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Characters: Amon and Sabriel
Date: The evening of Apr. 5th
Location: WA-3A: Amon's apartment
Situation: Amon practising his English
Warnings/Rating: You'd hope not ｡_｡

[ Amon stood sentinel in the threshold that separated a small hallway leading in the kitchen and the entresol that led in from the door front. He feared if he sat down for a moments rest he would not get up again; having run on fumes since the audience with the Emperor. The sound of the kettle reaching a rolling boil kept his attention away from anything else as he waited to host a strange guest.

It stood to reason that he shouldn't lack for anything that would put him at a disadvantage later on. English served a purpose; he would not trouble over text messages and it study would keep him off the dangers of reflecting on oneself. Time between study would need to be sparse if he had any say. The kettle shook him out of the start of dark ruminations with piercing trill.

One cup, or two? The English apparently preferred that bitter, amber coloured spill. ]

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[One bag of books and papers tucked neatly under her arm, Sabriel knocked three times. She didn't trust the man in the mask, but she sensed nothing Dead beyond the door- and she had enough trust in her skills as a Charter Mage to let her escape.

But hopefully, she reminded herself, this would be a simple lesson. She'd found a few picture books of varying complexity, and written down a few extremely simple sentences herself, along with the alphabet.]

[ Amon crosses the hall to where the curt knock on the bids him; he undoes the latch and opens the door. With little preamble he gives her a neutral, appraising once over (striking, but not terribly pretty; serious but not grim; she could pass for Northern Earth Kingdom or coastal Fire Nation if she chose; the sword at her hip struck him as practical not paranoid; And were those really picture books? Oh this would be interesting) He stands aside to let her through then turns back towards the kitchen. ]

Tea?

[ Conversation was best left for later, or preferably never. ]

[Sabriel sized her new student up on her way through the door- Darker skin than anyone she'd met from Ancelstierre- what she could see of it at least. Probably a fighter, but not a soldier, and her less mundane senses informed her her that this man was definitely a living person. Older than her- her father's age, or a little younger, from what she could tell.]

Yes, thank you.

[The first item she pulled out of her bag wasn't a picture book though- rather, it was the alphabet, lowercase and capital letters all written in a precise hand.]

I didn't know how similar your language was to English, so I thought we'd start with the alphabet.

[ How wrong she was that he was wholly alive, but both Amon and Sabriel were blissfully and thankfully oblivious of her death sense and his state of non-living, respectively. ]

My pleasure. You'll have to forgive me, however, because I haven't thought to accommodate a more Western taste.

[ Amon already reappeared from his humble hovel of a kitchen with two cups in hand; steam swirling around them in semi-translucent ribbons. A fragrant oolong that was amber in colour placed on a plain table between two equally plain wing chair. The rest of the suit followed this bare pattern- it had no personal touch and was spartan in design with nothing changed from the basic necessities issued by whatever authority designed each suite. ]

Wildly different; I wasn't entirely sure it was even another language when I first saw it put to paper.

[ There was a collection of impersonal journals, most of which from his ink slinging with Temeraire set on the table. All in more simplified Mandarin when he only had a pen at his disposal and couldn't recreate the broad for most of the characters. ]

You're undertaking quite the task assisting me.

It's fine- I've started to get used to the tea here. [And she rather doubted she'd have found any tea at all if she'd stayed in the Old Kingdom. Sabriel had also noticed the bareness of the suite- but then, her own lodgings were hardly any better.]

I have time to spare, unfortunately. And compared to what I've done before, this is nothing. [Teaching someone a language couldn't possibly be harder than escaping a Mordicant, or dealing with Mogget unbound. Sabriel wrapped her hands around the teacup and sipped it.]

If all this is new, then we'll definitely start with the alphabet. English and- several other languages are written with twenty six symbols- they have two forms, one of which is used- [Insert basic description of letters representing sounds and what capital letters are used for here.]

Now, why don't we start with writing your name? [Ink and paper were hard to come by, but Sabriel selected a scrap and started to write, sounding out what letter corresponded to which sound as she wrote out 'Amon', making sure he could see how she formed each letter. Then she slid over the pen and another scrap of paper.]

Edited 2013-04-14 04:51 (UTC)

English tea isn't too hard to come by [ Amon chances to tilt his mask upwards with diffidence; his long brown fingers stark against the white painted wood. The exposed skin beneath was so horribly scarred as he previously led Sabriel to believe. He hisses when the tea proved too hot. ] Although I never saw the appeal- your tea is flavourless and bitter.

And what did you before coming here? Beside make some very poetic observations about death. [ He grabs a pen from the table as he watches Sabriel demonstrate her penmanship with absorbed interest- it was strange to see an alien language have such a different style to it down to the way it was written. ]

Right to left [ He catches himself muttering aloud before making the attempt to copy her work. His pen strokes are awkward at first- lifted with each stroke as he would with Chinese characters. The result while stilted at first produces very neat penmanship. He consults Sabriel's notes on the alphabet several times between each attempts.

A M O N
~~N O A T A K~~
A M O N ]

A handsome effort.

Were I given to boasting.

It's better with milk and sugar. [Sabriel blew on the tea once, before taking one small sip.]

Before I arrived on Tu Vishan, I was looking for my father- and facing whatever Dead creatures were sent after me.

[Sabriel hmmed encouragement as he wrote, and then held it up for inspection.]

What's the name in the middle? [It could be simply a mistake, but it seems too different from 'Amon' for that to be the case.]

Practice. [ Amon answered too quickly, rubbing his chin under his mask . At some point during his attempts to recreate words here and there amidst Sabriel's tutelage the hood of his coat fell down and he hand't bothered to either notice, or care. ]

What sort of creatures? The dead usually live up to their reputation as far as I knew. [ What was meant to be a blithe remark, he just realised, came out very redundant. There was a flush of red to his ears suddenly ] ...So to speak.

I see. [Sabriel felt no need to push a stranger to reveal information, but she memorized the name anyway.]

The Dead are- spirits, warped from what they were in life. They steal life from the living to stay out of Death- and sometimes inhabit corpses. [AND WITH THAT LOVELY TIDBIT Sabriel awkwardly pulled out a thin book with a picture of a fluffy white kitten on the front cover.

It was wearing a pink ribbon around its neck.]

I thought we'd start with something simple.

Was your father a priest, a monk? [ Priests in any order were technically celibate, but she didn't give the impression she was a bastard. He then wondered if her father was monastic and trained his progeny in the same practice. 'Spirits' from his point of reference would imply as much.

Still he visibly rankled at just the word, father. it was an obscenity to him. The word a shadow one never got out from under.

But more pressing was the matter of kittens. ]

'C' I...is four. Four? Ah, 'for.' C - A - T...is this a misprint? Surely they mean owl-cat.

Neither- he is Abhorsen. Dealing with the Dead is his duty- and mine, when he cannot. [Perhaps because of her own fondness for her father, Sabriel didn't notice the lack of fondness in Amon's tone. But then, there were books to discuss.]

No, it's correct. That's a cat- my school had one, we called it Biscuits. [If the man was less serious, Sabriel might have thought he was joking.] What on earth is an owl-cat? Something with a cat's body and an owl's feathers?

No it's- ah I forget how wildly different the flora and fauna are elsewhere. [ It's true, through the entire exchange he doesn't show a hint of being anything less than completely serious. Perhaps in some roundabout way that made it even more comedic when he took a clean sheet of paper and hastily drew what appeared to be a common tabby save for a snout that ended in a beak and fluffy wings pressed against its side. It wasn't terrible but his penmanship, even in English, was markedly better than his artwork.

猫头鹰猫 ]

'Owlcat' [ He read his script aloud as if proving a point. ]

Edited 2013-04-17 19:26 (UTC)

[Sabriel immediately writes 'OWLCAT' underneath, once again emphazing each letter as she wrote it out. before tilting her head and scrutinizing the illustration.]

It's- It does look like a cat and an owl. I suppose they're kept to catch mice or- whatever you have where you're from? [Since he'd just said the animals were very different.]

I don't suppose you have dogs either then?

[ Amon copied her script while repeating aloud each letter to better his understanding of the English alphabet. So far is all seemed deceptively simple but much like his own language it had far too many unnecessary homonyms and self-contradictory grammar. ]

Spider rats, but they mostly enjoy an indulged existence like yours cats do I'm sure. [ He remembered one particularly fat tomcat that stalked their underground base for the odd morsel of vermin, and had privately suspected recruits of feeding it scraps. Out of seeming blessed nowhere the memory stirred him to chuckle quietly. ]

Of course we have dogs, how silly of you to ask. [ There is no indication of whether or not he is pulling her leg. ] And wolves. Especially wolves.

[ Amon throws himself into a silent fit of copying down what snatches of English he had picked up over the course of their lesson in relative silence for the longer half of an awkward moment. It's only when the abandoned thread of their conversation crosses his mind does he speak again. ]

The dead- what do they look like?

[Sabriel starts at the sudden change in conversation topic, spilling a bit of tea on the table before collecting herself.]

The Dead? They look- well, the bodiless ones are pitch black- like pieces of the night without any stars. [Sabriel's expression grows positively grim.] The more- powerful ones have red flames in their eyes and mouths, and most of the ones with bodies are just- walking corpses. Most of the time, they're weaker than the bodiless ones.

That will stain the wood. [ Amon tutted dispassionately and watched as the amber red liquid bled into the paper unfortunate enough to be caught in its sluggish wake. It was his little owlcat diagram, a pity.

Waving his hand across the table the tea leapt up, pulled from the paper though sadly leaving his ink slinging warped; he twisted the tea in his hands without once touching it until it heated and eventually dissolved in a fragrant steam. He distantly at one exact moment he stopped caring, and assumed it was whenever his cognitive dissonance between what he was and what he could do became so great it tore him in two. ]

Where we were? [ Casually spoken as if nothing was out of the ordinary. ] Right, the dead, and you say they're more powerful without a corporeal form? I'm curious about all these variety of dead you've only touched on when I just assumed this...Abhorsen was a simple exorcist.

[Sabriel's expression is- subdued. She's seen magic before, and while this isn't Charter magic, it lacks the ugly metallic odor of Free magic.]

That's- useful. Are you a mage of some sort?

[At the mention of Abhorsen, Sabriel stiffens.]

I- in the days before I arrived on Tu Vishan, I learned that I didn't know nearly as much about my father as I thought I did. [She isn't angry at him, exactly. Not betrayed, either. Just shocked, and trying to put the pieces together before her ignorance got her killed.]

No. [ There was acid on the tip of his tongue coupled with his clipped response. ]

I imagine anything absentee father does comes at a bit of surprise, but the necromancy would be a new one.

I see. [Sabriel spotted the acid this time, and didn't say anything more about magic.]

I knew Father was a necromancer- he taught me when he visited after all.

What I didn't know was that 'Abhorsen' was a title, not his name. [Sabriel shifted, and looked down at her hands before writing out 'FATHER' and 'MOTHER' on another piece of paper.]

What sort of father doesn't think his name worth his own child? [ What lesson was held escaped him and piercing blue eyes held Sabriel in regard of the critically judged. The sharp corners his eyes took shape spoke as much volume as the harshness of his voice. ]

Were you even aware of your inheritance, or did he thrust it upon you at his convenience?

He didn't exactly have a chance to explain. He's- he's trapped in Death, and could only send a messenger with the sword and bells. I was going to rescue him!

[Sabriel could feel her chest tightening with every word, anger writhing in her chest as her voice began to grow shrill.]

What, this entire time? If he had been dead I'm shocked to hear he made the time to procreate much less claim to be a great so-called Abhorsen. [ Amon didn't need to guess that he had struck a nerve, but he pushed the subject with the utter surety his bitterness was neither a mere projection nor unfounded. ]

Edited 2013-04-19 04:51 (UTC)

No, just- just for the past few weeks. He has- enemies. He was trying to protect me. [Or Sabriel thought he was. Keeping her in Ancelstierre had certainly kept her alive.]

My father is a good man!

You didn't even know his name! [ Amon didn't raise his voice, but he of course rarely ever did. Instead he rose in disposition; he half stood out of his seat as if ready to take a physical blow. ] What makes anything after that trustworthy and virtuous?

He kept people safe! Abhorsen was the only thing anyone ever called him! He talked to me every time he could, even though he was busy! He's my father!!

[Sabriel found herself lunghing from her seat, fingers crooked in a spellcasting position.]

He's the only family I have!

Yes, you're very quick to remind that he's indeed your father, but little else.

[ Beneath that frozen smile carved across the lacquered wood he sneered. It even sound similar when the words meshed together in the back of his mind in a haze of an old hatred. Abhorsen. Avatar.

He sat back and regarded her as a passer-by would an alley cat hissing at them from a dark corner. Having been on the business end of firebending in all its anger-fuelled forms he didn't feel inclined to bat an eyelash at her display. ]

You're speaking in past tense.

[Sabriel had never been taught unarmed combat, so the punch she throws is sloppy and easily blocked.]

Because it's the most important thing to me!

[ In an instant Amon had his hand clamped tight around her wrist. Quicker still was the maneuvering he did that spun her around like a rag doll, grabbing her other arm. ]

That was not wise.

[ Amon pinned her close with his fingers digging into her wrists. If her earlier posturing was any indication of skill he assumed hand gestures played a critical role in her conjuring. There would be none of that nonsense. ]

And I wasn't kind to you, I know. [ His voice was cold and steady while his hands burned like fire into her skin to keep them immobile. ]

However- I'm going to let go, and when I do you're not going to try and hit me. I will let you go with the promise of more civil discourse on my part.

I will let you go, and then we'll start asking the right questions. Can you agree to that?

[Sabriel barely had time to struggle as she suddenly found herself caught in Amon's grip.

Her skin had gone stark white again, and Sabriel nodded sharply as she otherwise held herself perfectly still, suppressing an impulse to try to kick his shins as hard as she could, or use a verbal incantation. She felt stupid- injured pride was no reason to get into a fight, regardless of the insult.]

Fine. [Sabriel paused a moment, taking deep, measured breaths.] But don't speak about my father again. Ever

No. [ Amon replied flatly; he never made promises he knew would be broken later on. This ended to quickly for him, and to his displeasure, not on his terms; he wanted an awnser that satisfied him. That explained why Sabriel reacted as if it never occurred to her how far her father's lies went.

He let her go with a gentle push...out of shin kicking distance. Then he started collecting empty tea cups as if this had only been a minor disagreement. ]

Still for now we talk about something more palatable. Death, maybe? Quite a few questions left there.

Very well- what would you like to know about it? [Sabriel sits back down, her expression wary, but she no longer looks like she wants to throttle him, and her heartbeat is returning to normal.]

I suppose I've told you that it's not a place you visit physically?

[ Amon felt her heartbeat quell though he made no mention of it as he instead jotted down her last notes with the hand free of juggling tea cups. Perhaps it was an attempt to appease her soured mood once it became clear there was no way to broach the subject of her father tactfully. ]

Suppose you did. Perhaps a break while we have a friendly chat about death. Are you hungry?

I- yes, I suppose so. [Talking about Death wasn't exactly what Sabriel would call a friendly chat, but- well, she wouldn't turn down a meal.]

[ Turning sharp on his heel Amon moved like water down the hall before disappearing into the little hovel of a kitchen that connected the hallway and living room. A fruity but hearty smell soon started to waft out of the arched doorway and cloy to the walls of the apartment. The sound of a pot of rice bubbling over soon followed and Amon, in a brief moment of exposed humanity, cursed when boiling water seared his fingers.

He emerged sometime after, juggling two bowls of rice and two plates of something brownish purple and stew-like. The table was cleared of their week and Amon made all the efforts of a good host by serving hot tea after setting their dishes down with chopsticks balanced over the bowls.

Amon went only for his tea and tucked it under the lip of his mask before returning to their stalled conversation. ]

If it is a river, but not a physical river- what is it?

[Sabriel picked up the chopsticks. She knew how to use them correctly, but her movements while eating were slower and more cautious then they'd been when she was writing. Sabriel started with her rice, eyeing whatever was in the stew rather dubiously as she took another sip of tea.]

You could say it's a realm of spirits- I have to leave my body behind to enter it. Death is a river with a current and no banks, with black water that's colder than ice, and a fog so thick it's hard to see much.

Er, what is this? [With one chopstick, Sabriel pointed to the stew.]

Edited 2013-04-30 07:25 (UTC)

[ With no affectation, Amon sputtered his tea as he watched Sabriel fumbled attempts to work the chopsticks through her fingers. ]

Hold it like a pencil and balance the other between your middle and index finger so it opens up in the back. Here- [ He put down his tea, reached over and maneuvered her fingers with his own; his touch gentler this time. ] -There. It took me some time to get it right after coming to the Earth Kingdom. You have room for error.

[ Amon hurriedly returned to taking short sips of tea under under a tipped mask. ]

I'd imagine coming to a place between life and death affected your ability to commune with these...spirits.

[ There was sudden silence and behind his mask, Amon's sharp blue eyes dulled with disbelief. ]

Stewed sea prunes. [ They're awesome shush. ]

Edited 2013-04-30 07:29 (UTC)

[Sabriel accepted the correction without complaint and stared at her hand, memorizing the chopsticks looked and felt when held that way before carefully picking up a sea prune and popping it in her mouth.

Well, it wasn't exactly bad just different, Sabriel told herself as she chewed and quickly swallowed. The aftertaste reminded her vaguely of seaweed, and she was very hungry.]

Ah- well, I don't think we have anything like sea prunes in Ancelstierre or the Old Kingdom. [But back to the topic of Death and what dwelled there.]

Generally there's less communion and more banishing. The curent in Death is meant to take the spirits of the deceased from Life to whatever lies past the Ninth Gate. The spirits that linger become warped, and must be forced back into following the river's current.

[Sabriel took another sea prune, regarding it grimly before eating it.]

I haven't spotted any Dead here, although I suppose they could be hiding.

[ Amon clicked his tongue in amused rumination; he ran over how many other foreigners tried sea prunes before immediately spitting them back out with little thought of pretence. Sabriel surprised him there, or he was better at hiding pungent flavours with spices than he thought. ]

It's a staple in my native diet. [ He says precious little of the Water tribe and wishes to keep it such. ]

How...antic-climatic. What are these 'Gates,' exactly and is something always trying to claw their way back out?

[ A sudden fear clenched his chest, though he put on a good face. So to speak. It would be rather nasty business of she figured out he was no longer among the living, or worse, exposed Tarrlok when his brother was blissfully ignorant. ]

The Dead... How do you feel their presence?

Ah. It must be very... plentiful then. [Because Sabriel can't imagine any other reason people would eat it.]

The Gates take various forms- waterfalls, whirlpools, waterclimbs- They become stranger the deeper into Death you walk.

[Sabriel shrugged at the last question.]

I just do- I always have. Sometimes I need to focus but- it's strange. There are some here who've died but are not Dead.

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