Duncan + Sveinn || Stop blocking the hallway, lady
Who: Duncan and Sveinn
When: July 6th, afternoon
Where: Golden Hour, random hallway
Ratings & Warnings: PG
Duncan was walking through the Hour's halls with his nose in a book, on his way back to his office. He caught a flash of something directly in front of him just in time to stop himself from walking right into a person who had stopped in the middle of the hallway for no apparent reason. His eyes narrowed up at the offender. "It's a hallway," he said, "not a lion. It's not going to eat you."
A few books in his arms, Sveinn had been heading towards the courtyard, but with the hallways busy as they tended to get, he found himself waiting for people to clear out. Why did they have to cover the walls with metal? Stone carvings would have been much more suitable, he felt, but humans were strange creatures, intent on using the latest technology in any place possible, even the least useful places.
He turned towards the voice, finding a man behind him, and arched a brow. "The hallways are large enough that you could go around, if you're intent on charging into the crowd. Though I suspect you'd only run into someone else if you keep your nose buried in that book." His gaze looked over the man as well as his book, mildly curious what would keep him so entranced that he wouldn't be able to step around someone.
Duncan glanced up at the rest of the hallway--oh, that was kind of a crowded intersection, wasn't it? His annoyance at the stranger turned into annoyance at not being able to be righteously annoyed anymore. He snapped the book shut with a frown, a finger between the pages to mark his place, and glared out at the hall. Had a training session just let out or what?
"I can read and avoid obstacles at the same time, thank you very much," he replied, not looking at Sveinn. The book, for the record, was a copy of The Odyssey in Greek. He couldn't just read anatomy texts all the time.
Sveinn gave the man a more thorough look over upon glimpsing the book's title, one brow arching faintly, then turned back to the crowded hall. He was a very patient person (this tended to happen when you far outlived humans), and was in no particular hurry, unlike other people who always seemed to be in a hurry.
Curiously, Sveinn decided to switch to Greek to see how well this fellow knew the language, his own abilities fluent with only the barest of accents. "Even in such a crowd?" he asked, referring to the intersection, though it looked to be finally starting to clear.
"Uh." His eyebrows rose. Was that Greek? That sounded like Greek. Occia's tits, when was the last time he'd even heard any Greek spoken aloud? "What?" And then, in Greek, "What?" His accent was atrocious. Most of his working knowledge of Greek came in textual format.
His gaze returned to Duncan, one brow arched. "Even in such a crowd as this," he repeated, still in Greek, motioning towards the now thinning intersection. He switched back to continue, however, certain the man wouldn't understand even that small amount. "Though it seems to be clearing, if you were in a hurry to get somewhere."
Oh, now he just felt insulted. Despite his poor pronunciation, he responded in Greek, with a glare. "Yes, even in crowd like this." He wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. Not anymore. Now he was in a hurry to prove he wasn't just carrying around a book in Greek because it made him look intellectual.
Sveinn briefly considered attempting to correct the man's pronunciation, but shrugged it off, instead amusing himself with simply getting Duncan to continue to speak the language. He dipped his head to the man, also returning to the familiar Greek (more familiar to him, it seemed!), "I'll not ask you to prove it. I do not think the crowd would appreciate being used as test subjects."
Since Duncan seemed to have lost interest in wherever had been his destination, the alfar turned more fully towards him, inclining his head. "I am Sveinn. I take it you work here." The general assumption towards anyone within the Hour's halls, but it wasn't always the case. Of course, the name didn't translate, and held a more Norse accent to it even despite his use of Greek otherwise.
"Lord Duncan Heimdall Evandros," he replied, full name and title because it made him sound nice and superior. "I am an Adept," the last word in English of course. "A..." He paused, trying to remember the word for 'surgeon', but couldn't and in the end settled for, "I am a doctor. Medicine."
Duncan's insistence to speak a language he clearly was not very good at was mildly amusing to Sveinn, but upon hearing his name, the alfar went back to Balfourian English. "Ah." He gave the adept a courteous bow of his head. "We spoke on the ledgers, about the Magistra Dam."
They had? Duncan tried to remember the name. Sveinn, she'd said? Sveinn, Sveinn... Nope. Nothin'. He cocked his head slightly, annoyed with himself for being unable to remember. He didn't want to admit he couldn't, so he tried to play it off. "Magistra Dam, of all things. You've met her, yeah?"
It wasn't difficult to tell he couldn't remember the conversation. If his hesitation hadn't been enough, what he'd asked would have been. Of course Sveinn had met her, that's what had sparked his request to the Adepts.
He allowed Duncan's attempt to succeed, however, nodding to the question. "I have. She quizzed me on my knowledge of plants after I'd completed her task." Perhaps some details would prove sufficient in triggering the man's memory. "I have not had nearly as much trouble as everyone seemed to think I would."
Nope, still nothin'. Oh well, Duncan would just keep trying to fake it, it seemed to be working thus far. "You must have really impressed her, if you haven't been getting any trouble from her," he said, eyebrows rising.
"It was difficult to tell if she was impressed or simply bored," Sveinn commented, shifting the books he held to his other arm. "She seems to value her time, however, and I am inclined to stay out of her way unless she requires me." He didn't know how much time a shadow should be spending with the their tutor, but he wasn't going to complain. What tasks she set him to would not interfere with his other work too terribly.
"Huh." Duncan was feeling the same way right now, actually. This lady sounded dreadfully bored, but he couldn't tell if she really was, or if that was just her. Some people were just like that.
"You sound like Joscelin's idea of the perfect neophyte. You'll do fine." A pause, a shrug. "Probably."
He wasn't sure how to take that. Though either way, the result would have been the same anyway, no sign of a reaction outside of a faint nod to acknowledge what had been said. Of course, now he had to think of something else to say, unless he wished to just leave. Humans and their conversational interests. He sighed inwardly.
He settled on leaving. He had a few books to look through, and wanted to see if he could find Silas. Dogs were much better company. "I should perhaps let you get back to your book." Unless Duncan decided to try to prove himself further, anyway.
He did decide to try to prove himself further, yes. This was Duncan
They'd spoken over the ledgers, so that meant Sveinn had one. That meant Duncan could prove he actually had a functional understanding of Greek, beyond just a few exchanged words in a hallway. "Wait," in English, and then in Greek, "Can you write Greek? Or only speak?"
He considered pointing that his spoken was highly superior to this adept's, but decided against it, outside of answering in Greek, which he felt was proof enough. "It is but one of many languages I am fully fluent and literate in."
'One of many.' That sounded pretty smuggy mcsmuggerson, right there. It annoyed Duncan. But then, most things did. "How many you speak?" he asked, still in Greek.
Sveinn hesitated a moment, considering whether to include the non-human languages or not. But, people within the Hour were already figuring it out. If Duncan hadn't figured it out by then, there would hardly be any danger in yet another Adept knowing. "Thirty-one human languages, fifteen of which I am also literate in, and four other languages," he answered. He certainly wasn't trying to sound smug, and wasn't even sure why humans kept thinking he was just for telling the truth.
Duncan's jaw dropped, but a plethora of childhood warnings about gawking being rude kicked in almost instantly and he recovered quickly. "Thirty-one?" he repeated, just to make sure he'd heard it right. What was the rest of it? Fifteen she was something something, literate maybe? --Wait, human languages? No, he couldn't have heard that right--could he? Was she an Other?
"What four?" he asked, honestly curious. Wait, she'd answer in Greek, augh. But that was okay, he totally knew Greek. Yeah, no problem.
Duncan was pretty safe from any lingual confusions that time, since if they did have Greek translations, Sveinn didn't know them. "Alfar, Vanir, Dvergar and Sidhe." Time to find out if either of those were even remotely familiar to the man.
...Was that Greek? That didn't sound like English. It didn't sound like Greek, either. His eyebrows furrowed as he gave her a perplexed stare. "Who speaks them?" he asked, still Greek. He wasn't switching back to English mode just yet. Actually, the practice was kind of nice. He'd been reading The Odyssey to brush up on his Greek, anyway.
"Ah." How to explain that? While he had no trouble (or at least not much) understanding the man's atrocious Greek, he didn't really think the language was suitable for explaining those races, thus resorted to English. "The Sidhe are the elves of the Irish, while the Alfar are the elves of the Norsemen. Dvergar are the Norse dwarves, and the Vanir are Norse gods associated with fertility, wisdom and the fortune telling."
Secretly (not so secretly) Duncan was relieved to get the explanation in English. But that relief was quickly replaced by incredulity. "So you--wait. Wait. You speak...elven langauges. And thirty-one human languages? Really? Really? You're fucking with me." Not very proper, but Duncan wasn't very mindful of propriety unless he was in company that demanded it. Pretty women from Cita-knows-where who spoke a million languages weren't that kind of company.
Sveinn's brow quirked. "You work in a building that houses flaming dogs and talking dragons, and had bees turn into eyeballs that buzzed about for many hours, yet the idea of elves is too much for you to handle?"
"No, that's not it at all, it's just--" He stopped suddenly, realizing the obvious answer here, and gave Sveinn a suspicious look. "Are you an elf?"
Sure took the human long enough. Sveinn was a little annoyed at how slow some humans tended to be... and this one was supposed to be an Adept? He nodded. "I am alfar."
Alfar, why was that word familiar? She'd probably said it at some point in this conversation and the term hadn't consciously registered. That sort of thing happened to Duncan a lot. He worked around it. The nod was a yes, anyway. Probably she was just some specific brand of elf from somewhere weird. "I wasn't aware that elves went around learning a bunch of human languages. Is that a hobby for you or what?"
"They don't." Not all elves, anyway. Heck, not even most. Sveinn couldn't be certain how many others there were traveling the lands, but he'd not run across any outside of Ireland. "Not so much a hobby as necessity in my travels. Wherever I went, I learned the languages."
His eyebrows rose again. "So you've actually been to all those places."
He didn't know why that was surprising. Elves were immortal, weren't they? It figured they'd spend that time traveling. What else was there to do? ...Wait, if Sveinn was an immortal well-traveled elf... "So why in Cita's name are you at the Golden Hour?"
Sveinn gave the man a light shrug. "The Hour is the pivotal learning place within Tyrol. When I travel, I learn from those around me, and share my own knowledge with others. I have been witch, shaman, medicine man, amongst other titles. Now I wish to be an Adept. Five years is not so long."
He reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose, one eye narrowing in a look that was skeptical. "Well I guess if you're immortal it's not." Really, it was forever if you were young, as he'd been when he started, but these days the years practically flew by. His son was five already, he realized. It seemed only yesterday he'd been a newborn, unable to manage even rolling over in his crib, and now he was running around gnawing on people.
He shoved those thoughts away for later. That was the sort of reminiscing he was supposed to do in ten more years when Jonathon was getting married. "How old are you?" he asked, mostly interested in how much history an immortal would've been around to see.
Sveinn observed the man. He wasn't as intelligent as the other adepts he'd met thus far, and he found himself wondering how good a doctor the man was. "Over three hundred," he answered. No, five years was nothing.
Excuse you Sveinn he was just unobservant okay!!
"Occia's tits," he mumbled under his breath. That sounded like ages to him, though to an immortal, who knew, just a baby probably. "Yeah, five years is nothing. You probably won't even remember the ten minutes you spent in the hallway with the surgeon who kept trying to prove he could speak Greek." He glanced out at the intersection. "It's clear now, by the way."
"I know." Unlike a certain doctor, Sveinn was very observant! "But I will remember our conversation, just as I remember every conversation I've had, written or verbal." Like the one they'd had over the ledgers that Duncan certainly didn't recall. "Your Greek could use some improvement," he added. "Perhaps we will speak again, then you can keep in practice."
He winced. He knew his spoken Greek was awful. He'd learned it so he could read, not converse. "You don't have to point it out." Joking. Mostly.
The bit about remembering everything... He wasn't sure what to think of that. He supposed an infallible memory would be useful when you were immortal, yes. Actually, he was sure what to think of that: jealousy. Damn Others getting to be better than humans in every way, the jerks.
"See you later, Sveinn," he said, stepping off toward the intersection. He turned back after a couple paces to add, "Yia sou," 'good bye,' because he could so speak Greek.
When: July 6th, afternoon
Where: Golden Hour, random hallway
Ratings & Warnings: PG
Duncan was walking through the Hour's halls with his nose in a book, on his way back to his office. He caught a flash of something directly in front of him just in time to stop himself from walking right into a person who had stopped in the middle of the hallway for no apparent reason. His eyes narrowed up at the offender. "It's a hallway," he said, "not a lion. It's not going to eat you."
A few books in his arms, Sveinn had been heading towards the courtyard, but with the hallways busy as they tended to get, he found himself waiting for people to clear out. Why did they have to cover the walls with metal? Stone carvings would have been much more suitable, he felt, but humans were strange creatures, intent on using the latest technology in any place possible, even the least useful places.
He turned towards the voice, finding a man behind him, and arched a brow. "The hallways are large enough that you could go around, if you're intent on charging into the crowd. Though I suspect you'd only run into someone else if you keep your nose buried in that book." His gaze looked over the man as well as his book, mildly curious what would keep him so entranced that he wouldn't be able to step around someone.
Duncan glanced up at the rest of the hallway--oh, that was kind of a crowded intersection, wasn't it? His annoyance at the stranger turned into annoyance at not being able to be righteously annoyed anymore. He snapped the book shut with a frown, a finger between the pages to mark his place, and glared out at the hall. Had a training session just let out or what?
"I can read and avoid obstacles at the same time, thank you very much," he replied, not looking at Sveinn. The book, for the record, was a copy of The Odyssey in Greek. He couldn't just read anatomy texts all the time.
Sveinn gave the man a more thorough look over upon glimpsing the book's title, one brow arching faintly, then turned back to the crowded hall. He was a very patient person (this tended to happen when you far outlived humans), and was in no particular hurry, unlike other people who always seemed to be in a hurry.
Curiously, Sveinn decided to switch to Greek to see how well this fellow knew the language, his own abilities fluent with only the barest of accents. "Even in such a crowd?" he asked, referring to the intersection, though it looked to be finally starting to clear.
"Uh." His eyebrows rose. Was that Greek? That sounded like Greek. Occia's tits, when was the last time he'd even heard any Greek spoken aloud? "What?" And then, in Greek, "What?" His accent was atrocious. Most of his working knowledge of Greek came in textual format.
His gaze returned to Duncan, one brow arched. "Even in such a crowd as this," he repeated, still in Greek, motioning towards the now thinning intersection. He switched back to continue, however, certain the man wouldn't understand even that small amount. "Though it seems to be clearing, if you were in a hurry to get somewhere."
Oh, now he just felt insulted. Despite his poor pronunciation, he responded in Greek, with a glare. "Yes, even in crowd like this." He wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. Not anymore. Now he was in a hurry to prove he wasn't just carrying around a book in Greek because it made him look intellectual.
Sveinn briefly considered attempting to correct the man's pronunciation, but shrugged it off, instead amusing himself with simply getting Duncan to continue to speak the language. He dipped his head to the man, also returning to the familiar Greek (more familiar to him, it seemed!), "I'll not ask you to prove it. I do not think the crowd would appreciate being used as test subjects."
Since Duncan seemed to have lost interest in wherever had been his destination, the alfar turned more fully towards him, inclining his head. "I am Sveinn. I take it you work here." The general assumption towards anyone within the Hour's halls, but it wasn't always the case. Of course, the name didn't translate, and held a more Norse accent to it even despite his use of Greek otherwise.
"Lord Duncan Heimdall Evandros," he replied, full name and title because it made him sound nice and superior. "I am an Adept," the last word in English of course. "A..." He paused, trying to remember the word for 'surgeon', but couldn't and in the end settled for, "I am a doctor. Medicine."
Duncan's insistence to speak a language he clearly was not very good at was mildly amusing to Sveinn, but upon hearing his name, the alfar went back to Balfourian English. "Ah." He gave the adept a courteous bow of his head. "We spoke on the ledgers, about the Magistra Dam."
They had? Duncan tried to remember the name. Sveinn, she'd said? Sveinn, Sveinn... Nope. Nothin'. He cocked his head slightly, annoyed with himself for being unable to remember. He didn't want to admit he couldn't, so he tried to play it off. "Magistra Dam, of all things. You've met her, yeah?"
It wasn't difficult to tell he couldn't remember the conversation. If his hesitation hadn't been enough, what he'd asked would have been. Of course Sveinn had met her, that's what had sparked his request to the Adepts.
He allowed Duncan's attempt to succeed, however, nodding to the question. "I have. She quizzed me on my knowledge of plants after I'd completed her task." Perhaps some details would prove sufficient in triggering the man's memory. "I have not had nearly as much trouble as everyone seemed to think I would."
Nope, still nothin'. Oh well, Duncan would just keep trying to fake it, it seemed to be working thus far. "You must have really impressed her, if you haven't been getting any trouble from her," he said, eyebrows rising.
"It was difficult to tell if she was impressed or simply bored," Sveinn commented, shifting the books he held to his other arm. "She seems to value her time, however, and I am inclined to stay out of her way unless she requires me." He didn't know how much time a shadow should be spending with the their tutor, but he wasn't going to complain. What tasks she set him to would not interfere with his other work too terribly.
"Huh." Duncan was feeling the same way right now, actually. This lady sounded dreadfully bored, but he couldn't tell if she really was, or if that was just her. Some people were just like that.
"You sound like Joscelin's idea of the perfect neophyte. You'll do fine." A pause, a shrug. "Probably."
He wasn't sure how to take that. Though either way, the result would have been the same anyway, no sign of a reaction outside of a faint nod to acknowledge what had been said. Of course, now he had to think of something else to say, unless he wished to just leave. Humans and their conversational interests. He sighed inwardly.
He settled on leaving. He had a few books to look through, and wanted to see if he could find Silas. Dogs were much better company. "I should perhaps let you get back to your book." Unless Duncan decided to try to prove himself further, anyway.
He did decide to try to prove himself further, yes. This was Duncan
They'd spoken over the ledgers, so that meant Sveinn had one. That meant Duncan could prove he actually had a functional understanding of Greek, beyond just a few exchanged words in a hallway. "Wait," in English, and then in Greek, "Can you write Greek? Or only speak?"
He considered pointing that his spoken was highly superior to this adept's, but decided against it, outside of answering in Greek, which he felt was proof enough. "It is but one of many languages I am fully fluent and literate in."
'One of many.' That sounded pretty smuggy mcsmuggerson, right there. It annoyed Duncan. But then, most things did. "How many you speak?" he asked, still in Greek.
Sveinn hesitated a moment, considering whether to include the non-human languages or not. But, people within the Hour were already figuring it out. If Duncan hadn't figured it out by then, there would hardly be any danger in yet another Adept knowing. "Thirty-one human languages, fifteen of which I am also literate in, and four other languages," he answered. He certainly wasn't trying to sound smug, and wasn't even sure why humans kept thinking he was just for telling the truth.
Duncan's jaw dropped, but a plethora of childhood warnings about gawking being rude kicked in almost instantly and he recovered quickly. "Thirty-one?" he repeated, just to make sure he'd heard it right. What was the rest of it? Fifteen she was something something, literate maybe? --Wait, human languages? No, he couldn't have heard that right--could he? Was she an Other?
"What four?" he asked, honestly curious. Wait, she'd answer in Greek, augh. But that was okay, he totally knew Greek. Yeah, no problem.
Duncan was pretty safe from any lingual confusions that time, since if they did have Greek translations, Sveinn didn't know them. "Alfar, Vanir, Dvergar and Sidhe." Time to find out if either of those were even remotely familiar to the man.
...Was that Greek? That didn't sound like English. It didn't sound like Greek, either. His eyebrows furrowed as he gave her a perplexed stare. "Who speaks them?" he asked, still Greek. He wasn't switching back to English mode just yet. Actually, the practice was kind of nice. He'd been reading The Odyssey to brush up on his Greek, anyway.
"Ah." How to explain that? While he had no trouble (or at least not much) understanding the man's atrocious Greek, he didn't really think the language was suitable for explaining those races, thus resorted to English. "The Sidhe are the elves of the Irish, while the Alfar are the elves of the Norsemen. Dvergar are the Norse dwarves, and the Vanir are Norse gods associated with fertility, wisdom and the fortune telling."
Secretly (not so secretly) Duncan was relieved to get the explanation in English. But that relief was quickly replaced by incredulity. "So you--wait. Wait. You speak...elven langauges. And thirty-one human languages? Really? Really? You're fucking with me." Not very proper, but Duncan wasn't very mindful of propriety unless he was in company that demanded it. Pretty women from Cita-knows-where who spoke a million languages weren't that kind of company.
Sveinn's brow quirked. "You work in a building that houses flaming dogs and talking dragons, and had bees turn into eyeballs that buzzed about for many hours, yet the idea of elves is too much for you to handle?"
"No, that's not it at all, it's just--" He stopped suddenly, realizing the obvious answer here, and gave Sveinn a suspicious look. "Are you an elf?"
Sure took the human long enough. Sveinn was a little annoyed at how slow some humans tended to be... and this one was supposed to be an Adept? He nodded. "I am alfar."
Alfar, why was that word familiar? She'd probably said it at some point in this conversation and the term hadn't consciously registered. That sort of thing happened to Duncan a lot. He worked around it. The nod was a yes, anyway. Probably she was just some specific brand of elf from somewhere weird. "I wasn't aware that elves went around learning a bunch of human languages. Is that a hobby for you or what?"
"They don't." Not all elves, anyway. Heck, not even most. Sveinn couldn't be certain how many others there were traveling the lands, but he'd not run across any outside of Ireland. "Not so much a hobby as necessity in my travels. Wherever I went, I learned the languages."
His eyebrows rose again. "So you've actually been to all those places."
He didn't know why that was surprising. Elves were immortal, weren't they? It figured they'd spend that time traveling. What else was there to do? ...Wait, if Sveinn was an immortal well-traveled elf... "So why in Cita's name are you at the Golden Hour?"
Sveinn gave the man a light shrug. "The Hour is the pivotal learning place within Tyrol. When I travel, I learn from those around me, and share my own knowledge with others. I have been witch, shaman, medicine man, amongst other titles. Now I wish to be an Adept. Five years is not so long."
He reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose, one eye narrowing in a look that was skeptical. "Well I guess if you're immortal it's not." Really, it was forever if you were young, as he'd been when he started, but these days the years practically flew by. His son was five already, he realized. It seemed only yesterday he'd been a newborn, unable to manage even rolling over in his crib, and now he was running around gnawing on people.
He shoved those thoughts away for later. That was the sort of reminiscing he was supposed to do in ten more years when Jonathon was getting married. "How old are you?" he asked, mostly interested in how much history an immortal would've been around to see.
Sveinn observed the man. He wasn't as intelligent as the other adepts he'd met thus far, and he found himself wondering how good a doctor the man was. "Over three hundred," he answered. No, five years was nothing.
Excuse you Sveinn he was just unobservant okay!!
"Occia's tits," he mumbled under his breath. That sounded like ages to him, though to an immortal, who knew, just a baby probably. "Yeah, five years is nothing. You probably won't even remember the ten minutes you spent in the hallway with the surgeon who kept trying to prove he could speak Greek." He glanced out at the intersection. "It's clear now, by the way."
"I know." Unlike a certain doctor, Sveinn was very observant! "But I will remember our conversation, just as I remember every conversation I've had, written or verbal." Like the one they'd had over the ledgers that Duncan certainly didn't recall. "Your Greek could use some improvement," he added. "Perhaps we will speak again, then you can keep in practice."
He winced. He knew his spoken Greek was awful. He'd learned it so he could read, not converse. "You don't have to point it out." Joking. Mostly.
The bit about remembering everything... He wasn't sure what to think of that. He supposed an infallible memory would be useful when you were immortal, yes. Actually, he was sure what to think of that: jealousy. Damn Others getting to be better than humans in every way, the jerks.
"See you later, Sveinn," he said, stepping off toward the intersection. He turned back after a couple paces to add, "Yia sou," 'good bye,' because he could so speak Greek.