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Dec 14, 2018 8:54 PM
jean and imrainai in the good place
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"Sure," Jean says brightly, lying through his teeth. "What're you in the mood for?"

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"Ah." Foods. What are foods. She just wants to eat something. "I trust your expert judgement."

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"I'm touched."

He starts moving about briskly, opening cupboards and retrieving gadgets of Lovecraftian complexity, measuring out ingredients.

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She has no idea what he's doing, so she'll just watch him and try to look like she appreciates his superior abilities in this area. Which she does. She just also has no idea what he's doing.

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He looks very much like he knows what he's doing! A dash of this and a sprinkle of that and tasting something off the spoon and, oh, is that how you use that (it isn't, that is not at all how you use an egg boiler, but he looks very confident doing it).

Eventually it goes into muffin pans, and the muffin pans go into the oven.

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She is duly impressed! At least one of them is getting something out of at least one element of this house. 

"Most impressive. Uh, I didn't ask you earlier where you were from?"

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"Oh! Tunisian born and raised. And you?"

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"United States. Born in Kentucky, moved to Missouri when I was a teenager. Which part of Africa is Tunisia in?"

She's pretty sure it's in Africa, but she never technically finished high school, and dear God sorry for not praying about anything earlier but please let Tunisia be somewhere in Africa.

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"The northern coast, just south of Italy. I've been to the United States a couple of times, but never to Kentucky or Missouri; did you like it there?"

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"Yeah, actually. Missouri more than Kentucky. I lived right outside St. Louis - the city with the arch, if you've seen pictures. It's really nice. Highest murder rate in the country, for some reason, but otherwise really nice." 

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"It sounds like an interesting sort of place. Are there many Francophones there?"

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"...I don't think so?" She's not entirely sure what's prompting this question. "Uh, the city was founded by the French, but I think today it's mostly native English speakers. Same kind of diversity that most American cities have, but no really noticeable French influence."

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"You're not speaking French, are you."

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"...no. Aaand you're presumably not speaking English right now. Huh."

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"No -- I can, though, it's a common enough language..."

Halfway through the sentence he acquires a charming, mild, not-quite-French accent.

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"Oh, wow, that was - you only have an accent when you're speaking English - or, I guess you do all the time, but whatever they're doing for the automatic translation removes it when you're speaking French - that's so weird, translation is subjective, so there's something else interpreting what you're saying before it gets to me - we can probably test how well it's succeeding, though? Did you see any pens in here - "

She wanders back through the rest of the house looking for notebooks and pens, obviously delighted by the chance to investigate the mechanics of how this place works. "Though it's possible it works on writing, too, in which case I won't be able to note what I'm hearing without the mechanism automatically translating it. Although you do speak multiple languages, so - are you still hearing French - ?"

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He follows her obligingly, with a slightly adoring grin; her search turns up both notebooks and pens in the crafting area.

"I am -- which is odd, really, if I had to pick one native language I'd say Tounsi -- you sound French-from-France, too, not like you're from home, I'd have commented on that sooner..."

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She takes out a pen and a notebook and scrawls something, then holds up a paper that says You sound French from France, too, not like you're from home. "Still automatically translating?"

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"Yes -- and that's word-for-word what I said, too, it's not getting confused translating back and forth."

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"Weird. I wonder if there's a way to outmaneuver it. I mean, it's convenient in the short term, if unnecessary for helping the two of us communicate, but I'm going to be sort of annoyed if I have to stay monolingual for all of eternity. I wonder if it translates sign language. This'd be much easier to test if I knew sign language."

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"I do know a sign language, but--"

There's a loud noise from the kitchen, followed by the shrill wailing of a fire alarm.

Also, there's kind of a lot of smoke.

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"...oh dear."

She's sort of surprised that the house even has a fire alarm. At least it'd be the sort of burning building that would be virtually impossible to get stuck in.

She heads back to the kitchen.

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The oven door is slightly dented. Smoke is billowing out. 

 

"I ... don't suppose there's a fire extinguisher in this house..." Jean sighs. 

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"Not that I've seen?" She's not actually sure whether it's safe to take it out of the oven at this point, but she's also pretty sure you can't just leave burning items in ovens indefinitely and expect that to go just fine, so she scans the room for oven mitts. 

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There don't seem to be oven mitts. ...there's a dish towel?

Jean manages to get the oven turned off before retreating from the smoke, coughing. 

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