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the cause of, and solution to, all life's problems
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The barkeep is working to repair a placard, the kind that's normally mounted on a wall. The visible portion says 'TO EACH OTHER'; the rest is obscured behind the bar.

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"Hey there…"

She leans over a bit further, trying to get a better look at the placard while maintaining plausible deniability. It doesn't quite work out.

"I hear there's been some chicanery around these parts. Something that requires the attention of a cop, even. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

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His apparent indifference towards you is a clever ruse. In reality he is acutely aware of your presence, and wants you to go away.

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She can take a hint – but two hints would be even better.

"Before I leave, can I get directions to the—"

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"Ask your partner," he says curtly.

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Oh good, this isn't going to be a solo gig. Time to meet the person heading up this investigation! The mystery of the broken sign can wait.

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The woman waiting for her isn't any taller than the smoker from the mezzanine, though she looks young enough to be adolescent rather than short. A heavy black cloak with the hood up hides most of her body from view; her only obvious accessory is a steel gorget etched with a winged eyeball.

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Less obvious: a low-profile tiara, just barely visible beneath her hair and the hood, and a pair of bejeweled rings on two fingers of her left hand.

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She's armed, no question about it. The weapon isn't bulky enough to show an outline through her cloak, and she's on the scrawny side for a cop. Think finesse rather than brute strength.

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She extends her hand. "My name is Gwen. Lieutenant, First Guard. You must be from Starwatch…"

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She's waiting for a name. Presumably one exists, but if so it's missing in action. Awkward.

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This is your chance to reinvent yourself. Your name is the first face you present to the world, your herald in matters of paperwork and shouting across back alleys while chasing suspects, the psychic resonance that links your noumenon to the collective conscience. Deploy your creative streak! Make sure to use plenty of glottal stops and diphthongs.

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Wait, wait, wait. These things take time. You don't know the first thing about yourself yet. How can you sculpt a masterpiece if you don't understand the medium you're working in?

Also you're hungry and hungover. Don't go creating art while you're discontent, it'll turn into a reflection of some transient mood rather than your true self. Wait until after breakfast before you experiment with something as fundamental as your identity.

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This calls for a non-answer. Firm handshake, serious expression.

"So, it has come to this. You. Me. This moment."

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"Ideally this moment would have come earlier. There have been too many delays in this case already… do you not have your uniform?"

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"I am an officer of the law. This is my uniform, because I am wearing it."

The blazer is doing its job as best it can, but it can only protect her modesty so far without a shirt underneath.

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"As you say. Have you scheduled the initial interviews?"

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You need to phrase this diplomatically. Try not to ruin your working relationship with Gwen in the first eighteen seconds.

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"This will be much more efficient if you assume I've done nothing productive prior to right this second."

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Good effort.

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"Then we should get to work quickly. This murder is already several days old – we need to inspect the crime scene before the trail grows any colder. It also wouldn't hurt to inform the provosts that the city watch has arrived. By your leave."

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Lieutenant Gwen has joined your party! As the junior officer on the beat she will defer to you unless you've opted to do something particularly egregious. With great responsibility comes great power – don't let it turn your head.

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Oh no, she's in charge? This cannot possibly end well.

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"Is something wrong?" Gwen asks, after a prolonged silence.

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