Eternity RPC Board
Saamo District
Roavelanev
"Well, Jokko, as you can see behind me, an unknown deviant has defaced this historical building by spray painting the word friddjavouhta on its side," the woman said into the her microphone emblazoned with the YRX-12 news station logo. The tails of her crisp lavender suit jacket fluttered in the morning breeze, but her hair, meticulously sprayed with more aerosolized product than had been used on the wall behind her, stood its ground. She lifted a hand and gestured to the building in frame beyond her. "The grafitti seems to have occurred at some point early this morning, likely The word, of course, is freedom in the Saamo language. What we don't know at this time is the vandal's motive, although it seems relevant that the building behind me happens to be the National Museum of Saamojedic Culture, formerly the premiere boarding school in the nation for Saamo children."
The reporter paused for a moment as a news anchor in a studio somewhere across town asked her a question.
"Well, police are still looking for leads on who the person is, but the security camera of a nearby petrol station did catch this image of the culprit."
Through TV magic, the reporter's image was now being replaced with an enlarged, grainy photo of a vaguely humanoid blob. If a viewer were to look close enough, they might see that the blob was indeed a person, although their face seemed to be hidden behind a mask or under a hood - or maybe both; it was hard to tell.
"If you have any tips on who this person is, please report them to the Roavenalev police at the number on your screen." Another short pause, this time to allow viewers to copy down the telephone number and to study the blurry photo in futility. "For YRX-12, I'm Anikka Opalessi."
***
Roavenalev Police Department
Roavenalev
"Lieutenant Tamminan, I have that report on this morning's vandalism up at the museum."
The Lieutenant, a big, soft bear of a man with a trace of salt-and-pepper hair left at the back of his skull and a much thicker patch on his upper lip, looked up from the phone in his hand. "Ah, Officer Vismuttilla," he greeted, waving the young woman into his office. Almost the Lieutenant's complete visual opposite, Officer Vismuttilla was an athletically-built woman with a mass of chestnut hair pulled back tightly into an efficient ponytail. She stepped across the expanse of his office and handed off the packet of papers in her hand.
"Do you expect anything to come of this, Lieutenant?" she asked, a faint concern crumpling her features.
"Oh, this? No," the Lieutenant nearly scoffed. "Just one of those separatist nutters from the ghettos. They like to spraypaint their little slogans in the middle of the night when no one can see them and trash talk online, but that's the extent of it. You've got bigger fish to fry, officer."
"Sure thing," Vismuttilla conceded, looking not entirely convinced. "Anyway, I'm on patrol in the north side today."
"Very good. Get to it, then."
"Yes, sir."
Roavelanev
"Well, Jokko, as you can see behind me, an unknown deviant has defaced this historical building by spray painting the word friddjavouhta on its side," the woman said into the her microphone emblazoned with the YRX-12 news station logo. The tails of her crisp lavender suit jacket fluttered in the morning breeze, but her hair, meticulously sprayed with more aerosolized product than had been used on the wall behind her, stood its ground. She lifted a hand and gestured to the building in frame beyond her. "The grafitti seems to have occurred at some point early this morning, likely The word, of course, is freedom in the Saamo language. What we don't know at this time is the vandal's motive, although it seems relevant that the building behind me happens to be the National Museum of Saamojedic Culture, formerly the premiere boarding school in the nation for Saamo children."
The reporter paused for a moment as a news anchor in a studio somewhere across town asked her a question.
"Well, police are still looking for leads on who the person is, but the security camera of a nearby petrol station did catch this image of the culprit."
Through TV magic, the reporter's image was now being replaced with an enlarged, grainy photo of a vaguely humanoid blob. If a viewer were to look close enough, they might see that the blob was indeed a person, although their face seemed to be hidden behind a mask or under a hood - or maybe both; it was hard to tell.
"If you have any tips on who this person is, please report them to the Roavenalev police at the number on your screen." Another short pause, this time to allow viewers to copy down the telephone number and to study the blurry photo in futility. "For YRX-12, I'm Anikka Opalessi."
***
Roavenalev Police Department
Roavenalev
"Lieutenant Tamminan, I have that report on this morning's vandalism up at the museum."
The Lieutenant, a big, soft bear of a man with a trace of salt-and-pepper hair left at the back of his skull and a much thicker patch on his upper lip, looked up from the phone in his hand. "Ah, Officer Vismuttilla," he greeted, waving the young woman into his office. Almost the Lieutenant's complete visual opposite, Officer Vismuttilla was an athletically-built woman with a mass of chestnut hair pulled back tightly into an efficient ponytail. She stepped across the expanse of his office and handed off the packet of papers in her hand.
"Do you expect anything to come of this, Lieutenant?" she asked, a faint concern crumpling her features.
"Oh, this? No," the Lieutenant nearly scoffed. "Just one of those separatist nutters from the ghettos. They like to spraypaint their little slogans in the middle of the night when no one can see them and trash talk online, but that's the extent of it. You've got bigger fish to fry, officer."
"Sure thing," Vismuttilla conceded, looking not entirely convinced. "Anyway, I'm on patrol in the north side today."
"Very good. Get to it, then."
"Yes, sir."