ArchivedLogs:Translation Error

Translation Error
Dramatis Personae Doug, Hive
In Absentia	2014-06-26 '
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. Late evening, and the shadows begin to gather en force, swelling as the sunlight slips away. Most of the rush hour, heading home traffic has cleared up, the streets somewhat empty as the the street lamps begin to flicker on. Somewhere, from a window high above the street, there is the low sound of clarinet practice taking place. It seems kind of quiet on the street, for once. A good night for taking a walk. Which might be what Doug is doing. Dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt with a Mario Fireball on the chest, the blonde wanders down the sidewalk, looking around in confusion at the buildings and shops. Nothing seems to be making sense; the lettering on the signs and posters suddenly seeming to swim away from him just before comprehension sets in. Landmarks are another story, and he makes his general way in the direction of Evolve. It might not be the /ideal/ place to land, but it's at least familiar. And maybe some herbal tea would help with the stabbing pain behind his right eye. Hive isn't taking a walk, per se, but he is out and about all the same, the quiet vrr of his motorized scooter coming down the sidewalk. He's dressed like he's been on /site/ at work, heavy construction boots, a lightweight denim shirt layered over a sleeveless white one, sturdy-tough jeans. He has a small messenger bag crammed into its front basket, and /he/ is just kind of drooped into its chair, slumped-exhausted though his ride is thankfully steady enough to make up for him. He stops short, though, abruptly, at that feeling of stabbing pain from Doug, scrunching up his own right eye tight. "/Christ/ are you hungover?" Someone is speaking to him. Doug knows that much, at least, and he turns at the sound of Hive's voice. There's a feeling of relief that washes through him strongly enough to momentarily cease that nagging pain, and he steps forward. "{Thank /God/,}" he says in Russian. And French. And Spanish. Each word comes from a different language, rapid-fire though they are, which gives them a stange-sounding syntax. "{I am being have the bad-worst headpain, and I can't understanding anyone...I missed my stoppings, for I didn't understanding the announcer...}" He frowns as he trails off, looking helplessly at Hive. Who probably can't understand /him/ either, if the people in the subway station were any indication. He lifts a hand to wave it at his temple in frustration. "{Nothing is coming out properly.}" "Okay, dude, I got like. Fucking. Half of that, aright?" Hive lifts a shaky hand, scrubbing it over his head as he gives Doug a narrow-eyed look. "English. You're in America now. Goddamn foreigners coming to this country and can't even bother to learn the --" He thunks his head back against the headrest of his scooter, closing his eyes for a moment. "{Stick with French,}" he says, in French, "{I can do French.}" Doug doesn't understand any of that, and he tips his head at Hive as he tries to work it out. There's little connecting going on, although when the other man settles on French, there's a glimmer of recognition. "{I...can...French,} he says slowly, dragging each word out of a mashed jumble of thought. "{It...hard...to...talk....}" The stabbing pain behind his eye comes up again, and he squints it to reduce the amount of light coming through it. "{Every...thing...not...making...sense? Like...every...voice? Speech. At...same...time.}" By the time he finishes /that/ little speech, he looks a bit pale, and there's a shimmer of red rimming one of his nostrils that he wipes away with the back of his hand. "{Missed...stop...couldn't...}" he flaps his hand, unable to come up with the word 'understand'. "{...announce.}" "Gggghhh." Hive shudders, lifting his palm to press it to his eye. "Jesus fucking." He squints his eye up, too, brows pulling together in slow concentration as Doug speaks. "{Did something /happen/ to you? Do you get this a lot?}" Doug takes a minute to process that, blinking slowly at Hive before he drags his hand across his nose again. "{New,}" he confirms, shrugging a shoulder. "{Been...headpain. Since...Risk? Night?}" There's the memory of Pandemonium Games, and the conversation with Flicker and Hive. "{Thought tired. Been busy. Up late. But no.}" He turns and points down the street at the clinic. "{See doctor for more medicine. But ---}" He breaks off with a hiss as the pain swells, reaching up to rub at his eye. Suddenly, there is a snapping sensation, and order begins to reassert itself. Doug might not be aware of this, though, as he grinds the heel of his hand into his eye. "{/Fuck/. That /hurts/.}" "{I bet it was Risk that did it. I warned you about that shitty fucking game,}" Hive answers Doug with a snort. "{What the hell medicine do they even give you when your mutation breaks? Dude you need like /therapy/. /Christ/ yes that hurts okay I take it back you need some fucking fentanyl.}" "{It wasn't /Risk/ that did it,}" Doug says, bending over to grind forefinger and thumb into his eye sockets. He's a bit dizzy since the snap, but there's a slow sense of balance returning. He can actually understand Hive again, something he manages to note before he responds. "I don't know what's going on," he admits, shifting back to English without thinking about it. "I've been having migraines," he explains glanicing back towards the clinic. "They just upped my dosage. But there's been a couple of times since that I've just...stopped understanding language." "Dosage of fucking what? /Migraine/ medication? You sound like /me/ dude. /I/ stop understanding language like. Every three goddamn sentences. It's because I have a fucking tumor in my head." Hive drops back to English when Doug does, brows knitting in together. "And Risk /is/ a dangerously shitty game." "Rizatriptan," Doug says, blinking hard a couple of times. "I take that, and a low-dose of oxycodone when it gets bad. But it's never been /this/ bad before." He frowns at the weird connection with Hive, and furrows his brow. "I don't think it's a tumor," he says slowly. He's very aware of how tricky discussing this is with someone who /does/ have one. "I mean, there's no other symptoms? It's just like my power goes crazy for a bit. At first, I thought it was just overexertion, but now I'm not so sure." He lifts his eyebrows, and frowns deeply. "But, I'll probably avoid Risk anyway. Just in case." Hive's frown knits tighter at this, and he exhales sharply, sitting back in his seat. "You get seizures?" he wonders after this. "And have you ever actually talked to someone just. /About/ your power? I mean, how much do you actually know about it? Cuz when you fucking moved into our building, you didn't even know you /were/ a mutant. That was -- not /that/ long ago." "No seizures," Doug says, shaking his head and clearing the last little fuzzies from his brain. "At least, not any that I could identify. Just the occasional blinding migraine, and this new bag of fun." He wrinkles his nose at the question, his brain coming up blank on exactly who he /would/ talk to about his power. A couple of memories of failed group things at the Sublime center float upwards, but those seemed more AA-like than actual /help/. "I've been doing most of the research on my own," he admits. "I mean, once I /knew/, I really knew what it was I could do. Shit made sense, suddenly. But I never -- who would I even talk to about something like that?" he wonders, sticking out his lower lip as he returns to that blank answer. "I'm the only person I /know/ who can do what I can do." Now that Parley's gone, anyway, even though he didn't do /exactly/ the same thing. "Clinic might know. They have therapists for this kind of shit." Hive rubs his knuckles against his eye. "Maybe. I think. I don't know what they fuck they have. I don't... actually..." He trails off, hand dropping to his lap and eyes a little unfocused. They don't refocus until a couple walking down the street gives him dirty looks as they have to part hands or step down into the street to walk /around/ his scooter, parked in the middle of the sidewalk as it is. He raises one (shaking) middle finger to them. And reverses the scooter to twist it to rest just a little bit /more/ lengthways across the walk. "Though maybe if shit's fucking up in your brain you should just -- I might know someone you should talk to." "I bet they could at least make a recommendation," Doug says, watching Hive with more concern for the telepath than for his own situation, though he's aware of the dull throb left in its wake. He flattens his mouth at the couple who give Hive their dirty looks, and his finger joins Hive's, albeit steadier and delivered with just a bit of aggression that might be linked to his overall frustration. He leans against a parking meter, frowning at the other man. "Hey, I'm happy to take any recommendations for help," he says, wrinkling his nose as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and swiping it open. "As long as they're not too expensive. My pockets are a lot more shallow, these days." Hive returns his hand to his head, pressing his knuckles in at his eye. "S'kind of a specialist. I need to. Check in with them first, make sure it's okay to pass along --" His knuckles dig deeper. "No, though. Hella expensive. Doesn't take insurance, either." His jaw works slowly, hand falling back down to his lip. "Jax'd probably. Know. He knows. Every fucking person I swear to God. If there's someone else good --" There's a tangible deflating in Doug's mind at the idea that the person in Hive's thoughts is prohibitively expensive. His lips purse, and he exhales slowly as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. "I'll probably ask Jax, then," he says. "I can't afford hella expensive without the benefit of insurance." He manages a small smile, and spreads his hands. "And like you said, Jax knows everybody. If he doesn't know someone, they probably don't exist in the city." He tips his head in the direction of Evolve. "I was going to get some herbal tea, when I was crazy," he says, lifting his chin. "Can I buy you one?" "Yeah. Hella -- fucking wrecked /me/ when I -- and someone else I knew had to take a /loan/ just for --" Hive stops, head shaking. "If he doesn't know someone, he'll know where to. Where to." He presses his fingers to his eyes, hissing out a slow breath through his teeth. "No. Thanks. I'm good. Flicker's -- on shift I was." He fidgets in his seat, brow knitting slowly as though for a moment he's struggling to remember. "-- Dinner. Bringing -- dinner." "I'll give him a call," Doug says of Jax, wincing slightly in sympathetic pain when Hive hisses; ghost pain flickering behind his eye once more. He knows now what it's like to not be able to pull up information with ease, and there's half a moment when he might reach out and pat the other man's shoulder. It's a move he decides against, instead nodding at Hive's declination. "Oh, sure. I should have guessed." He motions at the basket of the scooter, and offers an apologetic smile as he ducks his head. "Sorry I distracted you with my bullshit." "No I haven't. Haven't -- I still have to. Go. To the -- food. Buy it. Get it." Hive's teeth grind together in a slow creak, head rolling back slowly. "Really should give Jax a call. He's got. He's good at. He's done a /lot/ of --" He shakes his head, opening his eyes again. "Might want to take a cab. Home." "Oh." Doug seems embarrassed, a bit, and there's a tiny bit of mental thumping as he corrects his mindset. "Well, it's nice of you to go and do that," he offers, knowing that it sounds pretty lame. But at least it's earnest. He does lean, then, to pat Hive's shoulder gently as he struggles with more words. "I'll call him," he says gently, and squeezes Hive's shoulder softly before he straightens back up. "Taxi, nothing," he says, offering a wry grin. "I'm calling Dom and having him come and collect me. At least he'll get me home with all my money." The teenager lifts a hand as he takes a step backward to angle himself back in Evolve's direction again. "You be careful," he says, and it's another earnest sentiment. "Getting dinner, I mean." Hive's shoulder is bony beneath the squeezing, shaky and slumped and beneath the touch what little muscle there is tightens up in time with another crrrk of teeth. "Roommates with cars. Convenient. Well. For you. For them just like a fucking extra month -- month. Rent -- p--" He stops here with another shake of his head. "You be careful too." He turns his scooter back the right way around on the sidewalk, vrrring back away.