Cooperate, Survive - The Tale of Styria Cooperative.

[Enkidu]

Riehl had perfected the art of lounging tersely. Actual relaxation wasn’t an on-off switch she knew how to flick, and she found herself haemorrhaging somewhere in the middle as she wiped the beer suds off her top lip. This lady looked middle-class, clean-cut and pedestrian, which meant she was either beyond the event horizon when it came to being out of her depth, or was some off-brand sex offender on the run from lady lockup. She looked like she’d showered with real wetness lately and not just running her skin through an ultrasonic washer. Flight Vorarbeiter Gunda Riehl narrowly avoided blurting it out – figuring she’d only earn a new eyehole for stating the obvious.

Riehl smiles, all side-teeth, places a finger to her neck, then rolls off in an untranslatable expression. She then lays her hands flat on the stained tabletop. Her message was obvious now. Don’t kill me if I move, please.

“I’m gonna’ smoke, okay? If you're bothered by it, shoot me. You do you.” She whipped out a lighter out of her pocket that looked improvised, and a pre-rolled straight that had a bunch of Bretonian branding slathered over its papers. She lit the cigarette, and huffed it. The woman looked early thirties, give or take a couple of gene drugs, but she still smoked like a toddler.

"How are you holding up?" She asked the stranger - in clean, Hamburg German. The question had the blunt sincerity of mutual commiseration. "What ship did you come in on?

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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