"I have a mess? Yeah. In my head. In my mind. Fucking anger issues. I just - am too fucking petty and angry for my own good. It gets me into fights." He taps his leg. "And I mess with people- God, another word with like six meanings, mess. I annoy or insult them because I'm mad. And most of the time people probably don't deserve it? But I just... Can't see that in the middle of it. Only after. I'm a little surprised I haven't fucked with someone who can have me murdered and get away with it yet, honestly. Fear beats anger?"

"I have had army mans who are this way. It is okay if the anger is about demons but not about other mans. Have you tried not drinking the drink of angry?"

"I can really tell the - thing - wore off, head. Plural of man is men. I have in fact tried not drinking booze. It makes everything else seem a whole lot harder and, like, fuck. I manage it when I don't have enough money for food and shelter and booze, but... Isn't everything hard enough already?"

"Hard enough for what?"

"Working through the day. Existing. Dealing with all the ads and corporations like Tower fucking everyone over. Dealing with all the injustice and fighting and bullshit in the world. Hardship - dust and grime and hunger, injury - ow, broken leg, psychosis - mind problems."

"Your leg is not good now?" Blai asks, starting to reach forward.

"No, it's mostly fine now. Just- Not everyone can poof injuries away, head. After a long day working and sweating for someone really damn ungrateful and with a massive headache and knowing you're doing it again tomorrow, you just want all the problems to go away for a little bit..."

"If you drink the drink of anger you do things of stupid and then become dead and have more bad problems."

"Nah, nah, I don't buy Christianity. Or Islam or whatever it is. It's been the same bullshit peddled for two and a half thousand years. Once you're dead you stop having any problems. 'Cause there's nothing. I mean, the fucking magic is one thing, though... But it's an awful big leap to make, you dig?"

"...dead does not stop having any problems unless good dead. Evil dead have all problems all the time."

"...No. Just no."

He focuses on Pawn Ladder 2: Electric Boogaloo.

"Tomorrow more magic," says Blai. Chess chess chess.

Chess.

...After the second game he'd rather go through his bags, and clean and organize his stuff, and carefully investigate the bike to try and find the problem.

Finding the problem will be useful even with magical mending, if the problem is in a removable part that weighs less than five pounds.

Blai studies his notes on English, occasionally attempts a pronunciation to see if he'll be corrected, and eventually casts a Light to see by when the sun goes down.

The problem is eventually located: The radiator has a tiny crack and has leaked out all its water/antifreeze mix.

He'll play chess again deeper into the night. And correct pronunciations. And eventually sleep.

In the morning his priestly host is at prayer.

He will not interrupt the prayer. He goes foraging. It's a desert, but it's the edge of one and stuff still stubbornly clings to life. There's the proceeds of one scrawny berry bush, two wild onions, and some dandelion root his guest is morosely grinding up, when Blai finishes praying.

"Share Language." Boop.

"What the Hell."

"Kindly don't invoke the name of Hell as an exclamation. This should make it easier to have a conversation, even if you don't feel like reading Iomedae's holy book."

"The- Okay, fuck, it's not any weirder than skill spikes. Da- Uh, fucking gosh that's what this feels like, a skill spike. I don't have a spike slot but I bet it's like this."

"It'll only last twenty-four hours but I can do it again tomorrow if you like."

"And the point of this is to talk to you more efficiently? Teach you English?"

"You don't have to teach me English if you would rather not but the spell will make it more convenient to explain things."

"It's not like I have much better to do. Maybe in a few days when people aren't actively remembering me I'll go back into Cinci. Have you got- Look, 'Hell is real actually' is a really out-there claim. Even with - the Cure - you have words for it, eh - even with the Cure on my leg, and this weird language, we've never had any evidence the loonies talking about Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory are real. Organized churches may have some sort of start as a way of getting people to work together and create a bit of Law, but it's gone way off the deep end a while ago and mostly seems like an ideological tool of propaganda and dominance wielded by the powerful to me, these days. And they all disagree with each other anyway!"