!!0ZviLFh59My 02/02/12(Thu)01:19 No.17771240|
File1328163567.jpg-(55 KB, 800x572, 00faaeb6dad5e01819e9f3dbc53cfa(...).jpg)
"Dames," Sakamoto says, slouching in exactly the way Sean tends to. "Always something else with 'em, huh?" She cuts her eyes at you. "Did you see Minna's face?"
"Yeah, I did," you say, thoughfully. When she first looked at you, there was... something sad. Something buried.
It was almost vul-
"-Now if we could just get you housebroken she'd have a keepr," Sakamoto continues, and Ian snickers into his keyboard.
"She could sure use a cunning linguist on the staff," Sean says.
"Licking cold flagpoles," Ian says almost inaudibly, and Sakamoto smiles at him.
"She's not so bad, at all," the tall Japanese pilot says sadly. "It's just hard for anyone to smile these days. Especially this week."
Minna comes back down the staircase, looking perturbed. "Eila says Sanya is speaking in tongues, in her sleep. Strange, alien tongues."
"No shit, she's Russian," you say. "They all sound like that. Like when you get popcorn stuck in the back of your throat in the theater, except it's a vodka cork."
Ian just taps you on the shoulder and points at the head of the staircase, where Sanya is currently lying.
As you watch, she floats out over the center of the room, lying flat, on her back, babbling some convoluted silibance with just enough form and structure to give it the feel of language. Hideous, twisted language.
Ian looks at you.
"Do they do that in Russia, genius?"