[ He’s beating the end of a forefinger against whichever surface it ends on; first on his elbow, then the upper arm when he folds them up, for the short while they stay like that. Impatience born from restlessness born from nerves, a reason to stop when Connor poses the question. Tidus shakes his head quickly. ]

Nu-uh -- I landed on my feet today. No drops!

[ Cue a short-lived attempt where he wants to mime want he means, arms out and up, but reconstructing running up a tree to flip off it is difficult for an action involving more leg work than arm work, and so they slump back down after just keeping there uselessly for a good few seconds. One rising to give a few harmless knocks to the side of his head. ]

Hit head. Injury. Hurt. [ They’re provided wearily, before he nods his head to the chip. ] Chip.

[ And that he says in English, as he had the word detective before; two words learned -- or one under a different context than usual -- through Hank. But the idea of breaking the chip hasn't left Tidus now that it's been posed, nor the other explanations drummed up by himself. If it was broken, what was he going to do? He sits there in discomfort, until it's Hank he looks up at this time, if with an unsettling focus. The discomfort now in his voice. ]

I was asking how I can stick around. [ He pauses, mouth pressed tight. His gaze dropping. Anxiety rising. ] You know. Being a dream.

The Head gave me an answer. I wanted to know if it was the chip.

[ Is this why? He leaves the implication unsaid. Asking questions that the Head itself already answered, and on the public network. Was he too obvious? Did he push his luck? But if this was because of that, then what else was going to follow?

Tidus keeps staring at his legs, restlessness now the last thing itching at him. ]

[ ooc: i can swing tidus's auto-translator back on in the next tag or two (or not) btw, lmk what you prefer! ]