ADVENTURES IN LATVERIA PT. II
Nov 7, 2011 21:46:47 GMT -5
Post by Tybalt on Nov 7, 2011 21:46:47 GMT -5
Fedóra returned with a carton of water and some food: two apples, a bag of preserved meat, and a few rolls of bread. She ate one of the apples, then started chiding him - so he could only guess from her behavior - to eat. He did so despondently. Drinking water helped lessen his hangover a bit.
As he ate, Fedóra jabbered away in her own language, proudly attempting to teach it to him by pointing at nearby things, grabbing his face so that he was looking in the same direction she was, and shouting the name, then prodding him until he repeated it.
At a metal wagon racing down the road, "Autó!"
A church, "Templom!"
A horse, "Ló!"
And so on. Much of it went over his head, and he forgot it as soon as she'd said it; some of it, he didn't understand what she was pointing to, and so even as he repeated her words he had no understanding of what she meant. He tried to understand his surroundings on other cues; looking at passersby, trying to read the street signs, trying to get some sense of where he was, but it was nearly impossible.
One word that kept showing up, however, was Látveria.
He repeated it out loud to Fedóra, to see if she recognized it. She became excited and bemused, and began talking. He stayed at his most confused.
"I am from Verona," he insisted. "Verona-" he repeated. "Do you know where Verona is?"
She finally seemed to realize he was talking about place names and went through the whole you-stay-here spiel again, then took off. She returned with a map. He was so thankful he plucked it out of her hands.
Before sitting there in complete lack of understanding, frozen in horror. There was no Verona anywhere near here. This was a completely different part of the world, and there was no way he could have gotten here unless somehow he had been drugged.
There seemed to be no logic behind this. Worst of all, it meant that more than a day must have passed, for it was morning now. What did his aunt think? What about his beloved cousin?
After a moment of uncertainty, Tybalt got quickly to his feet. Fedóra stared, then leapt up and started after him, shouting, though he took no heed. He ran across the street, those wagons screeching at they stopped, other people now taking notice of him. The sounds they made... what had she called them? Autók? were deafening and terrifying, and Tybalt had no honest idea where he was going... but surely he could find someone, somewhere, who would know where Verona was relative to this place, and could help him get there.... Tybalt had never been to the church in Verona, and he wasn't sure if he could go to one; someone who had committed as many sins as he had was not likely to be welcome in a house of worship. But, perhaps a little naively, he thought whoever ran this church here might be in contact with Verona's own Friar Lawrence, so that was his first thought of where to go.
Unfortunately, running across the road had drawn more attention than he'd realized it might - unable to understand Fedóra's language as he was, he didn't realize until it was too late that he was the cause of all this shouting. Down the street came running a group of men; from their uniform dress, they could only have been members of the law or the military.
Spooked, but resigned to an area he at least understood, Tybalt slipped a hand under his coat to take out his mace. He was ready for this much.
It took ten officers to bring him down, and, as it was, Tybalt might have made it across had not his pretended sister made it across the street, screaming his name. Suddenly yanked out of his berserk rage by the fear she might get hurt, he turned to shout t her to get out.
Just one hard strike across the back of his head and he crumpled.
As he ate, Fedóra jabbered away in her own language, proudly attempting to teach it to him by pointing at nearby things, grabbing his face so that he was looking in the same direction she was, and shouting the name, then prodding him until he repeated it.
At a metal wagon racing down the road, "Autó!"
A church, "Templom!"
A horse, "Ló!"
And so on. Much of it went over his head, and he forgot it as soon as she'd said it; some of it, he didn't understand what she was pointing to, and so even as he repeated her words he had no understanding of what she meant. He tried to understand his surroundings on other cues; looking at passersby, trying to read the street signs, trying to get some sense of where he was, but it was nearly impossible.
One word that kept showing up, however, was Látveria.
He repeated it out loud to Fedóra, to see if she recognized it. She became excited and bemused, and began talking. He stayed at his most confused.
"I am from Verona," he insisted. "Verona-" he repeated. "Do you know where Verona is?"
She finally seemed to realize he was talking about place names and went through the whole you-stay-here spiel again, then took off. She returned with a map. He was so thankful he plucked it out of her hands.
Before sitting there in complete lack of understanding, frozen in horror. There was no Verona anywhere near here. This was a completely different part of the world, and there was no way he could have gotten here unless somehow he had been drugged.
There seemed to be no logic behind this. Worst of all, it meant that more than a day must have passed, for it was morning now. What did his aunt think? What about his beloved cousin?
After a moment of uncertainty, Tybalt got quickly to his feet. Fedóra stared, then leapt up and started after him, shouting, though he took no heed. He ran across the street, those wagons screeching at they stopped, other people now taking notice of him. The sounds they made... what had she called them? Autók? were deafening and terrifying, and Tybalt had no honest idea where he was going... but surely he could find someone, somewhere, who would know where Verona was relative to this place, and could help him get there.... Tybalt had never been to the church in Verona, and he wasn't sure if he could go to one; someone who had committed as many sins as he had was not likely to be welcome in a house of worship. But, perhaps a little naively, he thought whoever ran this church here might be in contact with Verona's own Friar Lawrence, so that was his first thought of where to go.
Unfortunately, running across the road had drawn more attention than he'd realized it might - unable to understand Fedóra's language as he was, he didn't realize until it was too late that he was the cause of all this shouting. Down the street came running a group of men; from their uniform dress, they could only have been members of the law or the military.
Spooked, but resigned to an area he at least understood, Tybalt slipped a hand under his coat to take out his mace. He was ready for this much.
It took ten officers to bring him down, and, as it was, Tybalt might have made it across had not his pretended sister made it across the street, screaming his name. Suddenly yanked out of his berserk rage by the fear she might get hurt, he turned to shout t her to get out.
Just one hard strike across the back of his head and he crumpled.