Post by Deleted on Oct 3, 2015 23:36:23 GMT -5
"...why is it that everyone's first comment is that I'm too small to be Peter Bates?"
"Perhaps, sir, that's because you look like you're about twelve, maybe thirteen if I'm generous."
"I'm over a century old! It's not my fault I look small!"
"Yes, but this hardly seems like the moment to explain that, Peter." Two confused Iranians, a man and his small daughter, looked back and forth between the two arguing men. To be fair, the Iranian man probably had a right to be confused. Peter had come in a group of eight, since he was in a particular mood to try to help someone and do something, rather than simply stay in place. However, in doing so, he ran into his typical problem, that being that eight people in varying clothes of varying sizes deferring to a twelve-year-old was, in the eyes of the general population, a bit insane- to put it lightly. It also did not help that only one member of their party knew any Persian at all, and that would be the person Peter was arguing with at the moment.
"Uh... tell him I'm older than I look? Tell him I'm immortal, I get it from my brother? I don't know, it takes more than a few lines of explanation!" At least Peter had decided to do away with trying to keep the fact that he was semi-immortal secret, or even the fact that he represented Sealand. He just didn't tell anyone that the other Nations existed. Peter didn't entirely understand why any of this was supposed to be secret anyway, but he did know that the others liked to keep it secret anyway. So he only told the others about himself, something that was mostly unavoidable, considering that he'd get to know basically all of them. He didn't tell them that other Nations existed because it wasn't his secret to tell.
The translator (or at least, that was the role he had to take) sighed and turned to the man and his daughter and tried somewhat futilely to give a brief enough, believable explanation of why Peter was not actually a child. Normally, Peter would have done it himself, but he's busy. He's watching. He can hear helicopter blades nearby. They are not from his helicopter, and that's making him a little bit nervous. He's only maybe fifty percent certain that he won't get in a whole lot of trouble if he gets caught helping someone leave.
Especially if they've already been drafted.
"On second thought, less explaining? We really have to get going. Like, right now. We should go right now. Yeah." Because Peter's beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling that he's definitely, definitely getting caught, and that's definitely, definitely a bad thing. The translator looks back at him, frowns, and says that, and Peter grabs the girl's hand a second later and practically dives behind a building as he hears voices. He grabs something from his pocket. Homemade flashbang. He'd probably be able to distract whoever showed up long enough for the others to get away with it. Actually, that was probably more than probably. He had practice.
This sort of thing happened way more often than he'd like to admit, actually...
"Perhaps, sir, that's because you look like you're about twelve, maybe thirteen if I'm generous."
"I'm over a century old! It's not my fault I look small!"
"Yes, but this hardly seems like the moment to explain that, Peter." Two confused Iranians, a man and his small daughter, looked back and forth between the two arguing men. To be fair, the Iranian man probably had a right to be confused. Peter had come in a group of eight, since he was in a particular mood to try to help someone and do something, rather than simply stay in place. However, in doing so, he ran into his typical problem, that being that eight people in varying clothes of varying sizes deferring to a twelve-year-old was, in the eyes of the general population, a bit insane- to put it lightly. It also did not help that only one member of their party knew any Persian at all, and that would be the person Peter was arguing with at the moment.
"Uh... tell him I'm older than I look? Tell him I'm immortal, I get it from my brother? I don't know, it takes more than a few lines of explanation!" At least Peter had decided to do away with trying to keep the fact that he was semi-immortal secret, or even the fact that he represented Sealand. He just didn't tell anyone that the other Nations existed. Peter didn't entirely understand why any of this was supposed to be secret anyway, but he did know that the others liked to keep it secret anyway. So he only told the others about himself, something that was mostly unavoidable, considering that he'd get to know basically all of them. He didn't tell them that other Nations existed because it wasn't his secret to tell.
The translator (or at least, that was the role he had to take) sighed and turned to the man and his daughter and tried somewhat futilely to give a brief enough, believable explanation of why Peter was not actually a child. Normally, Peter would have done it himself, but he's busy. He's watching. He can hear helicopter blades nearby. They are not from his helicopter, and that's making him a little bit nervous. He's only maybe fifty percent certain that he won't get in a whole lot of trouble if he gets caught helping someone leave.
Especially if they've already been drafted.
"On second thought, less explaining? We really have to get going. Like, right now. We should go right now. Yeah." Because Peter's beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling that he's definitely, definitely getting caught, and that's definitely, definitely a bad thing. The translator looks back at him, frowns, and says that, and Peter grabs the girl's hand a second later and practically dives behind a building as he hears voices. He grabs something from his pocket. Homemade flashbang. He'd probably be able to distract whoever showed up long enough for the others to get away with it. Actually, that was probably more than probably. He had practice.
This sort of thing happened way more often than he'd like to admit, actually...