"Hnng."

"Hnng."

Try to make eye contact with him.

Still chewing, the boar snarls as the insect lands on his ear. He flicks it off with a violent twitch.

Alternative wording

Still chewing, Tempo snarls as the insect lands on his ear. He flicks it off with a violent twitch.

Keep trying.

Alternative wording

Keep trying.

The animal notices your stare. His wet, straining eyes twinkle with a wordless panic before he shoves his face into another mound of kibble.

Alternative wording

Tempo notices your stare. His wet, straining eyes twinkle with a wordless panic before he shoves his face into another mound of kibble.

The obscenely loud crunching sounds rattle through your skull. It's like he's pulverizing gravel.

I guess he doesn't have to worry about his teeth anymore.

Just another way by which the animal is superior to the man.

You blink at the animal, and try to superimpose Tempo's smile over its snout: clean white teeth, perfectly straight and tidy. Surprisingly sweet -- one of his many prized 'tools of negotiation'.

One of the reasons, he told you, that he always took the nasal route with his blow: concerns about receding gums.

Your friend's little vanities seem especially hopeless now.

Aren't pigs supposed to eat slop?

Somewhere in your deep genetic past, an ancestral swineherd feels a twinge.

Tempo was a consummate appreciator of the finer things in life. Reno's treating this incarnation according to the rules of the man he already knew.

Look away.

Even if you aren't watching, you can still hear him -- chewing, grunting, masticating the kibble with great pleasure.

"Look, man. Us. Remember?" (Show him the crew photo.)

Nose pinned to a piece of kibble stuck in the floor, he moves in circles like the arm of a compass.

"I'm here, I came. What did you need to tell me?"

Alternative wording

"I'm here, I came. What's this 'ritual' you were on about?"

Tempo tosses his broad head and sneezes.

(Whisper.) "We're going to kill the Grand Lich. You in, brother?"

The animal squats on his hairy haunches and cocks his head at you.

Alternative wording

Tempo squats on his hairy haunches and cocks his head at you.

"I'm getting a new squad together. We're gonna do it right this time."

"Hrrnkknk."

"Look. Us." (Tap the photo again.)

"Reee Reeee!" He tosses his head.

"You used to be cool."

He blinks at you, sniffs the air, and methodically turns his head away.

Alternative wording

What remains of Tempo blinks at you, sniffs the air, and methodically turns his head away.

ALL THAT IS LEFT IS ANIMAL.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Animals cannot consent. Nor can they formulate questions.

"Forget it. This was pointless."

The words that used to flow so lightly between the two of you are lost in strange static.

Nothing doing here. (Go back.)

The creature returns to padding in circles.

Alternative wording

Tempo returns to padding in circles.

(Whisper.) "We're going to wang the Grand Lich. You in, brother?"

"I had a long conversation with a talking monkey. This is weirder somehow."

He doesn't even dignify that with a reaction, just scratches a haunch with his hoof.

Silent treatment.

(Turn to Reno) "Is the boar into trading stuff?"

He shakes his head.

WITNESS THE IMPRISONED REVOLUTIONARY. DESPITE HIS HARDSHIPS, HE STAYS TRUE TO ECONOMIC CHASTITY.

"You should start buying things. It's important for economic stability."

"Reeeee?"

"Only collective action can free us from our collective bonds. Ponder this."

"You're lucky -- all the choices have already been made for you."

"You can't ignore me forever!"

"Hrnnk. Hrrrrnk." The creature snorts.

"What have I got to do to make you forgive me?"

The boar wrinkles his snout.

"If Tempo's in there, blink."

The boar blinks. Then, a second later, blinks again. Then shakes his head.

He's just got something in his eye.

Hold out your hand.

He stops munching, frozen into place.

Ready and willing to guard his food to the hilt.

"Remember me?"

"Hrglphe."

Stretch your hand through the bars.

He jerks back and snaps his teeth, showing you strands of kibble-brown drool which glisten and bend in the wind like spider silk.

"Grrr! Hng hng grrr!"

Reno looks at you with sympathetic eyes.

"Sounds like Tempo, alright."

He smiles as his gaze drifts across the rooftops.

"Brother, this hostility is seriously uncalled for."

"Reeee!" He paws at the ground, backed into the corner of his cage.

"This transmigratory souls thing... I'm not seeing it. I don't think Tempo's in there."

The hog paws at the ground, backed into the corner of his cage.

Reno looks away from you, from the boar, and lets his gaze drift across the rooftops.

"You'd be calling yourself a 'stupid cunt' right now."

Reno coughs. When you turn to look at him he pretends to be busy taking in the view.

He'd give anything to hear Tempo call him a cunt just one more time.

The pig shakes his head while sneezing. A mist of snot explodes from every hole in his filthy, furry face.

Alternative wording

Tempo shakes his head while sneezing. A mist of snot explodes from every hole in his filthy, furry face.

"Smoke?" (Offer him an Ouroboros Black.)

"Hnng?" he sniffs the air, eyes on your offering.

Hold it out to him.

He takes a few more tentative sniffs at the air.

Light the cigarette.

You place the black cigarette between your lips and strike a match. It sizzles as you inhale.

"Ree! Ree!"

He scrambles away to the back of his cage.

"Brother, it's your brand!"

He does not look at you.

Flick away the cigarette.

As you watch the Ouroboros black somersault across the patchwork quilt of Quisach's rooftops, you realise -- this is not Tempo del Sur.

Are you in there, brother?

You can sense Tempo. His aura's shape, with all its softness and spikes. But there's something in the way, you can't quite reach him.

"Hnk hngk hngk."

"You're blocking the connection."

But if he's blocking the signal, who's on the other side?

Think of a happy memory of Tempo, see if that gets a response.

Roof of the Fogged Mirror, first warm night of spring, watching the square bustle beneath you. People laughing, kids running, vendors pushing their food carts.

"Fuck that smells good."

I said we should get some shrimp skewers.

"Nah, watch this."

Tempo stands up, cigarette in mouth, and folds a paper airplane from a five sol note. It traces a smooth arc down to the shrimp vendor, who laughs and takes aim.

Flying shrimp. Delicious.

"I love this city, sometimes." Mouth full of mashed crustacean.

There. A smokey grin, puffed chest -- mismatched eyes, face half-illuminated by sodium street lights -- you've found him.

Tempo? Tempo!

"Who the fuck is that?"

Yana, get off the line!

"Fuck off, whoever you are, fucking busted signal cunt! Get out!"

As Yana boots you from her psyche, you know the truth -- there is only one Tempo del Sur left in this world, and it's her.

In the cage, the beast rolls over to itch his back on the ground.

He's staring at the sky like it's his first time seeing it.

What are you up to?

Let it go. The memory's enough.

Even then he seemed to know everybody.

That was a beautiful night.

The air hummed with reasons to live.

As he locks eyes with you, a portal between the two of you opens.

"Hng hng hng..."

"Say it again, brother. I can hear you."

The black of his pupils widens, widens, swallows the blue of him whole. There is nothing between you, now. You understand him.

"Perhaps some more KIBBLE for me, old chap?"

"It's me, brother. It's Hershel!"

"I must insist on acquiring more of your exquisite, luscious KIBBLE."

"I gave you all I had. There's no more."

"If there is no more KIBBLE, I must inform you, regretfully, that this is the end of our correspondence."

He smashes his face into the ground, grinding his tusks.

"I don't think that's Tempo, man."

Reno shifts uncomfortably in his loafers.

"I think something's getting lost in translation."

"Stop this, man. You've just traded one addiction for another."

"Have you not had enough?"

"I already gave you some. What about your message for me?"

"Hnk hnk hnk... hnk... hn...."

Listen.

Turn your back on the boar. [Leave.]

Alternative wording

"Later, Tempo." [Leave.]

"Hnnngk."

"Grrrnuughh!"

The boar that may contain the transmigrated soul of Tempo del Sur takes another mouthful of kibble. His beady eyes briefly fix on you, then drift away to follow the path of a buzzing fly.

Wide, slick, animal. Only two words behind them: friend or foe?

Could Reno be right? Maybe that is Tempo in there.

"Hnk. Hnk hnk. Reeeee!"

Mmm. Nah. Seems like a pig to me.