#keyhop01.

[illwriteatragedy]

@keyhop liked ( x ). 

          he feels the burns of frustration and embarrassment on his ears,  turning the tips red.  he listens,  but doesn’t understand for the third time,  which makes him feel  --  pretty stupid.  “  i’m sorry.  can you repeat what you’re asking?  “

[fightinhand-blog]

@keyhop​ / 👽

     “ — no, don’t.” This is a low, private thing, between Hop and the Doctor, in spite of the proximity of the cat-like humanoid Hop just tried to engage in conversation. He tugs at his earlobe, something that’s quickly becoming a stand-in for yikes, because he doesn’t say yikes, not this time round. His is not a mouth that will make the shapes required to say yikes. “Don’t do that.”

     The Fidean is looking at Hop like she just burped at a dinner table. Well, maybe not that, that’s good manners in some cultures. More like she burped at a job interview. Baby shower. Funeral. Mostly to spare the Fidean the embarrassment, the Doctor puts a hand around Hop’s elbow and tugs her away a little, bending down so he can mumble more effectively. His hair flops, somewhat sadly. Not a good look. “Thing is, they just – don’t. Social taboo. Forbids them from speaking directly with members of other species. In fact, they consider it the height of rudeness to be spoken to. Cos it’s like – you’re rubbing it in their faces. Don’t say sorry, you’ll only drag it out.” He does a half-smile half-grimace for the Fidean’s benefit, and strides off in the opposite direction, shifting to link arms with Hop so he’s not dragging her along behind him.

     Fidea, or at least the continent of Fidea on which they’ve landed, is stuffily warm, choked with the greyish-copper upheaval of industrial society. There’s a powerful smog hanging about amidst the higher levels of the buildings, leaving behind a metallic taste that sticks to the back of the throat. As they’re walking, they pass another Fidean, though you’d be hard-pressed to identify the differences between them and the inside of a shop till, the amount of loose coinage they’re holding in their cupped hands.

     “That’s another thing about the Fideans: absolutely brilliant minds, huge leaps in science in an unbelievably short span of time, but – get this, right. They never invented pockets. No concept of a bag, either. Just – never occurred to them! So they just carry everything.”