEDEV - "Arms, you never give yourself enough credit! And you're making it sound like we wanted to go, you asshole," Sergeant Lebedev snorts, looping his arm around Sergeant Saqqaf, who is nodding and agreeing vigorously with him. "Of course it had *nothing* to do with the fact that Arms won't let anyone else be sergeants for her *precious* lieutenant."

JEANETTE ARMAND - The sergeant-yefreitor looks mildly embarrassed by this, but moves on. "And, of course, we have Satellite-Officer Anton de la Fontaine, my current superior." They're not close - she's doing it as a formality. He would have been her partner before the lieutenant's transfer and it did *not* go well.

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - He steps forward for a handshake of his own. 

(Take it.)

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - His hand is clammy and his handshake is too tight, compensating for something.

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - "Wonderful to meet you, Lieutenant-Yefreitor. You can call me Ace. I've heard so much about the 41st," he says with a rush. His eyes glimmer with an eagerness that discomforts you, an eagerness surrounding the salaciousness of murder. You're tempted to reach over, grab his clip and check his kills. Probably more than the lieutenant's, and definitely more than you, even at this stage in his career. He's jealous that the lieutenant got to leave for such an *auspicious* station.

ALICE DEMETTRIE - "And I am just chopped meat, I suppose," comes a teasing voice, who wasn't part of the pack that ran to you. She's standing off to the side, allowing your new acquaintances room. 

JEANETTE ARMAND - "*Shit*. I mean, my apologies! Of course, we have our Communications Officer Alice DeMettrie, but I believe you've already met."

ALICE DEMETTRIE - "Only over the radio. It's good to see you in person, lieutenant-yefreitor, though I feel as though I know you so well already. Lieutenant Kitsuragi talks about you frequently." 

(Blink.) She does? 

REACTION SPEED [Trivial: Success] - When? Where? *What does she say*?

HALF LIGHT - Find the information! Take it from her! Seize it from her throat!

JEANETTE ARMAND - The sergeant's head whips around at this, as surprised as you. "You've been talking with Kim? How?"

AUTHORITY - Referring to a superior by their first name? How far exactly did their relationship go?

ALICE DEMETTRIE - "Oh," the DeMettrie blushes, realising from your expression that you also had no idea that she's been in communication with the lieutenant. "I've been told that the 41st is understaffed, and that Officer Pidieu has no backup. The lieutenant has been covering some of his radio shifts for him in the early mornings." 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - By 'some', she means 'all', but she's trying to soften the blow for you and the sergeant, suggest that maybe you've just missed her on a few days.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - The quietest hours. It's an incredibly tedious shift and Officer Pidieu is not a young man, nor, vitally, a morning person. The lieutenant uses the time to get some casework done in the quiescence of officers and murders, pen scribbling to the soft bubbling of coffee machines that get her through it.

ALICE DEMETTRIE - "Our conversations are nothing unprofessional," she reassures you, hastily, though you would have never believed that the lieutenant would be anything less than purely informative, though you're suddenly deathly curious as to what the lieutenant's idea of gossip would even be like. "We just like to catch up. I tell her about the 57, she keeps me up to date on my father. And herself, of course."

LOGIC - *That's* why the lieutenant is always in the office before you. Well, the radio shift *and* your inability to crawl out of bed at a decent time. Most everyone is in the office before you are. But even on the very occasional good days when you're early or slightly more frequent days when the insomnia meant that you never slept, she's always the first face greeting you when you walk in. You just hadn't thought much about it.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The lieutenant moves to the next car, a Tiquet, oblivious to the sudden tension of the conversation outside. The second 40 had been in a fairly good condition, but the shocks were worn and the driving lever snapped. Not impossible fixes, but hefty ones. Not worth it for a car that's not her first choice, nor worth souping up a middling vehicle. If it was a Tiquet, maybe. A Kineema, absolutely. A 40, not so much.

JEANETTE ARMAND - The sergeant is looking visibly hurt, unprepared for this revelation. 

EINAR SAQQAF - "Ha!" One of the other sergeants elbows her in the ribs. "Still trying to make the lieutenant your girlfriend, Arms?"

JEANETTE ARMAND - The sergeant scowls, her already melting composure breaking. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi is - was - my superior officer. She can't be my *girlfriend* - that would be *inappropriate* and *unprofessional*. The lieutenant would never."

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - But her voice cracks with bitterness at the end, ever so slightly. 

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] - She *tried*, though, didn't she. Got rejected. Probably right before the transfer. It's still sore.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Godly: Failure] - The crack in her voice goes through you too, because unfortunately, you find it relatable. The statement is a clean stab through the left lung, hitting nerves and cutting at the breath inside. Somehow it feels like it's going to leave a mark.

LOGIC - No. Skill check. Needed.

JEANETTE ARMAND - "I *admire* that she is a phenomenal detective," she continues, "a great leader, and paradigmatic of the RCM. She's done so much with her lieutenancy for *all* of us, and -..." Realising she isn't making her case any better, her mouth snaps shut. Her partner pats her sympathetically on the shoulder with amusement fluttering at the corner of her lips as the two other sergeants snigger. Sergeant Lebedev manages to hide it successfully, but Sergeant Saqqaf can't stop himself from breaking into full laughter, slapping the sergeant-yefreitor on the back as he wheezes. The patrol officers look away, feigning obliviousness. The satellite-officer named Ace rolls his eyes.

Wow. She's got it *bad*. And *everyone* knows. It's a good thing I'm not like this.

COMPOSURE - Khm.

RHETORIC - She's had a lot of time to think about the lieutenant now that she's gone. Absence makes the lungs expand or something like that.

JEANETTE ARMAND - "Oh, fuck off, Sack." She bats Sergeant Saqqaf's hand away. "*You* once told me that the lieutenant's on your *list*."

EINAR SAQQAF - The sergeant immediately stops laughing and gasps with mock betrayal. "First of all, how dare you - that was an addition I only made since she's totally out of my league. The *point* is that it's non-threatening. Mon Perenelle-" he places a dreamy hand to his chest in reference to his girlfriend, "-she wouldn't like it if the list was full of people that was *possible* to bed. Also, I told you that in *confidence* and *three beers in*-..."

"Kim *is* pretty great," you interrupt, more casually than you feel. 

SUGGESTION - The words ring distinctly inadequate next to the sergeant's gushing. 

"It's good to see that she's still got friends in the 57."

JEANETTE ARMAND - "Is she at least… happy there? In the 41st? The *Bloody Murder Station*? With *you*?" The question is cautious, the last words incredulous, ultimately unsure if it wants the answer. She doesn't want to risk it being true.

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] - Well, *shit*. You hadn't thought about this and it's such a basic question: *Is she happy at the 41st*? You haven't really been able to catch up with her; her transfer flew by so quickly and then immediately she was in the weeds, buried under stacks of cases, managing officers and…  apparently working dead hour radio shifts. Today's been the first time in a long while where you've even been alone with her, and you didn't even check-in! You just gave her a compliment and then *elbowed her in the face*! Oh god.

VOLITION - Yeah, it's not a great look. I wouldn't mention that. Needlesstosay, it also won't go over well with the lieutenant's fans that you haven't checked if she *actually* likes one of the biggest decisions she made in her life, but you should probably tell them *something*.

COMPOSURE [Heroic: Failure] - Sweat collects on your forehead as you delay and cast around for a response, panic rising. The collected officers look at you expectedly. 

HALF LIGHT - Fight this woman - a swift tackle should stop any further questions. 

ALICE DEMETTRIE - As you flounder helplessly and prepare for an ill-advised reaction, the communications officer cuts in firmly. "If I may, Sergeant Armand, Lieutenant Kitsuragi has said *nothing* but good things about the 41st *and* the lieutenant-yefreitor. She seems very happy there, if a little stressed, but aren't we all?" 

You know what, screw the lieutenant. Are we *sure* that I'm not in love with this DeMettrie?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You toy with the idea. The woman is a little young, but pert and pretty, and if true, that would solve a *lot* of problems. 

INLAND EMPIRE - But it isn't. But *fuck*, it would be so easy if it was. Sorry.

ANTON DE LA FONTAINE - "How could she be unhappy at the 41st?" The satellite-officer asks, aghast. "I'd *kill* to transfer to the 41st. "

ESMAT BOŠKOVÁ - "No one is doubting that, Officer Fontaine." Officer Bošková says wryly. "You talk about it enough that I've considered taking it as a confession." The rest of the group laughs at the jest. Satellite-Officer Fontaine only joins in after a pause, weakly.

DRAMA [Formidable: Success] - If I may, milady, it seems that the general reputation of your precinct is one of constant murder. Now, this may not be entirely untrue as long as McCoy still lives and killing the man is out of the question for any multitude of reasons, but it does not reflect well on the rest of the people there. It is also running the risk of drawing the satellite-officer to your station, and the lieutenant would not like this.

SUGGESTION - Nor would you.

INLAND EMPIRE - Translation: This guy is fucking creepy. You need to make him back off. 

"I don't think you'd fit in, to be honest," you lie. "It's really not as bad as people make it out to be." 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - He'd get along so well with Bengt, McCoy, Mollins, Torson, and McLaine that it makes you a little sick.

DRAMA - They don't believe you completely, madame, but the important thing is that they've caught on that you won't be spreading those kinds of ideas. It should keep you free from those kinds of questions until the lieutenant comes back.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The Tiquet engine lid creaks shut as the lieutenant finishes examining it and marks it off her list. The vehicle is not worth it - all four wheels need repair if not to be replaced, as does the exhaust and the gear box, and cylinders are missing from theft or neglect. That the 57 is selling it speaks more to their desperation to get a handful of reál than scrap it for nothing. She turns to the next car, which is the one she's really here for. One of the two Kineemas in the lot up for auction today, significantly more rundown than the one that she had, but she knows the layout of the vehicle like the back of her hand. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - A quick examination of the engine deems it immediately out of the question - it's completely shot. Literally. A bullet hole has punctured the casing and without even looking inside she knows it has shattered the innards. The orange bomber moves onto the next vehicle, the other Kineema. The engine reflected in her glasses is intact and stable. A good sign. The outside looks poor, but it's only superficial. She dares a look inside. Likes what she finds.

LOGIC - The lieutenant might take a while.

I don't think she's coming back. 

EMPATHY [Hard: Success] - Quite. You'll have to go to her, but to do so you'll have to figure out a way to get out of here without everyone thinking you're an jerk, which will be an upward climb, since they already think you're a bit of an asshole. From reputation. Not from this conversation. Yet. 

RHETORIC [Challenging: Success] - Best be honest; it's already evening, the officers likely have places to be. Beers to drink. Wives to love. Wives to find. Drugs to abuse. You'd be giving them an out.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Tell them to bring you to the drugs. You'll be able to show them a real good time on some drugs. Those patrol officers deserve to see something new.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - Dismiss them. You outrank the lot of them. Don't weasel like some sort of *girl*.

Hey. Watch it. I *am* a girl. Where does all this antagonism come from?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - 'Internalised misogyny' is one of many side-effects of the entrenched state of patriarchy in the Occident and in the RCM, and refers to dislike of women by other women and often themselves. Likely it infects most of this world known as Elysium, though you know that some female-led societies persist, somewhere, and discussion of patriarchy in the Occident cannot be had without some sort of tedious pédante pointing out that Suresne was once headed by two female figureheads who were expected to have equal standing to men of the time, as if this somehow means that claims of patriarchy in the Occident is unfounded. 

RHETORIC - Did you know? Two female leaders does not a dismantled patriarchy make.

So we just need more female leaders, right? Nothing's stopping us.

RHETORIC - The solution isn't just a matter of allowing women into spaces - women are *allowed* in the RCM, have always been, but the profession has a reputation and draws in particular types. To survive in such a world means some level of incorporating into your tenets that what's considered good is masculine, which often comes in the form of fights, anger, and abrasiveness. This all comes pretty easy to you, and it's why you're so high ranked for a woman, for what it's worth. It's a shit system, but it's *the* system. No one's free of it, at least in the RCM. 

Even Kim?

AUTHORITY - The lieutenant doesn't explicitly dislike the feminine, nor does she lack the ability to acknowledge the importance of feminine presence, but she isn't overly fond of it for herself. It's why she's wrapped up in those fast-paced, hypermasculinized torque dork spaces and prides herself for it, if only silently. She isn't much for the *physical* aspects of hegemonic masculinity, but she makes up for it in how she rationalises her emotions as *logical* thoughts, her stifling of open sentimentality, and pursuits of aggressive ambitions. 

RHETORIC - It should be worth nothing here that there's no such thing as *the* masculine ideal - it's an impossible goal, doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and often contradicts itself.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - She's tried to branch out of her limitations before: wearing skirts, growing out her hair, make-up and the like. It's never lasted very long.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - I'm struggling to come up with an image. All you can see is the lieutenant as she is now with a poor wig, a hideous and bulky skirt that goes to the floor, and the overexaggerated make-up of a prepubescent teen. She doesn't look particularly happy.

RHETORIC - The communards weren't free of it either. It's not a coincidence that most of the leadership positions in the commune were taken by men, even though women weren't explicitly banned from holding them. This shit goes *really* deep. If you want to get this communism thing off the ground, and I mean *really* plant it on its feet, stronger than last time, a bunch of other structural things have to go first, even the ones that put you where you are. We haven't even gotten into the limitations of the *geschlechterbinarität*.

What the fuck is geshle-? What the fuck is that?

RHETORIC - Some other time, maybe. There's a lot of literature on it that was burned in Gottwald a few decades ago, though unofficial translations still circulate the Revachol underground. 

Burned? Why?

RHETORIC - For all the usual reasons books are burned. Hatred. Fear. Always fear.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Hey, it's not all bad. It feels amazing every time you get to kick some ass, and punching things feels universally better than being sad. A brilliant thing that men and patriarchy have figured out is that letting out anger and *feeling* good makes up for not *being* good. Also, alcohol and aggression are on hand more often and are cheaper in the moment than sissy-ass therapy.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Alcohol, aggression, and *adrenaline.* The three As of feeling Amazing. *Without* drugs, though they do feel even better *with* drugs.

COLLECTED MISCELLANY OF PRECINCT 57 - The trio of patrol officers shuffle from one foot to the other, trying to calculate a respectful way to bow out. They're too new to make much of the 41st's reputation. They'd been listening, had understood the satellite-officer's glee in learning more about it, but the interest had faded quickly. You've also been silent for a good five or so minutes, trying to figure out how to solve institutionalised patriarchal structures in your head.

EMPATHY - They have deemed you a little bit too boring compared to the reputation. 

SAVOIR FAIRE - I *despair*.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Drugs would show them that you aren't boring.

"Well, it's getting late, and I should make sure that Kim isn't driving away without me." (Point your thumb at the building.) "And I'm sure you're all trying to get home." 

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - A surprisingly loud muted thud sounds as you tap your watchless wrist.

COLLECTED MISCELLANY OF PRECINCT 57 - The patrols don't hesitate once the words leave your lips. Without superior officers to stop them, they dart into the streets to retreat for the evening, not even saying a perfunctory 'good night.' They're really not paid enough for it, so it fails to upset you. Meeting the lieutenant was like seeing a teacher after an extended break. You didn't make the greatest case for their interest otherwise, despite the reputation.

COLLECTED MISCELLANY OF PRECINCT 57 - Disappointment and mild betrayal is written all over the satellite-officer named Ace's features, but he begrudgingly accepts your unsubtle dismissal and heads for his MC. He takes his unnerving murder-thirsty eyes with him and you breathe an internal sigh of relief once he's gone.

COLLECTED MISCELLANY OF PRECINCT 57 - The sergeant-yefreitor hesitates the longest, clearly tempted to ask more questions, but her partner and Communications Officer DeMettrie nudge her away from you, giving you quick nods of understanding and farewell. The other sergeants also draw in, clap her on the back, offer to buy her a drink at the bar. When she shrugs, they up the offer. A drink *each*. At this, she finally manages to smile, accepts, and you feel a pang of loss as they lead her away, ready to have a night they will only remember for the monstrous hangover they'll have tomorrow. 

JEANETTE ARMAND - Before they reach their vehicles - for the record, the sergeant-yefreitor's transport is a bulky looking but in a handbuilt way motorcycle, just incredibly cool - the sergeant-yefreitor looks back at you and despite her group's protests, runs back. 

JEANETTE ARMAND - "Good night, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor." She extends a hand to you again, levelling her eyes with yours. A peace offering.

"Good night, sergeant-yefreitor." (Shake her hand again.) 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - I see you, she's saying, with the firmness of her grip. Good luck with all that.

PAIN THRESHOLD - It's hard to watch them walk away, off to drink and make merry. An ache of deprivation spreads from your lungs and circulates around your body.

For alcohol, right? It's usually for alcohol.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No. For *friends*. 

Wow, even sadder. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - The problem is that there must have been a time when you *had* a full unit, and so the question arises: were you close with them, the way that the lieutenant's are? Before Martinaise, did you get along better with Bengt and McCoy? Absolutely not Jean - you sense that your relationship now is significantly improved from what it was before. But more than that, what was it like when you were a sergeant? A patrol officer? Was that when the self-destruction started, when you would go to bars and bitch and moan about your ass-riding lieutenants and throw back handfuls of drugs to show them who the *real* detective was? Did you ever secretly like a superior that everyone else hated but keep it quiet? 

THE HAZY PIT OF PRE-MARTINAISEAN MEMORIES - Despite what people assume, you don't feel sad about the memory loss all that much. Day to day, it doesn't really affect you. It can be a lot of things in the moment - scary, upsetting, unnerving, but sad hasn't been one of them. It's hard to feel sadness without knowing what's gone. The information you've pieced together of the woman that lived in your shoes before Martinaise through a negative space of personal grudges and sporadic flashbacks does not fill you with confidence or endearment of that person and what she went through. What she made others go through. It's *good* that she's gone. She wasn't making anything better. Admittedly, you're pretty sure that you aren't either, but you're trying.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - But seeing the lieutenant's former unit has suddenly opened up the possibility that there *must* have been good moments too. That there would have been laughs. Camaraderie. Positive things had to have existed for you to ruin them. At last you've found something worthy of the grief you otherwise don't feel for the life before. The friendships and fraternity hardened in the kilns of life that are now just shattered pots that you're trying glue together, clueless as to what shape they were in.

I have Kim. Jean's getting better. I can make more. There will be more people. There's always more people. I have plenty of time. Well, Gottlieb gave me at least two years on my liver, but apparently you can get transplants, so who knows.

THE HAZY PIT OF PRE-MARTINAISEAN MEMORIES - Even if you could live forever and make a million new friends doesn't mean it's not still a loss.

Alright, enough, I get it. Time to go inside. (Find Kim.)

PRECINCT 57 - The inside of the precinct building is as spartan as its outside, and though the 41st is not a particularly beautiful building in your artistic estimation, you're starting to appreciate its aesthetics as you take in the 57th's plain duraluminium-inforced walls. Everything is function, function, function around here. It's the type of precinct that you would think the lieutenant a fixture, back when she was the first person you met and seemed to be lacking a certain humanity that you've since learned is a hardened callous over softer things, like a love of cheap science fiction, Wirrâl, and colonialist propaganda board games you dislike for the colonialist propaganda and definitely not because you suck at it.

PRECINCT 57 - You follow the functional signs leading you to the auction in the motor garage, no human interaction needed. 

PRECINCT 57 WEST AUXILIARY MOTOR GARAGE - A door opens to a similar grey concrete structure pockmarked with air bubbles. Phosphorus lights buzz above, washing out everything beneath them, grey into lighter grey.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Okay, so it's a given that cops aren't the best at aesthetics, but this is really taking the cake. The grey, boring, concrete cake. It's not even that evocative as far as constructivism goes; it's mistaking staleness for simplicity. Amateur stuff. There's minimal and then there's *using only the one thing you know*, and whoever designed this building certainly knew boxes and *only* boxes.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Constructivism is an art style that flourished during the early days of the Commune of Revachol, briefly before the Revolution and then for a few years during the establishment. It revolves around the dismantling of artistic stylisation to focus on industrial evocation, prioritising simple geometric shapes to invite viewers to become active participants in the piece, bringing interpretation and purpose. Materials and the work itself should be easily accessible physically if not mentally, and should be made to serve and invigorate the people, not placate the placid bourgeoisie, fiddling while aerostatics bomb the streets outside.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Personally, you like a bit of flourish. Disco isn't real constructivist. It might be the opposite? 

SAVOIR FAIRE - Sure is - fuck *minimalism* and *plain boring shapes*. Disco is about *bringing down the order, man*. It's to *party*. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Before we move on, I *have* to point out that constructivism *is* also about bringing down order. Quite literally. They made a huge fuss about going to war with the established order of art. There's a reason why it was incorporated into the first years of the Revolution. It was like a *whole thing*.

PRECINCT 57 WEST AUXILIARY MOTOR GARAGE - By the time you make it to the auction, it's over; the winners are lined up to pay and accept their winnings, the rest are filing out the door with a range of emotions from upset to uninterested.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is easy to spot in the desaturated colours of the room and the two dozen or so uniformed black and blue people that make up the space here - a bright orange cloud with her blue notebook in hand. Her fingers flick her matching oblong pen absentmindedly, echoing the rhythm of her thoughts - agitated, worried. She looks up when you sit beside her in the mostly empty space, splaying out in the chair, ankle on your knee, arms pandiculating around the back. Your arm comes to rest on her chair, behind her, but her posture is so rigid that even her bomber isn't touching you.

SAVOIR FAIRE - But I think we got away with it.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Detective. You made it out." Her notebook snaps shut, goes inside the jacket.

"Only barely." (Sigh dramatically.) "Well? Did you get what you wanted?"

KIM KITSURAGI - Her eyes light up for a split second, but then her lips purse unhappily.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Yes but no.

KIM KITSURAGI - "One of the Kineemas they auctioned is in fairly good shape. It's drivable, with relatively minimal repair needs."

"But…?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shoves her still fluffy hair out of her eyes, delaying reality. "The bids went too high - I won, but it's out of my budget." She's been killing time, unable to walk over and admit she doesn't have the money and forfeit.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - And there's another option that she doesn't really want to consider.

"What's the other option?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She raises an eyebrow at you, momentarily shocked because she's sure she didn't mention another option, then remembers who she's talking to.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The other option is one of the 40s that wasn't bid on. It needs slightly more work, but is considerably more affordable." And there it is, the pursing of her lips again.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It's the basic choice, she doesn't say. The *boring* choice. The choice everyone thinks she'll make, and probably her too. She can't afford the extra thousand reál the Kineema came to, but against her better judgement she's quickly approaching going home with nothing rather than taking the 40. She knows it will reflect her: simple, practical, and eschewing attention when given, but god damn it, her *cars* are the one place in her life where she doesn't want that. She likes her cars loud, fast, boisterous. Wants it to turn heads, wants people to know her comings and goings. Wants to be *seen*. Dei, it's about the only time she ever wants to be seen.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's the better option," she sighs with resignation. "Parts are easy to come by; I could probably submit it to Pryce as a worthy expense -..." 

SUGGESTION - She's dully reciting off the pros and cons list she'd been working on before you showed up.

"But you don't want it."

KIM KITSURAGI - She shakes her head in agreement. "But I can't afford the Kineema."

"But you don't *want* the 40."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs, lifts her glasses to press at the bridge of her nose. "What's your point, detective?"

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - She's trying to avoid being the one making the bad decision. She's been waiting for you to come back and goad her into it, so that either she can have someone to blame when she bemoans an empty wallet next month or feel justified in driving around a 40 she hates as the right decision.

(Shrug.) "I mean, don't get something you don't want! Is that so hard?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant gives you an odd look.

EMPATHY [Heroic: Failure] - You've seen it before, but haven't placed it yet in your mental library of the lieutenant's expressions. It's a fairly rare one, but you usually see it after you feel like you said something stupid. However, she has a different facial expression for loudly thinking you're stupid, so it can't be that. It's a look of… understanding? With fear? She's talking again.

KIM KITSURAGI - "There's no point arguing this - *I can't afford it*."

"Like, at all?"

KIM KITSURAGI - An exasperated huff. Her arms fold and she leans back, jerks when she notices your arm there, but after a split second of contemplation, disregards the contact and settles. At least four layers of clothing separate you - this is safe enough. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "No, unless *you* have an extra thousand reál?" It's purely a rhetorical question since she's seen the result of your finances - watched you dig into every pot and tin for a handful of hidden centims, scrounging together the twenty reál a night for the Whirling-In-Rags only just barely.

RHETORIC - Well, as a matter of fact, and not that money is real or anything, but this isn't your usual jacket - you haven't worn it since before Martinaise and haven't done inventory. Who knows what it's hiding.

(Search your pockets.)

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - Your inner pocket seems inordinately full. 

(Check it.)

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Your first find is a snapped elastic. A bundle of cash pulled free from it several months ago and has colonised your inner pocket, now a battlefield of black ink and crumpled Innocences. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "*What* are you doing?" hisses the lieutenant. She looks around the open garage to see if anyone's looking. 

PRECINCT 57 WEST AUXILIARY MOTOR GARAGE - Of course they're looking. A woman is pulling out random large bills from their pocket in full view, so either she has completely lost her mind or something else deeply troubling has happened. Either way, it's worth starting at. Several pairs of eyes sparkle with possibility.

(Ignore everyone, start counting the random bills.)

VISUAL CALCULUS - There's maybe three hundred reál in total. 

That's way more than I expected. Am I rich? When did I get rich?

LOGIC - Before you get too ahead of yourself, it should be noted that the only reason you would have random extreme amounts of cash in your pockets is because you clearly intended to buy drugs with them. Wads are the preferred form of currency for drug dealers.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It should also be noted that *you could still go do that*.

LOGIC - Deciding to go sober, however, has freed up a significant portion of your budget. You might *actually* have an extra thousand reál in here. You have more than one pocket.

Which I've just been… walking around with?!

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - What, were you going to deposit it at a *bank*? Trust a bunch richie rich binos to be the middle-men and charge you access to take care of *your* money? 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant's voice cuts in, low and panicked. "*Harry*!" She grabs your hand before you can put it into another pocket and continue.

(Look up.)

VOLITION - This was an incredibly bad idea - eyes stare at you from every corner of garage, assessing the depths of your stupidity. You've made yourself an obvious target to everyone around you. 

(Start putting the money away, slowly.) 

KIM KITSURAGI - "We should go." She moves to stand up.

"But-..."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shakes her head. "No. We're done here. I will let the auctioneer know that I'm not able to pay and forfeit it to the next person."

LOGIC - Okay, you will definitely get jumped between now and Ludmila up front. *But*, if you can make it to the officers who are in charge of the auction and hand over the cash, you would immediately become less of a target. You might get jumped anyway, but you wouldn't lose out on all the reál pointlessly.

SUGGESTION - Maybe even convince the lieutenant to not make one of her shitty 'practical' decisions.

Sounds like a plan. "Yeah. Let's go." (Stand up and walk to the worker at the front.)

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sags with visible relief when you stand, but then tenses again when it becomes clear you're not following her. She grabs you by the upper arm before you get too far. "Where are you going?"

"I'm helping you pay for the Kineema. I might actually have -"

KIM KITSURAGI - "*Stop.*" she whispers intensely. Even through her gloves, she's gripping you hard enough that she's definitely bruising your arm. "You've made your point - you have more money than I thought. Just stop announcing it to *everyone here.*"

(Whisper back.) "Well, I *already did that* and there's a bunch of people here who are for sure going to try to mug us for it unless I use all this cash up *right now.*"

KIM KITSURAGI - A response opens her lips - within the walls of the RCM no one would try such a thing - but she closes them because she knows you're right. The money is already forfeit, and all you can do now is decide whether to give it willingly or have it taken from you.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - You backed her into a corner to force your kindness. She's not sure if it was a result of your naivete or if it was intentional, but either way, it's annoying. She doesn't like that she appreciates it *even a little bit*.

KIM KITSURAGI - She lets you go. You massage the area pitifully, making exaggerated pained faces. She doesn't apologise.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't even know if they'll take cash." A sigh. "You should really get a bank account. You're not a hermit in the woods; you live in a very populated and dense city. It's dangerous to walk around with all your savings in your pockets."

SAVOIR FAIRE - *Everyone* takes cash. It's one of the few true things that will remain true forever. But she still may be right on the bank account regard. It's a good thing you're not somewhere people will continue to recognise you as an obvious rube. 

RHETORIC - Maybe you can find one of those member-owned co-operatives to trust in. 

CLYDE ALSACE - The man who is overseeing the money intake and paperwork is a patrol officer, trying to grab a few extra hours of overtime. His armistice peeks out from under his arm in an overt discouragement for others and reassurance for himself. He's desperately bored, but plasters a social interaction appropriate smile on his face as you get close.

CLYDE ALSACE - "Ah, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, congratulations on winning the Kineema! Are you ready to take it with you? I've heard from some of the other officers here that you can work wonders with it. I can't wait to see what you come up with." The paperwork for ownership is presented on the table for her examination.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs like getting the car she wants is a miserable burden as she combs through the sheets, scribbling the required information down. It occurs to you not for the first time in your experience with her that the lieutenant can be a real bitch about doing things she wants to do. 

VOLITION - What do you expect? The woman has made a career out of self-control and a single-minded pursuit of the absolutely necessary. Indulgence does not come easy to her.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I suppose we'll see what I can do with what I have left." She reaches inside of the bomber to begin taking out her chequebook.

(Get there before her.) "Actually, do you take cash?"

CLYDE ALSACE - The officer turns to you, a little perplexed. "It's not… traditional, but we do, officer, yes."

"Cool - I'd like to pay for some of it with this." (Begin unloading all of your pockets.)

CLYDE ALSACE - His eyes go wide as you begin piling crumpled bills onto the table, along with another two bundles of cash, but obediently begins counting it up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - You're an absolute bummer. That's good money right there. Good money you could be using on *drugs*.

VISUAL CALCULUS - In the end, you don't quite make it to a thousand, but it gets pretty close. You check all your pockets again to confirm that you are now *officially* without any money. That was probably all you had, period. You get the weird feeling that this was your equivalent of a bank. You're broke again.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I'm really not feeling your commitment to my cause.

Kim saved my life, for fuck's sake. This is worth it. I'm pretty sure my life is worth more than a thousand-ish reál. 

LOGIC - Life assurance for you would likely have astronomical premiums as a frequent smoker, former alcoholic, and user of various street drugs, and the payout probably wouldn't be that great. But yes, it would probably be more than a thousand reál. But only by a couple thousand more.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant's posture is rigid through the whole process - she's uncomfortable with this turn of events and she's keeping an eye out on your interested and eager audience, waiting for any movements.

CLYDE ALSACE - "Okay, well-" He thumbs through the money, smoothing them out and stacking the bills together into a neat pile as he recounts just to make sure. Once satisfied, he places it away into a small metal container from where he pulled the paperwork, an improvised cashbox. Tallies the number against the price marked down. "It looks like the lieutenant still owes fifteen thousand, two hundred and sixty-eight reál."

PAIN THRESHOLD - The number physically hurts you, as someone who just thought that three hundred was large and hitting a thousand slipped out of your reach.

SAVOIR FAIRE - As I said, *this is hopeless.*

What the *hell* was her budget?

LOGIC - Around ✤12,500, with a max of ✤15,000. She was trying to save the two thousand or so for repairs and upgrades. The budget was expensive for most things, but cheap for a car. *Dirt* cheap for a Kineema. Perhaps her reputation and good-will amongst the 57 stopped people from driving the final price up. Maybe she knew something they didn't.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Even with your assistance, it's still slightly above what she's set aside, but it feels ill-advised to back out now. She's been saving for a *while* - it's why she took those radio shifts. Now she has to start again.

KIM KITSURAGI - New price given, the lieutenant finally takes out her chequebook without bothering to wait to see if you're done. She just wants to get this over with.

EMPATHY [Godly: Failure] - No emotion can be garnered from her face as she fills it out and hands it over to the waiting officer. The hideous garage shines in her glasses, hiding your view of her eyes and distracting you with its hideousness. 

CLYDE ALSACE - If the officer notices the atmosphere between the two of you, he makes no mention of it. "Right - everything seems in order here. I'm afraid I can't just hand the keys over, lieutenant, but we'll have the car brought up to you up front once I finish with everyone else and file everything. Here's the temporary title and your receipt. I'll send the updated title to… the 41st, was it? Or did you want it sent to the address?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "No, the precinct is fine." She picks up the temporary title with a suddenly trembling hand. 

COMPOSURE [Hard: Success] - The lieutenant's face remains straight, but she is *vibrating.* Her attempt to not give herself away makes her movements absurdly slow and careful as she presses the temporary title into a tight rectangle that she tucks into her notebook and back into her jacket. You manage to catch a glimpse before it folds up and disappears. 

TEMPORARY TITLE OF A COUPRIS KINEEMA - An ornately bordered but bland looking piece of paper, describing the car in the officer's careful print. It's about five years old, has been driven past its prime, and its registration number is KNK6749. The lieutenant's name is clear and legible under the designation of 'Owner' and under that is her address in the Pox, close to the Valley.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Huh. She lives right on the other side of the tracks from you. You didn't know she lived so close; she's never invited you.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Which hurts, a little. But only a little. It's not like you've been invited to many homes, particularly those of colleagues. It's not a personal point - you're *pretty* sure that it's not common. But we've already gone over your limited ability to remember companionship that isn't the life-destroying type.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Shall we, lieutenant?" She nods to the door, ready to leave. Her eyes flicker to a handful of men who have been eyeing you and the lieutenant closely for longer than the rest of the crowd.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - You're tempted to make a joke about them checking the two of you out as the delicate sex, but are for once willing to acknowledge that this wouldn't be the time for that.

(Nod.) "Let's blow this joint." 

KIM KITSURAGI - As is your pattern, developed back on the rainy streets of Martinaise, she follows behind you as you enter a light jog to the doors, checking if your new friends are following. 

VISUAL CALCULUS - You're not sure if it's the reflective patches that shine under the phosphorus, brighter than ever, but they don't move from their spots, though they certainly give you plenty of side-eye. Not the day for victimising a couple of RCM officers, you suppose. Or maybe they made the correct deduction that you've just used up all that you had. Could also be because they know you're packing. Could be that they recognise the lieutenant and you, and this is not how they want their last day as free men to go.

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] - The lieutenant is quiet as you make your way to the front of the building where they said they would bring the Kineema around, which you decide to chalk up to excitement and her usual quietude. 

NIGHT ON THE FRONT STEPS OF PRECINCT 57 - The night is sleepy now that most of the officers have gone home, leaving only the occasional night-owls and dead shifters milling into the building. Now that the daytime is several hours past, the cold is beginning to nip at noses and fingertips. The alleyways of the Harbour push wind at a brisk speed. The coastline is visible from the precinct, and you can make out where Martinaise glimmers with its dull lights across the water. 

SHIVERS - A man meets a Sunday friend on a Friday. A net picker looks out back across the water not realising she's making eye contact from kilometres away, her sword at her side, listening to her children play. She turns to usher them to bed. An old man misses a friend, rival and pétanque loser, gets up to stop staring at the blast crater where the boules are still sitting. Music thuds inside of an old church, drowning out the horrifying silence of nothingness only metres below it, trying to keep the Pale contained with hardcore music and disco. A different drunkard than the last one croons an incoherent song over the speaker system at the Whirling-In-Rags, where a cafeteria manager bemoans the lack of sober singers that come to his establishment. In the room over, a group of seven minus three continue their monitoring of their small corner of the world. 

SHIVERS - Nothing much has changed - some people barely remember that this same year, a war nearly broke out in that very neighbourhood. The ones that do only do to mourn. For the most part, the day has faded in memory, only discussed as 'that thing that nearly got those two cops killed that one time.' People have forgotten there was an ever watchful faded relic of the Revolution keeping an eye out over the waters, ready and prepared to shoot on his own whims. After all, what was the Hanged Man to the price of tea in Samara to people just trying to make ends meet? A hypothetical war is nothing compared to the day-to-day desperations of poverty. 

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - This doesn't feel like a good silence. 

"Well, congratulations! You're the proud new owner of a slightly jacked up Kineema!" (Pat her on the back.)

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant doesn't respond. 

EMPATHY [Impossible: Failure] - Is she… angry? 

SUGGESTION [Godly: Failure] - Just keep talking, she has to respond eventually. 

"Your former unit seems fun! I can't believe you don't think you're a good mentor - those guys *love* you." 

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - Wait. This might be a good chance to get more information on her unit and her relationship to the sergeant-yefreitor.

(Bait the trap.) "…Especially Arms."

KIM KITSURAGI - Her voice is hard when it finally get used. "Sergeant-Yefreitor Armand would be well-advised to *move on* from infantile crushes as hers. All she's doing is holding herself back."

SUGGESTION - Bingo.

COMPOSURE [Heroic: Failure] - Said so sharply. Is she talking to you? Does she know? 

"Like when she didn't take the lieutenancy?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant takes out the cigarette she tried to light earlier - it's much easier without being in small wind tunnel. A few clicks of the igniter and chestnut flows into the air.

"Isn't that your second?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She glares, annoyed at you for pointing it out. Shortly, "I didn't get to finish my first."

(Light up your own. Shrug.) "Hey, it's not *my* rule."

NIGHT ON THE FRONT STEPS OF PRECINCT 57 - The silence in front of precinct, only incrementally more companionable than before, stretches between exhales of cancer. 

"You know, she really wanted to know if you were doing okay. If you were happy. With us. The 41st."

KIM KITSURAGI - A long-suffering sigh. "Detective, stop."

"Stop what?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Stop trying to can-open me. I'm not a suspect or a witness, and I won't fall for it."

SUGGESTION - But she *is* weak to being pushed persistently. Especially by you.

"What, because I'm pointing out that people at your old precinct like you? That you're a better mentor that you give yourself credit for? That someone liked you *so much* they gave up becoming a lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I didn't ask her to!" she snaps. Screws up her face, hating herself for being caught out. You watch some resistance fade as she takes a long drag of her smoke. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "It was stupid, her giving up that promotion. Who knows when or if she'll ever be offered it again."

"Did she tell you why she took the yefreitor?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She shakes her head. "No. But, as I'm surmising you've noticed, it's not difficult to figure out why. Officers Saqqaf and Lebedev made fun of her for it on the daily." Her nose crinkles. "Disrespectful behaviour."

"For them or for her?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "For all of them." An exhale. "They were her subordinates. She should have been better than to give into their invidious teasing."

"They're *friends*, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - "They are officers of the RCM and it's unprofessional." Her posture straightens.

VOLITION - So many things that the lieutenant denies herself for being unprofessional and impractical. Friendships. Happiness. Slouching in a seat. Purchasing a car she wants desperately enough to bankrupt herself.

"Right, right. Because *professionalism* is all there is." 

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The nylon of an orange bomber jacket shifts uncomfortably.

(Inhale. Exhale.) "Have you even considered that Arms wanted to stay your sergeant because she genuinely respects you? Having a crush and respecting someone isn't mutually exclusive."

KIM KITSURAGI - Her mouth opens to protest this, but closes as she contemplates it. 

(Pause for effect.) "Kinda sounds like you're projecting your own career goals onto her."

AUTHORITY - It hadn't occurred to her because her entire professional life has centred around the upward climb. It doesn't make sense why someone would give up the next rung if presented.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I suppose we did have a lengthy conversation about the extra responsibilities one would get as a lieutenant when I tried to encourage her to take it. I'll admit that she didn't seem hugely enthused. I didn't sell it very well. It's a lot of work."

"See? It's not like I gave up being a captain twice because I'm desperate to fuck Pryce." (Wink.) "Not only 'cause of that, anyway."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks away, hiding her snort. "Not that you would remember, I suppose."

"Oh god, do you think? Was Harrier Du Bois hiding a terrible, passionate infatuation with Captain Ptolemaios Pryce's bald, bino'd head?"

KIM KITSURAGI - A smile is being held captive at the corner of her mouth. "You do have… peculiar tastes." A glance down at your outfit, your impractical snake-skin loafers, the uncomfortably tight disco pants. Horrible necktie.

(Gasp.) "Lieutenant Kitsuragi, what an incredibly rude and *disrespectful* thing to say to a higher-ranking officer."

KIM KITSURAGI - Without missing a beat, "Yes, I've been the problem all along."

"Do you think I have a chance?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "With Ptolemy Pryce, decorated and renowned captain, married nearly thirty-five years to his job and wife with three children? You'd be a homewrecker."

"So you're saying I'm in with a shot."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sure." She readjusts her glasses and takes another drag. "That's what I'm saying."

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It would certainly fit your reputation as the chaotic mess of the 41st.

(Don't ask her if she'd become a captain if offered.)

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - …It's worth asking. You want to.

"Would you take it? If they offered you a promotion?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes." She doesn't hesitate, almost gets the answer in before you finish. "Of course."

DRAMA - Tis truth, madame. Plain and simple. 

PAIN THRESHOLD - Stings, though.

LOGIC - What, you just spent a minute or so criticising the lieutenant for assuming others would follow her line of thinking and now you're hurt because she doesn't follow yours? Who's the hypocrite here?

"I guess when that day comes, you'd be *my* superior."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm." She frowns into the cigarette, then smiles after a thought, looking at you. "To think you'd be so discourteous to a future superior."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh, you could be more than *discourteous*.

UNSOLICITED MEMORY OF JEANETTE ARMAND, CIRCA AN HOUR AND 40 OR SO MINUTES AGO - "The lieutenant would never."

"Me? Never. But you're not my superior *yet*. For now we're just *friends*."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm." She doesn't respond otherwise.

NIGHT ON THE FRONT STEPS OF PRECINCT 57 - Silence returns, lighter this time. Your cigarettes crumble away, taking the lieutenant's nicotine-less tension with them. You throw your stub into the street, the lieutenant scrapes hers down with her boot. She agitates in the night air, her hands in her pockets, something on her tongue. You watch her attempt to hold it down, but it bursts under containment.

EMPATHY - Probably a question about her former unit, her sergeants, what they said about her. How you're going to get home if the car doesn't start, etcetera.

KIM KITSURAGI - "*Why are you like this*?"

REACTION SPEED [Godly: Failure] - Sorry, what?

LOGIC [Impossible: Failure] - What?

VISUAL CALCULUS [Impossible: Failure] - What?

EMPATHY [Impossible: Failure] - What?

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] - Got nothing. That came out of nowhere.

"What?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "You drive me twenty kilometres away through rush hour traffic, inveigle yourself to my old team, pay what's left of your paltry savings to help me purchase for an impractical MC I won't even be using in an RCM capacity -..." Her hand runs through her usually cowlicked hair, trying to figure it out without the comfort of notes, the way you do. "Why?"

(Frown.) "You asked me to do all of those things! Well, the first two things, at least! I need an excuse to be nice?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "This isn't *being nice*," she snaps. "You're going out of your way to have me indebted to you. On one of the few nights you have off, no less. Are you *planning* something?"

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Planning? No. There's plenty of plans already.

UNSOLICITED MEMORY OF JEANETTE ARMAND, CIRCA AN HOUR AND 45 OR SO MINUTES AGO - "The lieutenant would never."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Is that just going to keep happening every time I say something now? You should never have talked to that goody two-shoes.

*You* were the one who told me I should bond over our 'crushes'.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Well it was a bad idea. So sue me.

KIM KITSURAGI -  The lieutenant continues. "- Is that why you're asking me if I would take a captaincy if offered? You want a stooge of your own as a captain?"

COMPOSURE [Godly: Success] - It seems like she's losing it, but it suddenly becomes apparent to you as someone who has definitely used this tactic before that this is a front and what she's really trying to do is push you away by assuming the worst. It's not a calculated move per se, but accusations are easier to process than the alternative.

LOGIC - *The* alternative.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] - Put her back in her place. Like you said, she's not your superior yet. And she's getting *hysterical*.

(Grab her arm.) "Kim, I get your whole *RCM is the most important thing* schtick and all, but you need to calm the fuck down. Anyway, I could ask you the same thing! You didn't *have* to stick with me for a week to solve the Hanged Man - you could have solved it yourself and been a captain by now on that alone. You didn't *have* to save my life; fuck's sake, *you* nearly got killed. You can't explain all of that by using the RCM."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant splutters. "I-... You-..." She rips her arm from your grip, regaining herself. "I would have done so for *any* officer of the RCM."

DRAMA - Not a hint of a lie, milady.

RHETORIC - Absolutely. You surmised that upon your very first meeting, back when you were strangers and nothing more. You need something else.

LOGIC [Heroic: Success] - The transfer. The 41st made an exception to the lieutenant's rank since you're not doing much lieutenant-ing right now, and allowed her in to pick up the slack. Otherwise she would have had to go back into sergeancy to keep the décomptage structure intact, maybe with a yefreitor rank to indicate what she'd had before. But she put in the transfer papers *before* it had been established they could take in a lieutenant. She risked losing her precious rank, a *huge* detour on her endless climb to promotion.

(Take it.) "You would have *transferred* for any officer of the RCM? You had to give up your Kineema, nearly got *demoted* for it, but you did it just 'cause I *asked*? That doesn't seem like you."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - There it is. She can't respond to that with her usual excuses and you've got her on the ropes. Go for the kill.

"So was *that* just because you wanted me to be indebted to *you*? Dei, Kim, do you know how that sounds?"

RHETORIC - It sounds *crazy*. It *is* crazy. Especially for her. But she did it anyway.

"Stop blaming *me* for pushing you to do things you want to do. All I'm trying to do is to get you to stop doing things you don't want! Is that so hard?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The echo of your previous conversation deflates the anger from her shoulders. "I-i-i-..." Her eyes blink rapidly behind her glasses as she swallows, gives you that odd look again.

EMPATHY [Godly: Success] - The look. It's *revelation*. Not the 'oh what a cool fact' kind of revelation. The biblical, teeth-gnashing, sky-screaming apocalyptic *revelation*. Or the cusp of, at the very least. Truth so real it's hard to look at.

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - The slightly-less-loud-than-you're-used-to sound of a Kineema erupts the conversation and cuts whatever response the lieutenant would have given as Officer Alsace drives it to the front, parking it right behind the 40 you took to get here. 

CLYDE ALSACE - The officer hops out the door, throws a jingling set of keys to the lieutenant, who snatches it effortlessly out of the air. "Well, that's everything, lieutenant! You should get the updated title oh-... two or three days from now? Depending on our much beleaguered mail system, of course."

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Beyond the typical problems of mail delivery, such as amnesiac drunkards alternately petting and kicking mail collection boxes, the Coalition has been making moves to hand over the oversight of the services to one of the indotribes, officially privatising the postal service and driving a final nail into the coffin of one of the most basic universal services that's left to the impoverished of Revachol. The excuse, of course, being that it's slow and inefficient now, and that privatisation can only improve it through a rigorous moralist based free-market process. There has been no discussion over the fact that it would become an absolute monopoly without any competition at all overnight, and that monopolies rarely make anything better. But it's not the point, anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Thank you, officer. We can take it from here."

COMPOSURE - It would be impossible to tell the two of you had been arguing, the way her voice is so calm and controlled. Barely any overcompensation at all.

CLYDE ALSACE - He nods, bids the two of you good night as he goes back inside to finish up his shift. 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant begins ushering you into the Kineema.

(Stop.) "Wait, what about Ludmila?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She frowns at you, confused. "Who's Ludmila?"

"My 40! I named her Ludmila. Are we just leaving her here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - She recognises the name. "You named your MC after-..." She shakes her head. "No, we're not leaving your pre-junk 40, detective. I simply figured you would want to join me as I gave took the Kineema for a test drive. I will bring you right back - it would be a poor demonstration of your newly reestablished ability to take care of your motor carriages to leave your 40 here."

RHETORIC [Legendary: Failure] - Makes sense.

HALF LIGHT - Should we panic? Is she taking us to a secondary location?

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - To murder us over an argument would be a little out of character.

(Get into the Kineema.)

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - The door creaks loudly as it clanks shut, which does not escape the lieutenant's notice. Her head is already full of the repair list she has for *her* Kineema. Fully hers. Not assigned, not relegated. Not representative of the RCM. Hers. To put spinners onto. To use for amateur TipTop racing if she so chooses. She'll stare at the title later when it arrives, slightly disbelieving every time she reads her name. 

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - The seat doesn't sag beneath you as there is no cushioning left there at all. You wonder if you should mention it, if she hasn't noticed already. She slides past you into the isolated driver's seat of the Kineema and puts the key into the ignition.

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - As you noticed before, the noise isn't quite what woke you up back in Martinaise, but the engine is audibly an improvement on the 40, though you imagine that the lieutenant will upgrade it more once she obtains the funds. You realise that you've actually never ridden in Kim's Kineema before, as she had to give her original one up before entering the 41st. This is an auspicious occasion. You are christening her first fully-owned vehicle.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The 4/75 is in its closest state of rest, now only a handful of lorries and MCs dotting the motorway. 

INTERFACING - Her control of the vehicle is easy, practised. An extension of herself. She appears to intuit other vehicles and their less than stellar night-time focus, never once jerking the car to avoid them, always anticipating poor moves a minute in advance. 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant drives in silence for around fifteen minutes to the border gates of Terminal G. A decent enough time to gauge the drivability of the car. Her thoughts, indistinct but loud nonetheless, crowd the air in the MC. She turns off of the motorway to a small side street - you notice she doesn't hesitate, she knows this area - oddly dark for the GRIH. She parks out of the view of the buildings and homes. Witnesses. The gearbox ratchets into a stop.

LOGIC - So, it *would* still be out of character for her to murder us, but it might be worth *considering* the possibility.

"So, what do you think?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant does not respond, places her new keys into the inside of her jacket, next to her notebook, pen, and the handkerchief she lent you in Martinaise. The cabin lights against the night of Revachol doesn't give you much purchase on her expression as she slides into what was once the cage with you to get to the door. 

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] - Not to leave. 

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The lock clicks.

"It's nothing like your old one, but you could always get that engine upgrade, right? Plus, we could go back to Martinaise for those spinners if they're still around. I'm completely broke, but we get our paycheque next week, and I don't need as much for booze anymore, so-..."

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - You're interrupted by the lieutenant gripping you by the collar.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The cabin lights begin to dim automatically as she stares at you intently, and the last you see of her expression is of burning fierce intensity before there is no more light.

HALF LIGHT - Like she's going to punch you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Or kiss you. Or both? We could be into that.

UNSOLICITED MEMORY OF JEANNETTE ARMAND, CIRCA TWO HOURS OR SO AGO - "The lieutenant would never."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - *Shut. Up!*

KIM KITSURAGI - "Stop. Talking." Her voice is low, authoritative. Even without sight of her eyebrow, you can't do much against it but slam your mouth shut obediently.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh, we're into *that*.

AUTHORITY - How *dare* she-...

KIM KITSURAGI - With a quick jerk, she slams your face to hers, muffling the surprised noise you make as your lips connect. Despite the force it's extremely chaste, her lips locked shut as she treads into unknown waters.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - She can dare all she wants! 

REACTION SPEED [Challenging: Failure] - You're too shocked at the turn of events to react. Until about half a second ago, it was *fact* that this was out of the question, simply sordid unprofessional thoughts plaguing you as the two of you worked in the precinct. Who could blame you - you're thinking about everything, all the time, and most of them are sordid unprofessional thoughts about *something*. That never meant that it was going to *go* anywhere. Especially with Lieutenant-Detective Kim Kitsuragi, a woman who thinks *smoking weed* is a secret.

KIM KITSURAGI - With the lack of response, you feel the lieutenant retreat and panic in the darkness.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Fucking *damnit*," she swears under her breath, right into your face. "Lieutenant-...shit -... I thought-... I was *sure* I-... *fuck*." Her gloves loosen their grip.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - It's not *that* funny, but this is the most you've heard her swear outside of confronting racists, misogynists, and *really* bad situations. And definitely the most you've heard her stumble over her own words. The absurdity of the moment hits you before you can stop it. 

(Giggle.)

KIM KISTURAGI - An incredibly bad move. Screw the ears, even without the lights you know you've made the lieutenant's entire face flush red with anger and mortification with one sound. She breaks for the lock and door handle to get out. Her initial worry of interruption seems stupid now that all she wants to do is leave.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] - You manage to grab her hand before it can flick the lock open. She reacts by throwing her other hand to push you away in a sloppy punch.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Success] - There's not enough manoeuvrability in the cage, so it's not very hard to grab it, even in the dark. 

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Challenging: Success]- She is struggling wildly in your grip, much stronger than her wiry frame gives her credit for. The only reason she can't break free is because the angle is fairly awkward and she can't create enough leverage for it. Still, you know that bruises are forming around her wrists as you hang on desperately to keep her from getting away.

"Kim! Dei's sake, calm down!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Let me go," she hisses angrily. You think you can detect a lump in her throat from the sound. "I'll bring you back to your car, you can go back to the precinct and you can have a good old laugh *there*."

ESPRIT DE CORPS - You can tell all of the other officers about my stupid feelings. Confirm their questions about my sexuality, like it wasn't already obvious. In the meantime I'll just ask Jean about some quick and painless suicide methods and die alone like I was fucking meant to. Or better yet run out into the middle of the 8/81 with my arms out.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Failure] - You should *probably* try to explain yourself before this gets worse.

"I didn't mean to-... I wasn't laughing at y-... Well, I guess I was-..."

KIM KITSURAGI - The struggling intensifies.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - Well, that wasn't the worst way to put that, but it was pretty close. 

(Try again.) "-... I wasn't laughing at you for *kissing* me."

KIM KITSURAGI - The struggling doesn't stop, but the zeal goes out of it, just a little. "If this is one of your fucking *jokes*-..."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - "The lieutenant would never," my ass! There's only *one thing* that can convince her now. 

RHETORIC - In fairness, there's definitely more than one thing, there's plenty of ways in which to talk her out of this, but you don't exactly have time for any of them before the lieutenant tries to run directly into traffic.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Challenging: Success] - It's hard to aim in a dark car in an isolated, darkened part of the GRIH, but you *are* a little obsessed with this woman and have thought about her a *lot*, so it's simple enough to find her lips without looking. You pull at her wrists to off-kilter her back into you, pulling her arms around your neck - easy - again, there's just not a whole lot of room and you're taking up most of it, and you meet her lips a little less aggressively than she did yours.

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - She already got you started, so this isn't treading water, it's a full swan dive into the unknown. Her lips are open in surprise, and once she finds you waiting, she *commits*. You're ready, slide your fingers over her back, across one of the dozens of black t-shirts you think she must wear interchangeably, under the orange bomber that catches light even in this darkness. Easy to spot, wherever she is. A beacon.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Turns out your imaginations weren't too far off - she instinctively jerks away from the touch as it starts, shoves what is definitively a firmer chest than yours into what's a sack of flesh in the midst of extended decay.

INLAND EMPIRE - It's been falling apart ever since that day, like they were the twine keeping you together, and life has just been the effort of holding yourself contained since, a puddle without structure. A mass of flab everywhere it should be hard muscle or delicate softness. Barely human. Grotesque.

But… she likes me *now*. Not *then*. She only knows *this* me.

KIM KITSURAGI - As if to confirm your thought, her arms twist around your neck, her gloves sink into your hair. You think distractedly that it's a good thing you took a shower recently, a thing you do now that the alcohol smell doesn't cover for the rest of you. And you feel motivated to, more so than before. 

PERCEPTION (SMELL) - The lieutenant smells of motor oil, chestnuts, and the ink from her ballpoints. Maybe that can be your new smell, instead of the months old dried vomit of your clothing and the cheap bland shampoos you save a few centims on.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The Kineema fills with the gentle sounds of moving lips and soft sighs. 

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant's leg shifts until her thigh is pressing against you at *that spot there* and rubs against it. Immediately distracted, you release her lips with a moan, unable to process both sensations at once. In retaliation for the loss, her glove fists in your hair, bundling it against your neck, spikes gentle pain through your scalp that compounds with what she's doing *down there* and it's *so good*. Her teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time, and your whole body racks with stimulus.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - The lieutenant likes to give it a little rough. Good thing we're happy to take it a little rough.

KIM KITSURAGI - She pulls away momentarily and you tighten your grip around her waist, worried she's attempting escape again, but the responding tug of your hair confirms she's not going anywhere. You can't see what she's fiddling with in the darkness, but eventually you hear the soft sound of something hitting the seat and the result is clear once she returns. 

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - Skin touches your face and- *Oh Dei, her glove is off.*

LOGIC - She kept her other hand in your hair the whole time, which means she would have needed to use her teeth to-...

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] Fuck it, just *fuck it* - you're gone.

(Groan at the thought of Kim ripping her glove off with her teeth.) 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - You *have* to watch her do it next time. Then ask if she can undress you with only her mouth.

KIM KITSURAGI - The feeling of her bare fingers sliding up your back as it rucks up your shirt and slips under is almost too much. Too intimate, too vulnerable - for her and for you. Your head crowds with the contradicting desires to hide yourself and push into it at the same time. Her fingers find the clasp of your bra fairly expertly - obviously she's done this before *of course she has*. The improved finesse of her gloveless fingers make quick work of it, and you feel your disgusting breasts sag, no longer supported. 

KIM KITSURAGI - She feels you jolt uncomfortably as she kneads with those expert little digits, withdrawing mentally from the situation even if not physically. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "No?" A murmur against your cheek.

COMPOSURE [Heroic: Failure] - God, you *want* to say yes, get over yourself, but you can't. The exposure is making you completely heightened to how self-conscious you are and even the intoxicating pressure of her thigh against you isn't overcoming it. 

(Shake your head.)

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - The movement pulls against the firm grip she still has on your hair. You shudder.

KIM KITSURAGI - "That's okay." It's said so softly, so gently. It's so much more than you deserve. You want to cry just for the understanding alone. 

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - Her hand leaves your chest and falls to your jacketed arm. She pulls it up out of her shirt, and places your hand on her own chest. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Do me." The softness is gone, in its place a hard command. She emphasises it with a quick yank at your head.

INTERFACING [Challenging: Failure] - You're not entirely sure if you've felt up a girl's tits before - if you have, then it's definitely in that haze of memories you never fully got back, and you're not entirely sure you even swung that way before meeting Kim, but hey, a challenge is a challenge. You slide the hand under the shirt again, this time with more intention. Fingers skim against the back hem of her bra, then stop curiously. No clasp. You pick a little - elastic.

"Are you… are you wearing an athletic bra?"

LOGIC - Practical, comfortable, easy to put on and take off. The lieutenant's preferences in a nutshell.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Is that a problem?" Her voice is husky but firm, daring you to say it is. Her fingers are trickling down your stomach, squeezing into your pants.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No, no, no ma'am, that is not a problem.

"Nope. Just checking."

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - Now that you're not looking for something that's not there, you push her bra over her breasts under her shirt and tweak a nipple with your street tough fingers. 

KIM KITSURAGI - She stops moving momentarily, taking in the sensation and gasping above you as you roll and pinch, suppleness contrasting your calloused and scarred hands. It's a peculiar softness that she keeps contained, trying to harden it like the rest of her, strapping it away, treating it like a weakness despite the fact that it clearly gives her so much good. She squeaks as you pad a thumb across a hard nub. You imagine her clamping down on her lip with her teeth, preventing any other revealing sounds from escaping. 

COMPOSURE - The things you'd do for some light right now. 

KIM KITSURAGI - After the moment of distraction, it's right back to business, even more fervently than before. Your pants are, unsurprisingly, a little too tight for her to get in. They weren't meant to leave a lot to the imagination, and largely meant to be discarded for those confirming that they didn't.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I fucking *hate* these *stupid pants*," she hisses as she tries to get any purchase in them, scrabbling against the hairs there.

"Hey, I *like* these pants."

KIM KITSURAGI - A frustrated huff, the gloved hand falls away to assist unbuttoning, since keeping it closed isn't going to do her any favours. "You haven't been watching you in them."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] - The audacity you have to blush the way you do when you realise what she just said. After what you've been doing. What you *are* doing. It's a good thing it's dark.

"How long have you-..."

KIM KITSURAGI - But then her hand is in, her fingers are *there*, against the thigh that never stopped moving against you. You buck when they slide against the excited nub of nerves, and it prompts her to stay there for a bit, rubbing furiously and making every muscle in your body seize with overwhelm for a few glorious moments before stopping abruptly.

ENDURANCE [Heroic: Success] - Somehow you survive it without breaking, slump back against the miserably uncomfortable seat of the Kineema, recovering from the onslaught and its effects, your arms slack and fingers loose under her shirt.

"Holy shit, *fuck me*, that's-"

KIM KITSURAGI - You hear the smirk in her voice. "That's the idea, detective." There's a temptation to try and wipe the expression you know she's wearing off her face, at least tell her that it's really absurd to be calling you 'detective' when her hand down your pants, but you feel like she doesn't get to make it a whole lot and everyone needs *something*, right?

KIM KITSURAGI - Her fingers move on, slide further down with the extended room and *slip inside*. There's no resistance left there, you've been soaking your underwear for the better part of the last ten to fifteen minutes, but *even so*...

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] - You have completely stopped moving your hands. The lieutenant is a little disappointed at this, but is overcoming it magnanimously in the heady luxuriance of your cry and the snake-skin loafer that swings around her hip and digs into her lower back. 

KIM KITSURAGI - Oh, oh, oh, and then she begins to *move*, rocking her palm against your clit and pushing fingers into you as she moves her leg and she's doing it after all, she's actually fucking you. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - What this must look like from the outside, a shabby Kineema rocking gently in the dark, its meaning obvious to witnesses, if there are any. Inside, orange shapes in the dark moving against hints of green.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - She's christening her new favourite thing, which you helped her obtain, with *you*. She'll remember this every time she drives, works on it, thinks of upgrades. 

ENDURANCE [Impossible: Failure] - The thought of it lights neural pathways you must not have gone down in *years* and you're helpless to resist. As you begin to shatter, the gloved hand reaches into your hair again and keeps you in place as you exit existence for a little bit, nonsensical and broken and gone as she covers your shout with her mouth and swallows her prize. 

KIM'S NEW OLD COURPIS KINEEMA - You feel like you're gone for ages, don't know what you were doing, saying, being in that time; the lieutenant could have dragged you out of the Kineema, kicked you in the stomach, and driven away for all you knew, but eventually you return, and things seem… okay. Her hand is still moving gently against you, drawing out the sensations, coming to a stop as you flop exhausted onto the seat, splayed. Your body is buzzed from the release, your breath is ragged from the journey; bits of your intellect wander back to your brain like they just got lost for a minute. 

LOGIC - I think we can say for certain that the lieutenant did not want to murder you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yeah. Probably. Good thing you're back to tell us. 

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The windows are fogged from exertion. It's porch collapse against the glass, hiding pale inside.

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) - Your left leg is up, bracing your foot into the roof of the back seat, your other leg is still wrapped around the lieutenant. You register somehow, somewhere that the posture is incredibly odd, though you're incapable of caring at the moment. Your fingers are sore from where you were clutching the backrest and where you were gripping the lieutenant desperately, like you were afraid she would go somewhere. There has to be bruises there - evidence of what has just transpired. 

INLAND EMPIRE - You're always hurting people, afraid they'll go somewhere.

KIM KITSURAGI - There are soft *schiffs* of movement as she peels herself off of you, removes her hand, readjusts her practical athletic bra and puts herself back together in the dark. You follow, a little more hesitantly, limbs heavy and dazed. She reaches over and fumbles around where your head was for her discarded glove, and you hand it over, having memorised the location the moment it happened. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - If you could see her, you would see the delicate pinkness in her ears as your fingers brush against hers, like they hadn't just been doing absolutely wicked things to you only minutes ago. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Goodness, is she going to put the gloves on with you still on her fingers? This woman is *filthy* indeed.

PERCEPTION (SOUND) - The fluttering sound of a cloth handkerchief right before the leather shuffling of the glove. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Khm. Maybe some other time.

Wait, but she didn't-... 

"You didn't-..."

KIM KITSURAGI - She interrupts you like she did before, grabbing your collar and planting a significantly less chaste version of that kiss to your lips. You melt into it, revel in touching her under her protective bomber, allowed entry through her bulwarks. "I'm fine," she reassures once she pulls back, halting it before it gets too far. "I'm not doing anything I don't want."

"I feel like I should probably give up on Pryce," you say stupidly.

KIM KITSURAGI - A genuine, unrestrained laugh. It prickles the back of your neck. "You probably should."

"I am not giving up on these pants, though."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant leans over and clicks on the cabin light, like the sight of it will change her mind. Her hair is all over her eyes, making her look younger than she is and her glasses are off-centre. She readjusts them and considers the mustard-coloured fabric.  "They're alright," she says, like it's a professional opinion. "A little tight. Doesn't leave much room for more."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - We have to get rid of these pants.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant pushes her way back into the driver's seat, clicking the cabin light off again on the way. "Let's get you back to Ludmila."

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - It's a quiet drive, though not an uncomfortable one. You nearly fall asleep on the way back; it's a little relieving that the lieutenant doesn't expect more from you right now, you're spent from exertion and the sheer extent of social interaction from the day. Unsurprisingly, once the lieutenant pulls up back at the collection of boxes that is Precinct 57, bad news awaits.

LUDMILA, YOUR NEW OLD COUPRIS 40 - Despite your best hopes, the fuel engine does not make any noise at all once you turn the ignition, truly dead. The lieutenant confirms this once examining the engine as you sit on the curb, expecting the worst.

KIM KITSURAGI - "First of all, you should know that it wasn't your fault, lieutenant. It seems the cooling system has failed - it was probably the noise we heard on our way here. The heat has warped the engine."

LOGIC - Leaving it to cool was not a great idea, as it gave plenty of time for things to fuse together, but on the other hand, it would have been bad to be driving *while* it was fusing. 

"Ugh, Jean is going to *kill* me. They'll never let me drive another car again. It's just bikes and horses for me from now on."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I will attest to Satellite-Officer Vicquemare and Captain Pryce that this was not a matter of your neglect. Merely the condition that the vehicle was already in before assignment. To be honest, it's amazing it managed to make it all the way out here." The engine casing creaks shut. "In any case, this is simply not driveable. It will have to get towed; I will inform the 57 in the morning." 

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - You catch a bit of excitement, looking forward a little at spending some more time with you, now that things have changed. 

(Mournfully.) "Poor Ludmila." 

INLAND EMPIRE - Heading to the wastes where all cop cars go. Where we all go, eventually. You should do a funeral, when you can.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, well." She coughs into her fist, trying to move things along. "I do have to get up early tomorrow, but you're welcome to ride with me and-..." Her ears begin to redden. "I will be out before 0600-" 

"For your radio shift?" 

KIM KITSURAGI - She looks at you with surprise. 

(Shrug.) "Alice told me." 

KIM KITSURAGI - A look of relief that you're not omnipresent crosses her face. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, so, I will be out early, but you-... you're…" She stumbles. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - She's inviting you over. To stay the night. *And everything that comes with that*.

LOGIC - Yes, they're right.

"Yes."

KIM KITSURAGI - She blinks. "I didn't actually ask-..." 

"Yes, Kim, I want to stay the night with you."

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - In a world where the lieutenant did not feel the need to drive you out to an unseen middle of nowhere to make her feelings known, you would have kissed her right then, to broker no ambiguity as to your intentions. As it is, you stand, towering the couple of inches you have on her over her as you get close. You're tempted to do it anyway, since people mistake her as a man all the time and there's no way you would ever be identified as anything other than a fairly unsavory looking woman, but there's too much risk of her precinct recognising her and she's not one for public displays in any case.

"I'm looking to get rid of these 'stupid pants'."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Ears. So red.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant nods coolly like you just gave her your coffee order. "Right then, we should go."

NIGHT ON THE FRONT OF PRECINCT 57 - The cold air has gone from chilly to refreshing, wind gently pulling at your tangled mess of hair for which you haven't thought twice about since arriving here. It must have been somewhat dishevelled during your whole meeting with the lieutenant's crew, but you don't have enough energy left to feel the shame about it right now. Maybe tomorrow, or after the drive back to Jamrock. With the sudden awareness, however, you quickly comb your fingers though to manage it as you slide back into the backseat of the lieutenant's Kineema.

"Say, are you going to name your Kineema?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't typically name my cars," she dismisses, squeezing past you for the driver's seat.

"But this one is different! It's your first *completely yours* car. Shouldn't it get something special?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Are you just trying to get me to name my car after you?" Crows feet appear at the corner of her eyes, visible even with the dim street lights of the precinct.

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - She's not completely opposed to the idea, but it's a little sappy for her.

"After me? No - that'd be kind of stupid. It should be more than just someone you know. Also 'Harry' would be a shit name for a car. It should... hold layers."

KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - The engine starts and burbles into a low rumble. A quick pump of the accelerator turns the sound into a noise that is uncomfortably loud against the night.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay, *art cop*," she chides affectionately, pulling away from the precinct, "how about 'Ludmila'?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Kind of cheating, since you've already just used it.

"Kind of cheating, isn't it?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "After the leader of the Seol Mazovian movement? It means 'loved of the people' doesn't it? She wrote about choosing the name in one of those incredibly dull books you gave me." Her eyes roll imperceptibly, disguised as a glance at the smog-filled night sky.

RHETORIC - But she *has* been reading them!

CONCEPTUALIZATION - When the Revolution returns, and it will, you and the lieutenant should be considered the new Revolutionary Lovers, and you will plaster her face and name on every propagandist poster there is. She won't like it at all, but by Dei's grace you *will* do it.

RHETORIC - Now it's only a matter of getting there.

"I *guess* I can let you have it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, thank you," she snarks. "So glad you're allowing me to use the name of your dead car for my car, which I'm only doing on *your* insistence."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Besides, if you want more meaning, it will commemorate the vehicle that allowed me to obtain *this* vehicle. I'll call it 'Ludmila II'. Is that enough?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - ... Okay, not bad.

"That works."

KIM KITSURAGI - Dryly, "Relieved to know Regular Cop has still got it."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Well, now that that's done with-...

LUDMILA II, KIM'S NEW OLD COUPRIS KINEEMA - Ludmila II wavers slightly on her way to the motorway back to Jamrock as the driver gets sufficiently distracted by wandering hands from the backseat and pulls over. After a few minutes and some lectures about safe driving and lurid details of motor accidents, and then another few minutes of wandering hands, this time from both sides, the vehicle rights itself to head into the Jamrock's Pox.

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