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

[color=8882be]Sirpa's smile fell ever so slightly as she read Westbound's(?) writing, unable to stop herself from facepalming at his introduction. This was going to be a lot more difficult than she thought.

As the others spoke, she thought to herself about their predicament. She took another sip of her drink, a less tentative one now that she could see it wouldn't fatally poison her. It was all just a little overwhelming, actually. The overstimulation from the lights and noise was still at bay, but she hated the feeling of a puzzle she couldn't solve. It was like an annoying itch she couldn't scratch deep within her skin, the kind that makes you wriggle around in your seat.

Sirpa allowed herself a little wiggle.

Then, Silver Blade's question recaptured Sirpa's attention. A little harsh, she thought. This poor man was just troubled and didn't seem to know his way. Weren't they all in a similar situation? She turned back to Westbound and asked, [b]"You've been here for a while, haven't you? Or, maybe? Do you think you could find or locate the dish rack?"[/b]

[i]What the fuck?[/i]

[b]"Dish rack."[/b]

[i]Am I having a stroke?[/i]

[b]"I measured to ask if you had served the Dawn soap."[/b]

[i]Oh my god, it's a stroke.[/i]

No. Sirpa quickly ran through the FAST acronym in her head, as she had done countless times before. No, not a stroke.

Then, it clicked. Sirpa slowly eyed her drink. It seemed brighter now, calling to her for another sip. She felt parched as she stared. But her anxiety was stronger and she pushed the drink away, then sat back and folded her arms. No more of [i]that.[/i][/color]