[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@Tlazolteotl][@silver21][@Stanifly][/right]

[color=brown]"Right, that's a mighty fine name you got."[/color] He shakes Sirpa's hand firmly, though seemingly unaware of how his hand actually felt against hers. [color=brown]"Still, 'suppose it's the thought that counts."[/color]

He still remembers the first time he drank; worst feeling in the world, and he was only 18 or so. Rest of his drunken comrades forgot he probably shouldn't have been drinking... didn't stop them from ordering a shot of whiskey or two for him, though. Tasted like crap, but it's still his favorite drink. Morgan finds himself lost in his thoughts, only to snap back as the man grabs his arm. 

[color=brown]"Woah, hey, hey, hey! What the hell d'ya think you're doin'?!"[/color] He's half ready to shoot from his seat and punch the man, but he stays still as he realizes what the man is trying to get across.

He can speak.

But no one can hear it?

[color=brown]"What in the goddamn..."[/color] He forces his hand back, idly cracking his fingers. He mutters with some annoyance. [color=brown]"So you [i]can[/i] speak. Got it."[/color]

Teresa pulls up, and he greets her with a forced smile and waves a metal hand. [color=brown]"Well, I just found out our friend 'ere can speak after all. Just can't hear 'im."[/color]