dualislogs | [closed]

[...Sometimes words hurt people, Tidus. Harry sits there silently, ears hitting an impressive shade of red. In the face of the before and after Tidus is performing, the grin has gone, too.

REACTION SPEED — Uh... Sorry, boss. No retorts here.

Harry sucks on his teeth for a moment, before lifting the bottle and taking a sip. Possibly more than a sip. Gulp might be a more accurate descriptor.]

You done?

[He rocks forwards, other arm swinging up as he goes to snatch the card back from Tidus's hand.]

Oh. [ OH... ]

Sorry! [ Sometimes, he doesn't think about what he says before he says it, taking his now empty hand back to rub at the back of his head. ]

Didn't mean anything by it. Just... [ thought it was cool..........

He attempts to come up with a smooth way to switch over to the actual subject that he came here for, except that offers nothing but a small growing silence. So Tidus goes for clearing his throat, ignoring the heat of his own face for more important business. Looks Harry straight in the eye, even if that makes him uncomfortable (in a guilty way) right now. ]

Well, anyway, the reason I came over -- [ He'll wiggle the chair closer to the bed, listen to the music and hope it's loud enough before leaning in, and-- ] I need to take a guy from his home. Military type. Probably suspicious? I can't make a scene.

[ Meaning, he needs to be discreet. ]

You...think you have any tips?

[ Because this is the kind of thing a detective would be good at, right. ]

[Humiliation has a funny way of colouring the rest of an interaction. Harry leans closer, mirroring Tidus, but he's already frowning before the bombshell drops.

And when it does, he just... kind of blinks. In fact, he's wearing the exact expression a certain Lt. Kim Kitsuragi would normally reserve for him. Something both incredulous and vaguely irritated.

The duo that make up the Ostentatious Orchestrations continue to harmonize over what would otherwise be an unimpressed silence.]

You're asking for tips on how to kidnap a guy?

[It comes out as a half-whisper, thankfully. He huffs a monosyllabic laugh out (enjoy the waft of beer and cigarettes, pal) before taking another drag of pilsner.]

You know what a detective is, right?

[ Gross smell, dude, though it's an aroma that likely already clings to the room, and Tidus just scrunches his features before he speaks. ]

Kinda. [ As in, he sort of knows what a detective is. ] You would be trying to catch me. [ In this subject matter, that is, and Tidus has a thumb pointed to himself. ]

But I figured you might have some ideas. [ So. ] Thought it couldn't hurt to ask?

[ Lowly, under the protective music of disco, shrugging in too casual manner for what they're talking about. ]

Hm.

[Urgh, but it sucks recognizing you're being petty. Harry can't claim any moral high ground after having acted as Evrart Claire's peone... and Tidus clearly has better intentions than that bloated snake, even if he's not explaining them. He knows that under any other circumstance he'd be straight to scribbling his ideas down on the drawing board, but the hard plastic of the ID is still pressing into his palm. Tidus voiced something he really doesn't want to admit—he's absolutely ruined himself with all of the shit he's swallowed, smoked and snorted. Measurehead was right about one thing: his body betrays his degeneracy. Fucking Al-Gul.

He pockets the ID and spreads his now-free hand down his face. Smooths those muttonchops down. Tries to reset and not be an oversensitive man-child.]

You scoped his place out yet?

[ Tidus figures he's asking for a lot: not so much on the honour of a cop (he doesn't know much about that), but to ask for help on the perspective of swiping a guy. It's not the usual conversation you get into with someone, and even a part of Tidus feels detached from the whole scenario. Like this isn't him in the room right now, asking about taking a guy from his home.

Because it isn't. But this is the guy he's apparently become. ]

We're gonna, [ he nods, speaking low and enthusiastically. ] The girl helping me, she can teleport. But she needs to know the area first.

[ He brings out a hand, peeling away his little finger. ]

I can put the guy under... it'd be easy if I can catch him off-guard. Maybe just get him to answer the front door, knock him out with some magic?

[ He makes a slapping motion in the air to reflect knocking him out. Was that too simple? It felt too simple...or easy. Like he wasn't considering something important. ]

[Harry's eyes track Tidus's hand, shifting up to his face again post-slapping motion. He nods his head slowly, said eyes narrowing like he's trying to picture it.

Then? Clarity! They widen right up and he clicks his fingers enthusiastically.]

Oh! Like you did with the goose?

[It's a low blow, he knows, but come on. He flashes a palm as some kind of placating gesture as he punctuates with another drawn out sip of beer.]

Look, you said military, right? Do you know anything else about him? Does he even live alone?

[ Low bow for sure. Tidus's expression drops into something more sour, sticking even as Harry continues. ]

I didn't come to really make plans here. [ Despite him getting ahead of himself there. ] I came to ask if you think you could help. If you do, then we can meet with Arkady and we'll tell you everything we know so far.

[ He leans back from the chair, throwing out a hand. ] I'm not gonna just jump into this. I know it's risky. But I'll do what I have to to get this guy.

[A beat. He fidgets with the bottle in his hand.

SUGGESTION — It's not often people trust you, Harry. Do you really want to say no?

His lips seem to purse for a moment (what's visible of them, anyway) before he bobs his head.]

I could probably help, yeah.

[Besides, if Tidus is set on doing this, Harry would only blame himself if things went south and he wasn't there. He can try and scrape whatever knowledge he has from the mangled remains of his memory and... you know, do damage control. Keep an eye out, at least.

VOLITION — Cool, cool, cool. And what if he very earnestly says he needs you to help set a building on fire? Or kill a guy?

His sigh is lost in a particularly dramatic turn in the piano solo.]

Just let me know the when and where.

[ Tidus studies Harry after his agreement, but it's less searching for any reassurance for the trust he's put on him than some other inner conflict stated by the roll of his lips, a twitch at his furrowed brow. A worry, maybe, or an argument he keeps wanting to make, though it's beyond pointless now. They have to do this, don't they? They have no other choice.

He relaxes back in the chair, eyes drifting aside as he listens to the rhythm of the piano to decide his own volume. ]

Sometime tomorrow? It doesn't matter what you're doing -- we're talking in here. [ He taps his head. ] It'll be safer. She might need to meet you first though. Just for a few minutes.

Wuh—

[Did Harry's eyes widen just a little?

It's hard to tell. For a moment, he's very, very still. Less ultimate poker face than a raccoon caught rooting through the trash by the beam of someone's flashlight. Then, the shift of a hand and he echoes Tidus's gesture, tapping his own temple.]

In here?

[ Tidus nods, and there's a slight widening of his own eyes, more a look of awe or surprise -- and for what he himself is sharing. ]

She calls it a static line? But it's just a voice inside your head. And you just...think back. In your head.

[ Oversimplified as the explanation is, it's far from patronising. Like, talking in your head with other people. Crazy, right? ]

You've done it?

[He manages to keep his voice steady, but his heart is racing. He now knows Dualis is rife with this kind of thing, but... he'd always assumed the horror show happening inside his head was safely hidden away. Unwitnessed. Tidus has to be fucking with him.

DRAMA — We know a lie, sire. This doesn't feel like one to us. Either he's experienced this static line, or he takes it to be real.

The little halt gesture he gives with his hand says he's not done talking.]

So, what — you hear her, and she just, uh... [He ticks a finger back and forth, like a little signal relay.] Tunes in on whatever you're thinking right back? Like a radio?

[Okay, so he's basically just repeating Tidus, but the distinction comes in the word 'whatever'.

DRAMA — Regardless of his answer, it would be clever of you to omit the truth, my liege. Tis fear that gives the play away, and he can't know this worries you.]

[ It's the analogy that makes Tidus pause, wondering if that's the exact right way to explain it, or the way he experienced it matching that description. ]

It was just like... hearing a voice, but in your head? And then you just think like when you're talking to yourself. [ He wishes right then he could give an actual sample, but well, it's not as if he can do it. But the tunes in on whatever you're thinking does prompt him to continue. ]

Oh, she did say, whatever you don't want her hearing or knowing about... don't think it? She can pick stuff up if it's loud? [ ...was that how she explained it? His eyes narrow, his gaze half drifting as he figures out the intricacies of an ability he's not that familiar with. ]

I guess... just don't think about anything you don't want her to know. [ 'Don't overthink it', probably,and his mouth is askew while he drifts back to that particular conversation. ]

"Don't think it" tends to have the opposite effect, kid.

[From the back of his skull, a warning:

DRAMA — That's a funny kind of lie, sire. Did we not just state we preferred trickery?

With a tilt of his eyebrows and a short, casual rise of shoulders, Harry gives a textbook shrug of nonchalance. He even takes another sip before speaking.]

Hey, don't get me wrong: I'm an open book. I'm just still kinda new to the whole... y'know, paranatural thing. [His grip on the bottle shifts as he wiggles his fingers against it, spooky-style.] I believe you, but you gotta know it sounds crazy, right?

I get it, it's crazy for me too.

[ He can believe Harry's discomfort because it's fair, even from the world he comes from. Who was ever speaking in heads there? No one, as far as he knew. ]

But-- [ He taps his fingers along the top of the desk chair he's on, against the line of plush fabric. ] --I trust she wouldn't go poking around looking for anything on purpose. She's funny, [ in the weird kind of meaning, ] but she's never done anything that makes me think she'd do something like that.

[ Why would she? He can't really see it.

Regardless, he does sigh, the breath lifting and shaking his shoulders, and he looks back over to Harry after a moment. ]

Even if it's weird, it's safer. That's more important to me. I don't want anything happening to anyone.

[ So if he has to put up with voices in his head? Sure. He'll go for it. ]

[He doesn't want to drop it there — not at all, really. He's known as the human can-opener for a reason, and already there's a tree taking root, branches of questions reaching out, begging to be asked.

And yet?]

Okay. If you trust her — [he spreads his hands] — that's good enough for me.

[No, he's not convinced the intrusions that guide him won't just pour out like clowns out of a motor-carriage, but... Well, shit, he gets the fear. The need for precaution. And hell, maybe the crown-head can wrestle the others into something a little more palatable. He could be worrying over nothing, here.

And speaking of worry:]

But, uh... Khm, let's take a step back from that. [His eyes slide across to the reel-player. The next song takes a moment to really kick in, but once it does, his gaze lands on Tidus again. It's softer, now, like he's finally given up being irritated about the photo thing.] How are you?

[ Tidus doesn't figure out that Harry is waiting for something when he takes his time to speak again, the gradual appearance of confusion on Tidus's face lifting in surprise once he gets it. When it goes, it's replaced with a funny small smile, Tidus pulling his chin to rest around his arms looping around the chair back.

Funny this time meaning: a sad, sad reminder of how they're having to even speak. ]

I'm alright. About as alright as anyone here. [ He's rarely one to not do honest, but maybe because it's personal that there's something more comfortable about it. Like breaking some kind of weird character. ] What about you? Is there anything -- normal, familiar about this place to you? Being like this?

[ He tips his head, eyes glancing back as much as possible to indicate the music player, the way they're speaking -- everything about Dualis. Looks back at Harry curiously, not even really meaning to pry, though that's what he's doing. ]

[Despite having been here for what feels like a little while now, Harry's still not bumped into any familiar faces. Or even anyone from Elysium, as far as he can tell. There are traces here and there (in pawn shops and branding he recognizes) but there's no one to reminisce with. Which is maybe why he doesn't try to deflect, for once.]

We didn't have technology like this back home. Radio-computers, pale emitters... sure, but nothing like computer phones or, uh — [He scrubs at his chin stubble with his free hand. Smiles, just barely.] Maybe we were heading this way, but it was a little while off still. We'd need a whole other Innocence, y'know?

[And naturally, he's just going to assume Tidus knows what an Innocence is. He shakes the tiny amount of beer left in his bottle, before tilting his head back. Fires it right to the back of his throat.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Whew, look at that: empty! Time for—

VOLITION — No.

The thought drops dead with a whine. He sets the bottle aside and reaches for the cigarette packet instead. Another vice, a lesser offence.]

The bugging? [His voice has dropped to a low rumble.] That ain't new, no. The whole... fucked up government and violent undercurrent? Also no. [He hesitates for a moment as two voices slide out from the undercarriage of his brain, each competing to have their take heard: one factual, and one distinctly political.] Revachol used to be under fascist rule. A long time ago, before I was even born. Eventually the Communists rose up. A huge, bloody war took place and a lot of poor people died. [He taps a cigarette from the pack. Twists it in his fingers, before holding it up like it's a character in the piece.] Right up until good King Guillaume got killed, too. [On cue, he flips the cigarette horizontal, before setting it on his lip.] Turns out all the money and cocaine in the world won't stop a motor-carriage flattening you the same as the next guy.

[The sardonic look he gives seems to say: go figure.]

Only then, uh—

[He... frowns, suddenly. Looks guilty. It's just struck him Tidus might not give a shit about any of this, and of all the copotypes, he's never wanted his to be "boring cop".]

...Are you actually interested, or were you just being polite?

[ The word Innocence does catch Tidus, wondering how to interpret that with the original meaning of the word. But as Harry continues on, it easily gets forgotten when the question of, Is this normal? turns out to be a Yes.

Plus, there's a whole lot of more words to not recognise, which Tidus finds doesn't matter too much if you can follow the rest of the story, which he's figuring he's doing well enough.

Until the point it stops, and with a question like that. Tidus throws Harry a bemused look, closer to incredulous. ]

No? [ How could he even wonder if he was being polite? ] I mean, I don't know what half the words are, but this whole -- talking under noise, being watched--

[ Tidus takes out an arm and waves a hand on each point, a rush or insistence to the way he speaks, his brow furrowing, and he isn't even sure how else to articulate what he really wants to say. How strange and weird and frustrating it is, despite what little that may have to do with the current point of Harry's story, or any of it to their current reality.

But it feels like it could provide something, so he makes an urging motion this time with his hand. ]

Keep going, what happens next? The fascist thing -- that was under that King? What happened then? Did you have to live like this?

...Right. [Harry clears his throat, dropping his gaze as he retrieves his lighter from his pocket. It's a gesture that serves to hide his embarrassment, mostly, but hey, he was planning on smoking anyway, right?] Sorry.

So, uh, the fascism was under the King, yeah. His people called themselves Loyalists, but, y'know — that's a fancy word for racist crown fuckers.

[Look how impartial he is!]

The war was between them and a combination of the Communists and the Anarchists. Your average working man sick of being stamped down by hundreds of years of royal rule. [His voice drops for a moment, becoming a ragged whisper.] Not unlike here. Shit started with leaflets and ended with uh... [He mimes a gun, then drops the whisper.]

By the end, somewhere around two million people were killed. Like I said, super bloody. Still, the Communists won, and the Commune of Revachol was established. Monuments got torn down and the revolutionaries, they set about trying to right some wrongs. We're talking rights for women, radio for civil issues... whatever.

[He gestures back to himself suddenly. An ugly grin lands on his face almost by reflex.]

A very disco baby was born, too. [A beat.] Anyway, uh... Let's just say the great experiment was short lived. Turns out, while ol' Revachol was working out how to fix society, the rest of the world was looking in. Once upon a time, we were something to be feared, right? They called us a great octopus strangling the world. Now, well... They figured it was in their best interests to nip things in the bud. God forbid you let the left spread, eh? They didn't want their own workers getting any crazy ideas.

[If he sounds incredibly bitter (or biased) about this... that's probably because he is. He taps the ash from his cigarette into the discarded bottle and puffs away at it briefly, before resuming.]

So the Coalition formed. A big, ugly alliance of Graad and the republics of Sur-la-Clef, Messina, and Oranje. The remaining Loyalists in Revachol fed them intel from the inside, and helped by launching guerrilla attacks while the Coalition bombed us. By the second year, the Communists tried stopping the attacks by setting the oil wells on fire. It poisoned the air, the water, halted trade... [He takes another drag from the cigarette.] And all it did was delay the inevitable, really. We got torn apart by cannons, and when they finally got to shore, the line broke. The people broke.

[A shrug.]

Simple as that. The Coalition took over, set up firing squads and they uh... they carried out a whole lot of mass executions. [He huffs a sound out that could almost be taken as a laugh. The wry look he shoots Tidus seems to ask: sound familiar?] Oh, and those helpful Loyalists? They happened to get caught up in a lot of those executions "by mistake". A little thank you for their services.

[He shifts back further on the bed, aware of the monologuing taking place, but... well, he got the go ahead, right? And he's almost there!]

So I grew up in what's called the Special Administrative Region. They were still executing people a decade in, and the decade after that... wasn't particularly hot either. We're talking gang warfare, a botched privatization scheme and a nuclear pile meltdown that ended with the city I grew up in getting split between whatever international powers wanted in. None of them wanted to claim responsibility for the mess they left behind though, so they founded the Revachol Citizens Militia. [He gestures to himself again. Another sardonic grin.] That's the citizen funded police force yours truly belongs to.

[Harry waits, then. Sits there observing Tidus for a moment before edging out a quiet:]

Any questions?

[ Tidus listens with rapt attention, though the music tries to drown in, wanting to pull away his attention more than it had done when they had been speaking before; maybe because the story asks for so much this time, that the extra noise buzzes like an annoyance more than a beat.

Communists, Coalitions, and one terrible war after another. Tidus only knows one, but he realises -- or remembers -- how little he’s ever known about anything. When it finally comes to its end, the question posed and nearly lost to the beat coming from somewhere behind Tidus’s back… ]

That’s a lot.

[ It is a lot, and he sounds winded to remark that, the statement more of a hold as he gathers his thoughts together to wonder, does he have any questions? Tidus leans back, gaze dropping to the ground beyond the outline of the chair. War. He knew about war, but briefly; knew the results of one, but it’s something else to have so much. Details. Abrupt third parties. Ones that don't end the same way as Spira's did.

He finds he does have questions, and he looks back over, mulling over his thoughts not taking as long in reality to know his first one. ]

What does the police force you’re a part of do? Is it like the one here?

[ He thinks the latter is a question he needs to ask, but he might need to explain, too, he realises -- just how ignorant he is, and why. ]

[Harry's eyebrows rise and fall with the "That's a lot." Oh but he knows, brother. It's a lot for him, an alcoholic amnesiac, and it's a lot for the people of Revachol, too. The war and the resulting occupation hangs over them all like some great specter.

Still, he's impressed Tidus not only listened, but seems to be making some concerted effort to understand. He can't help but feel like he's not given him enough credit up until now.]

Depends who you ask. [He smiles. It's one of those complicated smiles - a little wry, a little sad.] I wanna say we're totally different, but we, uh... we got a good handful of guys way too fond of shooting people, too.

[There's a reason PIGS GO HOME is one of the nicer anti-police statements spray-painted across the walls of the Martinaise.]

I mean... We're separate from the Coalition, but we still gotta enforce their laws. [Cue the next draw from his cigarette.] There's a whole Criminal Code, but we're talking hundreds of provisions, so I won't get into that.

[Mostly because he doesn't know it.]

As for me? I worked in Major Crimes, so: investigating murder, drug trafficking, arson... [He shrugs] That kinda thing.

Edited 2020-02-05 00:14 (UTC)

[ Shooting hadn’t been on his mind with the question, but Tidus can get the picture. None of it is pretty anyway, is it? But the more Harry mentions the Coalition, the more bizarre that is to him. The ones who just swooped in out of nowhere when nobody was paying attention, or had the energy to fight back.

There’s nothing he can compare it to, except maybe wildlife; but he's not so naive to think there aren't people out there who'd take such chances in life. ]

What’s the difference between a citizen-funded police and one run by the guys in charge? And… why’d you go from being a coach to a cop?

[ It was deviating from anything to do with similarities between Dualis and Revachol, but he's curious, plain and simple. ]

[Harry can't help but wonder if this is how Lena felt, back when he spewed question after question to her over the raw fundamentals of their reality.

It's not a malicious thought — some kind of vestigial part of him is thrilled to be playing teacher again — but there's a weight, speaking about this kind of thing. One that he wasn't aware of when he started the ball rolling, but a weight all the same. He wants to get this right. He doesn't want to do Revachol some great disservice by failing to convey (or remember) its struggle and history... and he feels maybe he's doomed to.

Some of this is pouring from the slowly filling gaps of his memory, but a lot of it is recycled. Rhetoric from the deserter one minute, an offhand comment from Kim the next. In fact, a tiny voice is screaming at him right now that Guillaume abdicated and that Frissel is the dead king.

Thankfully, before he can blurt that out, Tidus is already asking the next question.

It's the second question that causes Harry to wince, though. A real tooth-kicker of a sentence.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Challenging: Failure] — Her...

He flashes a grin. It borders on manic.]

Good question!

[And a good morning to everyone's favourite delaying tactic! He manages to grab another second or two as he kinda-sorta pulls off looking thoughtful, tapping off the cigarette ash again and puffing away for a moment.]

Citizen funded means we're massively under-funded — which is good for the Coalition. We've got just enough to stop things descending into total chaos, but not enough to ever think about turning our guns on them. It's like, uh... it's like triage, you know? Our job is to go out there and try and fix things as best we can. Catch the bad guys — the usual bullshit. Meantime, the bad guys all got automatic rifles, the people you're trying to help hate you, and all you got is a hand-cannon in one hand and your dick in the other.

[The next billow of smoke comes out with a theatrical sigh.]

But you do it because you wanna help people. Fight the good fight... stop things getting too bad. [A beat.] Which, uh.. which is mostly why I — [He... points at Tidus with his cigarette. Makes some kind of obscure gesture with it while the Ostentatious Orchestrations fill the gap by crowing, "So bad!"] — You know?

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TAKES A DEEP BREATH

ty for the history lesson

:V

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.....................another mammoth one sorry