"I told you this place is off-limits. It's been targeted by a gang." He shakes his head.

"I told you this place is off-limits. It's been targeted by a gang." He shakes his head.

"Ever seen a man around here in a suit and glasses?"

"Can't say I have. I'm not usually stationed here, though, so I wouldn't." He shrugs.

"I'm having trouble finding the 'Miracle Line'. Do you know where it is?"

"Let's see now, uh..." He sniffs and puffs up his chest. "I hear... I hear it's in the Backways, right next to where the ex-pilots drink their sheep carcass juice."

"Sheep carcass juice?"

"Some indigenous recipe of theirs..." He flares his nostrils. "Imagine the worst thing you've ever tasted. Now imagine sucking it out of a dead sheep's arse."

Please don't imagine that. Definitely don't be tempted to drink it, either.

"If you want to see it for yourself just walk the path all the way to the west until you come across some old men giving each other a hard time."

"Got it. I know where those old drunks are."

"Strange you missed the payphone. They use it regularly. Heard from another GM that we had to tell them to turn their crotches away from passers-by while they're on it. Dirty gits."

"I'm not very familiar with the Backways."

"Just follow the path all the way to the west. The ex-pilots are always chatting loudly about their old flying days and giving each other a hard time. Just follow the noise."

"Do you know of any doctors?"

"Only one in the near vicinity is Dr Hugo's. He runs it out of his houseboat at the end of the Backways."

"These glasses belong to Malen's father. I think he's been taken."

"Taken? Likely story. That old bat put you up to this, did he?" He shakes his head.

His jowels flap like a dog shaking off spittle.

"Move along please, I haven't got time for this."

"Do you know who owns these glasses?"

"No I don't. I've got plenty more things to do than keep track of everyone's eyewear."

Judging by the state of his body, those 'things' don't require him to move much, if at all.

"I found this poem in a bin nearby."

"And?"

"How would it have got there?"

"Ooo, let me think a second." He places a finger on his chin. "I reckon... yep, that must be it."

Don't be fooled. He's making a mockery of you.

"Oh, fuck off."

"Language!" He scoffs. "Young women these days think they can swear openly at a GM. Going downhill this world."

"What? Tell me."

"Someone must have thrown it in there." His eyes widen. "Hahahaha! Got you there, didn't I?"

Say nothing, just wait.

"Nothing."

"Thought so."

"What kind of gang are we talking about?"

"Oh, very dangerous." He puffs up his chest. "Probably one of the Azzurri lot. Yeah, you wouldn't want to mess with them, miss."

Buffing himself like a castrated cockerel in attempt to masculate himself.

"They were kids, weren't they?"

"No-no. Full grown adults. I heard one of them even had a beard."

"Why do you think it was Azzurris?"

"They've been causing us a lot of trouble round the docks lately. Seems they're trying to take over from the local mobs, and doing a good job of it."

"I'll mess with whoever I want."

"Not a good idea. You never know who's carrying a knife these days." He taps the side of his nose twice and follows it up with a wink.

There's nothing in the operant playbook that matches these coded motions. He must be using highly advanced kinesics.

If this guy is a master of espionage he's playing an impressive bluff.

"Good job you're here."

"What? Oh, yes. Exactly," he says, pride swelling inside his already swollen form.

Azzurri mob is a foreign crime syndicate you've only heard about in passing, always with a warning to stay away.

"How long will the barge be sat there?"

"The parts may take a while as the trade routes slowed up recently. Used to be a lot quicker a couple of weeks ago."

"Where are the parts coming from?"

"The rest of the Developed World."

"What's causing the slowdown?"

"Must be something at the docks by the bazaar. But I wouldn't know more specifically -- outside of my jurisdiction."

"Thanks."

"Why are you blocking this door?"

"You can't go in there, I'm afraid." He holds his palm up. "That's what I'm here for -- no one gets in."

Working for the Opera technically means you don't officially exist. Therefore...

"I am no one, so let me in."

"Ho ho!" He's overcome by an objectively ugly laugh. "That's funny, I see what you did there."

"Just tell me what's in there."

"Only the controls to the water-lock. But we can't risk anyone lowering the water right now -- it would damage the barge even further, you see."

"I'll come back later." [Leave.]

"You probably shouldn't."

"Don't you listen? Clear off." He runs a finger across the bottom of his nose.

"What's going on around here?"

"Bit of a hold up with the barge over there. It nearly got robbed -- by a gang, no less."

It wasn't us. We plead not guilty, officer.

"Nothing was taken, luckily, but they did manage to break the damn thing's engine. So now it's stuck there until the replacement parts arrive."

"I heard there was a robbery attempt on that barge over there. Is that right?"

"Yeah. By a gang, no less."

"I'm gone." [Leave.]

"Splendid."

"You shouldn't be here." The Guardia Municipal officer rubs his eyes and straightens himself out.

The big man was dozing off. Now he's trying to cover it up with a vulgar display of authority.

"Wakey-wakey, officer."

"Please don't. I get enough of that from the wife." He snorts and rocks on his stubby feet.

"Isn't that what a wife is for?"

"Hm, yeah, I guess so." He shrugs. "Anyway, like I said, you shouldn't be here."

"She sounds like my kind of woman."

"You can have her if you like." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, like I said, you shouldn't be here."

"Good one. I pretend I have a wife too, sometimes."

"I'm not pretending. She's real. Been married almost 20 years." He tuts. "Anyway, like I said, you shouldn't be here."