Act 1, Part 2: The Politics of Lunch
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
[x] Take him to the cheap local corner shop that makes fried food and pasties, beloved by locals. You promised yourself not to eat from there too often but he seems the type to appreciate it.
"I know a place nearby. You like pasties right?"
[Rayburn liked that.]
"As it happens. Especially fresh."
You lead Rayburn out of the main doors and along the block, down past several imposing government buildings and up some steps into a small shopping arcade on the third story of a converted building. There's a pharmacy, a coffee shop, and then Deloy, an old style corner shop that sells, among other things, some pretty amazing home made pasties. Beyond the various produce there's a set of brown wooden tables, their surfaces whirled and stirated the orgone that wafted through the high-altitude forest that spawned them.
There's only one person on in the time after what most people would consider a lunch hour, and apparently some people have decided to take a late lunch like you. There must be half a dozen people snaking along the counter.
"Ah, rats. We'll be queued for a little." You join the back of the cue, taking the opportunity to check Rayburn out without being too obvious about it. His muscles are very impressive up close, and you wonder how much time he spends in the gym. "So why exactly would someone with a bright career in law or politics poke his nose in our neck of the bureaucracy?"
"The older boys at KMU told me all the pretty girls in the civil service crowd around the archives and libraries."
"...!" You fluster for a moment. "Well that's not true at all. We're old nans."
"I'm teasing."
"Oh good~. So I have permission to put insubordinacy your dossier?"
"...ahah, please don't. I was just thinking you can't be that old." He considers you. "Twenty-two?"
"Please, you're flattering me." You cough "A little higher."
"I don't believe you." He blinks "Twenty… five?"
You make a gesture for higher
"Twenty eight?"
"...mmmh. Yes. Not quite old enough to be your mum, but I'd be grateful if you did entreat with me as your proper senior."
Even if it does shut down the impossible potentiality of romance, when else are you going to get a chance to boss someone around.
"Heh, not much more than my twenty-four. And I was just thinking you're a little more wilful than you let on." He looks at the line of government types getting their food. They're dressed mostly in sharp blue business wear of the latest fashion. "Care much for politics?"
"A little old to still be in school then."
"I changed disciplines. Politics you know, it was a late awakening." A shrug "Not keen to talk about yours?"
"Not especially, particularly with a junior colleague. Bad mix as a civil servant."
"I won't be for long."
You look at him for a long time, not sure how much to trust. "I suppose I have lots of reasons to not have much affection for the way things are, but I'm content with my situation. I'm safe, I can eat most meals and the library air is good for my health."
"That's… respectable." He looks out the window at the orgone clouds breaking around the towers in the distance "So what, would you take up arms if the services stopped paying?"
"I'm not much of a fighter, no." You cup your bicep with your other hand and curl it sheepishly. "Rail-thin if you hadn't noticed."
"Fighting's about more than muscles. Reach and leverage count for a lot. And if things were to go hot, the partisans would likely have guns and gardshells."
"Spoken like a partisan. I thought you came from a moneyed family."
"I do, but the theory makes you a little aware of everything. Not like there isn't a proud tradition of wealthy academics leading the charge to reform elsewhere." He pauses, as if reconsidering what he's saying. "Still, too many of the elites still think about economics in mercantilist terms. Zero-sum wealth. It's holding progress and equality back."
"Fancy yourself the founder of another Ean-Saffe?"
"Never. I'm a son of the Commonwealth through and through." He becomes more animated "That's why reform matters. I love the country but we need to make it possible for people to rise above their station with effort. For the ones who can't, we need social services to keep people healthy and safe."
"Or the proles will rebel and overthrow you all?"
"I just think the way society treats the poorest and most vulnerable is despicable. And you said you didn't like poli-"
"NEXT!"
You're up to the counter now, and order several pasties, a sausage roll and drinks. "Eating in? I'll have the girl bring them over to your table." The man behind the counter smiles at you. You know him by sight, if not by name. You're a regular when you can afford to be.
"Thanks," you walk to a back table and sit down. You can't help notice Rayburn sits against the wall, able to watch both doors at once.
"I've wondered since I met you, but is it hard to eat with that?" He points at your throat prosthetic, and you find yourself fingering it, self conscious.
"I've gotten used to it. I used to love eating spicy and sour foods, but it aggravates the junction between my flesh and the collar."
"It's in your esophagus too?"
"Yeah."
"Ouch." Genuine concern. "What happened?"
"Respiratory issues. I was originally from Haleston, a mining settlement, and most of the eli- my people have a sensitivity to pelagic orgone. Especially the impure stuff that stagnates in pools in the wastelands." You blanch, shake your head. "Sorry. We're eating, and it's a little gross if you want to know...?"
"I'm not squeamish."
"It's obstructive tumors, mostly. Lung and throat diseases are common. My father and older sister passed from it."
"I'm sorry." He looks like he genuinely is.
You make a gestured 'it's in the past'. "I got off well enough. Had some nodules taken out, but my natural voice went with it. Had to spend much of my time in university as a mute, 'till a wealthy donor paid for a prosthetic."
"It's really inconceivable to that your people still haven't be released from the forced relocations."
"Nobody's keeping us, but train tickets out of the company town cost a lot of company vouchers. Most people can't tighten their belts for two weeks to save for one, and wages don't get any better out in those remote settlements. More than that, the war destroyed a lot of the ships and skydocks." You shake your head. "There's just not enough room for everyone who wants to return to nomadic life. That uncle I mentioned won a lottery the ones who still live up there run for those of us who got taken."
"Maybe the system doesn't need reform. If we tore it all down, we might have the conditions necessary to fix every single rotten thing about it." He smiles a little, his face saying it's a joke.
"You sound like a radical."
"Sometimes direct action is necessary. That's what I think, anyway."
How do you feel about what he said?
[ ] You strongly agree with him. Things aren't great or even good for most people, and is necessary to organize before the crisis begins so you can push your agenda of reform or revolution.
[ ] You agree. The government and elites can't be relied upon to do everything for regular citizens, so we should look out for themselves and eachother. When a crisis happens, these groups can help to keep people safe.
[ ] You can't completely agree. The system is flawed and racism undermines the intended equality of democratic society, but the fragile peace upon which people depend to live needs to be protected.
[ ] You disagree. As corrupt as the government is, it's still a democracy. You can only use peaceful means for reform.
How will you answer him?
[ ] Answer him with only a little self-censorship.
[ ] Give him the answer you think he'll like.
[ ] Give him the answer you think is politically safe.
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