CONTRAT DE NOT'RP !

- Langue : anglais
- Autre : l'adolescence c'est moche, mais encore plus si t'es Ryot

Some people are born with a guardian angel watching over them. No matter where they are and in what situation, they know they'll end up back on their feet with only added experience as a testament of their long and adventurous journey. Those people are legends. They are also definitely not Ryot. Fate was less kind with this young man — if young is what he may be called. When he got out of bed this morning, he was quite confident he had been 28 years old just the night before. That's twenty-eight. That's almost thirty. A man by all accounts. Yet the face that was looking back at him in the mirror told a different story. He still looked quite ugly (let's not kid ourselves), but he looked... younger. Younger, yet not renewed. Even at sixteen Ryot had been an awful sight. Whereas other kids his age boasted a peachy skin — except perhaps the few young boys whose chins started to grow fuzzy like kiwis — his was dry and rough. It hurt when he tried to smile. His jaw was not well-adjusted and his back problems had just started to set in. A growth spurt, his adoptive mother had told him. A bad night's rest, his adoptive father had said. His adoptive brother's theory had sounded far more logical : Ryot was an old man born into a youngster's body. Possession ! he had yelled one morning, confusing the young teenager. You are possessed by some wise old man ! Alas, Ryot was not wise, nor would he ever be. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. This morning's mystery had yet to be solved : why oh why was Ryot sixteen again ?

A caravan, mh ? In the middle of god knows where, seemed totally legit. Not weird at all. Not weirder than going Benjamin Button style anyway, and if that didn't phase him, then I don't know why this obviously shady set-up would (I mean, yes, I do, but apparently he don't). Which is why of course the first thing he did was to knock on the door. Polite and all, what an exemplary teenager. You don't see a lot of them these days.

A visitor? Now that's strange! Forget growing younger. Forget not being surrounded by the desert sands of his nearly-home planet. Forget the conspicuous absence of his snakelike pet. A visitor : that was damn-well creepy. Ryot never had visitor. Who would want to visit him? The authorities? Did he not pay his taxes? ... did he HAVE taxes to pay? He got up, uncomfortable in his smaller and — paradoxically — more deformed body, and opened the door.

I'm simply surprised he didn't mistake him for a zombie to be perfectly honest. It would have been a credible move and I'm quite certain that — after proper introductions and some explanation — Ryot would not even have minded to be slapped in the face. He'd find it quite understandable, in fact. You're right, he might have said, I do vaguely ressemble an undead human ! Maybe not with that level of sophistication, but the intention would be there. Hello.

"What is this place ?" "Would you happen to know why I suddenly turned 16 again ?" "Why are there no flesh eating people around these parts ?" Those would have been totally logical and appropriate questions. Even a "why do you look like you've been crushed by a truck on fire ?" would have somehow made more sense than a Sorry to bother you. Do you have any cigarettes ? in Russian. It would have made for a far more interesting conversation too, let's be honest.

Dear lord. His translator must be broken. Or perhaps it was not even turned on. Ryot looked down to check whether the device that should be tied to his belt was activated, but was surprised to find nothing there. He wasn't stark naked, of course — this is not that kind of story — but he hadn't expected to see himself in just his underwear either. He looked up again, perhaps to excuse himself, although he said nothing at all.

He stared back a few seconds with the same sorry look in his eyes, but for a complete other reason than being in just his underwear (he was not, but they still looked both like oddballs). Turning his head left and right to glance at the surroundings more closely, he finally came to the conclusion that they were NOT in Russia, nor in Norway - nor at any location remotely close to it for that matter. No wonder the poor guy looked confused. English... ?

He said something Ryot didn't understand again. Perhaps he should stop staring and start looking for his translator, yes ? He held up one finger as if to tell the boy to "hold on a sec" and started rummaging through his camper. Dirty boxers and empty cans of food flew through the vehicle until he victoriously held up a small device. With one push of a button, all their trouble would magically fade away. Well, communication trouble, that is. Well....... language trouble.

I forgot to turn it on, Ryot explained in the Trisite language of Oxtros. I um... sorry, I couldn't understand you. That Evans didn't seem to wear a translator was unusual but not entirely odd. Although translators were available for very cheap prices throughout the galaxy, some people simply refused to use them.

That... was not English. It wasn't any language he'd heard before. Perhaps one invented ? The other boy seemed to be talking about the device, probably an answer his silent question, albeit one he couldn't get. He shook his head softly, going back to Russian. I can't understand you, I'm sorry. Someone else (ahem, Jem) would have probably lost patience already but there was no sign he was ready to leave any time soon.

Huh ? Oh. Oh ! Right... His long, bony, slenderman finger pressed on another button on the same device. The translator was translating, but since Trisite is the default, if one does not understand that, the converter needs to be on as well. And now ?

He could understand him ? He could understand him. How ? Yes, perfectly. Did you build that ? Straight to the point. Again, no questions asked about this place or what was going on with him (them, precisely, but that he couldn't have known yet).

Him? He was asking whether he, Ryot McRyot, had built the machine. Oh dear. The audacity! The true inventor of this handy device was probably turning around in his space grave. Um... He looked down at his crotch again. Well, next to it. No. Then back up.

How does it work ? He didn't make a move towards him to enter the place, or overstep his bounds by trying to grab the said device. That was way too invasive, and he wasn't like that. Let's be honest though, it would have been a lot more natural than just strangers having what resembled a conversation at the doorstep of a foreign caravan, about a strange tool helping them understand each other. But little about their meeting was normal, so I suppose they fitted right in.

I'm not sure. It was a translator. It was basic. Still, he wasn't an engineer and he had never shown any interest in the subject either. It was enough knowing that it functioned. What more did he need to know ? ... sorry. Still, he apologized. He felt as though he was supposed to know and it kind of killed him that he didn't. His face didn't look sorry at all, however, despite his sincerity. He looked quite agressive and annoyed. His expressions never did match his feelings.

The boy looked angry, but the tone of his voice wasn't matching his furrowed eyebrows - or what was left of them anyway - so he figured maybe he just had a bad day. Happens to everyone. Some bad days were longer than others. Sometimes the day turned weeks. Months. Years. But there's little he could do about that. It's okay. If he could get his hands on another one, he could figure it out. If he knew where to find one, that is. Do you know where I could find one ?

The... market, probably. He scratched his chin. Or in superstores. Or anywhere else, really. You could even find crappy models in those shitty vending machines.

Ryot squints. He looks outside the comfort of his home to the big, bad world looming out there. There is literally nothing he can recognize. This should probably worry him, but, of course, it doesn't. Well. You can hide here. He doesn't know exactly what he's running from, but it can't be good. You never run from good things.