"Oh." If you look a little chagrined it's because you are, embarrassed that your mouth once more got away from you. Oia would not have made such a mistake, and for a moment you feel a flash of insecurity. Maybe the Jigano would have more enjoyed talking to your twin. They seem to have a shared love of semantics, after all.
The explanation of how one goes about accessing the record only serves to further confuse you. A trade? What does he want in trade? And why? "I thought y'said whoever wanted to could come ask questions," you counter, clearly somewhat confused. "If they need to trade for it, how do they know the value before gettin' an answer? Who decides the value of information? An' who gets to know it? What about people who can't trade anythin'?" For your part you have no worldly posessions, save your clothes and a nice collection of rocks. And you very much doubt he wants rocks.
You are growing somewhat agitated, a rare enough occurrence that you don't really notice it at first. Silent and unhappy you watch him put on his shoe, afraid to say much more for fear of accruing more debt that you do not understand. Though when he mentions that everything is already written you blink a moment, your eyebrows trying very hard to affect something like a frown. "Oia'i'o likes to write," you counter automatically, your tone suspiciously low on emotion.
Then, because the rules are constantly changing, it appears to be his turn to ask questions. For a moment you consider asking for something in return, but it just seems so wrong, so you quickly abandon the idea. "I'm tryin' to see the effects of the barrier comin' down on the Greatwood, an' monitor species crossover between the two ecosystems." The mud, for example.
With a great deal of self restraint you keep from asking what he is doing here. You're still too confused by the price of questions to dare and ask any more.
The explanation of how one goes about accessing the record only serves to further confuse you. A trade? What does he want in trade? And why? "I thought y'said whoever wanted to could come ask questions," you counter, clearly somewhat confused. "If they need to trade for it, how do they know the value before gettin' an answer? Who decides the value of information? An' who gets to know it? What about people who can't trade anythin'?" For your part you have no worldly posessions, save your clothes and a nice collection of rocks. And you very much doubt he wants rocks.
You are growing somewhat agitated, a rare enough occurrence that you don't really notice it at first. Silent and unhappy you watch him put on his shoe, afraid to say much more for fear of accruing more debt that you do not understand. Though when he mentions that everything is already written you blink a moment, your eyebrows trying very hard to affect something like a frown. "Oia'i'o likes to write," you counter automatically, your tone suspiciously low on emotion.
Then, because the rules are constantly changing, it appears to be his turn to ask questions. For a moment you consider asking for something in return, but it just seems so wrong, so you quickly abandon the idea. "I'm tryin' to see the effects of the barrier comin' down on the Greatwood, an' monitor species crossover between the two ecosystems." The mud, for example.
With a great deal of self restraint you keep from asking what he is doing here. You're still too confused by the price of questions to dare and ask any more.
there's no time to be bored
in a world as beautiful as this
in a world as beautiful as this
