(Un)fortunately, Spanish does not fall within the extremely narrow margin of interests that would motivate Dirk to learn a language. That honour is pretty much exclusively reserved for Greek, Latin, and Japanese, maybe a little German or Hebrew to be especially thorough. French, even. There are a handful of French philosophers worth knowing about, probably.
Spanish, though, that's too practically useful.
Or. Well. None of it was ever practically useful to him, except maybe the Japanese. It's not like there was anyone left alive to speak these languages with, after all.
Dirk listens to Emporio's attempts to guess his motive with some exasperation, some impatience, and some amusement. His brow lifts when Emporio suggests he could have, or should have said something.
"What was I going to do, cup my hands to my mouth and shout 'try again' down at you from the rooftops?" He waves his hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about my match time. Let me worry about that. You worry about your match. A character of your pedigree shouldn't be seen losing on such a big stage. It's bad enough that you're not in the finals."
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Spanish, though, that's too practically useful.
Or. Well. None of it was ever practically useful to him, except maybe the Japanese. It's not like there was anyone left alive to speak these languages with, after all.
Dirk listens to Emporio's attempts to guess his motive with some exasperation, some impatience, and some amusement. His brow lifts when Emporio suggests he could have, or should have said something.
"What was I going to do, cup my hands to my mouth and shout 'try again' down at you from the rooftops?" He waves his hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about my match time. Let me worry about that. You worry about your match. A character of your pedigree shouldn't be seen losing on such a big stage. It's bad enough that you're not in the finals."