[CLOSED] silverwhere?

[armd]

WHO: Abby and Fenris
WHAT: War table mission of the sneaky variety
WHEN: fantasy April
WHERE: Hundred Pillars' foothills ish
NOTES: Petty crime

Comments

[doggish]

"Festinare means, more or less, hurry up." He shifts his own pack up, listening with satisfaction to the silverware rattle. He has never been one for sneaking about, wraith-like powers or not; much easier to simply charge forward and deal with things head-on. "Futuere can mean . . ."

Hm. He pauses for a moment, but finally: "Go fuck yourself, I think, would be the most accurate translation. But if you wish for something more versatile, fasta vass is one I default to often. Fucking hell might be a good, if not word-for-word accurate, translation of that." Language is his passion, really— and honestly, it's just good to speak his native tongue. "If you wish for more, I would not mind teaching you. Later, though, perhaps."

[armd]

"Okay."

She'll take him up on that and gladly, once they're out of the woods. Or, rather, out of the Chantry? since they have to exit the same way that they came in. At least they can be as noisy about it as they like now that they're on the way out, blatantly leaving the place with bags clinking from all the stolen shit inside of them, and Abby bitterly exclaiming, "Fasta vass–" amongst a litany of other things, all equally as rude as the last (and all very truthful, because she nearly loses her balance on her way out of the window).

Abby is in a good mood. It's from a combination of relief that Fenris didn't push her for information, and genuinely enjoying herself. There's something enjoyably mischievous about this stupid mission, and yelling swear words in a different language as they leave the scene of the crime.

(She drops a fork on the way outta there, but she bent it solidly in half, first.)