i_speak_softly | Fifty-First Theory [Written/Voice/Action]

Entry tags:

Fifty-First Theory [Written/Voice/Action]

[This morning, instead of going for his usual run, Don settles himself at his desk in the back room. The door is open and a pencil is poked thoughtfully between his teeth. When he begins to write, it isn't filtered, but courtesy of a translation-shield, anyone trying to read the entry will see something that looks more like a Danish cryptogram than anything intelligible. It's a code Don uses for his private notes: only his brothers or an extraordinarily gifted linguist would have a hope of being able to figure it out.]

BGTVULWG - Wvlz hltwqszu bluul kgf bj svg hblfl. Bj ilkqtblf bqs q lu zu lb pvwblu WJDLUQ, gs bj zpflh bqzzal tgulf bqs zlwh, lkulf vu bj nvhbl iglu nl f q lu vg gs lt vwh.

[A little later in the morning, Don leaves the following message.]

Filtered to everyone he can think of that he would consider a friend || Unhackable

All my friends here in Luceti... would you say a few words about yourself? For my notes.

[Much later, in the evening, Don goes out for his run. Now that Shredder is gone, he's allowed to go out after dark again. He knows he doesn't have long before the nights get too cold for this, so he's going to enjoy it while he can.]

((OOC: On Ami's suggestion, Don is working on the in-game equivalent of a timeline and a CR chart.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[Yeah, Robert is not weirded out at all. In fact he's both fascinated and somewhat enamoured of this person all over again. An entire language?]

That explains why it was so unorthodox a structure...

... Your genius never fails to astound me. [And he's being entirely frank when he says that.]

[Don gestures helplessly with his free hand.]

I didn't do it on purpose...

... How could one create a language accidentally? [Robert is unfamiliar with organic languages that spring up in absence of other influences...

... Not terms, though. He's used to those being fluid enough.]

We just... did it. When we were children.

[And this is one of those moments that Robert thinks he would understand better if he had actually had siblings.

It might explain the blank look on his face, at least to an extent.]

... Sort of... spontaneously generated?

Well, we didn't -- [There's a disconnect here, isn't there.] Robert, it's my first language.

[Yes, there is a major disconnect.

... Give him a second.]

... Aha. So... your subspecies' language, then. ... So to speak.

[... A language used by all of four, maybe five, people. Well.]

... Is it based off of Trachemys scripta elegans vocalizations? [The question isn't an inherently awkward one, but it is interesting, on some level, to see Robert acknowledge the species difference.

... even if only for a moment.]

[Don looks at the floor, turns away a little, and, after a moment, emits a series of soft chirps and squeaks. It might sound a little like a bird who was shortchanged when musical ability was handed out.]

[...

You know, that is actually sort of pretty, to a tone-deaf person. And either way, it's decidedly fascinating to hear.]

... That is remarkable... [He'd known turtles were capable of such vocalizations, yes, but he'd never heard Don make them.]

[Well. Score one for 'fascinating', then. Don is reminded again why he is so in love with this person.]

[He coughs - switching between human sounds and turtle sounds is a bit of a contortion - and explains.]

It doesn't sound like it, but it's real words. The writing system is something I threw together. It's not very good, but it works.

I have heard... similar languages, actually. Including one created by the piping of air through various spiracles on a large arthropod-like species. [That species actually sounds a lot like wind instruments tend to. Almost like a talking pan flute.]

... It must be... interesting, to be one of the sole users of such a language...

[He'll get back to those points in a minute. But first -]

Robert... [He picks at the man's sleeve.] You understand this is secret?

I understand. [He's gotten better at concealing this sort of thing. Shredder taught him well.] ... I... have no right to share it, particularly if it functions as a code...

[... It's not like he could read the contents anyway, to be fair.]

... Besides. I trust you with things too.

[Hmm... Maybe Robert wants to share something too?]

Is something on your mind?

[It's Robert. When isn't there something on his mind?

Still, he makes a small, thoughtful sound.]

... Giles knows about... about my s-substance-using history, now. And I spoke to Helios about Benjamin, briefly. But you still know more details than anybody else...

... [Quietly:] And, well... you are the only one who has seen my scars.

[That's still something he really cannot do with anybody else, yet. Not so easily, anyway.

Now it's Robert's turn to finger at his sleeve absentmindedly.]

[Don sighs, and moves back towards the desk.]

Robert... if I do come back, and don't remember anything... go easy on me?

[Even more quietly than before:] ... If... if that did happen, I... I would t-try my hardest. To... to be accomodating.

...

[But would it be the same? Would that Don even love him like this one does? He knows that multiversions can be drastically different in many minor ways... and that could easily happen here.]

... if... if the s-same happens to me... then I kn-know you would.

[He settles himself at the desk again, retrieving the journal and opening it in front of him. Before closing the drawer, he shovels some other things into it, clearing off the corner of the desk.]

Come sit.

[And Robert does so, parking himself neatly next to the turtle and settling himself at the now-somewhat-cleared corner.]

[Don chews on his pencil thoughtfully, then begins to write after 'ROBERT'.]

-nr. Ny ov gdvospbol t qwi. Xof jon nol szno v yiystfl, ioh btj nol oh eqsheo.

[... Well, on the one hand it might be a violation of privacy to ask, but on the other hand, Robert is so damn curious...]

...

May... I ask what that says?

[Don doesn't mind. He would probably tell most people what he had written about them, as long as he could do so privately. To that end, he makes very sure the journal isn't transmitting anything before he says softly:]

This is Robert. You're in love with him. I know it sounds impossible, but please give it a chance.

[And Robert has to smile softly at that. It does sound statistically unlikely, doesn't it? And yet Robert was lucky.]

... That seems... fitting, yes.

[Don turns the transmission back on, making sure Robert sees what he's doing, and answers some other replies.]

Where's yours?

My journal? [Always in one of the omnipresent lab coat's pockets. Robert fishes it out a moment later, holding it to his chest.]

... Did you want me to record something for you, perhaps...?

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]