[Although — all right, it's hard to parse with this mysterious auto-translation sorcery going on, which is something she both does not want to think about and cannot stop thinking about, but he does have an accent of some kind. It would be easier to tell which if they were speaking Japanese. It sounds sort of European? Nordic, German? Russian? Something stoic and northerly, nowhere near percussive enough for the Mediterranean. Maybe he's got a history of long winters with little else to do but strap on a pair of skates.]
Y-you're probably right. [It's not a comforting idea, but it's a likely one. If nothing else, Fukawa has learned that relying on outside forces to fix anything was a fool's tactic. They're the ones in this mess, so they'll have to be the ones to climb out of it. Still, the addition of the supernatural puts a potent wrinkle in that. The stunt with the door keeps giving her goosebumps, the image snapping back into mind on an hourly rotation. Then there's the anachronism of the setting, the bizarre spread of captives, the oblivious locals. That stupid shared dream.
How are they expected to contend with a force so nebulously defined? She's drawing nothing but blanks. If she had been a sci-fi or fantasy enthusiast maybe she'd have better theories.]
I still d-don't know what to believe. Or what they're even talking about. Have you seen anything weird yet? [She shoots him a quizzical glance.] I don't feel cursed.
your info page says he has an accent, hope this is okay?
Fukawa pulls a face that belies several doubts.]
I'll take your word for it.
[Although — all right, it's hard to parse with this mysterious auto-translation sorcery going on, which is something she both does not want to think about and cannot stop thinking about, but he does have an accent of some kind. It would be easier to tell which if they were speaking Japanese. It sounds sort of European? Nordic, German? Russian? Something stoic and northerly, nowhere near percussive enough for the Mediterranean. Maybe he's got a history of long winters with little else to do but strap on a pair of skates.]
Y-you're probably right. [It's not a comforting idea, but it's a likely one. If nothing else, Fukawa has learned that relying on outside forces to fix anything was a fool's tactic. They're the ones in this mess, so they'll have to be the ones to climb out of it. Still, the addition of the supernatural puts a potent wrinkle in that. The stunt with the door keeps giving her goosebumps, the image snapping back into mind on an hourly rotation. Then there's the anachronism of the setting, the bizarre spread of captives, the oblivious locals. That stupid shared dream.
How are they expected to contend with a force so nebulously defined? She's drawing nothing but blanks. If she had been a sci-fi or fantasy enthusiast maybe she'd have better theories.]
I still d-don't know what to believe. Or what they're even talking about. Have you seen anything weird yet? [She shoots him a quizzical glance.] I don't feel cursed.