PLAZA RENE PETANQUE - 1085
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Hand/Eye Coordination: Something about it was completely unnatural. Corrupted. Your muscle memory knew what to do and went for it, but there were gaps...
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Physical Instrument: Yeah! Gaps you tried to fill with *thinking*. We don't *think* in sports. We *DO*!
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René Arnoux: "A fine example you are setting here today, officer." He says, slowly shaking his head. "I will remember this. And Gaston will too."
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Gaston Martin: "It's okay, officer. Forgotten completely. It was my *boule* and I have a spare." He produces another ball from his pocket. "Everything is good and we're ready to assist any way we can!"
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Jump to: [Suggestion: "Just talk. It'll smooth things over..."]
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Suggestion: Just talk. It'll smooth things over. Old people like attention.
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Esprit de Corps: It's your refusal to take responsibility I don't like.
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René Arnoux: "*Mon dieu*..." he mumbles, rubbing his temples. "Alright. Alright. Fine. What do you want, officer?"
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Rhetoric: Yes... why *did* you come here? It's unlikely they know anything about the murder.
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René Arnoux: Variable["plaza.rene_be_the_ball"]
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Variable["plaza.rene_be_the_ball"]
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!(Variable["plaza.rene_be_the_ball"])
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Hand/Eye Coordination: You are immediately surprised by the ball's lack of weight. No matter. You'll make it work.
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Hand/Eye Coordination: This felt... wrong. Wrong like touching your sister's breast. You threw your sister's breast.
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You: "Problem? I don't understand."
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René Arnoux: "You vandalized our game, son." He tries to calm himself. "We can't play pétanque with five *boules*."
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Electrochemistry: God, this is right -- you feel the familiar tremble of excitement and adrenaline that precedes every victory. Time has frozen.
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You: "Sorry, an honest mistake. Are we good?"
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René Arnoux: "No, we are not *good*, goddamnit!" A vein on his forehead is bulging alarmingly. "We want our *boule* back!"
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Half Light: He's trying to avoid conflict at any cost.
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René Arnoux: IsKimHere()
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You: "I don't have a *boule*, but will this do?" (Hold out the shot put ball.)
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René Arnoux: "Will this...." He falls silent and stares at the ball. "No, it will *goddamn* not..."
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ahub
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You: Feel the ball.
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You: Take in the surroundings.
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You: There is time for a last glance inward. Who am I?
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You: Let go. Be the ball. (Continue.)
The inertia can be contained no more than a bullet leaving a gun. Let go. Be the bullet. (Continue.)
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Hand/Eye Coordination: The cold metal ball is surprisingly smooth against your neck. It has a pattern on it. (Probably a sponsored ball.) Yours would only be covered with bumps of learning and scars of victory.
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Jump to: [RENE MAIN HUB]
3830486
JUMP OUT to PLAZA / RENE
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René Arnoux: Variable["plaza.rene_physint_agnry_about_gaston_calling_rc_fail_a_good_job"]
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Variable["plaza.rene_physint_agnry_about_gaston_calling_rc_fail_a_good_job"]
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!(Variable["plaza.rene_physint_agnry_about_gaston_calling_rc_fail_a_good_job"])
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Half Light: Mossback and his shitty ball are mocking you. You need to get angry. Use swear-words. Mention *spunk*.
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SISTERBREAST
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Hand/Eye Coordination: It felt like you were going for a thrust or a lunge -- there was definitely gonna be jumping. Maybe you scored a point, but this is a *fiasco*.
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Jump to: [SISTERBREAST]
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You: "I'm sensing anger. And I don't understand why."
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You: "The damn ball was slippery as fuck! How do you expect me to throw this piece of *shit* when it's got old man spunk all over, Mossback?!"
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Gaston Martin: "What are you talking about? You just executed a pretty much perfect pétanque throw!" His tone is full of admiration.
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You: "I was going for something cool, but I screwed it up, like always..."
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René Arnoux: The man in the uniform says nothing. His gaze is fixed on the horizon.
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René Arnoux: IsKimHere()
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IsKimHere()
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!(IsKimHere())
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Kim Kitsuragi: The lieutenant is looking at you. His face is expressionless.
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Perception (Hearing): Everything has gone very quiet. It seems as even the waves have ceased their crashing against the promenade. It feels heavy.
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Composure: Look who's talking -- that cockatoo uniform must give him a real advantage. When fighting in *the circus*.
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René Arnoux: IsKimHere()
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Hand/Eye Coordination: Already your muscles are adjusting to the weight, the nervous system calibrating, until you and the ball have merged into a single entity. The *manball* is ready.
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You: "Okay, I will try to fix this." (Accept the task.)
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René Arnoux: "Good." He nods. "Mistakes are forgiven, when men at least *try* to right their wrongs. I believe you will try. Now why did you approach us?"
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You: "Perfect throw? Well, I still feel defeated."
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René Arnoux: HasShoes()
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Hand/Eye Coordination: A chilly breeze ruffles your hair as you stand there, feet firmly planted. All sounds, smells, even the wind -- everything fades until the only thing left is the union of Man and Ball.
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HasShoes()
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!(HasShoes())
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René Arnoux: CheckEquipped("pants_bellbottom")
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René Arnoux: "Spring slush on bare feet can make a man feel like a failure." He points at your naked toes. "For a reason. Now, do you need something from us?"
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You: Hold on, why *did* it feel so wrong?
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René Arnoux: "*Merde*!" the old soldier yells in outrage. "*Bordel de merde*!!!"
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Rhetoric: A *whorehouse of shit*?
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Jump to: [RENE MAIN HUB]
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Physical Instrument: There are no two more harmful words an athlete can hear than *good job*. And this was downright embarrassing!
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You: "I thought it was shot-put."
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René Arnoux: "Well, it damn well isn't, it's pétanque," the man snaps, raising his voice again. "You ruined a pétanque game. We want our *boule* back!"
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René Arnoux: "Probably because those rooster pants are squeezing you senseless. What ever happened to practical? Durable? Revachol-made?" He shakes his head. "Now what can I do for you?"
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René Arnoux: Variable["plaza.rene_rc_rhet_whorehose_of_shit"]
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Variable["plaza.rene_rc_rhet_whorehose_of_shit"]
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!(Variable["plaza.rene_rc_rhet_whorehose_of_shit"])
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Visual Calculus: It wasn't *whorehouse of shit*. The shot was at least 23 metres. Probably 24 and then some. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
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Visual Calculus: It wasn't *merde*. The shot was at least 23 metres. Probably 24 and then some. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
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René Arnoux: "How are you ever going to get the officer's shit off your nose, Gaston? Or even climb out of his ass?" He shakes his head in extreme disdain.
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You: "That's just how Johnny Ballgame is -- extraordinary."
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Jump to: [ahub]
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Logic: You never know, he *might* know something. This is a good vantage point.
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You: "Pee-tank?"
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René Arnoux: "Yes, pétanque," the man says, raising his voice again. "You ruined our pétanque game. We want our *boule* back."
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Kim Kitsuragi: The lieutenant says nothing, but his face is rigid. It seems he does not approve of your athletic displays.
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Gaston Martin: "Thank you, officer." The jolly man quickly takes the ball and bounces it in his hand. "This is really something... Honestly I think it's better than our old *boule* even!"
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IsKimHere()
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!(IsKimHere())
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Kim Kitsuragi: "Yes, officer..." The lieutenant gives you a quick side-glance. "What *do* we need from these gentlemen?"
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You: "I'm sorry."
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René Arnoux: "Your guess is as good as mine, officer. Maybe you're just one of those men who's never satisfied with anything?" He shrugs. "Regardless, what do you need from us?"
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Shivers: West, in the Grand Couron Arena, a sharp overhand left from Arsène-Luc Edelbrock, sends the Samaran heavyweight champion, Kostya 'Mjasnok' Koštunica, flying to the mat. The crowd goes wild. Revachol loves her heroes.
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René Arnoux: "What the HELL is your problem?"
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You: "Not a weak right triceps, that's for sure."
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You: "I'm a god of track and field. Why would I have a problem with anything?"
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René Arnoux: "No, no you don't! Our pétanque game is ruined!" He's getting angry again. "We want our *boule* back."
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Gaston Martin: "Take it easy, René." The jolly one tries to defuse the situation. "This is just a misunderstanding, isn't it, officer? No harm done."
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You: "Wait... what?"
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CheckEquipped("pants_bellbottom")
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!(CheckEquipped("pants_bellbottom"))
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Half Light: With a pinch of fear.
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Gaston Martin: His merry partner is staring at the ground like he's trying to see right through to the other side.
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Authority: You are an officer of the law with way more important things to worry about than *boules*. Don't take this crap.
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You: "Listen, guys, the ball is gone, and I have a murder to solve, alright?" (Refuse task.)
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René Arnoux: "Right," the old soldier says slowly. "Was the demonstration *it*, or do you still need something from us, officer?"
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Esprit de Corps: *Some* would still say you're a cop, but I guess we're beyond that now.
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You: "The throw was terrible and you know it. No need to mock me."
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Hand/Eye Coordination: An embodiment of pure motion. A fine-tuned *locomotor* running at maximum efficiency.
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Jump to: [RENE MAIN HUB]
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IsKimHere()
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!(IsKimHere())
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Untitled hub (02)
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You: "Oh, pétanque, I understand..."
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You: "Don't be a sore loser, it's still a fair game between you two. Second place is a podium position."
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Physical Instrument: Behold the fear and confusion reflecting in the eyes of the two feeble geezers -- they are in awe of your superiority. You are a God to them.
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Endurance: A man his age getting worked up like that? Better watch that blood pressure.
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Jump to: [ahub]
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You: "I thought something way more spectacular would happen."
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René Arnoux: "I don't care if you are a cop -- you *do not* just ruin someone's game. It's so goddamn disrespectful!"
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René Arnoux: "Of course there's harm done, you orange slug!" The heel of his cavalry boot slams in the ground. "You owe us a goddamn *boule*!"
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Gaston Martin: "*Mon dieu*," the jolly man exclaims. "Good job, officer. That was an excellent throw!"
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Jump to: [RENE MAIN HUB]
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Jump to: [ahub]
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