[html] This area was strange, too. He had managed to since make his way out of the strange assortment of buildings and structures, but was now wretchedly lost in... something else. He had managed to find an old trail of sorts leading away from the strange place, but had no idea where it went, or what to do when he arrived somewhere. Even here, too, there seemed to be a number of strange structures, all in even worse condition then the ones he had seen previously. These had trees growing around them through them, and grasses invading every inch. They looked a lot less fierce than the others he had seen, all bunched together with narrow spaces between to walk.
Barthélémy glanced behind him, staring over his shoulder at the path he had taken. He supposed it would be alright to wander off the trail for a moment and investigate this strange... thing. He trotted over to it, sniffing at it warily. What was it? Sure, he knew that it was a 'building' or a 'structure,' but what did it do? What was it's purpose? He trotted around the back, then nudged it with his nose. It did not move. It let out a low creak, and Barthélémy jumped back in surprise. He moved closer, more hesitant this time, intent on finding out the thing's purpose. He trotted around to the front and sat down to stare at it for a while and ponder this question.
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This was a pattern for Ahren. Even now, he wandered without reason or direction, following invisible lines and believing in nothing but the world around him. He needed to escape the sickness behind him, the blind man and his comatose son, strangers who had welcomed him in with no question. Why did he stay? For those people he was running from. How much sense did that make? “It doesn’t,” he said aloud, not hearing himself. Right. There’s no reason to stay.
I can’t, he thought, and spared a glance up at the dappled branches above his head. Some of the leaves were starting to turn. They were a thousand colors of green and Ahren didn’t see any of this. He saw nothing but gray and red, and those faint shades that shifted in and out. Being colorblind had never been an issue for him, having been forced to grow up with it. The others could see, and he knew that they could see he had no concept of these strange things called colors—of green, blue, purple, a thousand more he could not name. The memory of ‘blue’ and ‘yellow’ were faint, and probably wrong by this point. But he could see red. He could see the leaves that looked as if they were being swallowed by fire. “Quand les congés brûlent des fins d'été,” he said aloud, this time hearing himself, and wondering where he had read that before.
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[html] The building, Barthélémy deduced, was noisy. It groaned and creaked and made a number of noises he thought were strictly allocated for sex, and a number of other odd, chirping sounds he was certain birds had claimed as their own. This building, he decided, was a thief. It stole other things sounds and made it its own, a new creation of sorts. But was it a marvel or a monster? Barthélémy could not decide, and did not want to; he preferred to think of it as a thief. It allowed for him to think of the building as a romantic, dashing stranger, with a dark cloak to obscure even darker thoughts and weapons. But the building was not evil-- no, it was only a building, living as any other building might.
The building quieted, and Barthélémy found himself coming back around to the front of it. He could see the path from here, and a wolf, too. The wolf's presence startled him, for he had not heard the other approach, nor had he seen him nor smelled him. The wolf seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, taking a moment to dance with his memories and imagination. Barthélémy wondered if he knew how to waltz.
Perhaps he did. Barthélémy tilted his head to one side, trying to hear what the other had said. It had been a quick, quiet sentence said mostly to himself, without any attention to Barthélémy. But that was alright; he was not important. The stranger could ignore him all he liked, Barthélémy did not mind. He was, however, curious to know where this wolf was from, for his words sounded distantly familiar. The other male pronounced them in a different way, placing emphasis where Barthélémy would not have thought to place it, and, well, simply sounding different. His words were easy enough to understand, but now the blue-eyed male was curious to know where this wolf had come from. "Hey salut. Hum..." He frowned; he did not know what to call his words, and knew that he was from what the humans had called Québec at one point, making him a québecois. But would his words be called the same thing? He settled for calling it his language, hoping the other male would not notice the mixture of informalities and formalities in his speech. He always seemed to get everything in a jumble when he was nervous. "Est-ce que vous parlez... mon langue?"
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The building had appeared like a ghost in the fog, a strange and out of place thing. Ahren had been oblivious to its presence, right up until the time an unfamiliar scent wafted over the autumn breeze. The blonde turned both of his eyes up, one unseeing, the other seeing nothing but black and white and varying shades of gray and red, and put both ears forward. Words came soon after, and while they were familiar, they were also different. A dialect, an accent, something.
“Quelque chose comme il. Vous sonore different.” Advancing, the blonde cocked his head to the side and a chunk of thick, messy hair tumbled into his face. “Où êtes-vous?”
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[html] Short, since this is my second attempt at replying. 8[
Barthélémy had become to accustomed to meeting people that did not speak his language. This encounter was a genuine surprise, and he was elated, for he had finally met someone who spoke something that at least resembled his own words. He trotted closer, wagging his tail, and grinning cheerfully. Ever since he had ventured southwards, it seemed as though everyone he met only spoke that strange, flat language that Dohi had taught him. He only knew how to say a few words in it-- nose, eye, tree, ground-- but he was able to recognize it when he heard it now.
"Toé aussi. Ton mots résonnaient étrangement," he noted. Of course, he must sound strange to the other male, since they clearly learned different versions of the same language. "Québec, du nord. Et vous?"
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Learning French had not been a difficult task for Ahren, whose father had spoken it fluently. It was being confronted with having to use it daily that drew back his accent, and this was a false one. His native tongue was German, and that showed even now—there was a twang, a throaty hook, and that gave it away. Peculiar, considering he had been to Germany only very briefly. Old habits die hard, he supposed. “Orient,” he said, “Au cours de la montagne.”
This was a most peculiar thing to have come across. He had met foreigners here before, ones that spoke anything from Russian to French to Spanish, but that was few and far between. “J'ai vécu en France,” he continued, then almost as an afterthought: “Quel est votre nom?”
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[html] Barthélémy frowned slightly at the male's words, slightly confused. East, but over the mountains? Did that mean there was something, somewhere else, another country over these mountains? Barthélémy did not even know there were mountains to the east, for he had always thought that was where Hudson Bay was, and James Bay to the southwest. In fact, to the west was just ice and water, with no mountains to be seen. But that had been his old home. Now that he had travelled south, well, he wasn't all that certain where he had ended up, just that he was here. Perhaps the east in this direction really did have mountains, or at least more than the amount by his birth pack.
Barthélémy did not push for any more answers. Although he was uncertain where this male was from, he supposed it did not really matter. To the east, there were mountains. Or, wherever the east was for him, depending on where the male was referring to. Like Barthélémy, he might be referring to a place from, well, another place, and even thinking about that was rather confusing. Instead of pursuing the matter further, Barthélémy simply waited, and sure enough, the other luperci spoke again. "France?" He felt as though the word was familiar, something (or more specifically, someplace) he should know, but for some reason, he was having difficulty recalling the information on the subject. He wondered if this might be a result of the memories he had lost. He knew for a fact that he was missing a large chunk of his memories, but he thought it had been restricted to the time he had been wandering. He had not thought he would forget something he had learned when he had been much younger, for the word reminded him very strongly of home. Slightly disturbed, Barthélémy enquired, "Où est ce? Oh, et... je suis Barthélémy Aston. Eh... quel est ton nom, aussi?" He threw in the last sentence as an afterthought, figuring it might sound strange if he offered his name, but did not ask for the other male's in return.
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There had been a dozen names for that place. People had called it Bleeding Souls, though Ahren found that name too vague, too vast. Chimera alone had perhaps been the only pack that had been named right—for they were some kind of monster, warped and twisted, led by liars and thieves, rapists and murderers. Perhaps that was why Physe had faltered and failed as he had. “Travers le baille,” he tried to explain, though found it lacking.
“Je m'appelle Ahren de le Poer,” he offered, and cocked his head, puzzled. He knew that surname. He knew it but had no idea where he had heard it before. “Parlez-vous anglais?”
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[html] East, over the mountains, across the water? The... ocean? Barthélémy knew what the word meant, what it implied, but had never thought there might be something on the other side of all that. All that vastness, open distance. It was eternity, and yet, it ended? For his entire life, he had known only of Hudson Bay, Hudson Strait, and the Labradour Strait. He knew there had been something farther north, a land of ice and snow, and somewhere to the northeast was more land that contained more ice, and more snow. But he had thought that was it, aside from the land he was on now. In fact, his understanding of geography was quite limited, and he still did not know how this land worked. Someone had shown him a map once, but those memories were some he had lost. The memories from when he had been on the boat were foggy and distant, and he was certain that he had once known more about the land that lay beyond the water.
This place must have been real, for he had fragments of supporting evidence, but no real clues. If the male was from such a place, surely it existed...? "Enchanté, Ahren," He dipped his head in a quick nod, hoping he wasn't being too impolite. "Pantoute, je parle seulement le Français," He replied with a quick laugh. He only knew a few words in English, and those were quite limited. Although he would like to learn more, as it seemed to be the dominant language in these parts, he doubted anyone would have the patience or the time to teach him.
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A return nod was given, and his ears perked up in response to the language barrier. No English. Had his father not spoken French fluently, he would have been lost when they went across the sea. Bowie had issues with that, but he had stuck through it. Then again, given it was his third language, it was understandable. Ahren, who spoke three languages himself, knew how complicated it was when the words got jumbled, confused.
“De rien,” he said, and smiled.
“Je peux t'enseigner comment à l'anglais spean,” he continued. Pushing his hair out of his face he added:
“, si vous voulez.”
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[html] Barthélémy felt himself physically deflate at Ahren's words. It wasn't okay! He wanted to shout it at Ahren, C'est ne pas pas mal!, he almost shouted, losing his words in slang and triple negatives. Not not bad? That would just be bad, c'est mal, but the meaning and intention of his thoughts were quickly deteriorating. He tensed, anticipating Ahren to comment on his obvious lack of understanding, but was surprised when the other male offered to teach him. Ahren? Teach him? Barthélémy was unsure if this was just some cruel joke-- he recalled how his siblings had always complained of how he could never understand a simple concept, and how he had struggled so much learning to read and write. It had come so naturally to them, but of course, it had been nothing short of an internal battle for him.
"C'est vrai?" he replied suddenly, quickly realizing how suspicious he must have sounded. "Désolé, je... j'aimerais apprendre... eh... uh, comment parler l'Anglais. S'il te plaît." He lowered his ears sheepishly, unsure of what he was supposed to do, or say, all the while hoping Ahren didn't call him out on his jumbled reply.
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http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a329/ ... a_fall.gif); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-top: 200px; background-position: center top; background-color: rgb(145, 117, 71);"> You reply and then we're done? We can assume Ahren met with Bart and continued teaching him for about a month or so? We can discuss anything further for plot detail via AIM or PM. :]
Ahren regarded the white male curiously, taking a few moments to process the language. Perhaps offering himself so freely to strangers was some sort of redemption. Perhaps he needed something to break the monotony of the days. It he did not focus on his family and friends dying around him, then perhaps everything would be better. Perhaps the world might spin on its axis and return things to normal, to the way they were before.
Perhaps he was simply lying to himself.
“Rien. Nous pouvons commencer maintenant.” For the next hour, Ahren worked slowly, as he had with his children. After he felt the session had gone on long enough, he finished off the cigarette he had started towards the end.
“Rencontrez-moi ici demain?” he asked, focusing his eyes on his companion’s face.
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[html] Sure! Sounds good. :] I'll hit you up with a PM sometime soon.
Relief flooded through Bartélémy's entire being when Ahren acknowledged him and continued on. Ahren hadn't noticed his nervousness, and was not affected by his sudden onset of awkwardness. He felt silly for feeling this, well, silly about the entire ordeal, but decided to put it behind him. It wouldn't do if he dwelled on this (especially since he could always criticize himself later on). He nodded quickly, uttering a quick, "d'accord," eager to begin the lesson.
The time passed quickly, and before Bartélémy knew it, it was over. Ahren offered to meet him there once more, and Bartélémy nodded quickly, already anticipating their next meeting. "Yes! Oh-kahy!" he replied enthusiastically, just managing to reply in English, as Ahren had told him. He was certain he had mangled the words quite effectively, but he was quite proud he had managed to remember it. He beamed, and nodded again, not realizing he had already done that. "Je te verrai demain!" he replied. He walked back over to the path, determined the route he had taken to get there, and headed back to where he had come, with the intention to return the next day.
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