Revachol Interisolary University Radio Room
8:02 AM
Day One May '51

</img>

The Radio Room of Revachol Interisolary University at Jamrock is, like every other part of the building, constructed from modular housing units built by FALN. Standardized three meter wide corridors surrounded by modular rooms in eight standard sizes with the occasional larger hall built from combinations of the above. It's like being in a three-dimensional rat maze constructed from shipping containers.

[Private to Carvalle: You remember ten years ago when everyone thought actual repurposed shipping containers would be the new modular dwellings. Except people like windows. And back doors. And if you cut too much steel out of a shipping container and don't reinforce it...they crush like tare. You're pretty sure the Fontaines survived but you haven't seen Bertrand since.]

The Radio Room is a standard T-2 room: even with the glass-walled recording booth and the electronics and the dozen mismatched chairs and the hotplate with the coffee percolator and the shelves groaning with books, manuals and (mostly) magnetic tape reels plus the detritus of all of the above there's still room for a dozen people in there. As it is, there are precisely five people attending the Weekly Radio Station Staff Meeting, including the intern, and none of them are college students. This is partially because the  College students are notoriously nocturnal, due both to peculiarities of the adolescent biology and the logistics of good times.

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: They're lazy. You taught your children better. If you're up, then they'd damn well better be up. And there's no sleeping in when fish and profit are rotting away.]

[Private to Al Rossini: Only the most wholesome and the most depraved party before teatime. Not that actual High Tea is de rigeur like it was during the glory days of Her Irene Highness Irene the Navigator. But the rule of thumb remains: The Shadows Know When To Start (i.e. Longer Than You, They Know What To Do)]

Erno Latour calls the meeting to order. He's the actual Faculty Advisor to the Radio Station and a Physics Professor. [Private to Al Rossini: Repurposed for more remedial math and science classes. Although he's trying to get you to take over one of his Introductory Statistics sections. Poor children wouldn't know a T-Test from a T-Square.]He's sleep deprived but otherwise immaculate with his little mustache and clean white shirts.

"Ladies," he nods to Alexandra and Evangeline, "Yvan," he nods to the school's Chief Custodian, an electronics hobbyist who is constantly trying to balance his instinct to upgrade the equipment with his duty to keep it from falling apart. In exchange, he gets first pick of time slots.

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Which is really unfair. After all, his job is right here so he hasn't got the commute you do.]

[Private to Carvalle: Yvan's good people. He's actually the one who recruited you. Maybe he's a bit of a binoclard, but he's a binoclard who gets his hands dirty.]

He pauses for a second, wondering if he's forgotten someone. "Oh and two sugars and if there's any milk left..." he turns to Carvalle.

"So anyway, the intern should be around with the agenda and draft schedules. But before we get started, any pressing business?"

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Of course there is, last week you were scheduled for the lunchtime slot on Friday. That's Market Day and he KNOWS you're not gonna be able to make it then.]

[Private to Carvalle: Of course there is, you need to change your shifts. Your dad's got an appointment and you have a new gig. (and tell me what your newest job is)]

[Private to Al Rossini: Of course there is, you understand that half the purpose of a college radio station is learning to run a radio station. But this isn't a Vocational or Technical College (not that there's anything wrong with that) and so shouldn't the programming be at little more uplifting. Or, at minimum, cutting edge? These kids need to prepare for the FUTURE!]
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 19:24, Mon 17 Jan 2022.

Al had been early to the meeting. Sitting in one of the chairs, legs crossed. She'd brought her own coffee. Held in a reusable mug, the neon plastic advertising some political campaign that must've run its course back in Messina. Votazione Melchelio, it said above a flag of a great dragon, La Scelta del Popolo! Her little, round sunglasses hid some of her wince each time she took of a sip of the concoction within. Not all of it, though.

"Professore?" she liked to address people with the foreign word. In Revachol, it made people pay attention. Told them she was educated. It was an excellent way to get listened to in meetings. Though her accent did that, too, and she couldn't help but sound patrician. "Excuse me. Perhaps I could just take a moment? But it seems to me, and my apologies to any here who would have helped construct the current schedule, but looking over the current list of programming that was provided via transmission before the meeting? It seems to me this station's programming is woefully outdated."

She drew off her sunglass. The folded up, and instantly became a pointer to gesture into the air. A counter to the coffee that swirls along at the opposite side in the opposite direction. "This current block is certainly... Comprehensive. But I'm concerned it doesn't speak to the concerns of the student population. Should we not be seeking to be something of a more... Progressive voice? Giving the population more of an opportunity to hear those things that they are voicing?"

Evangeline was...not particularly early to the whole meeting, but she certainly wasn't late either. There were other things, more important things she had tog et to go before this, like, ahem, making sure her family was fine and not falling apart, and from that perspective, she thought her arriving a few minutes before the meeting started was very commendable. She didn't voice such a thought to everyone else, though. Instead, she let the way she stood just a bit straighter in her chair than the others do the talking.

It was that thought that tided her over as Al began talking about progressivism and ideas and all the mumbo-jumbo that people spoke about when they didn't know what it was like to really fight. Sure, the words that came out were fancy and well-formed, but what did they really mean?

"Frankly," Evangeline began, with a raise of a manicured eyebrow. "If students really want to have their voices heard, shouldn't they...be more active in the running of the station? Just saying, I manage, even with the hours being what they are."

Ratcheting noise, scuff on dirt, sound of metal being treated casually- Someone is audibly getting nearer. [Private to GM: He just rode up outside, slid to a halt, and 'secured' his bike in his customary manner- no rack nearby, so: hanging chained to a secure tree limb.]

Carvalle comes in, in a whirl. What the hell is he wearing tod- there's a branded windbreaker, for sure, but there's some sort of cloth vest under it, over a t-shirt in surrender-flag colors. All under a backpack.

"Hi,all" he starts, omitting spaces between his words, "Campus' printshop? Bit late replacing the printdrum on the gestetner, buuut..."

Reaching into his bag, over his shoulder, he produces a long, slender box and hands it over carefully. "Picked up the vacuum tubes, for you Yvan..." (This was a needed part. The Board will work properly, soon.) Raising one end slightly as if 'toasting' Yvan with them, he puts them on a table.

He then produces a folder, containing a score of neatly-typed mimeograph sheets, and hands them out individually to those present.

He starts with Evangeline: "Shifted you so- that thing with your kid, you know?" (It's a little unclear whether he's saying this because it's a personal matter what the thing is, or if he forgot what it was.) He also looks a little embarassed for some reason. [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Do you want a story in common? Coincidentally, there's a story in his background involving a fish market. :) That's the thing he's embarassed about, if you want.]

He hands another one to Al- efficiently, but quietly. [Private to Al Rossini: I'm not sure why, yet- but he's very quiet to Al, compared to the others.]

Turning to Erno, he hands two sheets, together, with a couple of paper sugar packets stapled to the upper left corner. "Agenda's top, schedule's bottom, milk's in the bag." He gets out, before reaching into the knapsack to retrieve a small 'on the go' container of milk, wrapped in paper.

Continuing, on his way to the coffeemaker, he adds "I changed my on-call hours for the next week, like we said- Errands to keep, new gig coming up. Adjusted the payroll." [Private to GM: It's up to you whether Carvalle even had the conversation- sometimes, he finds, attaching an "as we were saying" just moves things along without it actually being a lie.]

(That last bit is a dusty office joke- it's not clear how he's compensated (old recordings? The pleasure of your company?) but so far as anyone around the station knows, Carvalle's unpaid.)

A coffee appeared in Erno's hand. Then, Carvalle sat down.

[Private to The Pale: New gig: Aside from picking up a shift or two at a shorthanded Frittte store- not his usual- This guy approached him about a new business venture. Personalized weather forecasts.

"For travellers?" "Not... no. Listen, you know how everyone listens to one news and get the same forecast? People want to feel special. So, for a small charge, I provide personalized weather forecasts, based on where they're going and doing that day, guaranteed at least as accurate as in the 'papers. Everyone pays a little extra, and I get to use it to improve the system until...!"

Carvalle didn't quite understand how the money worked, and wasn't personally sold- he himself "did the weather" by just getting on with his day no matter what, and maybe looking out the window- but the guy did pay. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 04:48, Tue 18 Jan 2022.

"Perhaps," Al countered the fisherwoman as she took the mimeograph from the... Intern? She didn't make eye contact. "Perhaps the student body would be more interested in participation if the station better reflected the current interests, concerns, and trends in journalism. The currently strategy is certainly proving its worth in that regard, yes?" She gestures around the most empty room with sunglasses and paper held in hand.

"But, Professor Latour, my apologies. I did not mean to take command of your meeting. Only to bring up a point of potential discussion. Please, do continue?"

"So," begins Professor Latour, sniffing his coffee and finding it adequate, "if there is no..."

"Thanks kid," Yvan mumbles. Latour looks back to him and clears his throat.

"Yvan, is there business you'd like to bring up?"

"Kid's got us a new tube. That's gonna boost the signal..."

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: He is so proud of the junk in the glass booth. Men must have their follies, your husband apparently receives a sort of personalized weather report. You didn't mean to snoop--this time, anyway--but the envelopes are pretty distinctive. You have not had the courage to ask how much it costs, that's not a fight one gets into without reinforcements.]

"Does this need to be discussed now, or may we proceed as scheduled?"

"You go ahead, I've got to do station identification.

Yvan saunters off to the booth. As the door opens you hear

Sam Bo Lovin' is gonna' tear us apart/You're a Roundhouse Kick to My Heart

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Rock music. Not Disco. Not even Funk. Your husband would spit. On this matter, you can't disagree.]

[Private to Carvalle: Yvain has played this song enough that you know it's only the end of the first chorus, he could have waited at least another minute.]

The three of you appear to be excluded from the drama. This appears to be an internal issue that's been going on long before any of you showed up.

[Private to Al Rossini: You get the issue between these two. Latour is advisor to the Radio Station because the university bylaws -- copied word for word from the boilerplate -- require a faculty advisor in a relevant field of knowledge. And so that either means the science or engineering department. And Erno here drew the short straw. This is the realreason why he wants you to teach classes, so you can be his trustworthy replacement. Meanwhile, Yvan is the only one here who understands how all the machinery works, and actually enjoys being here. Guys like him are popular with the students for some reason, especially those like Carvalle who couldn't hope to pay tuition. The Mazovians would call it class conflict. You have better terms for it, more precise ones. You have a feeling that either you or Evangeline will be the tie-breaker. Even if Carvalle openly sided with Yvain, Erno would never consider it relevant]

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: There's two cats fighting over the salmon head that is this radio station. Carvalle will side with Yvain because he thinks Yvain's his boss. And Al will side with Erno because she thinks she's his boss. Which leaves you to decides who gets the fish, and who gets a shoe thrown at him.]

[Private to Carvalle: For fuck's sake, none of you are getting paid for this and there's already management drama?]

"You know, ladies" Latour looks from Evangeline to Al, "you're absolutely correct. What would you two ladies...and one intern" it looks like it pains him greatly to say it, "say to getting the student newspaper involved? Maybe some of the political groups involved, not the Mazovians of course."

[Private to Al Rossini: Abort! This is a terrible idea, he's attempting to throw off responsibility by bringing in further stakeholders! You remember how this went when you were in undergrad! (Tell me how it went in undergrad. Tell me what two beautiful things were crushed when they were unwisely brought together without a firm, guiding hand from above?]

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Warning! On the one hand, maybe someone on the newspaper will show up and want to do some of the work. On the downside, maybe someone on the newspaper will want your timeslot. Think of a counteroffer!]

[Private to Carvalle: Abort! This is a terrible idea! If you approach the students, they might realize you're not paying tuition! Then they'll probably think less of you!]
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:24, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

[I can't be the least into-it in, that's just not Cool.] [Private to GM: I'm leaning into his Trouble, here.]

...It takes a certain talent to make enthusiastically-noncommittal noises. The sound out of Carvalle's throat indicates he will do whatever the Station needs, but would just as soon do something else too.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:02, Mon 24 Jan 2022.

Al frowns, obviously turned off by the suggestion. It immediately rings false to her. A reminder of her own college days. The Society for the Furtherance of Justice, and the Student's Liberal Justice Movement. Both student organization, both doing good work. Holding student political meetings, advocation for campus reform. Many of their members even crossing over. Until the two groups attempted to merge. Their leadership unable to reconcile, especially after some particularly poorly timed accreditations of senior members. As the leaders clashed and struggled for authority among themselves, an exodus of students to other campus political organizations.

"I'm not sure that's wise. Particularly now when, well... We don't truly have any students on offer?" Al gestures with her sunglasses, revolving them around the room. "Perhaps when we have a few more students involved we can re-approach the topic?"

Evangeline found herself nodding at Al's comment. "Yeah, I think it's best if we remain as is, at least for the moment. I think the radio and the newspaper serve two very different purposes."

Still, it did seem that Latour still wanted something else, then them simply saying no, so Evangeline pursed her lips in thought, before speaking again.

"As with what Al said, maybe it'd be best if we instead focused on student recruitment for the radio exclusively."

[Drop me a private line, or a PM, which two hour slots your character wants for the next week. Broadcasting hours are 07:00 to 19:00 Monday through Thursday and then 24 hours a day from 7:00 Friday through 03:00 on Sunday, then again 07:00 Sunday through 19:00. Evangeline and Al, you can have up to two apiece. Carvalle, I'm presuming you'll be working the board.]

By now Yvan has returned and he's standing there, listening. At which point he says:

"I think I've cracked it."

He pauses, looking over your faces.

"So Prof, you know how you said we keep these meetings early because most of the students wouldn't attend if you paid them, and the rest you'd pay to keep them out?"
[Private to Al Rossini: You'd had your suspicions. And in principle you don't disagree. But it's unprofessional to say it out loud.] [Private to Carvalle: You, of course, are not paid. And here you are. ]
Professor Latour looks at Yvan, his face a mixture of shame and murderous rage.

"...well I found a third category."

And the good professor's jaw drops.

"If this is true, Yvan, why haven't we seen them before?"

"Look, you do the hard part, keeping the brass happy. But I've been in the booth with everyone on this schedule. You know how different people can be when there's a mic in front of them."
[Private to Carvalle: That's some very well done managing up.]
"OK, granted..."

"Here, you've got next week's schedule. Let me walk you through our colleagues..."

Looking over the schedule, besides your blocks (and Yvan's filling any remaining dead air), most of the slots are filled by students. Of those, Prof. Latour has already implicitly divided into three categores, which Yvan explicitly adds to a three-column chart he's drawn on the back of an extra schedule. The candidates, and their shows, are as follows.

Category 1: The Uninterested
These students show up to record their shows but have so far showed no interest in doing more. You might be able to lean on them by threatening their time slots.

Amalthée Richelieu - Où va le monde (a show where she interviews local DJs and club owners about what they're playing this week)
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You know her parents, good sound people. Greengrocers. She's only in this shithole college because the legal secretary job she has lined up requires at least one year of higher education. It's a hustle but nothing worth having comes without either a hustle or hard work.] [Private to Al Rossini: Every college radio station has at least one DJ who invites people with an event to promote onto their show for free tickets. It is a law of physics.] [Private to Carvalle: She worked with you at a Frittte a couple years ago. She was dating a member of store security, as female cashiers are implicitly encouraged to (per unwritten corporate policy). Then she broke up with him, and awarded him custody of the store. She said that straight out, tossed her head and let the paper crown fall to the floor. You like her spirit.]
Future Rugby Legend Uriah Vandersloot - Straight-Up Graad Rock n' Roll
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You've seen him around, of course. Not that your son has ever been a threat to him, off or on the pitch. No Bourderau would waste the time necessary to get good at childish games. For all that, Uriah's turning into a very handsome young man, pity he's ginger, that probably means he's lactose intolerant...] [Private to Al Rossini: You have never met a good man who likes rock music. Electricity should be hooked to keyboards, which are feminist, not guitars which are phallic symbols. It's an objective fact of taste.] [Private to Carvalle: You're not sure what his hustle is. If he were unironically here for an education, he'd be too stupid to play rugby. And it's not like the university sponsors sports teams beyond the club level, that'd be ridiculous. Maybe it's a sponsorship thing?]
Jacques & Jeanne  - Call in Show about the Unexplained
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Those two are adorable. They don't seem to understand that there's anything racist about cryptozoology.] [Private to Al Rossini: You thought they were brother and sister for a while, they both have the exact same creepy flat affect in their speech until suddenly all the emotion comes out in a burst of excitement. Then you learned no, that's just how nerds are like in Revachol. Binoclard is a slur, and only Jeanne wears them anyway.] [Private to Carvalle: Must be nice to find someone who loves you like these two clearly love each other. You'd be jealous, but you've spoken to Jeanne in person. You cannot help but conclude that she's the lucky one.]

Category 2: The Undesirable
Notable members in this list include:

Fat, Racist Karl - Chansons of Old Mundi (i.e. music before black people were involved)
[Private to Al Rossini: It is, naturally, impolite to judge a person on their weight, or even to comment upon it. And Fascist political beliefs, while they certainly don't look good, are not expressly banned from the airwaves as long as he avoids actually saying the worst slurs. But a poor physique and a worse optique adds up to unforgivable.] [Private to Carvalle: Holy shit, you know that guy. You worked with that guy. It would be the worst two weeks of a lesser man's life, but probably not even bottom ten of yours. Well, maybe #8 if you're feeling self-pitying.] [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You have no further thoughts about Fat, Racist Karl. You resent even thinking his name.]
Beto (no last name given) - a mixture of Aggressive Anodic Dance Music with Electric Guitars and Accordions and Gloomy, Anodic Dance Music sung by Sad Boys.
[Private to Carvalle: Dude's a fucking Mesque banger. Still wears the shoes, the scarf and the impractical mesh tank top. If he weren't genuíno he'd be dead. Acts way more subdued than the ones you see on the street, though. The music is called Psychoyetti, it's what happens when you play traditional Mesque Marietti with Grad Style Rock Instruments] [Private to Al Rossini: What's wrong with him? Just because he's Mesque and doesn't know how to dress himself. Plus he spins some pretty innovative tunes. The synthesis of electric guitars and keyboards keeps it from being misogynist. ] [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You are not sure how an organized criminal, a straight up gangbanger from Villalobos no less, ended up here. You do not approve. He held a door for you once, which scared the wits out of you. Since girlhood, you knew that if you looked back and saw a Mesque banger, you should drop whatever you're carrying and run. This isn't racism, you could tell stories.]
The Communards - various and varied. They apparently have an internal rota where they sign up for their single shared timeslot.
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Children playing at being something greater than themselves. It's a game because the thing they're imitating is dead and buried. Even if they did read what Kras Mazov actually wrote, which you'd bet they haven't. Which one of your kids was obsessed with Franconigerian Cavalrymen when they were little? Why did they stop?] [Private to Carvalle: You cannot tell if they come from enough money that they can be marked down as stupid, and thus safe. If they're taking this seriously, well, there's a reason the Coalition has those heavily armed blimps circling the skies. They all dress the same: Samaran Army Caps and mechanics coveralls. One of them called you "comrade," once, which you guess is cool? But then they tried to bum a cigarette off you, which you didn't have. Which is less cool.] [Private to Al Rossini: Somehow, this offends you on a personal level. Was the war fought for nothing? How can they be so ungrateful?]

Category 3: The Unforeseen
None of you had even dared to presume that any of the students with shows didn't fit in the first two categories. Not even Carvalle. Not even Al. But there are a few outliers.

Armand Ra - On Cinema (Reviews movies, classic and upcoming, and plays film soundtracks)
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: A nice Semenese boy, and well spoken too. He's precisely the kind of guy you've been trying to set your daughter up with.] [Private to Carvalle: Homo-sexuality is technically legal. But you can still get your ass kicked for it. The fact that Ra is coming back to this shithole and not shutting up? Dude has balls. Probably has free movie tickets too. You're not sure which is a bigger luxury] [Private to Al Rossini: The man is a liar and a fool! Gabriel Buenguerro was not "a fascist mannequin" and The Man Behind the Black Sun was, and remains a classic of the Golden Age of Mesque Cinema. That said, he does seem enthusiastic enough.]
Fat Angie - All Party Rap, All the Time
[Private to Carvalle: She's from Martinaise, apparently her brother worked on the docks and died young. You guess this is how she grieves?] [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You cannot hate this ridiculous young woman. Her brother, a union dockworker, was shot a couple months ago, when the foreign mercenaries were sent to break that strike. It's a mess. And there she is, every week she puts on something you heard at one of one your cousin's last birthdays. ] [Private to Al Rossini: You are not sure if she is a member of the homo-sexual underground. It is very important you know this, because it will allow you to judge whether she is committing cultural appropriation.]
Mireille Artaud - Musique Experimental
[Private to Carvalle: Remember those college students who had a couch and just set it up random places around town and hung out on it? Somehow the cops got involved and couldn't catch them? There's rumors she's fucked on that couch.] [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You just know she approves of grafitti. ] [Private to Al Rossini: She reminds you of that one really tragic friend from undergrad who got really into opioids and dropped out and now you two no longer speak. Anyway, you've got to protect this one. Lucrezia had such potential.]

It seems the way is pretty clear: go forth and hustlegrind.

While the categories are laid out, Carvalle takes a folded piece of paper from his pack and starts writing.

Anyone who cares to look can see he's copying the names down, but in a different order. And his knees are tensing.

[OOC: He's plainly getting ready to go. If anyone wants to call dibs or somehow get him to take someone specific, this looks like the time.]

Scribble-scribble-scribble...

[Private to GM: In order: He breaks it down into three "sandwiches", with the most desirable first.

Amalthee- he knows and likes her- she's solid. {M}
Beto: He's not great, but he's got energy, you know? {M}
Armand Ra: There's a good deal going on there.

J&J Superstition Factory: He knows them, at least. And maybe something good will turn up.
The Communards: The numbers game make this encouraging- someone must want to be the vanguard?
Fat Angie: (I just get the feeling her and Carvalle speak the same language.) {M}

Uriah Vandersloot: He just doesn't get this guy's deal, he'll be tough
Mireille Artaud: That whole thing with the couch just... kinda... freaks him out, a little. {M}
Fat, Racist Karl: "I mean, people might join in to argue with him. But what if they don't?" {M}

{M} indicates a Music show. He likes those.

He COULD be talked into doing the chivalrous thing and doing the least-desirable one first, but that would involve someone talking to him. He has the sneaking feeling that he's gonna get to do 'em all anyway himself.

OOC: If nobody else plays by 2/2/22: CARVALLE AWAAAAY! ]
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Tue 01 Feb 2022.

Al checks her watch. A stylish sort of thing- obviously. Silver, hooked to a chain that lead into her blazer. She inspects the time for a moment, then turns the crank that keeps the thing wound and ticking along happily. "I'll take the shift change. Between first and second," she says, as if knowing the time had somehow informed that choice. The time that would have the first shift walking home and the second shift rotating onto work would be the time that the most people might be listening. Not that there was ever much chance of people listening.

"I was planning on talk and current events. Not necessarily a news broadcast. More of an-" she pauses in that way she does that suggests she'd thought of this some time ago, but wanted to sound in-the-moment. "Educated take on those events that push the news but rarely get attention themselves. Institutional forces, economic factors, a focus on the scholarly work that undergirds the big forces of society. Helping people get a firmer grasp on the complex drivers of society."

Carvalle waits his turn, and simply says "I'm fine."

(He's not on-air, so he doesn't need to be 'slotted' quite so much.)

He makes a series of 'alright?' nods to everyone in the room before grabbing his pack to go.

"On it." he adds, raising his folded list of airstaff, before tucking it in a front pocket.

With this he leaves to go contend with society's complex drivers.

[Grabbing bike, doing some 'street team' along the way. Starting with the doorframe of the studio, which looks suspiciously bare. He pulls a station-labelled sticker out and places it.]

[Private to The Pale: Evangeline would like a time slot on Saturday from 6-8pm. Business is slow with everyone drinking themselves into a stupor then, and she'd rather not deal with the neighborhood ladies either. For the second, she'd want the Sunday 5-7pm.]

"Well, I'd want the slots for the weekend, one early Saturday night, the other Sunday night. They're just what best for my schedule."

Would that be enough to get those slots? Evangeline couldn't say, because for one, she wasn't the boss, and for the other, she'd have to get all those young idiots to fall in line, but putting it out there still seemed prudent.

[Private to GM: And really, this was the perfect time to see if she still had it. Whatever it was.]

She checked her nails (where the polish really was peeling) before she noticed that the intern was making his way out. "Maybe talk to Beto, dear!"

[Private to The Pale: Because if there was someone she did not want influencing young minds, it was that man.]

"I'd do a gossip show, as I do now. Find what's what around town, get people to talk about it. A real community affair. As for who I'll speak to, I could contact Vandersloot and Amalthee. I know the girl's parents, and my son knows the guy."

[Carvalle has: gone out onto the street to make questionable decisions.]

In reply to The Pale (msg # 1):

Yvan begins, "OK, Evangeline, let me be straight with you. Those are our prime slots, especially Saturday."

Professor Latour cuts in, "That doesn't mean we can't be reasonable."

"Exactly," Yvain finishes, "if you can get either of the two students you've promised, Sunday's yours. If you can acquire both of them..." he turns to Erno.

"If she gets both Amalthee and" you can all practically hear the unspoken 'Future Rugby Legend' in the gap "Uriah Vandersloot? I see no reason she can't have Saturday night instead. "[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: So wait? Either way you only get one slot?]

"Which brings us to Al," Yvain nods to Professor Latour.
[Private to Al Rossini: The two men are much more professional when they have a common enemy. i.e. you and Evangeline. It might be sexism, it could be Revacholian Nationalism but you think it's simple reverse classism.]

"And Ms. Rossini, your slots are acceptable only...I think it might be, shall we say, " [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: He's saying that she's boring. Specifically, that she'd be less boring if she had a sidekick to translate her concepts from Academese to regular-person Surense. ] [Private to Al Rossini: This is a double-edged sword. Firstly, it's clear they think your work needs to be more accessible. Furthermore, you are being tasked with recruitment, same as Carvelle and Evangeline. But on the upside, if there's someone you wanted to spend more time with...]

You can hear a commotion off in the distance. [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Someone is yelling. Everyone else is being quiet. Dangerous quiet.]

..."One slot?"

Did that come out a little harsher than intended? Maybe, but Evangeline was aiming for a little harsh. She had made her quests, said she was going to go after the biggest catches, and what was it she got? Being told that the best offer was a crap offer? That was not proper business acumen or ethics. No wonder this was a dungheap of a station.

"If I get both Vandersloot and Amalthee, Saturday morning and Sunday night."

There may have been yelling outside, but she was here to make her case, and she was not going to settle for less.

[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Saturday morning's a bit of a gamble, but most of the customers then are restaurants, so your son should at least be able to pay attention. Innocences know you spent enough time drilling the value of business to business transactions into his head.]

"OK, it's a deal. Saturday morning if you get one, Sunday Evening if you get both." Professor Latour sticks out his hand for Evangeline to shake...

When there's a crash, someone's been thrown against the doorframe, which causes the door -- which Carvalle failed to shut correctly on his way out -- to swing inward. And now you the sounds from the corridor are unmuffled...

"You hear that, you son of a bitch, now you're resisting arrest!"

[Private to Al Rossini: This is exciting, a real RCM arrest! You should find out the details and put it on the radio!][Private to Evangeline Boudreau: This is terrifying! The cops don't show up unless A. They've been bribed to, B. They should have been bribed not to and the payment's late, C. Some actual shit is going down. As a businessperson, you have a sixth sense for whether an establishment has failed to pay its bribes and Revachol Interisolary University at Jamrock seems like it should have been fully paid up.]

"I think there may be someone I could talk to about joining our little crusade," Al said, reaching down toward her briefcase. She draws it up, into her lap. Flipping through a few documents, hiding a momentary frown. And hiding her consideration. There was Professor Morgan. She was popular with the students. At least, Al imagined that she was. They'd only chatted a few times. Friends-of-friends-of-friends. A cup of the brownish water that Revachol insisted was coffee and a bit of pleasant conversation about the newest of Botulli.

Then the sound of the... Fight? Arrest? Snapped her head up. She grabbed her briefcase tightly, up onto her feet with a start. Her shoes make a subtle, pleasing noise against the tile, the sound of real leather striking home as she hurries toward the door.

...He still wasn't giving her both slots? Okay, this was actually highway robbery, for shame, but Evangeline wasn't sure what exactly to do other than shake his hand. While glaring. She was going to take this as approval of what she was asking for.

[Private to The Pale: Idiots can't even get actual students to be part of a college radio station, and then they don't want to give slots to the people actually working for them? Fools.]

While that was cool and calm, the screaming from outside broke that, and Evangeline made the competent executive decision to follow right behind Al, because she was not going to stay here while whatever was happening was going on.

[Private to The Pale: Helped that Al was still in front of her, too. Meant one more person between her and whatever was outside.]

What you're confronted with is a hallway full of chaos. About a dozen rubbernecking students, and even more trying to get through the scene in both directions at once.

You see the cops first. In their Perseus Black uniforms with the white reflective watermarks on the back. One's clearly Semenese, darker than Evangeline, tall and slim: but a little younger looking in the face than a cop should be. The other's white, older, with an obvious bulletproof vest over his uniform.
 [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: So they're either too low ranked, or too by-the-book, to go plainclothes. No Iconic Cops here. Thankfully. You don't recognize the black officer the white one used to collect your weekly payoff until he got shot in the line of duty.][Private to Al Rossini: You're not actually sure why it's called Perseus Black, but you know it is. Dick Mullen may be from Vesper, but True Crime comes from Revachol. Just before you came here, you heard the most exciting Radio Documentary about an unsolved series of murders...where the bullet holes were square!]

There is also a Junior Officer present, a stubby young black boy in a Perseus Black patrol cloak over street clothes. [Private to Evangeline Boudreau: The Junior Officer Program allows underprivileged youth who have completed or reached the age of 15 to earn RCM Academy tuition through assisting in police work. If your son had actually failed out of school, you would have enrolled him here or thrown him out of the house, or both.][Private to Al Rossini: Is this a Juvenile Officer? Why is he on an actual crime scene? Shouldn't he be in class?]

And there's Fat, Racist Karl in the middle of it. Along with a Communard in the flat-topped green Samaran Army Cap, gray-green mechanics coveralls and black Engineer's Boots. [Private to Al Rossini: The ensamble is supposed to be drab, utilitarian and unises. The goal is to treat individual differences in anything but class as immaterial and bourgeois. But in her case, it fails entirely. Oh no, she's cute.]

Yvan is behind you, whispering.

"One of you ladies, take the portable. You're gonna be able to get closer than I can..."

He's holding out a portable reel-to-reel tape recorder with a tiny microphone on an extendable cord that retracts automatically if you pull it even the tiniest bit once it's out. It's maddening.[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: You know how it is. They students are happy to do their little shows, but they've no appreciation for the work it takes to keep an edifice running. This will be a scoop! Maybe the station can sell it to Channel 8. This is the kind of story that handsome Gillaume Bevy would do!][Private to Al Rossini: Wait, he expects you to...go into a crime scene. With a microphone?]

"That's right," yells the white cop, "stand still and you get the cuffs. Keep moving and you get the fuckin' boot!"
[Private to Al Rossini:This is exciting! The kind of police work you don't see at home. This is terrifying! And such coarse language!]
[Private to Evangeline Boudreau: Wait. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You've dealt with the cops. You've given them weekly payoffs,  of cash, and in one notable occasion, a whole salmon for a retirement banquet. In exchange, you haven't been held up since your daughter was 7 and any significant thefts have been investigated and occasionally even punished. And here's one thing you know: cops don't make arrests in anything short of a Newspaper Case. Nine times out of ten they levy fines. The other one time out of ten, they give the perpetrator a piece of paper telling them to show up at the Police Station next week. Only if they don't show up, do the cuffs come out. So what the hell is this absolute bêtise]
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:13, Mon 28 Feb 2022.

"Oh," Al looks down at the little microphone. The reel-to-reel. Then back to the scene. She stands for a moment, stunned, confused. "Of course!" and she takes the device. Fumbling for a moment with it, getting it sorted out between what hand goes where and what equipment goes in which fingers and oh, she's going to have to put her briefcase down. She manages to get everything sorted out. Microphone in her left hand and recorder in her right. What next?

Oh. Right. This is for a radio programme, and that means... What? She'd heard the radio before. She was an avid consumer of radio broadcast.

"I am on the campus of Revachol Interisolary University, May one. And this is Alexandra Rossini. And, um," she speaks into the microphone, watching the Officers breaking up the fight. Pulling the two apparent combatants apart. "Um... I am on the scene as Revachol police forces break a fight between representatives of the Communard movement and far-right political ideologues." A bit dramatic, but technically correct. This was radio, after all. Public radio. She was singing for the mezzanine, as it were.

"I, excuse me, I!" Al calls out, trying to step forward into the crowd of students. Slithering and sliding, "Junior Officer! What is going on here? Can you say a few words for broadcast?"

If Ms. Rossini was going to go faff about as if she were actually competent, that was all well and good, because Evangeline was a woman of action, and the action she was going to take here to was to figure out what exactly was going on.

[Private to The Pale: That was the thing, wasn't it? The world would have to break into two for the cops to show up. Or at least something they'd get their names plastered all over for.]

Really, Evangeline was about as enthusiastic about this as she was for tax day, but considering she was already thrust into this situation, she figured she had to at least ask about the situation. Taking a deep breath, and putting her hands up, she approached the white officer. It'd been a while since she'd greased his pockets, but a connection was a connection.

"Officer, what is going on here?"