12-03-2009, 11:59 PM
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I'm horrible. D:
Holding up his hands in a harmless gesture, keeping them far from the hilt at his side, won an even broader smile from Marishka. She was appreciative when someone understood the finer mechanics of a trade such as theirs. A trade bred from violence or necessity, a trade that required steel and strong wills. Though her blade was meager in comparison, it was deadly none the less, especially in her able hands. As the older man spoke Marishka cocked forth an ear, tilting her head to the side at his familiar accent. She had heard many Russian accents in her youth, the man, her dark master—well he brought in customers from all walks of life.
“Если Вы говорите так,” she chided in her native tongue, knowing full well now that he would understand. She even pronounced it in a dialect she was sure he would be familiar with for she was quite versed, a master of tongue, even for her young age. When he spoke next though, a question, he caught her off guard, causing Marishka to turn her gaze out toward the ocean and the now miniature dot that was the ship she had called home the past couple months. It brought her back to the present and reminded her of her still wet fur and clothes, a chill creeping up her spine and causing her to gasp as it ended with a sharp pain at the back of her skull. Gripping her dagger tighter, for she had been distracted from the man that was before her for far to long and he was much to dangerous to be distracted from. Not from how he had acted towards her, he had been quite companionable, but from the fact he was armed and was perhaps twice her size. Flicking her gaze back to him she answered his question with a strangled voice around her now chattering teeth, simply “no.”
Holding up his hands in a harmless gesture, keeping them far from the hilt at his side, won an even broader smile from Marishka. She was appreciative when someone understood the finer mechanics of a trade such as theirs. A trade bred from violence or necessity, a trade that required steel and strong wills. Though her blade was meager in comparison, it was deadly none the less, especially in her able hands. As the older man spoke Marishka cocked forth an ear, tilting her head to the side at his familiar accent. She had heard many Russian accents in her youth, the man, her dark master—well he brought in customers from all walks of life.
“Если Вы говорите так,” she chided in her native tongue, knowing full well now that he would understand. She even pronounced it in a dialect she was sure he would be familiar with for she was quite versed, a master of tongue, even for her young age. When he spoke next though, a question, he caught her off guard, causing Marishka to turn her gaze out toward the ocean and the now miniature dot that was the ship she had called home the past couple months. It brought her back to the present and reminded her of her still wet fur and clothes, a chill creeping up her spine and causing her to gasp as it ended with a sharp pain at the back of her skull. Gripping her dagger tighter, for she had been distracted from the man that was before her for far to long and he was much to dangerous to be distracted from. Not from how he had acted towards her, he had been quite companionable, but from the fact he was armed and was perhaps twice her size. Flicking her gaze back to him she answered his question with a strangled voice around her now chattering teeth, simply “no.”