i_speak_softly | Sixtieth Theory [Action]

[After the initial few days of Don being missing, Robert gave up.

He didn't just give up on the possibility that Don wasn't dead - merely just, perhaps, missing; or perhaps taken on an impromptu mission. The evidence seemed to point, however esoterically or oddly, at Don's having expired - but he gave up on almost everything else, too. He's been drifting, quiet and withdrawn in a way that probably hasn't happened since he witnessed Giles' death first-hand.

And something happened to Helios too. And others. He still remembers the deaths he saw during the draft in pristine detail. They all have served to press down on him like a weight, keeping even his normally-obsessive motivations from pushing him to do much more than repetitively organize the house.

All of this is ignoring the practical repository of empty alcohol bottles. Luckily Leo intervened before that got too horrendous, but Robert has gotten drunk more than once this week, and it shows - more than anything, he looks empty and tired.

He probably doesn't immediately notice Don's approach. After all, it's been longer than the usual time spent away - long enough that, if it weren't for Don's belongings remaining, he would've thought perhaps that he went home.]

[Don enters the house in an almost dream-like state. It's obvious by now that something is wrong with him, but he still doesn't know exactly what.]

[Everything feels slightly surreal, and he follows his entering-the-house routine with exacting care, as though the familiar objects might dissolve and vanish at any moment. He closes the door quietly, washes his feet in the bucket, and calls out:]

I'm home.

[Don's voice. Don's voice.

Robert's brain snaps to attention as though a live wire had been run through it. He startles, looking up from the kitchen table with suddenly-wide eyes.]

D-Don...?! [He's on his feet in moments, like he expects Don to disappear if he doesn't go to get him first. There's an air of almost-panic, a need to be certain what Don has lost.]

Ronald.

[His tone is almost plaintive - he's happy to be home and relieved to see his partner, but deeply worried and far more tired than he should be. He moves forward, needing to be close to Robert, but he's looking around for his brother too. If Leo doesn't show up in about ten seconds, Don will have to hunt him down.]

[...

Robert stares blankly for a few seconds at that. "Ronald"? Has Don forgotten him? Or...]

Don... do you... n-not remember my name...?

[Almost gingerly, like prodding an injury:] ... R-Robert Alexander Hastings. Do you know that...?

[Well, this is not good. Don's brow furrows.]

Yes. Robert.

[Of course I know that.]

[Okay. That was odd. Robert studies Don's face for signs that he might've misheard him the first time, but there is nothing in his expression that Robert can pick up easily beyond a slight feeling of discomfort.]

... You said my name... c-correctly this time. But a moment ago, you... r-referred to me as "Ronald". [He says it very clearly and distinctly, putting the same emphasis on it as Don did in as close a tone he can manage.]

[Tilts his head.]

I do that?

[He doesn't think he did that.]

N-Not ordinarily, no. [Robert does not realize he misspoke the tense.

But his mind is already starting to look for a pattern in this behaviour...]

[Don moves to the couch, gesturing for Robert to join him.]

I'm tired...

[This much is understandable. Robert nods, despite not being entirely satisfied with the lack-of-answer, and goes to approach the couch. He stands near enough to Don that he probably looks protective of him.]

... I am... so g-glad you are... h-home. [Even if there are some odd anomalies.]

[Don studies Robert a moment, thinking.]

When you went to the outside there and fought the other people, what happened?

[That has to be the most unconventional way for Don to phrase something ever. Robert blinks at him a few more times before deciding he ought to answer the question first.]

... I... I spent most of my time on the s-sidelines, like you told me to, but - [- his voice catches -] - s-sometimes I had to fight, and -

[I watched another Terran die -]

... I-I... I harmed p-people. I had to. T-To... to protect myself and others... [It sounds like a hollow justification now, now that he's actually seen a war - seen a fight raging around him like that.]

...

... But. [Softer:] I gathered d-data, as much as I could. I could not t-take samples, but... but I have data for y-you... [His eyes are wet when he looks back up at Don.]

[Don rubs the ridge between his eyes, trying to stay focused. He definitely wants to see this data, but he just can't right now.]

Tomato?

[The baffling non-sequitur of that response so takes Robert by surprise that his response is a little shrill.]

... Wh-what...?

[... It's official. Robert's worst fears have been realized.

Don's death has reduced his normally-brilliant intellect to something significantly less so. Why else would he be saying such nonsensical things?]

[Slowly, like he's about to poke a bomb:]

I'll see your data tomato, Ronald.

[No. No.

Robert knows he can't deny what he is hearing, but the sentence Don has just produced... not only is there that error of name again (though he recognizes Robert, doesn't he?) but "tomato" a second time. Robert blurts out, in response -] T-Tomato? Don, what on Terra are you... t-trying to say...?

[More plaintively:] What have they done to you...?!

Edited 2012-07-08 02:18 (UTC)

[Robert, why are you talking about tomatoes?]

[Don reaches out, takes Robert's hand, and pulls him down onto the couch. There's clearly something wrong with his ability to communicate, so maybe it would be better if he just... didn't say anything.]

[Robert allows himself to be pulled onto the couch; bonelessly, he presses into his partner.

They gave Don back, but... is this really him anymore? What is Don without his beautiful mind?]

... D-Don... I am s-so sorry I could not... p-prevent this from happening...

[Don settles his arms around Robert's shoulders, a reassuring embrace. Whatever this is, he can live with it. It's temporary. It's going to be okay...]

[Whatever this is, it's the most terrible thing that's happened to him as far as Robert is concerned. (Of course, Robert is not exactly getting the right impression about it.)

It becomes apparent in a few moments that Robert isn't simply clinging to Don, he's weeping very softly into his plastron. Faced with this situation after a week of worry and shame and impotent anger and the desire to simply drown his misery (and with even that option now taken from him), he can do nothing but quietly shut down.

Give him a moment, Don.]

[It doesn't take long for Don to notice that. He wipes away Robert's tears with a calloused thumb.]

Hey. No...

[Robert tilts his head up at that, looking almost tentatively up at him.]

... No...?

[No crying? Why shouldn't he cry?]

It's okay. I do it on the... [The idea of being willing to sacrifice himself is too complicated, and he can't even come up with wrong words for it.] Shit, Ronald, I can't do them.

[Robert is utterly speechless. Normally, "shit" would not be a word that registered much of a reaction from him, but the sheer unlikeliness of Don saying it for any reason completely floors him.

It's a moment before he can speak, and then -] C-Cannot do what?

The -- [A gesture that resembles something coming out of his head.] What's wrong with me?

They ruined you. [Bitterly, like it leaves a bad taste in Robert's mouth.] It... it is... a t-travesty. An absolute travesty.

[At least Don is aware that a problem exists. It would have been even worse had he lacked that awareness.]

[A strong reaction, and not the kind of diagnosis Don was looking for. He stands abruptly and paces away to the back room, returning after a few moments. With one hand he's spinning his bo in a nervous gesture. The other hand is a closed fist, and he holds this out, palm down, to Robert.]

[The suddenness of that reaction curbs the edge of his own anger at the Malnosso, and he's calmed a little by the time Don returns.

It's clear he has no idea what the palm is meant to be for, but he tentatively extends a hand.]

[Don opens his fingers, and the infinity pendant drops into Robert's hand. Then he turns his wrist over, waiting for his partner to put the silver chain back on him.]

[He nearly tears up again, but Robert steels himself. Pressing the briefest of kisses to Don's wrist first - whether it's apologetic, reconciliatory, loving or all three, it's hard to tell - he then begins to wrap the chain around Don's wrist again, its rightful place.

He remembers, poignantly and painfully, how to remove it, and so he repeats the same steps but reversed, taking the time to turn the situation over in his mind as he goes through the rhythmic motions.]

[Don watches the process, his mind running through similar thoughts. Why can't anyone understand what he's saying? And how will his relationship with Robert - or with anyone, for that matter - work if they can't communicate? Part of him is regretting giving the Botsu charm to the woman in the kimono, but another part thinks that's a selfish sentiment, and he pushes the idea away.]

[If Robert had known how Don's selflessness had saved Sayo, perhaps this would have been a small comfort.

At any rate, though, his mind is far from there. He is trying to figure out what all these disparate things mean. What was done to Don's mind? How much of what Robert says does he understand? What causes those non-sequiturs?

It's all baffling, and it's frustrating Robert that, once again, he cannot do anything.

He does up the latch on the chain, then, and pulls his hands away reluctantly.]

... th-there, Don.

Thank you.

[He shakes his wrist, making sure the chain is secure, then sits down again, resting his bo across his knees.]

[Robert manages a somewhat-wobbly smile up at Don in response to that, and leans backwards a little to better look him in the face.]

... Y-You are welcome, Don.

[He still loves Don. He will never not love him, no matter what the Malnosso do to him.

He can take comfort in that much.]

[Don watches Robert another moment before looking away. His gaze travels around the room, through the kitchen doorway - he's hungry - and lands on a bin overflowing with bottles. They look suspiciously like something he wouldn't expect to see in this house.]

Ronald, what is this?

[... Well.

That was something he had meant to explain beforehand, but... this is kind of a bad time, isn't it?

Robert draws a slow breath to steel himself, and admits in a quiet voice -]

... Empty a-alcohol bottles.

[Blunt as usual, he doesn't try to dodge the reality of what they are. And it's not like even a reduced-intelligence Don couldn't figure out what that means.]

[A gesture of hurt and nonunderstanding. Why were you drinking? Why were you drinking that much?]

[The gesture is nearly meaningless to Robert. He stares, with a hollow gaze, somewhat halfway past him.

He's quiet for a long moment, before he finally says:]

It was... t-too much, Don.

[An answer like that doesn't make the drinking okay, but it does make it hard for Don to stay upset about it.]

[Very sternly:] No more.

[He'll wait for Robert to agree to this.]

[He winces under the strength of that demand, but slowly nods after a few moments.]

... L-Leonardo refused to let me, anyway. [Robert's shoulders shake briefly, and he admits -] ... E-Even though... I still wanted to.

It... m-made it harder to have n-nightmares, at least.

[He'll have to thank Leo for that later.]

How many was I there?

[He never got an answer to that from Buffy.]

[... How... many...?

Robert furrows his brow as he attempts to make sense of that sentence. It feels like there should be a meaning to it, like Don is speaking in a cipher.

Is there consistency to this?]

How... many... w-were you there...? [He's repeating it to himself, almost faraway-sounding, obviously trying to make sense of the sentence.]

[Hm. Don gets up again, and comes back with two pencils and a sheaf of paper. On the first page he draws a calendar - not this month's calendar, because heck if he knows what day of the week any date is, but it should still be recognizable.]

How many was I there?

[How many -

Robert stares at the calendar, then reruns Don's second sentence through his head, and then stares at the calendar again.]

... Do you mean... how long you h-have been here since... s-since whatever happened? Would you not know that better than I would...?

[Don bites his pencil, thinking about this, then takes another piece of paper and simply numbers it 1 through 31 in a column.]

What are we now?

[... Oh. Okay. Wait. Robert might be slowly realizing what Don meant, but -]

Th-The seventh. Of July.

Edited 2012-07-09 02:25 (UTC)

[Don circles 7, and begins to write "July" at the top of the column - but stops after J, his pencil hovering uncertainly.]

[This is not good.]

[Robert waits patiently for a few seconds, but when it rapidly becomes apparent that Don cannot write "July" -]

... You cannot sp-spell it?

[There is an unintentional mild note of what might be pity or horror in his voice. Perhaps both.]

[Don shakes his head. He's also having a really hard time thinking backwards to what comes before July. He drops the pencil, no longer interested in the seemingly-simple question of how long he was dead.]

[... That's a level of awful Robert's not even really sure how to say anything about.]

...

[Still looking down at the paper, he asks:] Do you... w-wish for me to continue instead...? [Because he can't just let it go, obviously. He needs to unintentionally make it worse.]

[Don passes the paper to Robert, but he doesn't seem invested in it, the way he usually does when they work on a problem together.]

[And why would he be? This isn't cooperation at all.

Robert, of course, doesn't realize this. He takes the pencil, carefully finishes "JULY" at the top of the calendar, and then, next to it, recreates the calendar shape. This one is drawn with lines as precise as Robert can make them - he visibly winces a little when one line wobbles, and has to go back to erase it.

But eventually he has a matching calendar, which he then labels with "JUNE".]

[Don watches, but listlessly. He wants to know what this is, and he understands Robert's desire to follow the problem through, but part of him would rather not try to deal with this until he's had some food and a long nap.]

[Oblivious to Don's internal feelings, Robert continues the problem - he labels the calendar quickly and efficiently, numbering off the days after writing the names of the days themselves above.

Then his gaze ticks up and over to Don again.

"How many was I there?" The sentence seems like it should make sense. On the surface - grammatically - it is meaningless. But, Robert gets the impression that there is a meaning in it, struggling under the surface.

Come to think of it, didn't "tomato" seem to have a meaning too? Don kept using it. If he's speaking in cipher - like a word-substitution program - then maybe there's something else that should go where "tomato" did.

Is that true for this sentence as well?]

[Uncomfortable with being looked at like that, Don gets up on the excuse of finding some food. He'll just rummage around the kitchen while you draw calendars.]

[That's okay. Robert throws himself mentally into puzzling out the words as Don does.

Somewhere in between, his mind - still a little sluggish and addled from the week's trials - finally makes a connection.

"Many" is a quantitative term, he realizes, staring down at the calendar Don drew. But he obviously meant days. How many days -

There's only one context it would actually make sense to ask that question in.

... How long he was dead.]

[Don recognizes a eureka moment when his partner has one. He gravitates to the kitchen doorway, eyebrow raised, to see what's up.]

[Not quite looking at Don, but - with a hopefulness that belies the tone the question should inspire -]

... You... a-asked me... how long you were... well, dead?

[And this question leads itself to other questions. If Don was trying to convey a meaning and it just wasn't getting through correctly, then maybe the damage is different than Robert suspected.

He'll need to test this.]

Yes.

[He hastily retrieves something from the microwave, then comes back to the couch to see what Robert has figured out.]

[There's a sudden light in Robert's eyes, the intense look he gets when he's absorbed in a problem, and right there he begins to write out the foundations of a fairly complex math problem.

If Don is still Don - if whatever this is hasn't ruined the core of him - then this should be immediately recognizable to him.

Softly:]

You have been... d-dead for over a w-week. You were... gone, entirely, by the time of our... a-arrival, from after the draft.

There was... l-little information associated with your death... [He looks up at Don, teary-eyed but still intense.] It was... d-difficult to tell what had happened, others said...

...

... I n-need to know what this has done to y-you, Don. You speak to me, and it... is n-nonsensical, but you mean something.

[Don is shoveling food into his mouth, but his eyes are on the math problem.]

[Until Robert looks at him.]

[Slowly:]

April says I'm... footwork.

[Again, with the surface-nonsensical sentence. This time, Robert pushes away the immediate reaction of frustration and incomprehension. He needs to get to the bottom of this.]

Wh-Who is "April"...?

[Should he know this person?]

[Casts around. Where is a journal when you actually need one?]

[Would Robert pulling the piece of paper over help? Though he has his journal nearby - Don could probably gesture at it.

Though good luck getting Robert to realize what he means at first.]

No, that one.

[He juggles his food to make a beckoning gesture at the journal.]

[... Oh, okay. That's simple enough!

Robert gets up, goes over to his largely-neglected journal, and places it on the desk in front of Don before sitting down.

... This has to be frustrating for both of them.]

[Don flips through rapidly until he finds the index of Luceti residents, then scans the pictures until he sees Buffy.]

Her.

... Ms. Summers? [Is "April" a nickname of hers'?]

And, er, why did she... say you were... "footwork"...?

[His question is tentative and awkward - he's not sure what this word is supposed to mean.]

[His shoulders slump. How is he supposed to explain that?]

[Oh, Don.

When Robert doesn't get an answer, his expression softens a little, and he reaches out to take Don's hand.]

... M-May I ask you... something else, then?

Could you... finish this mathematical problem for me...? [He presents the paper to Don, with an obvious air of nervous hope.]

I... want to see... [... it's terrible, but he doesn't know a nicer way to say it...] ... whether your intellect is i-intact.

[A range of reactions to this: Sadness. A nod. He reaches for the paper... and looks at Robert with disbelief.]

[After a moment he passes his plastic bowl to Robert so he can take the pencil. He re-reads the problem, then quickly fills in the missing numbers. He's apprehensive as he hands it back - he thinks it's right, but what if it isn't?]

[That look of disbelief baffles Robert. What did he say wrong, exactly? ~~Besides the obvious, but he doesn't really know just how awful a statement that was.~~

But still, Don's done the problem - and incredibly rapidly, at that. There was no hesitation, and compared to writing the word "July" he didn't even blink.]

... It is correct.

...

[Slowly, trying to make sense of this -] You cannot spell a s-simple word, and yet... you can do complex math in seconds...

...

This is... o-obviously some sort of brain disorder, but... it is much different from my initial impression...

[Don scoops up his food and curls back into the corner of the couch as he listens to this diagnosis. "Brain disorder" was not the effect he wanted to come back with, but at least it seems to be limited to specific functions.]

[Just how specific is a matter of concern, though.]

... You... you understand what I say, c-correct...? It is just... communicating? Or... or am I difficult to... u-understand, as well...?

And there are no... motor difficulties...?

[Don isn't sure how to answer this. If it weren't for his knowledge that he died and must now have some sort of deficit, he would think that everyone else had a comprehension problem. From his own perspective, he doesn't know whether he's saying something other than what he means, or misunderstanding other people, so that his replies seem like non sequiturs to them.]

[He shakes his head at the second part, though.]

[That's a problem, then. If Don can't verify whether he can understand... and his responses make it difficult to determine objectively whether he has... then how to test this in a way that they can determine?]

... A proper behavioural a-analysist would be... helpful, for this.

[Or even a proper brain scan, though who knows if it's a visible defect...

Almost to himself, Robert murmurs downward.]

I wish I knew what this was...

[Don thinks a moment, then offers:]

You, order me, and I do.

[Processing...

After a few thoughtful moments of analyzing the sentence, a tentative -]

You... w-wish for me to... ask you to do something...?

[Emphatic nod. If he can carry out some commands, his understanding must be okay.]

[That makes some sense. Interpreting a command does require understanding of what the command means to be done effectively.

Robert infers, judging on Don's prior behaviours and reactions, that repeating words or writing them isn't likely to be effective. So chances are, the most useful things to tell him to do are physical.]

... P-Please retrieve my... sword, for me. [Somehow, this seems significant enough that Don should get to see it now - even if any obvious signs of its use have long since been cleaned, it has a psychological impact and is in an odd enough location to be something he wouldn't see without looking.] It is... in my room, in the dresser at the s-southeast corner of the room, in the third compartment...

... It is in its protective cover, so... do not w-worry. I would not store such an implement... u-unprotected.

[Don listens carefully, then gets up and walks away. In a few moments he returns and presents Robert with his sword.]

[... Well, that worked. Despite everything, Robert gives Don a smile.]

... Thank you.

[Almost nervously:] ... Should I give you another command...?

[Nod. One trial does not an experiment make.]

[Hmm... Well, he can follow directions flawlessly so far, but more in-depth responses might be required. Hmmm.]

Perhaps we could... work together to make a p-proper meal for you? I presume you have... not e-eaten since your return...

[Truth be told, Robert hasn't much either.]

[Shakes his head.]

I'm tired...

Edited 2012-07-13 01:48 (UTC)

I could make you s-something, then. It is... not a problem.

Unless you do not wish to eat? [Maybe not. It's not inconceivable that he wouldn't - though Robert will worry if he doesn't for particularly long. Don kind of has a habit of that...]

[Shakes his head again. The leftovers were enough for now, and he really just wants to sleep.]

Stay here?

[Well, okay. Robert's still allowed to worry though!]

... Of course. [He manages a weak smile, one that doesn't entirely disguise the sadness and anxiety he has, and then strokes Don's shoulder.]

... I... I will learn what this is, Don. I promise...

[Don turns around, and lies back against Robert's legs.]

Think I... want to see a dog...

[Is a cat fine too? Carbon, curious about the goings-on and the noise in the house, has stolen her way over to the couch by this point. She hops up onto the pillow near Don's feet, blinking curiously.]

... A dog? [Robert, for his part, is trying to figure out what that means, mentally off somewhere else as he considers the possibilities.]

[Don tugs gently on Robert's lab coat, trying to convey something.]

[While almost without thinking about it, he makes the "come here" hand sign he taught Carbon.]

[With only a brief hesitation, she walks between his legs and up his plastron.]

[The tugging of Robert's lab coat snatches him back to attention.]

... Yes? Is... th-there something the matter?

[Meanwhile, the calico has begun to explore one of her scaly housemates. After brief surprise, and a subdued "Tall?", Carbon begins sniffing at Don before she butts her head insistently against his free hand. Comfort her after leaving her alone, tall one!]

[Don scratches Carbon's ears distractedly. It's hard to convey a thought that wasn't even fully formed. What was he trying to say?]

[Carbon is all for this, distracted or not. She stretches languorously and curls herself into a furry ball on Don's chest, underneath his hand.]

... Well... if you think of anything you n-needed or wanted... [Robert smiles again, down at Don. All of his smiles have a sort of wan edge.]

[Don feels around for Robert's hand, and puts it on top of his own head, squeezing his fingers by way of suggestion.]

[Head massage? Robert can do that. ~~Yes, he's missing the point.~~

But Robert has missed this. Even knowing that something in Don is fundamentally altered right now, he still missed the companionship of his lover in the weeks he was gone. The empty void left behind by his death has at least been partially filled once more.

Tracing slowly over the pebbled skin, Robert strokes the contours of the man he knows so well and relearns them with his hands.]

... I love you, Don. No matter... no matter wh-what happens.

[Robert, your patience is repeatedly awe-inspiring.]

[Sandwiched comfortably between his two endotherms, Don dozes off.]

[Luce was trying to get used to the town, having dumped the book off in the woods once more and was on his way back home. When he sees the turtle, he lets out an audible gasp, not one of wondering 'Why is there a giant walking turtle?' but one of fear.

Perhaps, in this land, this- beast emerges in the rain much like earthworms and snails do? What could this thing be? He doesn't know what Don is, thusly he assumes the worse.]

[Don knows that gasp, and he is not going to put up with it right now. He gives the stranger a wide berth and just keeps walking.]

[ someone else is travelling the same path. the western lake is the location of a hidden little treehouse of certain significance to the slayer and -- now that she is herself able to walk around and not be in pain -- she's eager to visit all of her old haunts.

on the way back? she keeps a slow pace. she's barely been on the path for a few minutes when she sees the turtle's shell in the distance.

she squints. is it...?

buffy speeds up. ]

Hi, Don.

April. [Is he ever relieved to see you.]

[ she quirks an unsure look in the turtle's direction. perhaps she'd best assume the name confusion to be a joke. right? ]

Hah. Good one. What are you doing way out here?

[... Nope. He gestures back in the direction they came from.]

I was the cat and I just reservated in the lick. [He runs a hand down his face, seeming irritated by all of this.] What dude is that?

[ buffy summers is no stranger to creative linguistics. she's really a big fan of it, in the end. but she needs to pause and think through what don has just tried to tell her. ]

...If you were the cat, then where's your tail?

[Well that's rude.]

[Reprimanding:] April.

[ buffy's a smart girl. she's starting to perhaps think that something's very very not right. her mind doesn't leap to the truth; it instead leaps to the assumption that this is a shift.

great. ]

Don. Bear with me for a moment. [ she touches a concerned palm to his elbow -- as if the physical act of steadying herself and him at the same time might lend some clarity. ]

[Raises a brow. Go on.]

There's something a little off with your...[ hmm. how can she test this. ]

Tell me. Where are we, right now?

[Frown.]

Walking to the villain. A few mine that way.

[He points down the path.]

[ village.

miles.

okay. okay, she deciphers this much. the previous statement about cats is still lost on her. ]

And -- once again -- what's my name? My full name?

April, um... Winter.

[Huh. It shouldn't be that hard to think of his friend's family name.]

Buffy Summers. [ she corrects him. gently. ]

[Isn't that what he said? But her tone sounded like a correction, not a confirmation.]

[He takes a step backwards, confused and afraid.]

...You're calling me April again.

[That's not right. He hunches his shoulders against the rain and the sense of impending disaster.]

I'm sorry. I don't... Please help me.

...I'd love to help you. Just -- speak slowly, okay? O-or...even more slowly.

[ she gives his elbow a squeeze and tilts her umbrella towards him. inviting him under. ] We'll get through it together. The path and the rain and the...whatever this is. A Shift?

Edited 2012-07-08 13:40 (UTC)

[He moves closer, and speaks more slowly, but not any more clearly.]

No. When the villain rained I got the cat. I just got back from being that but I have a lot. You understickle?

When the village rained, you...got the cat.

Got the cat?

[ no. no she doesn't understickle. ]

Got the cat.

[How to explain this in the least gruesome way. He settles for drawing a finger across his throat. Dead.]

[ her face darkens. ]

Killed?

[Shakes his head vehemently.]

Uh-oh.

...A-an accident?

[Nod. His own fault.]

I'm...sorry to hear that, Donnie.

[ she's about a second away from dragging him into a hug. ]

[Just a nod, and his gaze slides away. It wasn't entirely an accident, but he's not about to start advertising the fact.]

[Not looking makes it hard to notice Buffy's intention to hug.]

[ noticed or not, she goes in for the bear-grab. arms reaching past his sides and barely around his shell. ]

[Don startles - dying once is enough to make a guy a little jumpy - but then he hugs Buffy back, murmuring a half-coherent apology for getting her all wet.]

[ she hugs a little harder. all she knows is that he's apologizing; she can't understand what for. ]

Shh. Shut up. You're back, now. That's the important thing.

[Shutting up seems like a reasonable course of action right now. He will do that.]

[ after a moment, she slips free and tries to take his hand. ]

I'm sure someone must be missing you.

[He's okay with that.]

I need to get back to the Lair.

...You mean house, right? Back to the house?

Yes.

[This is so confusing. Is he not saying what he thinks he is?]

[ step by step, she starts walking. ]

Kinda seems like they robbed you of your...what? Coherency? Your tendency not to descend into malapropisms?

[That's a theory.]

What are malapropisms?

Backwards words. I do it all the time with demon names.

I say them backwards?

[Really, Buffy?]

Backwards meanings. Mixed up. Y'know...all hinky.

[What kind of death-loss is that? Don is silent, turning the idea over in his head.]

[ into the silence: ] O-or...it's just a guess.

[He likes your scientific attitude.]

You don't have to do it all the time there with me. I'm okay...

It's no skin off my nose. I promise.

[Well, suit yourself. He continues walking into the village.]

[ she glances sideways as they walk. ]

...Was it quick?

[... His death? He shakes his head.]

[ quieter, now: ] Painful?

[Hesitation, then a nod.]

But...you weren't on the draft -- so...

The storm?

[Frown. Nod. Didn't they cover that already?]

[ but now, she's trying to pinpoint a cause. ]

Lightning? Was there lightning in the storm?

[Buffy, you are officially getting too nosy.]

April, I don't want to...

...You know, I knew an April. Once. A long time ago.

[ it's better than correcting him again. ]

[Is that so? Do go on.]

She was nothing like your April. I don't think. I met her...at a hosptial. A long time ago. Maybe -- ten years?

Why you were in the hospital?

[ because her family thought she'd gone insane... ]

Just a little accident. Very early on in my career. No biggie.

[Not inclined to believe this, but also not so forward as to interrogate Buffy further. He mumbles some mangled sentiment along the lines of "sorry to hear it, glad you recovered".]

No apologies necessary. You're the one who just died, not me.

[Don't remind him. Surely you have some more irrelevant but distracting topics of conversation at hand.]

Right, right. Bad choice. I just...

It's tough, carrying a conversation on your lonesome! Not that I blame you! I don't. Only...

Wow, do I ever wish that life had a rewind button right now.

Edited 2012-07-21 16:53 (UTC)

[Sympathetic look. Companionable silence is okay with him too, but he's not sure Buffy does silent.]

...Aha. How about we focus on getting you back inside, then. [ her pace picks up. ]

[Sure. He speeds up to keep pace with her.]

[When Sally sees Don heading through the village, she immediately perks up. She hasn't seen him in over a week; not too long, but slightly unusual all the same, so she heads over to meet him.]

Hi; where've you been? Around?

[He's almost home now, and wants to see his housemates, but he'll still slow down for his friend.]

You could say that.

[Sorry for interrupting, man. She was concerned!]

Well, I hadn't seen you in awhile, which is a bit strange considering the population of this place. And what with everything that's gone on recently...

[Nod.]

It gone on me all right.

...Sorry?

[He just shakes his head. He doesn't want to explain.]

Did you hit your head? You should go to the infirmary. If you're having trouble speaking, it could be serious.

[Well yes, under normal circumstances it could be a sign of severe brain injury. But in Luceti bizarrely localized deficits are more common than widespread damage.]

I do that, but first, I have to go to the Lair.

Edited 2012-07-15 02:47 (UTC)

[Obi-Wan had kept his word to Leonardo- he had kept an eye out for turtles.

In fairness, they're hard to miss.

But he still saw no sign of Donatello- the turtle he'd spoken with less, of the two- until he was out on his run, over a week after his return from the Draft. The turtle was making his way wearily back toward the village, and Obi-Wan wasted little time in approaching him.]

"Donatello, yes?"

[Some day Don will go running with Obi-Wan. Why should Leo get all the fun? Today, though, he'll just stick to walking.]

Hi. Star Wars.

[... What- Oh, yes, the films.

... What an odd thing to say.]

"Are you alright? Leonardo was worried about you."

Leo? Where's he?

"... I'm not sure, I would assume he's at his home. I haven't spoken to him today."

[Looks homeward.]

I have to go.

"You should. If I see him before you, I shall let him know you're alright."

[He frowns.]

"... Although you should also see a medic. In case you've been... altered... by the Malnosso."

[Nod. He will definitely do these things.]

[See you later -- whatever your name really is.]

[Ever since he realised that Don is nowhere in the village, Beast has been searching for his turtle friend every day in all places he can think of, even the woods that he likes to not travel too far into. But today another search in that forest has paid off - he at first can't even believe it's him, after picturing him in his sight for so many hours... but it's really him, so he doesn't hesitate to hurry over.]

Don!

[Well, this is going to be awkward. Don waves cautiously, not trusting himself to say anything.]

[He doesn't notice Don's lack of talking yet, because at the moment he doesn't care - he was worried about him!] Where were you? Are you alright? What happened?

[A vague gesture, and a simple:] No.

[... Well that definitely made him stop and think.] "No"? ... No what?

I ... not good.

You're... not good? [That... doesn't sound like how Don would talk. This is starting to remind him of that time now when Don wasn't as nice as usual. Uh oh...] Did the Malnosso... do something to you?

[A hesitation, then a nod. Technically it might be the case that Luceti itself revived him with an unavoidable side effect, but close enough.]

[His voice lowers into a low growl after getting his answer - he should've known. And Hastings... Hastings asked him to protect Don. But he didn't...

He talks back, almost desperately:] What did they do?

I don't know! I talk to turtles and it's like something goes lots in transportation!

[...]

... Wh... what?

Exactly!

E... xactly? [He's not sure he gets it... all he said was that he didn't what Don had...

... Oh. ... Oh. Now the words he said before are meaning something... at least, he thinks they are. They still don't sound right, but they also sound like something that does sound right.]

They... you can't... speak... right.

[Then he finally breaks eye contact and puts his head in his paw.] Don, I... I'm sorry.

[A shrug, though mostly to himself since Beast isn't looking. After a moment, he pats his friend on the shoulder awkwardly.]

[He slowly looks up once he feels the pat - at least the gesture shows that Don hasn't completely changed. But he still feels like he needs to make up for what he couldn't do for Robert.]

Is... c-can I do s-some... something to... help...?

[He's not even sure what the problem is yet, and he really just wants to go home.]

[He shakes his head.]

[And poor Beast doesn't realise this and just feels bad and really wants to help.]

Are... are you sure?

Somewhere then I'll want your... thing, but right now, I don't know.

A... [But what will Don do now? How can he be helped now?]

Will... w-will you be alright?

[He nods, and tries to look fine. He's a ninja turtle. He's been through worse.]

[Well, that does look pretty convincing. But...]

... Can... c-can I... help you home, at... at most?

[Internal sigh. He'd kind of rather do it himself, but he doesn't want to make his friend feel bad.]

[Nod.]

[A feeling of relief moves through him - not like a rush but still some relief - and a small smile reaches his mouth. Even if it's not much, helping in some way makes him feel a little better.

So he then turns to stand beside Don, facing the direction of his house.]

[And onward they go!]

[... It's not so bad having a friend, after all.]

[Beast doesn't speak much through most of the walk, probably to save both of them from more awkwardness. Instead he switches back and forth from giving a small smile to Don and staring at the ground pensively. He wonders what the Malnosso did to him...]

It's been a rough week or so. Come back whole to a trashed house and a missing brother. But despite the forewarning from the Don, the fact that his brother died still hit him hard. Since then he's been checking daily for his return. When he wasn't keeping Robert from drinking him self into oblivion anyway.

He's returning from one of his scoutings.]

Robert? I'm back.

[Don wakes with a snort, and almost falls off the couch. Carbon leaps away, irritated.]

Leo?!

Don?!

[He starts. The last thing he expected was to come home to said missing brother. Sorry Carbon, you're getting ignored for the moment as he hurries to where Don is.]

Edited 2012-07-16 20:19 (UTC)

[Don flings himself at Leo, slightly uncoordinated from exhaustion, but completely sincere. It's good to see you...]

Whoa! [Leo stumbles back as he catches his brother. But he recovers quickly to hug Don in return. He's so happy to see you. It's been too long.]

[Without bothering to disentangle himself, Don begins pouring out a stream of rapid Japanese. It's almost entirely nonsensical.]

[Leo blinks at the sudden onslaught of Japanese.]

Whoa, Don. Slow down, I can't understand what you're saying. [He's trying to piece it together in his mind though.]

[Don slows down fractionally.]

< Ronald doesn't do that either and I thought maybe I'm American, please tell me you're green. >

[Give him a second to get the rapid spoken words.

Ronald? So...Ronald doesn't understand either. Wait, Robert? There's nobody in luceti named Ronald. That he knows of anyway.]

< We're turtles, Don. Of course I'm green. > [Green skin comes wth the territory.]

[For a moment, a blank stare at this apparent nonsequitur. Then Don's face falls, and he thumps his head against Leo's plastron.]

[Okay, now he's feeling guilty, cause he missed something.]

< Donatello, work with me here. >

[Yes, Donatello, pull yourself together. You still have more languages you can try.]

[He backs away just enough to attempt some battle-sign.]

< Leo, I can't eat. >

[Leo's watching him. He'll keep a hand on Don's shoulder if he allows it. He's listening too, though.

He can't eat? No wait. That doesn't make sense. No, even the Malnosso wouldn't be that cruel to have someone starve like that. He's silent as he's trying to put things together.

Wait, can't understand. Now it makes sense.]

< Something's wrong with your speech. > He keeps saying the wrong things.

Sixtieth Theory [Action]

[After any other threads probably]

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