C. Sempronius Gracchus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ad_dicendum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-01-30 11:40 pm
ad_dicendum) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-01-30 11:40 pm
† equipped for oratory with every advantage of nature or training
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Inn and around the village
WHEN: January 30
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: None so far
STATUS: Open!
Even after what must be a month or so here, Gaius has not yet grown used to being so completely unable to express himself to most people in this place. He'd been raised from childhood to be a man who would sweep the people of Rome before him with education, eloquence, argument. Even the men who'd hated him had admitted he was the finest speaker in Rome. Even when the people had turned from him to his enemies, it was because they had out-promised him, never because they had outspoken him.
Yet here, every morning he wakes into a world in which the barest handful of people can understand the slightest thing he says. Many of them have never even been introduced, because neither of them knows how to do so, save by baldly stating their names, which is hardly much of an introduction.
He's expecting it to be the same today when he dons his strange blue clothes and goes downstairs to the main room of the Inn for breakfast.
Except that when he hears someone call out a greeting, he understands that it means salve.
Gaius pauses, mid-step, and turns, his hand pressed to one side of his chest where the sweep of a toga would be, and listens. And finds that he can understand every word of English as though it were perfect Latin.
When he next sees one of the residents, he pauses, nods, and says, "Good morning."
The words sound strange in his voice, and he doesn't sound like the others, his accent thick and rolling, but he can speak English.
When he goes out, later that day, the black wool not-quite-cloak wrapped around him, he pauses to greet the people he passes on his way through the village. Not just with a nod, which has been usual for him up to now, but with the greeting of their own people in their own language.
He's got a lot of lost time getting to know these people to make up for.
WHERE: The Inn and around the village
WHEN: January 30
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: None so far
STATUS: Open!
Even after what must be a month or so here, Gaius has not yet grown used to being so completely unable to express himself to most people in this place. He'd been raised from childhood to be a man who would sweep the people of Rome before him with education, eloquence, argument. Even the men who'd hated him had admitted he was the finest speaker in Rome. Even when the people had turned from him to his enemies, it was because they had out-promised him, never because they had outspoken him.
Yet here, every morning he wakes into a world in which the barest handful of people can understand the slightest thing he says. Many of them have never even been introduced, because neither of them knows how to do so, save by baldly stating their names, which is hardly much of an introduction.
He's expecting it to be the same today when he dons his strange blue clothes and goes downstairs to the main room of the Inn for breakfast.
Except that when he hears someone call out a greeting, he understands that it means salve.
Gaius pauses, mid-step, and turns, his hand pressed to one side of his chest where the sweep of a toga would be, and listens. And finds that he can understand every word of English as though it were perfect Latin.
When he next sees one of the residents, he pauses, nods, and says, "Good morning."
The words sound strange in his voice, and he doesn't sound like the others, his accent thick and rolling, but he can speak English.
When he goes out, later that day, the black wool not-quite-cloak wrapped around him, he pauses to greet the people he passes on his way through the village. Not just with a nod, which has been usual for him up to now, but with the greeting of their own people in their own language.
He's got a lot of lost time getting to know these people to make up for.
inn;
He hears someone head towards the main room and his reaction is automated, a quiet murmur of 'good morning' like when the children file in for their flyers and food. He doesn't think much about it, though it's enough to snap him out of the fire and to actually continue what he was doing, when the other says good morning back.
Strange. Credence doesn't recognize the voice. He doesn't talk to many people but he's always there, watching and listening. He turns his head, and--
--No. It couldn't possibly be the Roman.
Credence squints.
"Sir?" He asks, quiet and cautiously.
There's no way.
no subject
So when Credence says something that he now knows is an expression of deference and respect, Gracchus simple nods back to him.
"Good morning," he repeats. The young man had been staring into the fire, and probably hadn't seen who it was that was speaking to him until he turned.
"I appear to be able to speak your language this morning."
It is an occurrence that seems to be impossible, but this gift from the gods is not something he is going to question. The gods have smiled on him.