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Tatiana Vorontsova
As long as there is sugar, I'll be okay.
Mon Aug 14, 2017 08:39
98.18.134.110

Tatiana could have gotten down from the wagon herself, but she accepted the assistance the fat man (some kind of servant, she assumed) offered because she knew that was what Mama would want her to do. Mama scolded her often about how she had never jumped about as much as Tatiana did when she was eleven, or even when she was younger still, because it was not pretty.

She could not seriously argue against Mama’s point about prettiness, but she didn’t think Mama could argue against her when she thought that however it looked, jumping about was quicker. While she was occupied with being a lady and thanking the fat man in her heavily accented English, Tatiana lost track of her new American friend and for a moment almost froze. It was one thing to hear English, one thing even to speak English herself, but now there were what looked like hundreds of people moving around her and they were all speaking it at the same time. So many voices together melded into a cacophonous babble, incomprehensible gibberish, and she wanted to cover her ears, but the fat man was saying something….

Follow signs. She understood that. She could do that, as said signs were clearly visible. She sounded the English letters on them out in her head: ore-ee-enn-tay-tee-on. Orient – that meant something about placement. Sounded like the place for her.

There, she saw two things: food and a sign with different English writing on it. The former was less complicated, so she went and got a tiny cake with a tall pile of what looked like whipped cream on top of it before she started reading the sign. To her delight, she didn’t have to sound it out. Happily, she used a fork to break off a bit of the tiny cake and then did a double take in surprise when she tasted the whipped cream. It was thick and grainy with sugar and yet not like a thick glaze at all - it was very dry-feeling - it was peculiar….

It was, however, good, she thought after a few more cautious, tiny samples. The cake itself was another story; it was crumbly and rather bland, with no fruits or filling of any kind, and she did not like it much, but ate it anyway because it would be strange to only eat the not-whipped cream. Looking around for something else that looked familiar, she spotted a plate of what looked like ponchiki and decided she had nothing to lose except her dignity if she spat out a poor imitation. To her relief, that did not occur; indeed, the ponchik, or whatever its makers would call it (she had not learned all the words for sweets; Anton Petrovich said that most of the specific dishes wouldn’t exist in the south anyway), almost tasted right. It could have used a dusting of orange rind in the glaze over the top, to be sure, but it was clearly some kind of fried, yeasted, fairly rich dough and it had creamy filling inside. Maybe, she thought, if these people had ponchiki, they weren’t so strange after all.

In her absorption with figuring out what American sweets tasted like, she almost missed the fat man beginning to speak to them and looked around in surprise when she heard his voice again. She was in for another surprise when he revealed his function; he was the Herbology teacher. She flushed when she deciphered the bit of the speech about English fluency, an embarrassment which was only compounded when she didn’t understand the word Anal, which seemed to be part of the name of a test. She decided she’d find someone to ask later, since it seemed this test was a long way off anyway. She brightened up when she heard something about Quidditch and flying; those were not only amusing, but things that she knew how to do.

Once the man – Professor Zay-vee-er, it had sounded like – stopped talking, he seemed to want them to talk to each other. Tatiana spotted Parker talking to a girl with a pretty necklace and, touching her own necklace to make sure the largest pearl was still centered and not resting on her collarbone or something stupid-looking like that, was about to go to speak with them when another person spoke to her first. “High,” she said, remembering that Parker had used this informal form and thus reminded her of its existence. At best, she imagined some of her classmates might be her own social equals, which did not entitle them to formal forms in Russian. She assumed some similar principle worked in English. “My name is Tatiana Andreyevna. How do you do?”

Tak mnogo slov! she thought. So many words! It was much quicker to get to the point in Russian. At least, she thought, all these words would make it apparent that she knew more or less how some of English worked….

OOC: The foods Tatiana describes are, respectively, a cupcake with American buttercream frosting on it and a Bavarian Cream doughnut.

  • First Year Orientation Nathan Xavier, Fri Aug 11 10:43
    Nathan greeted the students as they disembarked from their wagons, helping anyone with the last big step who needed it, and telling them to leave their luggage for the elves. For the first years - or ... more
    • As long as there is sugar, I'll be okay. — Tatiana Vorontsova, Mon Aug 14 08:39
      • Sugar is good.Gary Harper, Thu Aug 17 16:52
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        • I'm glad you agree.Tatiana, Thu Aug 17 22:44
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          • Rumors abound about the perils of excess thoughGary Harper, Sat Aug 19 07:23
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            • Eh, you only live once.Tatiana, Sat Aug 19 17:23
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          • Lucky youDorian, Wed Aug 16 22:20
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