talentsgirl | [ Action, Voice ] "You! What planet is this?"

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[So, after a month or so of study in shifts and things that mess with brains, Molly's ready to try an experiment. She attempts to say each of these in their regular languages: Spanish, Latin, French, and Chinese. All she gets for her efforts are a few words squeaking through Luceti's translation and a headache.]

I'm going to habla en Spanish.

Next to try nonnullus Latin.

I don't know many words in French but here it goes: belle, thanks, Camembert.

...Kung Pao Chicken.

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[She waits a bit for the headache to fade and then makes a general post.]

Two months in this place, and I feel like I'm still just getting my feet wet. I know everyone's getting adjusted with this whole new 'cycle,' but I wonder if a few people wouldn't mind answering a question: What language am I speaking right now?

[And in a bit, Molly will blow off her normal time at the library to enjoy the warm day and glorious weather in a pair of stonewashed cut-off shorts that are just a bit too short and a plain white men's T-shirt. She's roaming in and out of town, until eventually she finds a good hill to meditate on. Two months? Caution's getting thin. It's time to try and contact one of these filial spirits and just... start talking.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Possibly the language of philosophy. Or so my very brief sting in a Philosophy 101 class taught me before I high-tailed it the hell outta there. Definitely the language of complicated things, though. So philosophy or physics or maybe car engine design...

Seems fair enough. I've got it on very good authority that Russian is actually the language of pessimism and vodka. At least, I feel duty bound to point that out along with the anger.

And I feel bound -- in turn -- to point out that anger is just pessimism turned glasswards. Probably because it's only half-full. Probably because what it's only half-full with is....not-vodka.

Or maybe just not enough vodka.

While we're following the bounds of duty, I have to ask the question: Is there ever enough vodka?

[Pause.]

You don't have to answer that. It's rhetorical. The answer is always: No.

[A grin.]

And I'm not Russian. I'm from Chicago.

Normally, my own tastebuds would have to disagree...however, those pesky duty-bonds interfere once more as the barmaid in me rushes to confirm that -- in fact, our vodka is bottomless at Good Spirits. If that tickles your fancy.

Huh. Chicago. Can't say I've ever been. Not that I've been to Russia either, but...oh well.

Bottomless? [She puts on her best Sanya:] Still not enough.

[...what to say about Chicago:] It's just as windy as they say. And I hear Russia's just as cold, but I don't know from experience.

And what can I say? I've never been a big borscht fan.

And what are your feelings on pizza?

Love it. Especially with pineapple.

[She gasps in mock horror.]

Heathen.

Pineapple and crab pizza. Don't knock it until you try it.

I don't need to skinny dipping in fire ants to know it's not my cup of tea. If you're going to have pizza, and you're not going to have it home made with whole wheat crust, organic tomatoes, with basil and garlic? Then it's got to be deep dish, dripping with mozzarella, and topped with pepperoni.

[She might have just made herself hungry.]

If you're gonna go out, go big.

Don't get me wrong. Those things are great too. But I'm a taste-adventurer. Boldly going where no taster has gone before. Also? I just really like pineapple.

Better off making a stir fry then messing with the sanctity of pizza.

Oh! Or...a desert pizza. Chocolate chip cookie crust.

...see. Now you're talking. That's definitely going big.

Caramel for sauce. Ice cream. Peanuts.

...okay, that's it. It's definitely a good day for ice cream.

Okay. So I'm a complete stranger but...I have a pint of chocolate chip mint in the freezer.

[...]

Well, why don't we fix the complete stranger bit before we go against all that 'Stranger Danger' brainwashing? I'm Molly.

...Is that spelled M-O-L-L-Y? [ because that means you can join her and sokka's club, molly. it's super special. ] I'm Buffy,

That's the only way I know how to spell it.

[...Blond. And named Buffy.

...and hadn't Harry been going on about Willow for a while?

Hmm.]

Right. Buffy. Nice to meet you.

So - ice cream?

...Can you find your way to House 7?

[Grin.]

I think I should be able to manage that.

Then come on over. I, for one, never like to leave an unknown face unmet.

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