08-06-2008, 06:26 PM
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Both my characters do. I just suck at, you know, mentioning it. And Lubomir speaks ye olde English. I make assumptions, yell at me if they suck
![[Image: header.jpg]](http://i255.photobucket.com/albums/hh154/emotasticpickles/header.jpg)
He bought it. Hel smirked to herself. He had bought her little merchant idea. Slowly, she came closer, trying all the while to shake the mannerisms of the warrior, the too-cocky walk, the assurance around weapons, the flexing of muscles. He was certainly among the strangest shifters she'd seen and for a moment she couldn't quite place him. But then a flash of recognition crossed her features. While she might not have met him personally (though it certainly wouldn't be impossible), but she had met his kind. You're a coyote, right? She smiled again. The question was merely for her own curiosity, it made no difference what he was. A leader. Okay. And they were a pack of gypsies. This certainly seemed interesting. So Phoenix Valley preached family values, while this one accepted any and all. Or so she could gather. Do you call yourselves a band of gypsies, then? Her tone was light and playful.
With his attention diverted for a second, she took the chance to glance further into the packlands. Sadly, the fog obscured everything and for a moment she cursed the weather. But when he offered a tour, she simply flashed him another smile and walked closer. This was better than she had ever imagined. Thank you. I would love to. And if you like, we can sit down somewhere, I can show you my wares. Hel mentally listed the things in her pack. A few more pieces of cloth, beads and some odd pins and brooches she had traded for in Europe. An eclectic mix, but then, she wasn't a walking shop, she was just an innocent trader. She wondered if Connor resided here. She could see him here, in a band of gypsies. They wouldn't ask too many questions, would they?
Both my characters do. I just suck at, you know, mentioning it. And Lubomir speaks ye olde English. I make assumptions, yell at me if they suck
He bought it. Hel smirked to herself. He had bought her little merchant idea. Slowly, she came closer, trying all the while to shake the mannerisms of the warrior, the too-cocky walk, the assurance around weapons, the flexing of muscles. He was certainly among the strangest shifters she'd seen and for a moment she couldn't quite place him. But then a flash of recognition crossed her features. While she might not have met him personally (though it certainly wouldn't be impossible), but she had met his kind. You're a coyote, right? She smiled again. The question was merely for her own curiosity, it made no difference what he was. A leader. Okay. And they were a pack of gypsies. This certainly seemed interesting. So Phoenix Valley preached family values, while this one accepted any and all. Or so she could gather. Do you call yourselves a band of gypsies, then? Her tone was light and playful.
With his attention diverted for a second, she took the chance to glance further into the packlands. Sadly, the fog obscured everything and for a moment she cursed the weather. But when he offered a tour, she simply flashed him another smile and walked closer. This was better than she had ever imagined. Thank you. I would love to. And if you like, we can sit down somewhere, I can show you my wares. Hel mentally listed the things in her pack. A few more pieces of cloth, beads and some odd pins and brooches she had traded for in Europe. An eclectic mix, but then, she wasn't a walking shop, she was just an innocent trader. She wondered if Connor resided here. She could see him here, in a band of gypsies. They wouldn't ask too many questions, would they?