[center][h1][i][color=darkred][b]Fumiko[/b][/color][/i][/h1][/center]
[center][@Enigmatik][/center]

[color=BlueViolet]"One moment,"[/color]

The words rattled through the door after a short pause. Fumiko frowned, trying to remember their meaning… ahah, right. Once again - how she hated this language. That it was a language she could at all recognize as a language was in and of itself remarkable. But, then, it was remarkable that humans had apparently developed independently here. Was it really any more remarkable that their languages were still ones she could, broadly, learn and understand with practice? She was already in some ludicrous parody of reality - what was one more flagrant violation of probability?

All this pondering did, at least, give her time wherein she did not process Morvanne’s delay in getting ready. Even with the blistering heat of that sun and the alien song of the world around her she still found herself easily lost in thought. Perhaps one day she could even find herself lost in [i]pleasant[/i] thought? It would be difficult, though, with all these strangers around her, and the uncomfortable world. Already she was feeling the effects of being displaced. This was not her environment - she had acclimated to the interior of a spaceship. Now she was thrust first into a magical forest, then a scorching desert. She was out of place. And who knew how long it would take her spirit to acclimate to this world. Would she acclimate to this caravan instead? She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to contemplate another few years of this grinding malaise. 

At last the door opened, and Fumiko gratefully stepped inside and out of the sun, giving the woman a small bow as was custom. Or, at least, custom in her own home country. She bent over, the nine tails behind her following her rear and briefly filling Morvanne’s vision as she quickly stripped off her boots, leaving them just by the entrance to avoid tracking in dirt. Nesora followed her - though he, in his at times maddening incorporeality, seemed completely unphased by the sun. Looking back up she could see her host, and her host’s home. She raised an eyebrow at the interior of the wagon - it was… nice, actually. It was rather nice. Bundles of books and herbs thrown every which way, a small bed. She had expected worse, for some reason. But- there it was. That symbol again. The strange hand symbol she always made towards herself or towards Nesora. 

Fumiko’s eyes narrowed involuntarily. “Tsat!” She exclaimed, “I-” she paused, letting out a small sigh, quietly mumbling “[i]Shtora ya nechisurei shidemakita[/i]…”. She wasn’t sure how to excuse herself for rudeness in this language. She did not even know the word [i]for[/i] rudeness in this language. Hopefully the message would be conveyed regardless. She pointed Morvanne’s hand, more slowly, miming the gesture with an expression of obvious confusion. “I am… not… know vhat tsis is…” She struggled for the word, frowning, “Vhat is eh…” She shook the hand gesture around, hoping that despite her lack of knowledge of this language, her meaning would get across all the same.