in a real death waltz

Lolita Monroe · 05-25-2010, 02:38 PM

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300+ words.

Though she spoke the language, she had never been to its country of origin. Lolita had learned Hungarian from one of the packs she had taken up refuge in during her travels here. The gypsy pack had been the one she had stayed with the longest and, as such, it was the only one she had managed to learn to language of. The only other pack she had been with for more than a few days had been the one to brand her with her Amenta. There was very little interesting to say about her place of birth. "I'm only from Alaska, to the west. Everyone there spoke this language, the one we use here. But one of the packs I stayed with for a while was a band of gypsies from a place called Hungary, and they taught me to speak their language. It sounded so different and lovely that I had to learn it, so I stayed with them for a while." Maybe she would have stayed if she had found them later than she did, but it had been early in her death that she had found them and she had been desperately searching for something... Something she had never been able to place, let alone find.

"It depends on if I can find something to smile about," she said, but she relented, offering him another faint smile. It was difficult for her to find things to smile about these days, and the expression was rare for her to begin with. Lolita had always been different, very withdrawn from most. She had changed in death, as everyone did, but not very much. Her expression became bleak once more. "I thought so of Inferni. I had friends there. But then they burned my home, and I do not know what to think of it," she admitted. It had been a source of depression for quite some time now. "What is this whole... Mother Earth thing you keep talking about?" As well as she could remember, this was the first time she had ever heard the term.

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