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Tatiana Vorontsova
Rushing up and speaking Russian (tag Vlad).
Thu Oct 26, 2017 21:05
50.96.79.119

Since arriving at Sonora, Tatiana had found herself dealing with an enemy. This enemy was totally unexpected, particularly as she had never encountered it before in her life, that she could recall, and therefore had no idea what, precisely, she had done to annoy it. Its name was ‘shyness.’

Shyness – her! She could not believe it. It was, after all, her deficient sense of modesty which had allowed her to learn English in the first place and which had encouraged Papa to think she would be well even among strangers. She had heard him tell Mama that they did not need to worry about Tatiana forgetting who she was ” – I do not think it occurs to Tatiana that there could be anything about herself to improve.” A double-edged compliment at best, but still – Tatiana was not shy. Nor did she feel any need to be like the Americans; obviously her way, the way they had at home, was better than the one the Americans used, so why would she want to adopt their ways? That she spoke English – the one concession to them she could not go among them without making – with a noticeable accent did not concern her, either, as standing out had never bothered her. The problem, now that she was in this situation, was her grammar, or lack thereof.

Tatiana took great pains not to remember when she had been prodded – and then, when she played deaf, outright ordered – into attending the special class, but sometimes the memory would sneak up on her and make her want to die right on the spot. It also made her, to her increasing horror, worry when she spoke to them – worry they were thinking she sounded stupid. Anton Petrovich had gotten her to reluctantly try to master the art of articles by sharply informing her that in English, she sounded like her brother Alyosha every time she opened her mouth – like a baby, not able to talk right. Did she still sound like a toddler? Did they think she was mentally deficient when it obviously took her a moment to process what they said and respond to it, or when she didn’t understand at all because there was too much noise or unfamiliar words went by too fast? Why was she so much worse at this than she had been at home with Anton Petrovich and Papa? It didn’t make sense to her that she could have true difficulty, the kind that was not overcome in a day, with something; it had never happened to her before, or at least not for this long.

Sometimes, it was the simplest things that could annoy her to distraction. Her classmates’ names, for instance. They did not sound much more like names to her now than they had when she had started here, most of them, and she could not always tell what was supposed to be a last name and what was supposed to be a first name. There was, however, one exception, and his name was Vladimir.

When she had first heard that, Tatiana’s head had whipped around in surprise, as she had not expected to hear another Russian name for months and months. She had been slightly disappointed when its owner’s surname had turned out to be English-sounding gibber-jabber, not something sensible, but still – perhaps he was from Russia, or not long removed from it. There were English and Germans and French, after all, who had moved there long ago, and while their names remained odd they were as Russian as anyone else now. Her newfound awkwardness, however, still made it some days before one day, all in a rush, she ran up to him after class.

Vladimir – tebya zovut Vladimir, da? Privet,” she exclaimed, greeting him with the casual ‘hi’ after hastily asking that his name was actually Vladimir without waiting for an answer and then wondering if she should have. She had also called him ‘tebya’, assuming the liberty of two children not to use the formal form, but when she combined that with only just addressing a new acquaintance old enough to go to school as just ‘Vladimir’ and nothing else…. “Sorry,” she continued, still speaking Russian. “I don’t know your patronymic – my name Tatiana Andreyevna. My home – the Wizard’s Village, it in Alaska, but we Russian there. Where you from?

All of this was uttered with a beaming smile that she had not used since arriving at Sonora, which she hoped he did not take the wrong way – she did not think he looked funny and did not mean to be overly delighted to see someone she assumed was the same as her, she just sort of…was. Of course, perhaps he was also delighted to see another person who didn’t use articles and would smile at her, too, and not be mocking her, as she somewhat suspected all the perpetually smiling Americans were sometimes. She looked at him expectantly, eyebrows slightly raised above her greenish-blue eyes as she waited for a response in her own language.

OOC: Better late than never, I suppose - we’ve waited too long for this one to not do it at all. Fuzzytiming back to an unspecified but early-ish part of the term, perhaps early October.

    • Yes you are definitely doing both of those thingsVladimir Brockert, Wed Nov 22 17:05
      Big, grey eyes stared back at the girl before him, wide with surprise and maybe a slight hint of terror. She was a bit taller than him and speaking wildly in Not English, which was of course always a ... more
      • Big blue-green eyes, only a little darker than the aquamarines in their owner’s ears, stared back at Vladimir with surprise and maybe a little dismay as he said a whole paragraph in English.... more
        • That seems like a lotVlad, Fri Nov 24 09:17
          Oh. Oh no . His friend was sad! She tried to hide it, but Vlad could tell. His response hadn’t been what she wanted to hear, and now she was sad. He didn’t like it when people were sad. That made him ... more
          • Tell me about it.Tatiana , Sun Nov 26 12:35
            At home, Tatiana was used to having physical contact with others. This was an inevitable consequence of sharing a bedroom with one of her sisters and her sitting and dressing rooms with all three –... more
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