[Mitsuru Kirijo. A name unlike any Connor has heard before, barring the over-exaggerated, exotic tales of sailors who spent their lives on trade vessels. Even then, he does not think he can place it. He does not think he can pronounce it, which seems to be the right level of ridiculous given the sudden change in environment, which suits her foreign-sounding name.
And it tells him nothing about the situation, given that she offers zero else. He steps forward, uncertain just yet if he should be placating or just plain frustrated.]
What does where I mean to be have to do with where I am now?
[He is dubious and guarded. Though she seeks information in return, and perhaps rationally so, what he is supposed to make of her? His mouth tugs down into a deep frown.
Impatience threatens to overcome reason, but eventually it is her even delivery that eventually wins a reply from Connor.]
My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. I was at sea only minutes ago, and now I find myself in what feels like a nightmare. [Was he drugged? Is this girl even real? But it all feels so grounded in reality, his senses sharp and aware, and he cannot find himself believing it is illusion.]
[ One eyebrow shoots straight up, the one not masked by the curtain of hair that hides one eye. Still, Mitsuru is far too composed to gasp or stare or anything too dramatic, even as her mind churns to make sense of this. A man lost in the Dark Hour is one thing. But if he's to be believed about where he had been only a moment prior, that... makes no sense. Even the ocean here wouldn't make it such a simple matter to find himself here, like this. Not so swiftly. And that name... ]
... Ratonhnha... [ She's aware she already botched it two syllables in, but she forces herself to continue, stubbornly. ] ... ké:ton.
[ She tries not to wince. ]
To begin simply, you're in Japan. Less simply, you're one of the only conscious figures currently in what I know as the Dark Hour.
[Well, that certainly was An Attempt at his name. Connor remembers introducing himself to Achilles, too, when they had first met. He remembers the look his Mentor had given him, as if he had just spoken the equivalent of gibberish, though the man had been cordial enough to avoid saying as much — only that he would need a name that was easier to say, that would turn far fewer heads, for those that made their home in and around the city.
So, despite himself, he mercifully offers his adopted name.]
Many people call me Connor. [please leave his name alone…. valiant effort, at least.]
I do not know what any of that means. [Which is not completely true, and his angles his head up just enough so that she might see the peeking his shadowed eyes from beneath his hood. There is a glimmer of confusion there.] Japan is across the sea. The other side of the world.
[He did not sail that far. What is happening?]
This ‘Dark Hour’, is it why your city looks so strange?
[ Mitsuru isn't about to let her relief show on her face, but some of the tension leaves her shoulders-- an incremental amount, hardly noticeable. Connor. Still not Japanese, but so much easier to pronounce than the first name he'd given her. ]
While that may be so, and I'm not doubting your word... [ because she's been tricked so many times, she knows at least the tells of terrible liars, after all ]
I hope you won't doubt mine when I say this is Japan. As for the Dark Hour...
[ She finally slips her rapier back into the sheath at her hip, choosing to fold her arms over her chest. ]
That's correct. It's an hour between midnight and the minute succeeding it, an hour most aren't aware of. [ She nods over to a coffin. ]
A civilian. One who will continue to move without any memory of this occurrence once this time ends.
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finalflight2020-04-03 11:59 am
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And it tells him nothing about the situation, given that she offers zero else. He steps forward, uncertain just yet if he should be placating or just plain frustrated.]
And what is this place? Why am I here?
no subject
[ Sorry, Connor. Mitsuru is already fast reaching the conclusion that he doesn't seem to be quite cognizant of his surroundings. Intoxication?
... No, his stance is too alert. She can't see his expression beneath the hood, but his words aren't slurred.
Interesting. ]
Your name, please. To tell you where this is, you'll also need to tell me where you were planning to be instead.
no subject
[He is dubious and guarded. Though she seeks information in return, and perhaps rationally so, what he is supposed to make of her? His mouth tugs down into a deep frown.
Impatience threatens to overcome reason, but eventually it is her even delivery that eventually wins a reply from Connor.]
My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. I was at sea only minutes ago, and now I find myself in what feels like a nightmare. [Was he drugged? Is this girl even real? But it all feels so grounded in reality, his senses sharp and aware, and he cannot find himself believing it is illusion.]
no subject
... Ratonhnha... [ She's aware she already botched it two syllables in, but she forces herself to continue, stubbornly. ] ... ké:ton.
[ She tries not to wince. ]
To begin simply, you're in Japan. Less simply, you're one of the only conscious figures currently in what I know as the Dark Hour.
no subject
So, despite himself, he mercifully offers his adopted name.]
Many people call me Connor. [please leave his name alone…. valiant effort, at least.]
I do not know what any of that means. [Which is not completely true, and his angles his head up just enough so that she might see the peeking his shadowed eyes from beneath his hood. There is a glimmer of confusion there.] Japan is across the sea. The other side of the world.
[He did not sail that far. What is happening?]
This ‘Dark Hour’, is it why your city looks so strange?
no subject
While that may be so, and I'm not doubting your word... [ because she's been tricked so many times, she knows at least the tells of terrible liars, after all ]
I hope you won't doubt mine when I say this is Japan. As for the Dark Hour...
[ She finally slips her rapier back into the sheath at her hip, choosing to fold her arms over her chest. ]
That's correct. It's an hour between midnight and the minute succeeding it, an hour most aren't aware of. [ She nods over to a coffin. ]
A civilian. One who will continue to move without any memory of this occurrence once this time ends.