Denvali Fratava Nari
Finally. Fresh air. After being cooped up in the stuffy little room Elin was renting at the World's End Grotto, avoiding the coup to the best of her ability, being able to go outside was a blessing from the gods. Her Denvali accent made her stick out like a sore thumb, and it was hard for people to understand her in her native language. Why couldn't they understand her? It was almost like Common. She could understand them well enough.
Eventually Elin had given up on using Denvali and switched to one she knew well enough to get by: Fratava. There had to be someone who spoke Fratava, right?
"Hello? Excuse me? Someone me tell- err, tell me... Where find job?"
No dice. Her many grammar mistakes, as well as slow tongue combined with the fact that she had to think about what she was to say next made communication difficult enough without the noise of the docks enveloping her words. She'd have to get a job before the season was up and she had to pay the rent for that miserable little room. She hated that room now. She'd sleep on the streets before she'd go back to it on her own.
After what seemed like endless bells of asking where she could find a job and getting only strange looks from her muddled speech and thick accent, stress got to the girl. Elin plunked onto a crate and dropped her head in her hands, ready to tear her hair out in frustration. Curse the isolation of Denval! One would think that by now she'd have lost her accent, but no. Nobody here was like Gavin. He had understood her even when she ended up spitting syllables in his face, trying to get across the language barrier.
"F'get Zeltiva, f'get you all, I'll find it on my own!" the girl hollered at nobody in particular.
What 'it' was eluded the girl. What was 'it'? Questions, questions. She was sick of questions. Sick to the core of questions. Why couldn't she get some straight answers, instead of funny side-glances from dock workers? The diminutive woman balled one hand into a fist and punched the side of her head repeatedly, all the while muttering to herself in anger. Someone had better come along and help her, otherwise there might be another fight involving Denvali.
47th of Fall, 513 AV
The Docks
The Docks
Finally. Fresh air. After being cooped up in the stuffy little room Elin was renting at the World's End Grotto, avoiding the coup to the best of her ability, being able to go outside was a blessing from the gods. Her Denvali accent made her stick out like a sore thumb, and it was hard for people to understand her in her native language. Why couldn't they understand her? It was almost like Common. She could understand them well enough.
Eventually Elin had given up on using Denvali and switched to one she knew well enough to get by: Fratava. There had to be someone who spoke Fratava, right?
"Hello? Excuse me? Someone me tell- err, tell me... Where find job?"
No dice. Her many grammar mistakes, as well as slow tongue combined with the fact that she had to think about what she was to say next made communication difficult enough without the noise of the docks enveloping her words. She'd have to get a job before the season was up and she had to pay the rent for that miserable little room. She hated that room now. She'd sleep on the streets before she'd go back to it on her own.
After what seemed like endless bells of asking where she could find a job and getting only strange looks from her muddled speech and thick accent, stress got to the girl. Elin plunked onto a crate and dropped her head in her hands, ready to tear her hair out in frustration. Curse the isolation of Denval! One would think that by now she'd have lost her accent, but no. Nobody here was like Gavin. He had understood her even when she ended up spitting syllables in his face, trying to get across the language barrier.
"F'get Zeltiva, f'get you all, I'll find it on my own!" the girl hollered at nobody in particular.
What 'it' was eluded the girl. What was 'it'? Questions, questions. She was sick of questions. Sick to the core of questions. Why couldn't she get some straight answers, instead of funny side-glances from dock workers? The diminutive woman balled one hand into a fist and punched the side of her head repeatedly, all the while muttering to herself in anger. Someone had better come along and help her, otherwise there might be another fight involving Denvali.