Hannibal's house, Sunday morning

[sharp_as_knives]

Tristan still had no idea where he was, but this place wasn't too bad. He probably wouldn't call it Paradise, so he hoped it wasn't for good, but - not bad.

He pulled aside one of the drapes to look out the glass-paned window. He wasn't much of a singing type, but he found himself doing it anyway. "Sol esse lucet, nubes absunt."

No, not a bad day, he supposed.




[OOC: Yay for Black Sabbath in Latin! :D Open post for anyone who stayed the night or wants to drop by.]

Comments

[14andseven]

Huh. Why was he carrying wood?

"I kind of already messed up omelettes," Piper said. "But if we've got bread, I can make them breakfast sandwiches." She hoped.

She tried to make a bread shape with her hands. "Bread? Oh jesus, what's the word. . . . Pan? No, that's Spanish. . . ."

[sharp_as_knives]

Close enough, especially given she was cooking! "Pane?" Tristan brightened a bit - hey, a word they shared! And he'd even found some of that yesterday while exploring. He went to the breadbox in the corner and opened it up; there were an Italian loaf crusted with seeds and a dense loaf of wheat bread. "Tibī placet?"

[14andseven]

One solitary word. "Oo, not the seedy one." That was more of a side dish bread. She pointed. "The brown one. Uh, marrón?"

What? Spanish worked a minute ago. Maybe she'd luck out.

[sharp_as_knives]

Nope, sorry; one word it was! But pointing was good. He took out the bread and handed it to her. And he knew where the knives were, too (very good knives), so he got a largish one of those and flipped it over hilt-first.