((Author's note: The following scene takes place immediately following Hogmanay. Italicized sections are edited and adapted from live RP, and are copyright their respective writers))
The Silver Lark wasn't too far from the Marketplace plaza, and from the dull rumble that could be faintly heard once Locke stepped outside the door, something was going on there. A swift walk to the area revealed an impromptu celebration, not unlike the ones his step-father had told him occurred in many Earth cities on New Year's. There were no fireworks, no dropping of a lit-up crystal ball, and there was nary a clock in sight, but somehow, the people assembled there knew. Out with the old year, in with the new. A handful of brave vendors had brought out food carts, thermoses full of warm beverages, and a bottle or two of champagne to pour toasts for unprepared revelers. The crowd that had gathered seemed to reward their gamble, as the carts did steady business selling to the gathering of people present. It was hard to look truly dressy while wearing a winter coat, scarves, mittens, and caps, and some of those present didn't bother, but there were enough smartly dressed men in overcoats and women in barrel coats to make the ice elf smile.
Unlike them, though, Locke had no need for warm clothes. He quickly removed the taupe merino wool sweater he had worn to Sianna and Johnny's house, folding it up neatly on his lap before placing it into his messenger bag. The new one Katarina had gotten him for Christmas. His eyes drifted down to his hands, wearing a pair of two-tone black and brown leather gloves lined with soft cashmere. Another one of her gifts. And, of course, there was the silver bracelet, all snowflakes and engraved elvish. Once again, a present from her. It was enough to summon a sense of longing that surprised him in its sheer intensity, enough that the only thing that could drive it away was pondering the evening that had passed.
***
Locke nodded to indicate he understood what Sianna had just said, before making his way back to his seat. The tip of his dark blue/purplish tongue stuck just out of his mouth, as he started to contemplate his wish. He set the second full bottle of ale at his feet, taking pulls from the bottle he was still working on.
Having been taught both Common and elvish at a young age, both in school and at home, Locke was adept at writing and speaking both. However, he still thought primarily in elvish. Most of the time, the transition between the thoughts in his head and the words that he spoke or wrote was near-instantaneous. The languages worked in similar ways, followed many of the same grammar rules, could even (with some teaching) be written with the same letters as Common. If Locke didn't look the way he did, most people probably wouldn't believe Common was a second language to him, considering how easily he used it. However, at that moment in Sianna's house, with the hustle and bustle of children and acquaintances and a type of social gathering he was almost entirely unfamiliar with and a few ales in his belly, it was hard to think clearly. What to write? What to write?
The bottle of ale was finished, and Locke still hadn't thought of something. He handed the empty off to Henderson, bending slightly to retrieve the second bottle and pop the cap. He placed the bottle cap in his pocket, and resumed his contemplation. As if struck by lightning, it came to him. Amin merna na urnu. I want to be warm. He stuck more of his tongue out as he scribbled his answer on the slip of paper, the letters from the Common script, the words in elvish. He folded it neatly into quarters and pocketed it, before getting up to place the pen back on the table.
The Silver Lark wasn't too far from the Marketplace plaza, and from the dull rumble that could be faintly heard once Locke stepped outside the door, something was going on there. A swift walk to the area revealed an impromptu celebration, not unlike the ones his step-father had told him occurred in many Earth cities on New Year's. There were no fireworks, no dropping of a lit-up crystal ball, and there was nary a clock in sight, but somehow, the people assembled there knew. Out with the old year, in with the new. A handful of brave vendors had brought out food carts, thermoses full of warm beverages, and a bottle or two of champagne to pour toasts for unprepared revelers. The crowd that had gathered seemed to reward their gamble, as the carts did steady business selling to the gathering of people present. It was hard to look truly dressy while wearing a winter coat, scarves, mittens, and caps, and some of those present didn't bother, but there were enough smartly dressed men in overcoats and women in barrel coats to make the ice elf smile.
Unlike them, though, Locke had no need for warm clothes. He quickly removed the taupe merino wool sweater he had worn to Sianna and Johnny's house, folding it up neatly on his lap before placing it into his messenger bag. The new one Katarina had gotten him for Christmas. His eyes drifted down to his hands, wearing a pair of two-tone black and brown leather gloves lined with soft cashmere. Another one of her gifts. And, of course, there was the silver bracelet, all snowflakes and engraved elvish. Once again, a present from her. It was enough to summon a sense of longing that surprised him in its sheer intensity, enough that the only thing that could drive it away was pondering the evening that had passed.
***
Locke nodded to indicate he understood what Sianna had just said, before making his way back to his seat. The tip of his dark blue/purplish tongue stuck just out of his mouth, as he started to contemplate his wish. He set the second full bottle of ale at his feet, taking pulls from the bottle he was still working on.
Having been taught both Common and elvish at a young age, both in school and at home, Locke was adept at writing and speaking both. However, he still thought primarily in elvish. Most of the time, the transition between the thoughts in his head and the words that he spoke or wrote was near-instantaneous. The languages worked in similar ways, followed many of the same grammar rules, could even (with some teaching) be written with the same letters as Common. If Locke didn't look the way he did, most people probably wouldn't believe Common was a second language to him, considering how easily he used it. However, at that moment in Sianna's house, with the hustle and bustle of children and acquaintances and a type of social gathering he was almost entirely unfamiliar with and a few ales in his belly, it was hard to think clearly. What to write? What to write?
The bottle of ale was finished, and Locke still hadn't thought of something. He handed the empty off to Henderson, bending slightly to retrieve the second bottle and pop the cap. He placed the bottle cap in his pocket, and resumed his contemplation. As if struck by lightning, it came to him. Amin merna na urnu. I want to be warm. He stuck more of his tongue out as he scribbled his answer on the slip of paper, the letters from the Common script, the words in elvish. He folded it neatly into quarters and pocketed it, before getting up to place the pen back on the table.