"This place hates us," Steve says balefully, glowering out of his cockpit at a set of road signs.
"The town centre's a historical preservation zone," Giselle tells him patiently. "The roads can't take the stress of mech traffic, it damages the building foundations, and the streets are too narrow; people kept clipping walls."
He starts to say something else.
"And it's no-fly because low-flying heavy machinery is no good for their tourism prospects, Steve, mech-spotters notwithstanding. It's not as if it's just us; they banned goods traffic over a given tonnage, too, see?"
"Well if I can't take the mech in," Steve stabs a huge mechanical finger at the signage, "and I can't fly the mech over there, how the hell do they expect me to even get to the Bureau de la Cert to renew my road permit?"
Giselle sighs audibly over the comms. "Look, I know you can read the signs, Steve; stop ignoring the ones you don't like," she suggests, and pointedly laser-paints MECH TRAFFIC TURN LEFT, STOP AND PARK, and the helpful cartoon train iconography of GARE PARC-RELAIS.
