...a crude sketch of sorts.

The scene it depicted was hard to see through the muddled French text. It was poorly drawn, as well, with little shape or dimension to it beyond wayward hatching and inconsistent linework giving the illusion of further depth.

"It's... it's company property," the boy said, motioning for you to return the paper. Once you did, he went on. "If some officer saw you with it, I think you would get in trouble... but it's the least we can show you, right? As payment for, uh, everythin'."

You couldn't tell whether he was referring to the saloon raid or the fact that you were apparently this newspaper's cash cow.

"Anyways... what didja come in here for? Never took you t' be the reportin' type," the smoker spat.

Funny, that. "Well... ah came t' ask about all that... news not bein' printed." Your throat still hurt from the smoke, but you tried to speak as clearly as you could.

The crowd collectively expressed their disappointment. Some sighed, others groaned. More still said nothing at all.

"'Xactly the thing we can't tell you squat about. Wonderful." The smoker crossed his arms. "Tell you what. The boss's upstairs. We won't do anythin' if you try t' talk t' him, see how it goes. I'd advise ya bring a bag'a cash, but... seeing as that's not'n option, I s'ppose you'll have to find some other way to catch his attention."

Splendid. You were looking forward to dealing with more shady higher-ups.

But... did you really have a choice?

>Of course you had a choice. A choice not to do any of that. Stay with the journalists and ask them more details about the Oriental neofauna instead.

>No, not really. If you wanted to get this news published pronto, you had to negotiate. Thank the journalists for their time and head upstairs, hoping to meet with the boss.

>Write-in.

...a crude sketch of sorts.

The scene it depicted was hard to see through the muddled French text. It was poorly drawn, as well, with little shape or dimension to it beyond wayward hatching and inconsistent linework giving the illusion of further depth.

"It's... it's company property," the boy said, motioning for you to return the paper. Once you did, he went on. "If some officer saw you with it, I think you would get in trouble... but it's the least we can show you, right? As payment for, uh, everythin'."

You couldn't tell whether he was referring to the saloon raid or the fact that you were apparently this newspaper's cash cow.

"Anyways... what didja come in here for? Never took you t' be the reportin' type," the smoker spat.

Funny, that. "Well... ah came t' ask about all that... news not bein' printed." Your throat still hurt from the smoke, but you tried to speak as clearly as you could.

The crowd collectively expressed their disappointment. Some sighed, others groaned. More still said nothing at all.

"'Xactly the thing we can't tell you squat about. Wonderful." The smoker crossed his arms. "Tell you what. The boss's upstairs. We won't do anythin' if you try t' talk t' him, see how it goes. I'd advise ya bring a bag'a cash, but... seeing as that's not'n option, I s'ppose you'll have to find some other way to catch his attention."

Splendid. You were looking forward to dealing with more shady higher-ups.

But... did you really have a choice?

>Of course you had a choice. A choice not to do any of that. Stay with the journalists and ask them more details about the Oriental neofauna instead.

>No, not really. If you wanted to get this news published pronto, you had to negotiate. Thank the journalists for their time and head upstairs, hoping to meet with the boss.

>Write-in.