14 Days Left

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Technoblade was not known for patience, he planned well if he was in the right mood, yes, but he was far from patient. Maybe it was his ADHD he had to blame, or it could just be his personality? The fact he was a Piglin? He had no clue, he'd just dealt with it and moved on, taking it as nothing, just a minor inconvenience. What he was not expecting was he would miss that impatience.

He and the kid had been sitting at a table in some secluded area of the library, probably looking quite suspicious. He didn't exactly have the concentration to care though, as he was properly distracting himself by helping this kid to learn English, which despite his (almost) degree in English, he was terrible at. In his defence, he was good at teaching ADVANCED literature, which was entirely different from actually teaching someone to speak English. It was also very different from finding out what language someone is speaking, while not knowing that language.

Call him stubborn, but he was fixated on finding out what language this kid was speaking, and nothing was going to stop him. he flipped through a few pages of the book he was studying with abnormal intensity. hesitantly looking up at the kid, who'd seemed to calm down a little since they entered the library and was currently tracing the picture on the front cover of a book titled Dictionary of Toporin displaying a picture of a Toporiese woman in some old portrait. He was murmuring to himself with the strange clicking and bubbling tones he had first used when techno had met him sitting under that table in the bread aisle.

He closed the book with a small huff of defeat, casting aside the text and opening a new tab on his phone to try another language, after pointedly deciding that flowing and musical could be used as adjectives for whatever language the kid was speaking. He quickly readjusted the position of his ponytail and popped his spine before getting back to work.

The next textbook sat at his feet idly, a little dust still clinging to it from its retirement to its shelf for a presumably long time. He placed it on the table and was welcomed with a satisfying-old-book-smell as he turned the first page.

He liked this book, despite it being about the deadest language to exist, Endjir had been a dead language ever since the invasion of their native country hundreds of years ago, driving the culture to extinction and what was left of the population into hiding for a few decades, it was quite a tragic story. He supposed that's why it's taught in school, to divert any racism from taking hold of the world again and thrusting it upon any other generations.

He supposed it didn't work that well.

His workflow so far was just to read the description, if it sounded like the child's mother tongue then he'd type a greeting into google translate and hope it didn't butcher his words too much, get no reaction from the kid and try again.

He perked up a little at the word warbling being used in the description, gaining a little more hope as he skimmed the text to find words like chirping and gliding in the next few lines. His heart rate picked up a little as he excitedly typed in the same greeting he'd been using for every other language in the past hour.

'47 minutes' a voice reminds him with a little tone. That was probably voice 52, they'd been telling him times recently.

He changed the language from Avilare to Endjir with little taps coming from his phone as his thumbs dashed across the virtual keyboard. He glanced back up at the kid, who was still tracing the picture of the woman, a childish innocence in his eye techno hadn't seen since the night he found them.

He took a little mental note of the moment- not that he cared about the child or anything, he just thought it looked sweet- not that he thought the child was cute, it was just one of those special moments. Not that he thought the kid was special-