Tidus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blitzcheer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dualislogs2020-01-25 02:46 pm
blitzcheer) wrote in dualislogs2020-01-25 02:46 pm
[closed]
WHO: Tidus & others
WHAT: just some closed starters
WHERE: around
WHEN: during january!
WARNINGS: will be hecking added if applicable
tidus
WHAT: just some closed starters
WHERE: around
WHEN: during january!
WARNINGS: will be hecking added if applicable
tidus
- & arkady: link; mention of drug use (in the past)
& harry du bois: link; mentions of drug use, alcohol consumption
& crazy jane: link
& harry du bois, arkady: penguins
& nida nomura: vroom vroom
no subject
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. ]
.....................another mammoth one sorry
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?
gobble gobble i like it
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. ]
no subject
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.
i love half light and agreed
'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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
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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?
no subject
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. ]
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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?
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[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
A second chance.
His thoughts don’t take him any further than that. He watches the way Harry’s frame sags, the hesitance in his withdrawn gaze, and it takes that for Tidus to realise (to understand) those words went deeper for Harry than an understanding meant for him, and the line of his own shoulders loosens.
It’s not as if the loss of his situation didn’t eventually come to him too. He wonders if he can offer an man older than him any real comfort, but -- maybe it’s because of how they’ve spoken so far, maybe it’s because he doesn’t care, he wants to try -- he doesn’t wonder for long. ]
We’re not alone. Crazy as everything is, we’re all stuck in this. We’re gonna see good people go, and the Head’s gonna be breathing down our necks, but I believe we can do something. I have to. That’s all you can do, you know? You need something to stop it from going to your head. Other people. A goal.
[ A belief you’re not so useless, that there’s nothing you can do. But he’s being distracted by what he thinks he wants to say, rolling his lips, eyes dipping only a second, but otherwise keeping on Harry. ]
What I’m saying is… this sucks, and none of us should be here. [ But… ] But I’m glad we got stuck together?
[ He pulls an unfortunate smile. ]
I'm glad we got to talk.
[ Even if it would have been better if they never did. ]
no subject
He's clearly listening though.
And if that faint nod is any indication, what Tidus is saying... seems to be sticking. It's like something Kim said: he has to focus on other people's troubles. That there's relief in that. It's a sentiment he threw back in the Lieutenant's face at the time, but hearing it again? It's landing very, very differently.
His adam’s apple bobs with a sort of pigeon-like hesitation. Like there's a lump in his thro— oh no.
COMPOSURE — What the fuck is wrong with you?
Harry's chin jerks upwards as he fixes his stare onto a ceiling tile somewhere beyond Tidus's head.]
Right, right.
[If he was going for exceedingly gruff, he succeeded. The quick throat clearing makes it seem unintentional, though.]
Same here, man.
no subject
And maybe he doesn't want to give the wrong idea about the small smile on his lips; less unfortunate now, and more glad. The possibility his words were able to mean something.
It's a good feeling. ]
You still talk to H? He knows some sports. Really likes a game called basketball -- they have it in his world, and here too. I used to go to one of the stadiums to watch different sports teams practice… I still do, [ technically, ] but it isn’t as fun as when I first got here.
[ He shares it, like talking about the weather, hands resting with their grip on the top of the chair. Intentionally getting sidetracked this time from his original point, to give Harry time (that he obviously doesn't need). ]
Anyway, you should -- Talk more, I mean. [ Tidus tips his head, a small nod to the side. ] If it’s about here or just remembering you’re both human. He’s been here a long time, and some of us worry ‘bout him. He’s always doing a lot, always working. I don’t have the head for thinking out things like cops do, [ he waves a hand by his head. smart stuff ] and I think you'd both have stuff you can talk about.
[ He looks over now, and nods again. ]
So -- yeah.
[ What a great way to conclude that. ]
cw for drug mentions/heavier focus on alcoholism
Is... Is Tidus really trying to set him up on a sad old man play-date?]
He's got his partner.
[He didn't mean for that to sound quite so dismissive, but... shit, he'll try again:]
I'm not — [argh] — he seems like a good guy, don't get me wrong. We talked cases a while back. Hobbies. [He nods over to the reel player.] Music, that kinda thing. But, y'know, similarities aren't always good. Not when you're dealing with two, uh... [the smallest hint of a pause] two cops.
[Two alcoholics. He's not about to intentionally out either himself or Hank on that score, but it's been a barrier. Hank strikes him as a functioning alcoholic. Harry's a late-stage one, bordering on moribund. He can't possibly be a good influence right now. He's a cautionary tale at best.]
But... sure. I can check in on him sometime.
[Check in on, and not party with. He can totally do that.
Still, this whole line of questioning and suggestion has left him with a twitchy kind of irritation. Like the photo thing, mark two. It's a reminder of how he's perceived from the outside. That time has abandoned him. That he's not cool.
He reaches for the cigarette packet again, automatic, while the problem solving part of him desperately tries to sort that. A solution to his late-onset lameness.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So bear with me here: Tidus was hungover as shit that first time you met each other, right? So maybe—
VOLITION — We're not doing this.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Maybe you should see if he gets down.
VOLITION — You absolutely shouldn't. What does that even mean? He plays sports, remember? Sports isn't an anagram for snorts. He looks like he actually cares about his body.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Jocks snort more shit than every nerd combined, man! Hell, look at you! Beneath the Franconigerian Hardbody beats the heart of an amphetamine-fueled athlete. You ain't no exception, baby! You're the rule!
And speaking of looking at himself, it's just dawned on Harry that he's probably been sat there slack-jawed this whole time. He shuts it with a click. Clears his throat again. His muscle memory was active enough to dig out the next smoke at least, but he doesn't move to light it.]
So, uh... back to you. You seem pretty — [he holds a hand horizontal and moves it back and forth] — I dunno, straight-laced. You never...?
no subject
Wait, did it sound like he was saying they should hook up?
At least, no -- that's not what the problem might be by the follow-up, the clarification slipping off Tidus's tongue and back into his throat. The actual issue of the situation being...
Huh? The fact they're cops? ]
Okay. [ You don't mix cops? Tidus sounds like he accepts the explanation, while simultaneously looking puzzled by it. Himself, he would kill to talk to another blitzball player. ...Or some other metaphorical act that wasn't soured by literal deaths being broadcast out to the public.
But then Harry just spaces, and Tidus wonders, confused, what this whole...being cops thing actually meant. That he might've accidentally opened a door he shouldn't, and he's not really sure if he should ask despite the confusion furrowing his brow, that doesn't wipe off even as Harry comes back to the present.
Well, partially because he doesn't get the gesture. He looks from that to the new cigarette in the other, deciding that was the actual subject. ]
Smoke? Smoking's a death wish if you're a professional. You're not breathing, but that's two five minute rounds of swimming and getting knocked around by the other team, and you're holding in air the entire time. So.
[ He shakes his head, waves a straight hand in front of his neck. No good. ]
Never touched one. Literally!
no subject
Right.
[He should have figured that's where Tidus's mind would jump, but no, that's not remotely what he meant. Either Tidus doesn't expect someone like Harry (you know, an authority figure) to bring up drugs, or he just doesn't think like that in the first place. A one-time hangover isn't the same thing as tapping into the party-pipeline, is it?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Abort: the kid is lame as fuck. Total square.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — LAME?! Was Contact Mike lame? No, son. He's a pro. Homo Athleticus. And you're the fat asshole blowing second-hand smoke at him.
Something in Harry's expression changes. He looks sheepish.]
Sorry. [He presses his lips together, mouth forming a tight line as he pushes the cigarette back into the packet. It bends a little.] I should'a asked before I started, uh— [Smoking? That's what the weird finger wave seems to stand in for.] I do shit without thinking sometimes. Good for you, man.
[He sounds like he means it.]
You were a professional, right? You ever miss it?
no subject
But hey, he isn’t about to suggest he should go back for that cigarette either. Tidus lets his gaze rise to the ceiling with the question instead, pondering it for a second. ]
Sure. I mean, I miss it altogether, y’know? But...I like it isn’t here. [ He tips his head with a lean, gives a halfhearted shrug of his shoulders. ] Nowadays. I wouldn’t play it even if it were. It’d be…. wrong. [ He frowns, angling his face to look at Harry. ] Like I’m messing around when I should be caring about other things. Not going along with what the city wants.
[ Just being normal. Too normal. Getting distracted a second time. ]
Anyway, there’s no point missing what you can’t go back to. [ His voice lightens, his face brightening some just to match it. Not a smile, but a I'm fine with it. ] I’ve gotta think about the now.
Did you ever miss being a coach? What did you teach anyway? Any sports?
no subject
His hands, meanwhile, haven't stilled since he returned the cigarette. His fingers are drumming along to the music on the top of his undamaged thigh. It's like he doesn't know what to do when he's not holding something.
As for his illustrious sporting career?]
I dunno. I haven't taught gym for, what, eighteen years?
[It's one of the thoughts he's been working on since arriving here. One he keeps returning to, rather than resolving. Coach Du Bois. Who the fuck was he back then?
At first, all he remembered was the squeaky sound of sneakers and the feeling of his bruised knee pressed against a mat. The stale smell of sweat and rubber. Now he has more. It's still not a complete picture, but there are half-remembered surnames on the tip of his tongue. The highs and lows of games won and lost. Very little gender sensitivity.]
I did a little of everything. Baseball, rugby, boxing... [He begins ticking off on his fingers.] Athletics, obviously — so track, high-jump, shotput... that kinda thing.
[He sighs, leans forward and slides down onto his feet, then. Rolls his shoulders as he pads past the pack of pilsner and over to the reel-player.]
Pretty sure I loved it. I grew up in Jamrock. Had a gang and everything. We used to, uh— [He huffs out a laugh - something in that space between fondness and embarrassment.] Let's just say we did a lot of petty shit. The Fifteenth Indotribe - a bunch of dumb kids set to rule Insulinde. [He shakes his head as he begins shifting his thumb down the small stack of reels sat in front of him.] Only problem was, I went and got my head turned. There was a boxer. A real underdog. Seeing him fight, I remember it felt like I opened my eyes for the first time. Like I could see a way out. [He pauses, and pulls one of the reels free. Stands looking at it for a moment.] Got obsessed, took up boxing and the rest was history.
[He ended up getting into teaching while the rest of the Indotribe simply ended. Car accidents or overdoses, mostly. Not that he's going to sour the air by telling Tidus that.
There's a click as he presses a button on the player, and a faint whir as the OO (at long last) fall silent. He begins the labourious process of swapping the reels over.]
I think I liked passing some of that focus to other kids.
no subject
You still got any moves? [ But more importantly are the few jabs to the air he’s decided to accompany his question, quick small things to punctuate his interest. Fists lingering in place when he stops, a cheer keeping in his voice. ]
I saw one of those boxing rings when I was looking for a gym to join. Didn’t know what boxing was until then. [ And it’s been staring him in the face for a while now, but now that he thinks about it… ] I guess it’s actually strange to only have one sport? I thought this place had so many ‘cause of everyone being from everywhere, but… you know a lot too.
[ Huh. What would it have been like to be in a class like that? He can’t remember which one is meant to be baseball, which one rugby. And shotput? What even is that? Tidus wants to ask, but he also wants to ask about Jamrock; or a certain style affiliated to it.
So you know -- maybe one thing at a time. ]
no subject
I've been saving most of the moves for the dance floor... but I still got a pretty good hook, yeah. [He reaches for a sleeve and hikes it up his shoulder. Cue him absolutely shamelessly flexing.] Check it: Revacholian steel, baby!
[...It's one of the few parts of his body he hasn't managed to fuck up yet, okay? Even that chiseled jaw he prides himself on has a layer of alcohol bloat trying to camouflage it. Harrier Du Bois got guns, and his fragile ego needs people to know it.]
But, uh — [He clears his throat and lets his arm flop back down. Not embarrassed, exactly, but it's like he's trying to switch back into the version of himself that can actually talk to people like a human being.] Yeah, Elysium had hundreds of sports. [He finishes loading the reels and waves his hand.] Hell, maybe thousands if you're looking at variations. [With that, he turns and rests his back against the wall. He hasn't clicked play yet.] You sure you only had the one?
no subject
[ He leans back as Harry produces the weaponry as if they're danger, a massive grin on his face, and he does have to admit: Harry has got some solid meat to him. But this was the same guy who was keeping a fast pace despite gut and injuries.
Guy should totally give up the smokes and drink. ]
Yup, just the one. Inside and outta Zanarkand. [ Now that he's actually turned to see it than just hear the music, Tidus is watching the reel player instead, interested to see how it works; a little distracted as he goes on. ] But things might be different now with Sin gone. Yuna told me people are trying to uncover their history now, and there's people called sphere hunters. Your memories can turn into them, and apparently there's things you can do with them, or sell them if the content's good. And some people are using machines more.
[ For his talk about leaving the past in the past, he's gleeful as he shares the overhaul of Spira taking place -- the bits and pieces of it that he knows. ]
Who knows what'll happen now? That world's really gonna change.
no subject
[Harry snorts softly, then shakes his head. He's pulling a kind of mock-bewildered expression - something to quickly illustrate just how alien a concept that is to a guy like him.
He likes the idea of it, though. That memories could be quite literally recaptured like that. There's a physicality to it that appeals even to the savage art critic buried deep inside his skull.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — My mind lets go a thousand things, like dates of wars and deaths of kings...
Cool, thanks. It sure does.
But more importantly:]
Good to know there's a pricetag on that, too. [He winks, giving a rueful smile.] The golem of the capital keeps on feeding.
[He leans across and clicks the play button like he didn't just make this political again. There's a quiet, rumbling buzz as the speakers come alive.
With a quick gesture to said speakers,]
Guillaume le Million. [That smile turns in another grin. If the name doesn't rhyme, you're not pronouncing it properly.] Revachol's second greatest disco artist.
no subject
Revachol? The same Revachol he's only heard about today? ]
Wait, these are from home? Your home, where you’re from?
[ He’s pointing at the player, as if it’s necessary. As if there will be any other confusion than his own. ]
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