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Post by Hotah:tahatan on Jun 10, 2014 5:10:23 GMT
Searching for answers had brought him here. A need to know what was happening, and a desire for revenge. Revenge on those who'd caused him to lose a place to call home. He wasn't sure if his village had survived, but everyone from the wild lands that he called home seemed to be streaming here, so surely someone here must know. He looked around seeing the peasant farmers on the outskirts. Desperately trying to make enough to feed themselves, and the others. This place was odd.
That thought stayed in his mind even as he kept walking looking about more, at least until he ended sprawled on the ground with a horse stood over him. He could barely comprehend what was being said, the rider speaking so fast that it made no sense to him. So instead he ended up staring at him in confusion, staring up at the strange angry rider, who was definitely white. It was around this point he realised that maybe he hadn't thought this out well at all.
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Post by Francis Alveston on Jun 10, 2014 17:15:18 GMT
It was his first time in New York. It was his first time in a northern colony. The sheer differences were astounding. It was more crowded. The people were noisier. Everything was dirtier. And everyone seemed to be in a constant hurry. It wasn't like that in South Carolina. The thought made him a little homesick, though just a little as he had important work to do. It was that thought that kept him going. It kept him looking for the little enjoyable things that passed by as he plodded along on his little mare.
Noticing the angle of the sun, he nudged the horse into a trot. A pleasant ride was one thing but it certainly wouldn't do to be caught out after dark by misjudging the distance of his ride or the passing of time.
Francis brought his attention back to the road in front of him as he horse suddenly shied up a bit. They seemed to have run something over. He looked down to see an Indian lying on the ground.
"Oh! My dear sir, I am so very sorry." He jumped down from his horse and looping the reins across one hand, he reached the other out to the man on the ground. "It is my fault entirely. I was looking around and admiring the great scenery - it is my first time in New York, after all - and failed to do the prudent thing in looking straight ahead. Though I do not know what you were thinking about walking down the center of the road! And weren't you paying attention at all? For God's sake, man, you could have gotten yourself killed! And then where'd we be?"
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Post by Hotah:tahatan on Jun 10, 2014 17:25:53 GMT
Hotah:tahatan blinked more in dazed confusion. At least he understood the gesture of a held out hand, that he smoothly took to pull himself to his feet with. He nodded his thanks for that even as he tried to comprehend what had been said. Something questioning.... lots of questioning. And something about God and killed. He grasped that. Then a third question and it just left his head hurting.
"I not speak white skin language good," he hesitantly stated. He was looking over at him intently, then the horse just as intently.
"Sorry," he added on quietly gazing at him more. He wasn't meaning to watch him so much but he was trying to read the body language, trying to understand what was happening. His only body language was relaxed, slightly wary and guarded but generally relaxed as he regarded him.
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Post by Francis Alveston on Jun 11, 2014 17:31:23 GMT
He helped the man up. By his broken English and apologetic nature, Francis assumed that he was lost and in need of assistance. He had seen Indians twice before. Once was in Camden. The Indian was walking down the street with the Governor. He was all feathers and buckskin and flashing eyes. The other time was the day before right there in New York. An Indian was speaking to a British officer in, what he must admit, rather excellent English. This one, however, seemed to be unfamiliar with those not of his kind. "You do not speak it well," Francis couldn't help but correct him. "And it's I'm sorry not just sorry."
He glanced back up at the sun. He was really needing to continue on his way soon.
"Are you hungry? Do you need a place to stay for the night? I'm renting the first floor of a small house right on the edge of town. It's not too far."
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Post by Hotah:tahatan on Jun 12, 2014 5:37:08 GMT
Hotah:tahatan again had to pause, to think, to concentrate as he tried to decipher what was being said. Slowly he shook his head. He didn't trust the whiteskin... even if this one seemed kind. It was likely a trap. He was hungry, and his belly gave away with a rumble. Hunting had grown harder as he'd become closer to here. Rabbit was not always the most satisfying - as much as he wished it was. Not when he'd struggled to find other items like foraged mushrooms and the like to supplement the rabbit.
He wasn't planning on staying in this crazy place though, not to sleep. He could end up with a dagger or worse at his throat. He looked over at him "...What... food?" he asked slowly.
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Post by Francis Alveston on Jun 14, 2014 16:37:48 GMT
The man seemed lost and almost like a child, particularly as his English was hardly existent. How Francis wished he could speak his language. Communication would be much easier. He tried to think of what it would be like to be alone in a world so unfamiliar and not even be able to speak the language - to not be able to communicate with the inhabitants of that world. Francis supposed that could happen if he were to ever become one of those explorers or missionaries who lived in the wild, civilizing and bettering the lives of those in it.
Did the man not know food? Francis smiled. The man was picky. "The woman of the house I'm letting has set out a remarkable meal for me, awaiting my return. Or she will have as I ordered one to be ready for me. Duck pie, alamode beef and soused hog’s face as well, and kickshaws, of course. I am certain it is more than enough for me and I am willing to share."
He clapped a hand to his head. He hadn't introduced himself! What would his parents say if they knew that he held an entire conversation with someone without any introductions whatsoever. "Oh, my. Where are my manners? Francis Alveston, at your service." He held a hand out for shaking.
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Post by Hotah:tahatan on Jun 16, 2014 6:58:40 GMT
Hotah's head tilted, focusing just on listening and trying to understand the words. The only ones he recognised was duck..... the rest he wasn't even sure what they were. "Sounds good.... if will share...." he stated. He was wary, just in case of poison but it would do him good. He figured. If only to get used to whiteman's world. Maybe he could teach him some more of their strange language.
He glanced at the offered hand unsure how to respond to that. Wait no he had seen that. It was some sort of strange greeting ritual. Slowly he'd extended his hand awkwardly taking it to shake. "Hotah:tahatan..." he offered assuming that he was meant to give his name. At least that seemed to be what was meant to happen. He wasn't totally sure though.
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Post by Francis Alveston on Jun 20, 2014 17:27:17 GMT
The walk back to town was done in silence. Francis had a hundred questions running through his mind that he was fairly itching to ask but he kept them in silence. Perhaps it would have been rude and his curiosity may not have been a fair excuse for that rudeness. But he saved them and intended to ask them later, over dinner and a few glasses of madeira.
They arrived at the house just as the meal was being set out. A large, beaming woman smiled at Francis but gave an uncertain look to Tahatan.
"It's quite alright, Mrs. Bannon. He's my guest." She nodded and left the room, evidently unconvinced.
Francis took a seat on one side of the table and gestured to one of the other chairs. "Take a seat,"he said, already digging into a great slice of duck pie. "Mrs. Bannon is a fantastic cook."
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Post by Hotah:tahatan on Jun 20, 2014 17:36:39 GMT
Hotah:tahatan had to frown at the idea of taking a seat, before he slowly mimicked the white man as he warily sat down, as if expecting it to eat him. He was watching him slowly as he dug into the duck pie, curiously he looked over at him, trying to work out what he was meant to do. It smelt good though, that was one thing he had to say, well think. The food smelt good.
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Post by Francis Alveston on Jun 23, 2014 3:46:52 GMT
Francis watched him as he slowly took a seat. Tahatan seemed hesitant. Of course, this was entirely new to him. He could have hit himself for starting on his own mean without an ounce of thought towards the comfort of his new companion. He wiped his mouth on his cloth napkin and placed it neatly alongside his plate. He pulled forward the rest of the duck pie and, using a large knife, cut a hefty piece and placed it upon a plate. He then slid the plate forward until it was sitting directly in front of Tahatan.
"Duck pie. It is one of my favorites," smiling, he picked up his fork and took a bite. "You have had ducks before, I am sure, though perhaps not in a pie." He hesitated. Perhaps Tahatan wasn't familiar with the word duck. Francis bent his elbows to form wings with his arms. "Duck. Quack, quack, quack. Duck." He did his best to imitate one and likely looked like a fool in doing so. He started laughing at the thought.
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Post by Akwiran:iate on Jun 24, 2014 15:52:44 GMT
It was a rare day indeed that Akwiran:iate strayed far from him wooded sanctuary in the forests of the Mohawk territory. Today was that rare occasion, unfortunately, so here he was in the stinking and suffocating city of New York. It was for a reasonable cause, however, that he had crossed the thresh hold of the wild and stepped onto the city's cobbled streets. It was his cousin, Tekiahonwake's wedding ceremony back home, and Tey needed to trade his furs in order to get a worthy gift for the relative. Even though the two had been adopted as god-children of two different white men when they were young - Tey by the Loyalist Leader John Butler and his cousin by the great Indian agent William Johnson - they were still very close friends, and Tey was happy to choose a worthy gift for the lately christened 'Jacob Johnson'.
Bringing his heavy pack to one of the few shops in New York that would still trade with the Mohawks, Tey set it down outside; both for the reason that he didn't like the confined space inside, and the fact that the owners preferred to do business with his kind outside anyway. It was only after a long wait for the whites to finish their business inside that the owner acknowledged the warrior standing outside his shop. he nodded through the small diamond shaped windows and sent his apprentice out to do the dealing.
The boy could not help but stare at Tey while trying to evaluate the fox, beaver, and deer pelts. the Mohawk looked down at his apparel and wondered if it was wrong for the city. deerskin leggings and a loincloth covered his bottom half along with a pair of soft moccasins, over his chest he had pulled out an old white cotton shirt usually only saved for winter cold but brought out to help him blend in a bit better. Over his left shoulder he had thrown a red broadcloth blanket with a white stripe, also used usually for winter. his hair was the same as it had ever been, plucked around the scalp save for a spot at the back where three plaits fell to his shoulder-blades and covered in bear grease. The eagle feather that usually danced happily at the back of his head now fell silent in the crowded and close air of the New York streets.
Tey snorted, not interested in the least with the way he was appraised and pointed instead at the beaver pelt the boy had been holding.
"No arrow or bullet holes. means better price." he said, trying to regain the lad's attention. "What Price?" He asked of his wares.
The boy shrunk into himself and cast his eyes down at the furs. "Ummm...I can give you 12 shillings for the lot." said he.
It was a reasonable price for the time, and Tey nodded as the boy scampered inside to collect the silver. Once he had it in his hand and his back was free of the fur packed burden, he walked to a house he remembered from a year or so back on the outskirts of the buildings, he had been there before and knew of their fair treatment of his kind, if not entirely equal with the whites. he would sleep in their stables for the night and get the gift for his cousin in the morning.
Upon approaching the house, he knocked on the door, the lady of the house opened it, wiping her hands on the white cloth around her waist. She nodded when he showed her a shilling and motioned him into the common room where more guests were dining he gazed around and noticed a fellow Iroquois sitting uncomfortably at a table with a white man, it appeared to Tey as if they were trying to communicate, and failing.
(OOC: sorry for the long post! they'll be shorter from now on!)
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