(Untitled)

[doctor_weir]

Elizabeth's hair has finally gotten long enough again to go up in a semblance of a ponytail, and currently that ponytail is home to at least three pens: one black, one blue and one red

Comments

[againstcovenant]

John Spartan is not the most patient of men. He leaves that up to snipers and other soldiers who are used to hiding. His people go out first and blow them away so to speak-

But that doesn't mean that his job doesn't require the finest intelligence-or at least his universe's version of it. Most people don't think that Spartans posess brainpower. But he's always been-well-curious.

Hence why there's a figure in bright green armor trying to look as unobtrusive as possible. The language looks interesting.

[doctor_weir]

Men in armor of any color whatsoever is hardly unobtrusive, in Elizabeth's experience. However, there's no discernable weapon pointed in her general direction, so she tries a smile on for size.

"Hello, sir -- anything look familiar?" she hazards skeptically, but without anything else to say at the moment.

[againstcovenant]

The Spartan shakes his head, "No ma'am. Bits and pieces of it resemble covenant lettering s'far as I see ma'am but I'm no expert."

He folds his hands behind his back, "-My apologies for interrupting you."

[doctor_weir]

"Oh it's not an interruption at all, trust me -- I could use a break. Would you sit?"

While clearing the files into a neat stack, "My name is Elizabeth, by the way. What's yours, if I could ask?"

[no_comb_shep]

Sheppard doesn't mind dossiers of Ancient linguistics. Better to see it in dossiers than written on something that he has to figure out in the nick of time. (It hasn't happened yet, but he's fairly sure the linguistic variety of the 'solve this or die' puzzle will shop up eventually.)

"Some new project I should know about?" he asks as he moves to sit down.

[doctor_weir]

"Not terribly, John," still bent over her notes, scribbling something with a red pen. "A project I'd been working on at home that I retrieved the source material for here."

Looking up, finally, "There's only so much time one can spend in the stables."

[no_comb_shep]

He nods, frowning a bit to himself as he looks at the dossiers. "So what's the project?"

[doctor_weir]

"It appears to be a love letter between a sergeant on an Ancient battleship to a cook on Atlantis before the evacuation."

"...I didn't say it was very interesting. It's just the kinds of things that found their way to the bottom of the piles on my desk on Atlantis."

[wolflord_andain]

Galadans eye is, perchance, attracted by the appearance of a language he does not know.

At all.

It's enough of a novelty to prompt a formal and almost polite approach.

"Is your workload often so heavy, lady?"

[doctor_weir]

Smiling politely in return, "Not often enough, at the moment -- this is a project of my own, from home. I'm working on translating the text into a more common language from my world."

Elizabeth can count on her fingers how many people can fluently speak Ancient, and even then it is work.

"I enjoy it, however."

[wolflord_andain]

"And is it a religious text, then?"

He raises one eyebrow.

"Or prophecy?"

For what else, really, is worth the effort of translation?

Or so some on his world would believe, like as not.

[doctor_weir]

Elizabeth feels almost embarrassed to reveal what the text is, but can't quite put a finger on why.

"It's a love letter. Or at least, that's the intonation from what I've translated so far."