du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

Some things in Darrow, Porthos doesn't exactly understand.

Computers, for one. Sure, he's tried to learn about them, but every time he even gets close, something about them confuses him and proves to be a bit too complicated for him. It's why he's been staring with wonder at the man next to him, who's been fiddling with a bit of the new technology and all the wires. Jim, his name is. He's found out a little about him, seeing as Porthos can't stop himself from nudging an elbow over to get his attention before asking yet another question.

He's from the future. Porthos is from a great deal of past and he'd thought it was bad enough coping with this distance. Jim's from even further, which means he must know even more. "Hey," Porthos finally says, after almost two hours of pestering the man. "You know what you should do? You should come by my place, see the offices we mean to set up. Maybe you can set us up for technology and all those bits and bobs," he says, eagerly, with a look on his face that implies 'no' is not an answer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jim laughs. He's been doing that a lot this afternoon - the big guy's cluelessness is no match for his enthusiasm, and Jim decided about ten seconds in that they were going to be friends, however many centuries divided them. That doesn't mean, however, that Porthos doesn't have a lot to learn.

"You know, 'technology' is a pretty wide net," he says, looking up from the bowels of his laptop. "I'll set you up with so many bits and bobs it'll make your head spin, but it'll help me narrow things down if I know what it is you want to accomplish."

Porthos has craned his neck to the side to stare at the thing, not sure what it computes, what it's even for. He's so used to being from a time that does everything with pen and paper, the idea of something more is almost too much for him. "I want to run a private investigation business, with a side of security," Porthos explains. "Except, maybe, there's some things that we didn't have back then that might help. I got a lot of books," he says earnestly, "to see if they could tell me what to do."

"Well, it's not a bad start," says Jim, setting his tools down to look at him. "Thing is, most PI's in the twentyfirst century, they're gonna rely heavily on the internet when it comes to gathering information. Do you know what that is?"

The clueless look on Porthos' face is enough to tell Jim everything that he needs to know, about whether Porthos knows what is. "Don't think it's a bunch of nets, is it?" he says, wondering if this is a case of the future being confusing or English being confusing. "Should I know what it is?" He decides, then, that he needs to be shown.

He's on his feet, nodding his head. "C'mon, better to show me. I learn better when I see things."

"All right," Jim replies with a grin, "Gimme a second." He sets to putting his laptop back in working order, considering his explanation as he goes. "You read a lot of books, right? That you have to walk down to the library to get, and spend time wandering the aisles until you find the ones you want, then crack them open and get to the right page before you can start reading. The internet lets you do all of that without even getting out of your chair."

Turning his laptop rightside up, Jim thumbs it on. "Let's think of it this way. Have you used your phone yet?"

Porthos shakes his head. "Nah, I don't really fuss too much with the phone. I think Aramis thinks there's demons or something living in it," he says with an off-hand shrug, his palm pressed against the rosary on his chest before he remembers that he might have forgotten it at home, which he better fix before Aramis finds it.

Porthos leans forward to stare right over Jim's shoulder, in his personal space as he stares at the strange hum and colour. "That's not natural," is all he has to say.

Edited 2014-05-12 23:43 (UTC)

"It's better than natural," Jim counters, privately filled with glee at being able to introduce someone to something as awesome as the internet for the first time. It's not quite like making contact with an alien species for the first time, but it's close.

"Human innovation is the greatest tool we as a species have access to," he explains. "By my time, we've eliminated the need for currency, there's no hunger, there's very little disease, and all of that was accomplished with science and technology. Here, give me your phone."

Porthos stares at Jim for a long moment. "I don't have it," he says, because why would he? It's useless, something he doesn't need to carry around because why would he need to have it? "It's at the apartment," he says, still staring at the computer with a good deal of confusion.

"Well," says Jim, momentarily at a loss. There are many people addicted to their phones, and Jim is one of them, if only because it passes for a miniature computer. He can't imagine leaving home without at least something to get ahold of someone else with.

"Delayed gratification, okay," he says, pulling out his own phone. "I'm going to send your phone a message. When you get home and pick it up, it will say 'Hi! from Jim :)' okay?" he says, letting Porthos watch him type it. "My phone can talk to your phone no matter how far apart they are. That's what makes them useful. It's like the post or a carrier pigeon, except it's instant. That's what the internet is like, but on a bigger scale."

Porthos blinks, not sure what any of those words are, given that he's not so good reading English. He can make out a few of the words, knowing the word, but that's the only thing he picks out. He rests his hand on Jim's shoulder, leaning forward so that he's staring at the screen. "So, it can tell you things in an instant?" he asks, craning his head to the side. "Can it find things, then? If we were looking for it, investigating something, it could say things to us?"

"It could," Jim concurs, "To a point. Phones these days are basically miniature computers, meant for when you're on the go and need something fast. To do the real legwork, so to speak, you'll want to be on a laptop like I have. So."

Bringing up the web browser, Jim looks to Porthos. "Name me something you want to know more about."

He doesn't know where he'd get a computer. He doesn't know where he'd even start. So, instead, he ends up staring at the screen, wondering what he wants to tell Jim he wants to know more about. He clears his throat, moving his hand off Jim's shoulder, tucking his fingers into his belt. "What's the next religious festival coming up? Catholic?" he asks, gnawing his lower lip when he gets the words out.

Jim blinks. That's not what he'd expected as a first query, but he remembers the way Porthos had touched his chest earlier, and starts typing with a shrug.

"I've gone to a search page, see?" he asks, pointing at the text box in the middle of the screen. "Now I'm typing in 'calendar of Catholic events in Darrow' and..." Jim turns, reaching for Porthos' finger to hover over the Enter key.

"You want to do the honors?"

The touch isn't exactly foreign, but it's just enough of a surprise that Porthos feels a bit of shock when his finger is brought forward. He stares at the button, pressing it a bit harder than maybe he needs to, watching as the page loads and information pops up, like in his books, except on the screen.

"Merde," he murmurs, reading about the next one coming up and thinking of maybe taking Aramis to mass for it. "How does it know so many things?"

"The internet," says Jim, leaning back with a smug grin. "This computer is connected to every other computer on the internet in the whole world. They used to call it 'the information superhighway', and that still fits. If information is a destination, then the internet is every road that leads to it."

Porthos reaches his fingers out to touch the screen, getting nothing but a hard surface. He brushes at the words, but they don't go anywhere. This is one of the most incredible things he's ever seen and it makes him like the future even more.

Of course, knowing that, it'd probably make Aramis hate it. "Will it tell me how I can start a business? Can I hire you? Can you set up this highway thing in our place?"

"Sure, man, I freelance this shit all the time," says Jim, "But I can cut you a good deal, seeing as you're new in town. I've got some laptops at my place I got just to fiddle with, I can give you one or two. I'm not doing anything with them anymore."

He leans back, rolling out his shoulders before he gestures Porthos towards the keyboard. "Go ahead and see. Type in, 'how to start a business.'"

Porthos licks his lips, a bit wary about looking stupid in front of someone he's just met. The flush in his cheeks is a bit of humiliation and instead of taking a very long time (because his English writing is horrible), he gives Jim a sheepish look. "Maybe you ought to put it in," he says, feeling hot pricks of shame hit him, feeling stupid for it.

Jim watches him, wondering at the flush staining the cheeks of a man who'd been boisterous only moments ago, but he thinks he understands. Jim's made a career of intuitive leaps, after all, and right now he's wishing Uhura were here more than ever. She'd see Porthos' English perfect within weeks.

"The cool thing about the internet is," he says, fingers returning to the keyboard, "It speaks every language man does." Jim turns the screen back to Porthos so he can read the words in the search box: un créer une entreprise.

That's better, then.

Porthos lets out a breath of relief, reaching forward to stare for a long time at the keyboard in front of him before he starts to type in what he needs to know, murmuring the words under his breath as he types, taking an awful long time, but he has to find each little letter, and that takes a while. Instead of searching for the business thing, though, he searches for a shooting place inside the city.

When everything pops up, like magic, Porthos is yet again awed. "That's incredible," he murmurs, only remembering to switch back to English a second later. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Très incroyable," Jim hums in agreement, then leans forward for a better look.

"Going right for guns, huh? You know, not every PI carries. Or are you worried about losing your touch?"

He shakes his head. "Not me," he says, because while he'd like to practice, it's not him who's got the need to stay the best in the regiment. "Besides, you never know when a gun comes in handy," he says, reading the address and memorizing it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only