[Private to Carvalle: I rolled a 4 for your initial luck for this scene. This is a fallen world.]

Amaltheé lives in Couron proper, so you've got to turn down Boulevard des Bourgeois [Secret to Carvalle: It's Boogie Street. Everyone calls it Boogie Street. Even the dullest tourists know this by now.] dodge Motor Lorries, Motor Carriages and the odd Horse Cart--to say nothing of the ubiquitous street stalls--to get through. It sucks, but it's the only surface street that cuts through all of Jamrock from Villalobos to Couron.

But eventually you turn off on Rue Irene into a little warren of streets named for the islands and cities of the Ile de Fantome -- long before it became the Free State of Semenine. Amalthée's parents own half a row-house on the corner of Casherbrume and Olduvai, across from le Jardin de la Conquête -- a semi-public park maybe twice the size of Carvalle's apartment. Not the building, the actual apartment, not including the balcony.

Right outside le Jardin is a bus stop and there's Amalthée, dressed as stylishly as ever, but with an air of breezy unconcern rather than her usual lacquered perfection. It's clear she got to the stop in a hurry.

"Carvalle," she waves a freshly manicured hand, "you just caught me. Did you hear! Someone's been arrested at the University! Not just a station call, full on lights and irons! Which would be kind of exciting except now I have to cover for René at the grocery..."

[Private to Carvalle: OK. So Amalthée is stepping in at Central, that means that René's stepping in to cover someone else's shift. You know this game, you've played this game more often than you like. You've only worked with René long enough to know he won't cover for just anyone, the bastard, but you've heard enough rumors about him and Arsène to presume that that's who he's stepping in for. Now Arsène you know, handsome young guy, even you are comfortable admitting that. But he's unreliable at best, you're not sure who'd hire him. The only places desperate enough to hire him would be desperate enough to hire...fucking Fat, Racist Karl? On what charge? Has the RCM grown a soul?]

A momentary reverie...

[Private to GM: Checking something: did Carvalle just have a Batman Deduction moment? The 'colorful chain of spurious logic' kind, not the 'gritty "Where's MARTHA" ' kind. I followed right up until the leap about Fat Racist Karl.  ]
This message was last edited by the player at 02:07, Mon 21 Feb 2022.

What's in front of Caravalle isn't so much of an ethical dilemma as a logistical one- he could run off and not get anything done about Fat Racist Karl now (and he was dead bottom on Carvalle's list), or he could at least take a crack at talking to Amaltheé. Who was his top 'get'.

"Right, right." he started, his thoughts already so far ahead of his words that they felt ancient, "I just came by to ask you something real-quick. The station's looking to move the schedules around, the only two people who showed were Al Rossini and Ms. Boudreau."

(He swallows here, the copper taste of exertion flush in his mouth.)

"So... okay. Nobody knows the club DJs like you do, and you..."

He was starting to lose his train of thought a little. Other words moved in, when he wasn't looking, on the sheer momentum of 'trying to help'.

"You bring in.... their energy to your show. It goes out, and people rush in. And that keeps those DJs going, and it all happens again. It's like a pulse. Like a living thing, you know? Can I tell Proffe Latour that you'll keep it going?"

(He frankly doesn't know if what he said was good or not. I also kinda expect this is going to cost him.)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:30, Tue 22 Feb 2022.

Amalthée looks confused. She reaches up and adjusts the little metal butterfly threaded around one of her braids, twisting it so it faces forward. And for a moment that's it. Carvalle's clearly blown it. Then she turns to her former coworker, well, current if you count the station...

"So you're saying you're a long time listener," her smile opens a centimeter, just a tiny flash of white teeth, "first time gentleman caller?"

And the clouds part for a moment, and Amalthée is spotlit.

But then the bus pulls up, the brakes screech and the doors open with a pneumatic hiss.

Amalthée reaches into her purse and pulls out a small roll of carnival tickets. They are all printed with the same number. A little too long for a raffle.

"Look, I can't stay, but here's my number. I'll be free after eight.

Of course by this point, Carvalle has let go of his bike to take the ticket. And he's too preoccupied to notice the two young men who jump out the back door.

"Don't just stand there!" Amalthée is the first to react, "They're taking your bike!"

And they are. They're not far yet. But one's already on the back pins and the other is climbing into the seat.

[Private to Carvalle: Cue the snake eyes event. If you wish to take a contested action, go ahead and roll in your post.]

Still not really sure what just happened with Amalthee, Carvalle is off after the bike thief.

The bike isn't fancy, it's just the principle of the thing- someone steals your things, you go after them and say "hey!".

"HEY!" he said, going after them.
22:49, Today: Carvalle rolled 7 using 2d6.  Hey that's my Bike!