"Is that how it works?" There's amused confusion pinching the redhead's face as Tidus mentions leaving the comms on, as he is... listen, comms are not his thing.
He tries, he really does, but his best bet is just to leave the SCA alone and not wonder too deeply about it, beyond knowing that it somehow translate languages, communicates with others if they aren't in the train and... that's about it? Oh! There's a way to get a pin on a map, he thinks. Somehow.
He finds his interest in the SCA... severely lacking. How Esteban is slowly mastering the grav-con enough to make it a threat but still can't find it in him to keep track of open communications during missions is... well. It's Esteban. Best shrug along and move on.
"Was that on Ossiga?" he asks, trying to get a bit more context, but he's not really good with it. Tidus has way more experience dealing with the train-- and the ministry -- at this point, and Esteban has tried and done his best... but it usually didn't yield a lot of results, so he still feels like he's missing a lot that just sails right over his head.
"The luggage carriage's the worst." Esteban mentions instead. His shoulders roll as he feels the thin, fragile edge of walls cluttering around him again, and he has to shake his head free of the illusion, trying to keep the feeling of cobwebs in his hair and the pinching sensation of his wings rustling underneath his skin. Urf, he hates this feeling.
Eyes rise up to stare at the ceiling above their heads as he tries to manage the phantoms, stretching his arms above as if that could bat them away. Water splashes down from his hands onto his face, and it helps, a bit, somehow. His breathing is normal. Things are fine.
"I think I kicked a suitcase into someone when it fell on top of me." It hadn't been... his brightest moment. But returning from Ossiga had been so disorienting, and the train had lurched so sharply that the luggage had fallen, trapped Esteban underneath and the half-elf had just reacted with barely a second more of awareness to it. He still hates the feeling of it crushing his wings behind his back.
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He tries, he really does, but his best bet is just to leave the SCA alone and not wonder too deeply about it, beyond knowing that it somehow translate languages, communicates with others if they aren't in the train and... that's about it? Oh! There's a way to get a pin on a map, he thinks. Somehow.
He finds his interest in the SCA... severely lacking. How Esteban is slowly mastering the grav-con enough to make it a threat but still can't find it in him to keep track of open communications during missions is... well. It's Esteban. Best shrug along and move on.
"Was that on Ossiga?" he asks, trying to get a bit more context, but he's not really good with it. Tidus has way more experience dealing with the train-- and the ministry -- at this point, and Esteban has tried and done his best... but it usually didn't yield a lot of results, so he still feels like he's missing a lot that just sails right over his head.
"The luggage carriage's the worst." Esteban mentions instead. His shoulders roll as he feels the thin, fragile edge of walls cluttering around him again, and he has to shake his head free of the illusion, trying to keep the feeling of cobwebs in his hair and the pinching sensation of his wings rustling underneath his skin. Urf, he hates this feeling.
Eyes rise up to stare at the ceiling above their heads as he tries to manage the phantoms, stretching his arms above as if that could bat them away. Water splashes down from his hands onto his face, and it helps, a bit, somehow. His breathing is normal. Things are fine.
"I think I kicked a suitcase into someone when it fell on top of me." It hadn't been... his brightest moment. But returning from Ossiga had been so disorienting, and the train had lurched so sharply that the luggage had fallen, trapped Esteban underneath and the half-elf had just reacted with barely a second more of awareness to it. He still hates the feeling of it crushing his wings behind his back.