dualislogs | [closed]

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?

[ The bizarre smile for what Tidus imagines otherwise to be a -- sure, still personal, but maybe not the most asking of questions, right? -- an easy question catches him, an eccentricity beyond the usual Harry eccentricities, or so he thinks. But it's there and then gone with the flow of their conversation, and so by the time Harry asks, You know?, it isn't on his mind.

He nods, that vague waiting feeling -- the question on the back of his tongue -- not as present as it'd been before. Like he could ask a hundred questions, but instead, things seem as if they're as clear as they're going to be for a guy like him. Tidus presses his lips together, pinching them, and finds himself reminded of Spira, earlier into it: when there was nothing but tragedy and the Summoner's pilgrimage still seemed like a good thing, except without that hopeful silver lining presented or shared. ]

It sounds difficult. Everything. [ A clarification because, well, it does. A fight for a better life, and then a third party swoops in. Tidus doesn't know why his mind keeps going back to that detail, but it does. Makes his brow twitch as he goes from that to what he's left with, this sympathetic presence in him that keeps the line of his brow from ever really relaxing.

But it's not just that either. His eyes flicker as he quietly thinks, listening to the music, wishing the opposite he'd been doing minutes ago and wishing it was loud enough to drown them both out. A sudden apprehension grabbing him, and his boy sways a second before he decides on what to do: leaning toward and on the bed by a hand, bringing himself as closer to Harry as he's going to get without climbing onto the bed. ]

If anyone's gonna get everyone in trouble, I know it's me. I'll say something and I wasn't...vague enough, and that's it -- that's all it's gonna take. But I can't sit back and do nothing, you know? I'll go insane. All this already drives me crazy. Everyone knows this kinda stuff, and me, I just feel like--I don't know anything.

[ He speaks like a demon possessed, rushed and low, like if he doesn't get it out, he won't get another chance; that sharing this is more dangerous than anything before it. His eyes dart in the only frantic gesture he can give, both arms occupied in keeping him balanced from toppling off the chair. ]

And that's bad. I know it's bad. I can't afford to be...

[ Dumb. Careless. Stupid. His mouth opens and closes in succession to find the right word for the job and failing, his breathing brushing up against the block of tension that's snuck into his shoulders and chest. Lets his head tip forward when he doesn't know what else to say.

Other than it was all just so--much. ]

[Harry's hands twitch as Tidus bears forward.

HALF LIGHT — You said something weird and now he's going to hit you! Hit him first!

Thankfully, it's an impulse Harry's sober enough to ignore. That doesn't stop him giving a real deer-in-the-headlights stare as Tidus's words eject themselves at full speed, however.

EMPATHY — He's lost in a way simple words won't fix.

So, what, a hug? C'mon. Harry's not about to envelop someone in his arms just because of some impulse, or — well... Not this time, anyway. This here wouldn't be an embrace of working-class solidarity. This would be a tipsy man inflicting a bear-hug on someone he's pretty sure is a teenager.

No, he'll settle for the next best supportive gesture that comes to him: the one-handed shoulder pat. Only it's more a cling than a pat, complete with a firm, steadying squeeze that's surely meant to convey some great well of empathy he's failing to vocalize right now. In fact, all he's managing on that particular front is a hesitant,]

Hey, hey...

[He clears his throat. He needs to get personal here.]

You give a shit. You're trying. The way I see it, maybe that gives you a leg up. Revachol, most folks are either beaten down enough that they just accept things, or all that hate and frustration gets turned outwards. People end up blaming all their problems on each other. Whoever's skin is darker, or who's poorer or...

[He peters out again, and sighs. A big, beautiful communist rant was brewing there, but maybe now's not the time.]

Look, man... You're not the only guy here with, uh... [He makes a face, then gestures up to his head.] with gaps.

[ It's a touch that's familiar. Or... similar; tighter than his, but the weight and gesture is a reminder. As far as physical affection would be expressed between them, a man Tidus had always looked to for answers.

'Irritating, I know. Or are you afraid? ...It's all right.'

Gradually at first, then at once, Tidus feels ashamed. Like he never learned anything; that he never grew up, took those words closer to heart. You can't expect someone to protect you all the time. You would do well to remember that.

...Or was this homesickness? Tidus can't question that contrasting thought, Harry's voice slipping in, though his mind wants to think about that man in red, of home. It sticks to him as he looks back up at Harry, eyes lifting with confusion, but with concern too.

Gaps? ]

What happened?

[Harry... fucked up, saying that, didn't he? He absolutely wasn't going for a card reveal.

DRAMA — 'Tis true, my liege. Thou art a sodden-witted fool.

COMPOSURE — Quit panicking and sweating for once in your life. First, don't bug your eyes like that. A quick, reassuring pat to his shoulder and pull back. There you go. Now... kind of... motion with your hand. Yeah, like that!

Harry waves his hand dismissively. Like it isn't even worth going into.]

The point is, as long as you're willing to ask questions behind closed doors, and work on presenting something innocent and — [Uhhhh... what's a good word for unquestioning that doesn't reuse question? Shit. Time's up.] — unquestioning to the outside world? You're not going to mess up.

[ He may stare on, the same waiting confusion on his features as Harry delays; a delay for Tidus until the inevitable oh clicks and he finally realises: He doesn't want to talk about it.

And that's okay. Tidus pulls back off from his lean on the edge of the bed, back onto his own seating. Nods at the advice, ignoring the urge to rub at the back of his head in an awkward gesture. ]

You're right. [ It doesn't rid that want for more in him -- to do more, understand more, more answers, more certainty in this world and life in general -- but that's not for Harry to give. Some things, you've got to find for yourself. It doesn't matter if the world feels too large and unmanageable. It wouldn't be the first time. ]

Sorry. [ His back doesn't entirely straighten, but it picks up, a sheepish expression of apology to match with his words. A tone to help take them away from that more serious mood. ] I kinda unloaded on you there... guess the...you know. Stuff on TV got to me more than I thought.

[ That might be it. He isn't sure. That and the history of Harry's home? It sounds like a good enough excuse anyway, so he'll go with it. ]

But I'm okay. [ A beat. ] You know a lot more 'bout where you're from than I do. Too bad most of it... sucks.

[ He means it sympathetically. ]

[So it turns out Tidus is way more perceptive than he seems to give himself credit for. It's with a small sum of guilt that Harry realizes (too late) that in avoiding an answer, he's put a wall between them again.

SUGGESTION — Of all the times to quit oversharing, you picked the one where somebody was opening up to you. Very cool. Try cycling back, bud.

Another wave of his hand, this time to dismiss the apology.]

Don't apologize. You bottle everything up, it's only gonna come out in other ways. And uh... [He hesitates. Takes a drag from his cigarette while he searches for the right words.] Hey, if you ever need to talk something out, I'm all ears, okay? I got this place in my head — [he gestures up to said head] — where I develop ideas. You got any big, unanswerable questions you need help working out?

[Yes, he's pointing at it again. Big sausage finger aimed right at the temple. He holds it there for a long moment, eyebrows raised for emphasis, before dropping his hand to his lap.]

Speaking of which: you don't know about where you're from?

[ The pointing does get a small scoff from Tidus, and not at Harry's expense. The kind followed by a smile that tugs up a side of his mouth, keeps it lingering there.

As baffling as they were when they first met, he likes the Harryisms, alright. ]

It's not as bad as that. [ He made it sound worse than he meant, didn't he? Shakes his head before he explains: ] You know everything that led up to the war in yours, right? There was a war in my world too, a thousand years ago. But all anyone really knows is that there were two sides, two cities.

[ He takes out his hands, motions with them loosely cupped to represent each. ]

The machina city -- which is just a word for machine, technology; that kinda thing -- and the summoner city. --Magic.

[ He needed a second to think to clarify that one. ]

It was a big deal 'cause it shaped everything that came after. Everyone stopped using machina because they thought it was the reason something called Sin was born. They thought if they stopped using machina and repented, Sin would stop existing. Everyone mostly lives in villages by the sea, in huts, 'cause Sin would come and destroy everything all the time. There's only two cities, and they're tiny and guarded constantly.

But I didn't know anything about them until -- [ His brow creases, his gaze shifting aside as he thinks: how long? ] --about... less than a year ago? Maybe a year? [ He looks back, bottom lip sucked in, lets it go as he decides it's not that important. ]

Thing was, where I lived it, it was...really far away. [ There's a slight cool of his tone, a shift in his gaze. A half-truth. ] Where I'm from, we used all the machina, and we didn't worry about anything. There were blitzball games every month, and you could do anything. It was bigger than here. There was A-East, B-East, C-East, just so you knew which part of the East side you were from. I was from A-East.

[ He lifts his chin, points a thumb to himself, but it's a halfhearted gesture. His voice picking up again after the brief hesitance, but a melancholy under what he's trying to share with a certain passion. ]

Everything there, it was...perfect. The perfect idea of a city. [ Here, he avoids Harry's eye. ] We didn't have a military. Our police were just for breaking up drunken fights or small things -- you never heard about murder. Fiend attacks were rare, we didn't worry about spies or mercenaries or people from other places trying to sabotage us. We never talked about the outside world because it didn't exist to us.

[ There's been a tightness to his brow, but now it digs in, a flash of frustration for some unspoken thought, keeping him distracted for a second before it lifts his head. ]

It was a lie.

[ It comes out heavy and bitter. ]

[Harry sets an elbow onto his knee and leans forward, fingers curling in front of his mouth. His thumb acts as a temporary chin-rest, pressing up awkwardly in a way that only slightly impacts the sound of his breathing. Still, he has the look of a man listening intently. Processing.

Thankfully that's rewarded, as Tidus does a fine job actually deconstructing everything he's saying. Harry's surprised to find himself following along without a hitch. He's able to picture it all.

And it's a real pretty picture of a lie, from the sound of things. One that's immediately foreign to him and all the memories he's managed to dig back up from back during his own childhood. A kind of fantasy paradise — and you can't blame a guy for not questioning paradise, can you? Not if that's all they're used to.]

How'd you find that out? What changed? [A beat.] And what's Sin?

Sin’s a giant…fiend. [ It’s not the right word, too tame for such a force, but what gave a better picture to someone who’s never seen it? ] But it had nothing to do with machina: It was a summon made by the guy who ran the summoner city. People would get rid of it, but it would come back; get rid of it, come back. [ He swings a hand; forward, back, forward, back. ] Because the way people thought you took it down? It was the way you brought it back. And the ones running things knew.

[ It’s not necessary information, but it sure is an easier answer than the other two. Not impersonal, but less so than, What happened?, How’d you find out?

With those, Tidus loses the flow he’d regained in speaking about Sin, gaze lowering as he deliberately considers his words. What to say. What not to say. ]

Sin finally arrived at my city, [ he begins, slowly. ] I got swept up and ended far away from home. And when I arrived outside, Spira, it was a completely different world. Everyone thought I was crazy, or sick -- people who get close to Sin get affected by a toxin, makes them lose their memories, [ he explains, before giving a light shake of his head. ] It wasn’t that though. I really just didn’t know anything.

[ But he’s leaving something unexplained, isn’t he? Is he? Or is that because he knows there’s something he doesn’t want to share, wants to make sure that it doesn’t crop up? His shoulders twitch and his mouth pinches, eyes flickering to and fro, signs that he isn’t quite done; but he needs a moment to figure how to continue. ]

It isn’t that I have gaps in my memory, it’s just... the truth was kept from us. In Zanarkand, and in Spira. And being here, listening to people talk about their lives -- there’s so much I don’t understand. [ He raises his hands by either side of his head, extended out, giving them a shake in show of frustration of everything he doesn't get, up in here. Slowly lets them lower back by his lap. ]

It feels that way.

[Despite Sin apparently being a very physical threat — from what Harry can gather, anyway — he can't help but compare it to The Pale. Not that The Pale doesn't affect things physically, but... well, he's certainly never heard it described as a summon. He doesn't even know what that means, honestly.

DRAMA — Curious, my liege. He understands you concealed something, and now he's doing the same. 'Tis true that the boy appears to avoid direct falsehoods, and yet....

Regardless of whatever Tidus might be holding back, a man-made, city-destroying, memory-erasing force isn't a subject he'd thought they'd ever be able to theoretically bond over — especially considering he already figured their thing was sports.]

I bet. [A small, sympathetic smile flickers up.] And the second you thought you'd started getting a grip of things back home, you ended up here, right? Straight back into the unknown.

[He might be projecting a little.

With a long, final draw down to the filter, he finishes his cigarette. The butt, he drops unceremoniously into the bottom of his bottle-turned-ashtray, and his eyes drop down to it for a long moment.]

It's a lot.

[Something shakes loose in his posture. The way his eyebrows draw low, like they're trying to meet his eyes, it's as if he wants to add something. But he doesn't.]

Edited 2020-02-13 02:00 (UTC)

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TAKES A DEEP BREATH

ty for the history lesson

:V

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

gobble gobble i like it

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i love half light and agreed

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