cousinsindozens | Open RP: The Senior Is [IN]

Ordinarily, making contact with Tom involves a combination of luck, need, and knowledge. That's as it should be-- after all, if wizardry worked such as that every possible problem that one could have helped with, one must, then there'd be no point to organized senior-structure to begin with. Hierarchies of authority existed for the purpose of funneling work towards those better equipped to manage it; call it evil, if you feel it's necessary, but even bureaucracy has a purpose and a life of its own.

But, there comes a time for the gentler approach. Small problems can fall through the cracks of even the most well-meaning systems. Especially large ones; no system larger than the stewardship of all life.

So, here's Tom Swale, set up outside his home with a driveway filled with junk, a home-made lock box, and a few signs gaudily posted on the street. To most eyes, they read GARAGE SALE, but to the right eyes, they say something different.

Maybe to your eyes, The Speech is more than just fanciful embellishment lending an elegant hand-made touch to a spot of local advertising. And for you lucky ones, it reads also:

TOM SWALE, LOCAL ADVISORY.
ASK ME ANYTHING.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Naoya isn't a wizard.

Oh, he can do magic, but it's not wizardry. It's drawn from something different, something outside life and more approaching thought - demons, dimensions tied to his world rather than of the world itself, proper.

Of course, that's to his world, and there are subtle things here indicating that this is not his world. Different brands, slightly different politics as far as he knows...

... The fact that he suddenly showed up in America rather than portaling outside in Tokyo doesn't hurt, either.

But when Naoya passes the sign on the street, clacking geta earning him a few looks, and his matrix-pattern haori drawing a few more, he freezes. There's something cold that runs down his spine, because a language that is the root of all language?

Why, that looks positively pre-Babel to him. His voice is urgent, close to angry but not quite, as he speaks.

"Where did you learn to write that language?"

"I learned it from a book," Tom replies, regarding Naoya amicably from behind his box of small bills and smaller change, "Though it's a bit of an ongoing study. No education is ever complete."

It is, indeed, a language at the root of all languages, at the root of the concept of language to begin with, even. Not that the sign is written in anything but the merest fraction of so senior a recension, of course, but expertise attracts attention. Naturally: what else is signage for?

"You look a little lost. Anything I can do to help?"

Edited 2018-08-11 04:03 (UTC)

... A book. Really. Naoya raises an eyebrow, letting out a deep breath. Okay. One step at a time. His English is slightly accented, a bit out of practice even though he remembers it perfectly. It's hard to slip out of his habit of speaking Japanese.

"Perhaps. My... ah..." How should he put this? "My transportation made an abrupt stop in this area, and I'm somewhat at a loss. I haven't been in America in quite some time, and I'm not familiar with this area."

It's hard to know exactly what to do with Naota, to be honest. This is New York City, after all, and even on Tom's mostly unremarkable neighborhood, you'll get the odd wanderer. Japan has been something of a fad among the kids, these days.

Still, he's certainly an oddity. If he were a wizard, he'd have given the customary greeting. If he were something else local to the usual dimensional modality, he'd have acknowledged Tom in one of the other dozens of ways, any one of which would have given him some clue to the nature of the speaker. That he recognized the Speech was its own mystery, and a clue, though not much of one in a galaxy where such a large proportion of sentient species could and did use the Speech for regular communication. A puzzle then: who, and also what, was this person?

"Well," Tom looks up the street, then down the other way. Behind him, in the house, a dog barks twice, falls briefly silent, then barks again. There were no other customers in evidence, "Tell you what. Why don't you take a look, see if there's anything you'd like to buy. I'll go in and pour us some lemonade, and we can talk. In about twenty minutes, my partner will get home, and we'll see to it that you get safely on your way. Does that sound like a fair deal?"

It was something very like a promise.

"All right. I can handle that." It's difficult to know what to do on his side, as well. His phone isn't connecting at all - he's not surprised, since he's out of the country - but his COMP also isn't picking up any signal. And it should be at least trying to connect to things. Sure, the games are region-locked, but the internet isn't.

And this man... somehow knows the most ancient of tongues. And he's not sure why, because there shouldn't be anyone who understands that. Naoya's... somewhat stumped. He hasn't encountered anything like this, and he's without resources. The only thing he has to go on is this strange sign, so he'll hold onto that.

He nods and goes to poke over the yard sale, immediately going to inspect any sort of electronics before finding some books on writing fiction that he starts thumbing through. It's been a while since he's written anything other than code...

There is a pause of some minutes, long enough to cause worry in a nervous person's heart, before Tom returns, with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. There's ice in it, and condensation beading the faded printed-on lemon wedges as a consequence of that ice. Tom is carrying a thick book wedged under one arm, but he puts it aside and pours a glass for each of them.

"So, why don't you start by introducing yourself?" He asks, offering the glass as he steps around the Tom Swale, Local Advisory sign and settles back into his seat.

Despite his worries about what the hell happened, Naoya isn't a naturally nervous person. It's difficult to be nervous when you've been around for so long and seen everything. He's more curious than anything, and eyes the large book with interest. He sets down the book he was looking at and walks over to take the offered glass.

"My name is Naoya." Which isn't a lie, not precisely, though there's something missing there. "I'm a programmer from Tokyo. And... hm. How to put this... I deal with unusual programming languages. Some aspects remind me a bit of the sign that you have here."

"Ah, I'm something of a writer, myself. And an editor, on the side," Tom sips at his lemonade and allows a polite interlude to thuslywise pass before propping the book up across his knees and opening it, "I've been known to spell-check some code, too, when the occasion calls."

Inside, the book is filled, brimming, in rows and rows and small-print the sweeping, elegant characters of The Speech, like a great spreadsheet laid out at an intimidating level of complexity. To a perfectly ordinary person it is strange, but unremarkable, but to anyone who can read it 'remarkable' is the least of the things to be said about this instance and portion of Tom's own Wizard's manual.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Naoya-san. And I'm sure you already know my name, don't you?"

He glances over at the book - some of the way things are phrased is a little difficult to grasp, but he absolutely can get the gist of it. And what he can see is... impressive.

"You spell-check quite a lot, it seems. And yes, obviously. ... Should we dispense with the dancing around the subject, or would you like to tango a bit more?" Word games are fun, but the fact that a teleportation went this wrong is a bit distressing. And if this person can help out...

Nita's on a rare quiet day, meaning she can stand to spend the morning poking about through the junk instead of heading inside to talk to Tom or Carl directly.

And then a piece of it jumps on her shoulder.

"Whoa! Uh," Nita quiets herself after a brief outburst, trying to turn her head and get a better look at what's picked her out today.

/How you doing, little buddy? What's your story?/

Given that a Senior left it out here without a label, and her own Manual (and the peridexis) aren't throwing warnings at her, Nita lets herself react with curiosity rather than skepticism or outright panic.

Open RP: The Senior Is [IN]

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