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[VIDEO]

[Hank's looking a little more haggard than usual when he makes this post. He's tired and fucking wore out from a long stretch of just being perpetually pissed and sad. And goddammit, he wants his hope back, but it's been sliding.]

[He's still fuckin' trying, though.]

[He positions the phone so it's showing an old-timeyish looking Detective's office. We're talking he went for the Sam Spade aesthetic. He plants himself in a desk seat.]

So, I know I just fuckin' talked about getting a promotion. But I had some things go wrong with my last case. [Some big things. People kept going missing, for one.] Connor got assaulted by a decorated officer. And while he's getting what's due uh... I don't know. I figured it'd be better if I got him out of there while he was recovering emotionally. And this fuckin' job would require less walking.

[Those are his excuses? Real reason number one? Connor can't understand all those extra languages at the moment. Real reason number two? Being in the middle of the police station when his year runs up doesn't sound like the best plan. And for some people? Seems like it's not taking a year.]

[He sure as shit would like to stop losing fucking friends. Thanks.]

[Hank turns himself in his chair.] This is my new private detective's office. So now I get to take pictures for paranoid fuckin' people looking for reasons for divorce. I'm really goddamn excited about that. [He smears his hand down his face, then scratches his beard.]

But uh. It was time I said good-bye to the job. [He'd always said this was his last chance to be a cop, and here it is. But damn if the heaviness of that loss isn't weighing on him too.]

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Yeah, I've heard of it. It's bigger in other countries back home, but we do got it. Our women's team is fuckin' great.

[Their men's team had been shitty going on nearly two decades.]

So Blitzball's played on a field more than a court, right? Or a pitch? What would you call it?

A sphere pool. A pool's a pool no matter what you use it for, right?

[ It's all swimming in the end. ]

But we have the goalie on either side with the goal you have to hit the ball into. Actually, the goals for the sphere pool where I'm from... they have a kind of netting too. A fake one, but the one outside the city they use today is more of an upside down triangle, and see-through.

[ He doesn't just bring this up for any reason though, a more thoughtful note entering his voice. ]

I've been thinking lately, maybe... before everything that happened where I'm from, we had more sports too. They just got lost with everything else. Our own basketball, and a soccer. Why else would everyone else have so many sports, and we just have the one?

[ For all his love for blitzball, it's been making him feel envious. ]

Yeah, right... Like we got things like water polo or uh... fuckin' swim racing or whatever you call it? I think it's just called swimming.

[Not sports he's heavily invested in, obviously, until the Olympics roll around anyway. Go USA.]

I don't know. We had some different sports. Like the ones we got are newer I guess. Like American football was cooked up mid 1800s. So did baseball.

A long long time ago people had stuff like jousting or chariot racing when people did more with horses. So I dunno. It does seem like there'd be some more variety there. At least different games that came from it, sorta like how American football comes from rugby and baseball comes from cricket. Neither of the originals are all that popular in my country.

Everything revolved around one guy and what he liked, and he really liked blitzball. [ It's funny in a sad, depressing way, and the shrug is close to audible in his voice. ]

But hey, he isn't around anymore, so who knows what'll happen? I think there's room for a few more sports in Spira. [ There's a beat. ] More importantly... have you ever scored a three pointer?

[ Heh. ]

Oh hell no. I might be tall, but I still sucked at basketball.

[High school coaches noticed the guy that was near 6'4'' and strong as hell. He was even decent at football. But he didn't have the patience to put up with other players or coaches that though the sport was more important than the other kids being fucking morons.]

Turns out sports players can be pretty big dicks where I'm from, anyway. You got some good ones but it's better to enjoy from the outside.

Edited 2020-02-19 06:41 (UTC)

[ '...s where I'm from, anyway. You got some good ones but ᴉʇ,s qǝʇʇǝɹ ʇo ǝuɾoʎ ɟɹoɯ ʇɥǝ onʇsᴉpǝ.' ]

Oh -- not again, [ Tidus mutters, hands to his head. Giving it a knock won't help, will it? ]

Uh, say that again? I didn't catch you. You got some good players?

[ Please speak sense, please speak sense... ]

[Okay, now, that's weird.]

...You alright, kid? Something wrong?

Come on!

[ Tidus has the decency to move his device from his mouth when he lets that out, a silence following for a couple of seconds before his voice comes back, frustrated. ]

You're speaking gibberish to me. I-- can you say somethin' else?

[ There's a sort of desperate hope in asking. ]

Gibberish! What the fuck are you-

[And then there's a long pause.]

[Right.]

Hey uh... Can you come to my new office? I think me and my partner are gonna want to talk to you.

[ That was a reaction, and he can understand volume and tone still, if nothing else. But that doesn't help for holding a conversation, and Tidus sighs anxiously as Hank finishes. ]

I'm serious, I don't got a clue what you're saying. [ He tries sounding honest despite how pathetic he feels. ] I'll... talk to you another time.

[ And as much as it annoys him to do, Tidus ends the call on that dejected note. Thinks to send a text message for an explanation, before remembering as he looks at the screen, oh right.

Can't read either now.

Cool. ]

Tidus! Tidus.

Tower of fucking Babel bullshit.

[Fine, fine. He gets that the guy disconnected. Sure. But he's still gotta try.]

[So he just sends him a screenshot of the current city map, the way it is right now before any movement, with a screen drawn X over his office.]

[That's the best he can pass on the message.]

[ When the image comes through, Tidus can guess his way into opening it (he's got enough experience for that), but he has to consider if to go now or later. Now wins out; the GPS maps never stay the same to trust.

It takes him twenty minutes to reach the office door, buzzing or knocking to be let in -- whatever his options are. Tidus wears his chagrin on his face, arms folded across his chest; his expression not shifting beyond an unimpressed slant of his mouth into his cheek. ]

Hi.

[ A gloomy greeting, one syllable -- but beneath the auto-translation, something other than Common or English. ]

[It's not Hank that comes to the door, but Connor, LED on his temple gone and frowning, concerned.]

Tidus.

[His own name is probably all Tidus is going to understand, and, without his chip, Connor can't understand a word either. He wordlessly gestures Tidus to come in and sit down by one of the desks, which Connor immediately sits on.]

I don't know how much he has to talk before my system can pick any of it up… [This directed at Hank, before:] I need you to talk to me. About anything. Just talk.

[He accompanies this with slow gestures, trying to convey: talk to me. Doesn't matter what. Talk.]

He said 'hi' it sounded like to me. Which isn't a lot to go off of yet.

[This is much more complicated than he'd expected. So far he'd just turned on a few TV programs and repeated what he heard to Connor. This is the first person he's known that's actually not spoken the same language.]

[Well, here goes fuckin' nothing.]

Cup.

[Then he picks up a book.]

Book.

[And points to his desk.]

Desk.

[And he motions to Tidus. Come on, say some stuff. Hank can understand at the moment. He's wondering how the hell this is happening if Tidus has a functioning chip.]

[ Oh. That's an unexpected face.

Tidus's eyes lift to see Connor, caught unaware, expression lightening some for it. But his folded arms and hunched shoulders keep as he shuffles on into the room, the uncomfortable sense of not belonging following him from the streets into the office, down into the seat.

He looks between them, his feet tapping occasionally. Connor's words and gestures being met with his expression re-souring. ]

I understood you better in the pool.

[ Which he shares with a mirthless scoff. Great. This was worse than when he first met with the Al Bhed.

Tidus regards Hank though as he starts to pick up things, his blank stare dipping into puzzlement as he tries to figure out what Hank is trying to achieve. Why would he start picking stuff up and...

Oh.

His eyes lift once more. Arms unfolding, he brings a finger to point to each one. ]

Coffee, book, desk. [ ... ] Table?

[ A glance between the two. ]

Do you still know what I'm saying?

[ He means the both of them. ]

[Connor has no idea what Tidus is saying, but he's hoping he can work on it a little. First thing's first, though:]

I understood you better in the pool.

[He parrots that back perfectly, not understanding what he's saying or even where the word boundaries are. He repeats the words too - coffee, book, desk, table - in Tidus's tongue, then, at that last sentence... He doesn't know what the sentence was, but that little emphasis on one bit, Tidus looking between them, that gives him one thing:]

I understood you better... Do you still know... You. You?

[And he points at Tidus. Maybe that'll give him some idea what they're trying to do here. Or what Connor's trying to do, at least.]

[Hank just nods at Tidus. He'd been hoping the understanding would helpfully blip back in. Apparently not.]

He said he understood you better at the pool, whatever that means. And asked me, 'Do you still know what I'm saying'.

[Tedious, he knows. But Connor has a better chance of working out a solution than either of their dumb asses. And if that understanding turns back on? He needs to tell him about the source of that language barrier.]

Edited 2020-02-20 21:07 (UTC)

[ As Connor repeats him, Tidus snaps full attention on him, bewildered. Creepy to hear his own words echoed and disjointed, but it's hearing the same language that unsettles him the most.

...Is it unsettling? Something close to it, maybe. He lets whatever communication happens between Hank and Connor before pointing back at Connor. ]

You. You're Connor. [ The finger curls away, his thumb pointing at himself. ] I'm Tidus. [ Then that curls, and he bobs his fist towards Hank. ]

He's Hank.

[ Tidus pauses. Lets the absolute embarrassment of this situation sink into him -- what is he doing -- before resting his hands on the ends of his knees. Takes in a deep breath and shakes out his shoulders. ]

Maggie's a dog. Hank's a detective. You're a, uhh...

...

...pretty swell guy?

[ He winces at himself, shoulders hunching as he lets out an exasperated breath, throwing up his hands. ] I dunno! This is stupid...

[ Or incredibly humiliating.

Or both. ]

[It's definitely the strangest thing Connor's ever done, and he's not surprised Tidus is embarrassed about it. But they needed a test of the language-learning functions he's been trying to develop since losing his chip, and Tidus needs to actually be able to talk to someone.

So they might be there a little while.]

Here. This.

[This comes later, only when Connor has at least a basic grasp of something to explain what's happening. He opens his wallet and pulls out a tiny little electronic chip.]

This is in my head... Before. Now, no.

[And he points at Hank's head.]

But, Hank and you...

[He indicates both of them, Hank and Tidus, and holds up the chip.]

It's in your head now. Talking, Hank, yes - me, no.

[He still has to fill in a lot of gaps. He gestures a therefore sort of wave of the hand between sentences, at Hank, makes hand gestures roughly meaning talking and understanding. But what neither of them understands is...]

And you...no. But it's in your head. I dunno...

[He's wincing a little in embarrassment himself. He knows what he sounds like. For someone who feels sad when he can't be utterly perfect at anything, knowing he's terrible at something makes him squirm inside terribly. But it's all they've got.]

[Connor being hard on himself, as always.]

[Hank steps back to his desk and draws a passable human head on a sticky note. You can tell it's a person rather than a potato creature of some sort.]

[He draws where the brain is, and then a little square for the chip. He knows Tidus knows about the chips. So that part won't be too strange. But first, he shows Tidus that picture. Nods. Then exes through the chip and draws squiggly lines from the mouth.]

[So either he means people throw up without the chips or exactly what's happening now. But he's doing his best to give an illustrated guide to what Connor is saying.]

[Why the fuck is Tidus's acting up? If he was planning on removing it, Hank wants to think he'd have been warned.]

I don't understand why he can't understand with the chip still in there.

[ This stops being funny fast.

It never was, but the excuses or means of understanding this unravel as Tidus sits there, listening to Connor parrot his words, what he expects to be Hank repeating him too. It drives him crazy -- being in the room, but not at the same time.

He's gone from leaning on his knees to the side of the chair, to back on his knees again, this time with a slouch. 'Here, this,' getting him to pick up his head to see the small piece of metal Connor pulls out, his stare on it intensifying as he realises what it is. Keeps his head from falling immediately, following Connor.

... Hank, less so. Is it sickness? Dying? Death is what he reads in that stupid scribble, which may or may not be aided by the agitation in his limbs, the heightened heart rate gained through this ordeal. Did he say something? Is this because of the post he made? Is this because the Head knows what he's been doing?

He breathes deeply, quietly; turns to Connor when he speaks. Hearing even the bare minimum of a familiar language giving him some kind of connection to his surroundings, which of the two better understand him secondary. ]

I don't know, [ he says slowly, insistently. Anxiously. ] I went out training for the day. It's my day off, and I've been going into the woods, practising my movement. I take a guy's chocobo with me. It's fun.

[ He's rambling some, but it's comforting to talk; to simply hear himself and a coherent string of words. ]

That's where the first time happened. The podcast I was listening to -- [ or whatever the Dualis word for those would be ] -- started making no sense... everyone was suddenly speaking a bunch of languages I couldn't understand. But I thought it was normal, you know? Maybe I didn't pay attention; maybe I...missed something.

[ Maybe it was part of the show. He glances at each of them before looking away. Stupid, he knows now. ]

I didn't think about it 'til it kept going on, so I went to change it over -- 'cept that's when I realised I couldn't read anything on the screen either. Nothing was making sense!

[ His lips roll together, and Tidus sits up. Sighing, still with a slump. Head hanging. ]

I headed back into the city 'cause I thought something was going on. But after I did, everything was normal again; I could understand everyone. So I went on the network, I saw your video. [ He looks at Hank here. ] But then I couldn't understand anything again, so I...kinda fell asleep. [ Sheepish, and he shrinks against the back of the chair. ] Magic makes me tired.

[ And hungry. ]

[Tidus's heart rate spikes during Hank's paper explanation, and Connor frowns - his next message is to Hank, relaying the information to Hank's implant instantaneously. Something about this has just made Tidus...

And then he gets it. For most people, removing the chip means death. If Tidus's chip is no longer working, he may think he's dying.

But he's talking before Connor can try to correct him, and Connor's busy again committing every individual word and sound to memory, letting specially-created programs sort the information and try to piece together a grammar and dictionary based on Hank's translation coming wordlessly through the implant. His mind can then access it to talk, just like with the languages he has already.

Universal translation technology doesn't technically exist where Connor and Hank are from - but neither does the commercial need for it. This is probably the closest their world is ever going to get.]

OK, so... [What's the most important thing here.] I think you're OK. But this is why nothing makes sense. This. What is this? The name.

[The chip - he holds it up. He needs a name to actually talk about the damned thing.]

This is why we have different words, but we understand. I don't have it, but I'm OK, I just didn't know what you said.

When you... practose... No, practised...in the woods, did you...

[He mimes banging his head - did Tidus injure his head out there.]

Maybe you... broke it. [He mimes breaking the chip.

It's unlikely, but a malfunction's all he can think of. Maybe caused by a bump, maybe just a spontaneous problem. But how often do problems happen spontaneously here without anyone causing them?]

[Hank catches Connor's little note, and even though it's not necessary he nods. Strange thing knowing stuff like people's physical reaction beyond what he can see. He realizes that Connor can also glean what Tidus meant and fuck, he's glad he's invested in this implant because god knows he'll need it when he eventually gets his chip out.]

[But so Connor doesn't continue to be hard on himself he reaches over and rubs his back.]

Don't worry. You're doing it.

[He promises, even if he doesn't know entirely how successful Connor's being. He's just trusting that he is, and judging from some of Tidus's reactions.]

[ 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! ]

[Tidus's agitation makes Connor feel quite agitated in turn - and the confusion of what exactly has happened to Tidus to make this happen is making him nervous enough. Hank's hand on his back helps a little - he dedicates a process to running that sensation on repeat, like it keeps going even after Hank withdraws.

He's pretty sure that if the chip was going to kill Tidus, it would have done it already. So why the shutting down of this one function?

He's almost certain they would know if the chip's surveillance had been interrupted. They wouldn't be here talking about it, for one thing.

Connor, not knowing about Tidus's reality beyond that it has one very exciting-sounding sport and a cavalier disregard of human lung capacity limits, looks confused even after the translation from Hank.

He takes a second to go online and download every instance of Tidus posting on the network. There's only one, and it's a little confusing. What doesn't help is that he did the smart thing and continued the conversations in person.]

I didn't know that. But I think...if the Head doesn't want you here anymore, you'll know. This is something else.

No head injury, it just looks like the translation function in his chip is gone. Have you ever come across this before?

[Hank talks to more people than Connor, he's more proactively social. Connor likes people, but sometimes just doesn't think to go out and talk to them. Hank is more likely to know these things than Connor.

He'd also have already mentioned it and wouldn't look so confused, but he's asking just in case. It also helps for Tidus to see that they're talking about it, taking it seriously.]

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i hope threadcrashing is OK? >>

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