(no subject)
Gilbert, seated on a stool and leaning one elbow onto the Bar, has a very rumpled piece of paper with him, today. Its content (numbered lines of handwritten, Latin text) is impeccably neat, though the sheet itself is all but brutalized, bearing the crease lines from a whole host of foldings and probably a few bouncy rides wedged in somebody's pocket.
With his head bent over, Gilbert is reading, just loudly enough to be heard:
"Caesar...something, something...Vercin..."
The boy pauses, giving a small sniff, down towards the paper.
"Ver...vercing...well, someone with an awful name...mumblemumbleAlesia."
He's, ah, studying!
With his head bent over, Gilbert is reading, just loudly enough to be heard:
"Caesar...something, something...Vercin..."
The boy pauses, giving a small sniff, down towards the paper.
"Ver...vercing...well, someone with an awful name...mumblemumbleAlesia."
He's, ah, studying!