Feb 23, 2019 12:36 AM
i lose my poor soul merman here with thee
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He has a hangover but he's not drunk anymore, more's the pity.

As he stumbles out of bed to splash icy water on his face before he meets whomever he's teaching today, he falls through a portal.

He can't really find it in him to care.

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He lands in a bed of young plants, crushing a few of them under his weight. There’s a sprinkler hanging over him gently misting his body.

A glass ceiling arches above him.

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There's worse wake-up calls. He's had a few, in his time.

He sits up and contemplates his headache.

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Someone rounds the corner, a tall, sturdy Japanese man carrying a pair of shears.

 

“...なに.”

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He goes absolutely still, like a prey animal in the shadow of a hawk.

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“...who are you.”

He grips the handle of the shears tight, body poised to move.

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"Jean Dulac," he says, numbly. "Civilian."

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“How did you get here.”

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"Jean Dulac," he repeats, "civilian," and then he's out of air so he has to take another breath.

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He crouches in front of him so he can meet his eyes.

"How did you get here?" he repeats, this time more puzzled than anything else.

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Not breathing.

When he says "Jean Dulac, civilian," for a third time, the intonation is precisely the same as the previous two.

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He takes the radio off his belt and speaks into it in Japanese.

Then he stands back up and waits.

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He is very, very, very still.

He breathes precisely as often as his body demands it. It wouldn't do to pass out just yet.

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After a few minutes, a woman nearly as tall rounds the same corner.

"...could we have missed a stowaway for a month?"

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"I doubt it."

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She leans close to Jean.

"Is he human?"

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"...don't know."

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What the fuck, he doesn't say.

Opinions vary, he doesn't say.

"I'm human."

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"...one less thing to worry about."

She turns to Jean.

"My name is Dorothy Ueda. I'm a researcher. Do you know where you are?"

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His eyes glaze over, just a fraction.

"Jean Dulac. Civilian."

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...fantastic.

"We're not a military operation."

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He is not actually making a facial expression.

But if he were, it might be skepticism.

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"Technically we have some funding from–"

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Dorothy shoots him a look.

"We're not a military operation," she says again. "This is an independent research facility."

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He's stopped breathing again.

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...this is not productive.

"Can you stand?"

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