A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

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A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

Post by Guest on Sun Mar 31, 2013 3:51 pm

"Non riesco a credere che sto dormendo in una baracca con Dio solo sa quante persone! Non c'è spazio per me, sconosciuti...Preferisco essere un abusivo di nuovo!" the long Italian sentence was said with anger and frustration as Dante looked at the barrack of the Fourth Cohort. There had never been a time when the boy had to share a living area like this, and it frightened and upset him. No one here would understand the paranoia...why he would probably spend most of his nights curled up against the head of his bed, knees tight to his chest, muttering in Italian, eyes open wide, darting everywhere around him. The thought made Dante anxious just thinking about it. He didn't like it...not at all. "Che cosa hanno intenzione di fare per te, amico mio? Un mistero irrisolvibile, un caso indecifrabile. Saranno in grado di entrare, o buttare fuori?" the boy murmured, looking at the door to the barrack. Having live in Firenze for six months, Dante had picked up on Italian pretty quickly. Sure, a lot of shop owners and bus drivers in the city knew a good about of English, but Dante had lived on the outskirts of the central point of the city in a relatively poor neighborhood where no one spoke English. He worked at a corner pasticceria where none of the other workers spoke English, not did any of the customers. Dante hadn't had much of a choice other than to pick up the Italian language...and fast. He had always heard that immersion worked best for learning new languages...when he was in high school, the boy had attempted French, and failed beyond miserably. Italian had come pretty easily in the "do or die" situation.

Even now, back in America, Dante preferred Italian. Obviously he couldn't do that when he had been working at Starbucks, and the boy highly doubted anyone here could speak it (though there had been a much shorter boy wearing makeup, stomping past Dante earlier and muttering angrily in a language that sounded like it had quite a bit in common with Italian. Latin, perhaps? That would make sense.) That was right before Dante had met Jack, one of the most intriguing people the boy had ever met. Handsome, but with a prominent scar on his left cheekbone...a strange mystery that Dante couldn't help but wonder about. A secret that was being kept from him and him alone...that Dante would work to find out about. Jack had attempted to be nice to the taller boy, said some things about a claiming, his mother Venus...some other stuff, and basically, all Dante had said in return was, "La tua cicatrice, il mio amico. Chi avrebbe fatto male un uomo si estende una mano?" and it didn't even matter because Jack obviously didn't know Italian. Maybe it was better that way. Since that, Dante had been watching Jack, not even hiding in the shadows. The boy just tended to blend in, become a part of his surroundings. No one really noticed the tall and mostly silent boy sitting around, eyes darting every which way to make sure he wasn't being watched or followed. Unless he was observing someone or something. And Jack was someone fascinating. It was one of those rare times where Dante had his eyes on someone...who had their eyes on someone else. It was fascinating to Dante how Jack watched the small boy wearing makeup. There was something in his eyes Dante had never really seen before.

No more of that, though...the barrack. "Basta, basta...devo incontrare il mio destino..." looking above the doorframe Dante whispered, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate..." the most famous words ever written by Dante Alighieri, possibly the boy's namesake (though he suspected he'd never really know). When it came to Alighieri, Dante rarely bothered with English, even though the older form of Italian was harder to get through. With a sigh, the boy pushed open the door and looked around. The barrack looked just as he suspected it would, and he didn't like it at all. There was one other person in the building, a very short boy, though by his face, he appeared to be around Dante's age. The other boy seemed pretty occupied, sitting on his bed, fiddling with something. Completely ignoring him, Dante walked past with his backpack hanging off of one shoulder and his messenger bag hanging from the other. "Dove dormire segreto? Dove osservare?" the boy mumbled, looking around. He finally spotted a bed in the back corner. The lower bunk had obviously been claimed, but the upper bunk hadn't. Which was absolutely perfect. Dante could spend his time sitting up there, staying secret and observing the rest of the Fourth Cohort at the same time. There was even a window nearby where the boy could watch other campers. If he had been a past incarnation of himself, Dante would have smiled with excitement. But it was so rare the boy smiled these days...most of the time he wasn't even sure how to. "Imparerò. Imparerò, vivrò, morirò," the boy gave a slight nod of the head to any deity that may have been watching.

To die..."Morire," Dante wasn't especially morbid or obsessed with death...perhaps a little, as he had done so much research into La Divina Commedia. But everything was different now. While in Firenze, Dante had come across quite a few books, written in very early Italian, all about Roman mythology. He had studied those quite thoroughly, though he didn't know why. At first he had convinced himself it was all just to get a handle on earlier forms of Italian, but as he had read through the volumes, a lot of things clicked in his head. Now it made sense, as all that was...his history in a way, he supposed. "Se la storia si ripete, dove andiamo?" Dante sighed before scribbling down the question in his notebook. To the Underworld? To Pluto's realm? If souls were trapped there, how did people repeat history? "La tradizione orale, storie, folclore, mitologia. Mitologia," he murmured, writing the words he had just spoken under the scribbled question. The repeated 'Mitologia' underlined for emphasis. Looking up and around Dante noticed the short boy was no longer on his bed. Odd, the boy hadn't heard the door open. Though...he wasn't exactly paying attention. Eyes narrowed for a moment, Dante listened closely before tilting his head and looking down. Looking up at him was the small boy. He was a bit strange looking, braided hair and all, but honestly, Dante had seen much stranger in Firenze. Shutting his eyes tight and scuffling back until his back hit the wall, Dante pulled his long legs up to his chest. "Piccolo uomo, andare via, io non sono più qui per strappare a brandelli..." he begged, barely above a whisper, as if to will his fellow Legionnaire away.

((Hi! I'm Google Translate! I kind of suck and may give you odd translations, but Zoé uses me! Good luck!))


Last edited by Elijah Emmanual on Sun Mar 31, 2013 9:53 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Better Speech Color?)

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Re: A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

Post by Guest on Tue Apr 02, 2013 8:15 am

Gimlar was tired.. He had been working in the forges again for 2 days straight. There had been another person enlisted to the Legion. So Gimlar had made a new armor for the person, even though he had never seen him. All the Legacy knew were the measurements of the boy. Out of that he had to make a complete armor.. It was not a single problem, but the boy also didn't come to pick it up. And checking all the baracks was too tiresome and most of all, useless, because Gimlar didn't know everyone in Camp Jupiter. Thanks to being a blacksmith, Gimlar was not able to practice with the other members of his Cohort. All he did with his cohort was sleep and eat.. If his work allowed him to do that. Being a child of the Marlic-family also means, you can craft the best weapons of the Legion. That was his family trade and his honor as a Legacy of Vulcan. If you found yourself a weapon in the armory with the Marlic familycrest on it, you found yourself a weapon that sturdier, sharper and stronger then any other weapon among the smiths. There were no known kids of Vulcan, so the Marlic Family was famous for being the best smiths in Camp Jupiter.

That also meant that requests for weapons and armor came directly to Gimlar. And he didn't mind at all. He was a proud member of the Marlic family (and the only remaining member). He got even prouder when the great God Vulcan claimed Gimlar as his Legacy, with a magical ring as a gift. Thanks to his ring, his hands and parts of his arms didn't get burned again, as long as he was wearing the ring. And he always did. Ever since his claiming, he barely took the ring of his fingers. And Gimlar had been experimenting with it quite a lot. It seemed that there was a aura of protection against heat around the ring. And when wearing it on one hand, that same aura apeared on his other hand. But when he took the ring of, the aura disappeared. With the aura on both hands, he also seemed to be able to protect other bodyparts. He could not stretch out the aura at all, but if he put his hand on the bodypart he wanted to protect, it would be protected. Objects and materials were not protected though.. He could still burn his clothes on fire and get hurt from it. Too bad he came to that conclusion thanks to a little accident while actually working.. When he put out the fire with his protected hands, his skin didn't get hurt, but his clothes burned to ashes..

Anyways, that happened days ago. Right now Gimlar sat down on his bed, playing with a stone that could stay hot for days after heating. He had brought it from the forges, to play with it.. When he would go to sleep, he would cool it down. He could see a new person walk into the Barack. Since Gimlar barely was in the Baracks, this guy could have been anyone from his Cohort. The boy was around 6ft and looked at everybody with a scared look on his face.. The boy found himself a empty bed and sat down, mumbling something in another language and writing things down in some book.. When Gimlar walked towards the bed, the boy looked down the bed. He seemed to have heard the Legacy getting closer.. The new guy said something in that language again, while moving backwards into, what people call, a save position to sit in is you are really scared.. So Gimlar decided not to scare the boy any further. He stood still, and said with a calm and open voice, “I'm sorry. Am I interupting you? I just wanted to introduce myself to you, since I have never seen you before.” He said with a warm smile.

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Re: A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

Post by Guest on Fri Apr 05, 2013 7:17 pm

A paranoia that went as deep into one's being as Dante's did always sacrificed something. Right now, it was his ability to fully comprehend English. Which was pretty frightening in itself...after all, English was the boy's native tongue. He hadn't spoken anything else until he moved to Firenze and learned. High school French didn't count. Dante barely remembered any of it...he had always been taller than his classmates and it was pretty easy to take peeks over their shoulders and make it look like he was thinking. Toccare il cielo...she would always say wistfully. Vorrei poter toccare il cielo, dove vivono gli Dei. She always said Gods as if she knew something Dante didn't. Dei, Dante would scoff with a laugh. Io non credo in Dei. Io non credo in un solo Dio. Qual è la parola per Atheist, Beatrice? A quizzical look. Qualcuno che non crede in molti Dei. O in un solo Dio. O in qualsiasi cosa. Qualcuno che non crede. A moment's pause...a sad look. Qualcuno che non crede in una divinità è un ateo, Dante. Qualcuno che crede in niente è niente. The memories distracted Dante from the fact that he was trying to hide in a space where he never would be able to. Of course, so memory could last before turning into a nightmare.

"Sono morto!" Dante exclaimed in a whisper, his eyes shut tight. "Sono morto e questo è la mia punizione per aver creduto in niente! E 'questo l'inferno? Se questo è l'inferno, non è inferno Aligheiri di...suppongo che sono nel mio inferno...vagando sui miei stessi tra credenti in Dio!" shallow, shaky breath. Nothing could help, there was nothing left to do except pray to the one thing he had ever truly believed in. Rather...the one person. "Beatrice...Io non so se tu fossi mortale o Dea...hai chiesto perché io non credo...mi dispiace ho lasciato, il mio amico. Non so quello che è stato dato dal destino, ma forse puoi sentirmi ora. Mi potete aiutare ora, Beatrice? Mi senti ora?" shaking, Dante opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the ceiling. No one was going to answer him, not Beatrice, no God or Goddess, whoever or whatever was up there. If there was anyone or anything, anyway. If Dante wasn't already in Hell. "Ti prego, Beatrice. So di aver fatto degli errori...non c'è la possibilità di pentirsi? Perché non mi aiuti, Beatrice? Perché non mi mandi un segno?" Though Dante knew somehow...the girl with the sun in her hair was gone. Perhaps she had disappeared when he had. "Ma Beatrice...se sei scomparso quando l'ho fatto...dove sei adesso?"

A bright flash. Dante shut his eyes and felt his body relaxed. He knew these moments...a memory that he wouldn't be able to stop. One he'd have to painfully relived. Beatrice...se dovessi lasciare, dovreste stare qui ad aspettare il mio ritorno? A laugh. Oh, Dante! Che cosa potrebbe tenere una donna come me al suo posto? Ho vissuto tutta Firenze tutta la mia vita...forse sei l'unica ragione per cui sono ancora! A question, filled with fear. Che cosa vuoi dire con questo, Beatrice? Che cosa succede se ho dovuto lasciare? Che cosa devo tornare a quando sono tornato? Un appartamento vuoto e una fontana senz'acqua? A moment of silence. Then another moment. Dante couldn't remember how long it had lasted, or what had happened. But Beatrice had taken Dante's face in her hands, looked him in the eyes, and spoken to him very seriously. Dante, amico mio. Non sarà sempre bisogno di me il tuo modo di fare ora. Forse il mondo è diverso di quanto possiate immaginare. Forse sono qui solo perché tu sei qui. E forse quando si esce, non voglio più stare qui. Tu non sai chi sei, Dante. Un giorno si trova fuori, e vi ricorderete le cose che dico a voi. Ma per ora, amico mio, io sono qui. Tu sei qui. Non dobbiamo guardare al futuro, ma godere il presente. Dante had attempted to speak, but Beatrice had cut him off quickly. Il mercato sarà aperto al più presto. Dobbiamo andare adesso in modo che possiamo trovare il prodotto buono.

The marketplace...it faded. Dante opened his eyes to find himself backed against the wall, knees pulled tight to his chest. The small man was looking up at him, and had said something. Blinking, the tall boy tried to think. What had the other said to him? Dante had definitely heard and processed something, but with the memories resurfacing...Beatrice's face so clearly in front of his own...so close he could touch. What had she meant by anything she had said? "Beatrice...perché i tuoi enigmi continuano a perseguitarmi?" Dante whispered. He looked down to the small boy, starting to remember what he had said. "Not interrupting, no," Dante finally said softly. "I apologize. Changes are often difficult for me. It was very kind of you to come over," his tone was quiet and his voice quivered with fear. The boy's eyes kept opening and closing, almost as if wishing he or the other would disappear. "Tell me," Dante took a deep breath, forgetting the fact that he didn't even know this boy's name. "These Gods that everyone speaks of...do you believe in them? That they are here and watching? Have you seen any of them? The great and terrible Gods and Goddesses of Rome...I have always wondered what they look like."

((Remember me, your friend Google Translate? You're really going to need me for that mess! Good luck!))

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Re: A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

Post by Guest on Fri Apr 12, 2013 3:03 pm

The new guy spoke something in a foreign language again. Something with Beatrice, or at least, that is what the Legacy thought he said.. But Gimlar didn't understand a word of it.. He didn't speak Italian, in fact.. He could not even speak Latin.. Of course, he picked up a few words, but thats about it.. Most of the Roman demigods could speak Latin quite good.. The children of Venus could also speak French, but Gimlar, who was a acient Legacy could speak neighter.. All the boy could speak was English.. So whatever the new boy said, Gimlar just hoped it wasn't anything bad about him.. Some of the demigods had done that, back when the original Camp Jupiter was still used. They would speak Latin to each other, talking back about the small Legacy.. But Gimlar always thought, 'Well.. at least I have a father and a mother I can see daily, in stead of never.'. The smith could be quite mean when it came to demigods.. He used to be at least, when his father and mother still lived. But ever since he discovered their rotting bodies in their home, in the REAL Camp Jupiter, he understood the pain of missing your parents.. So he decided never to be rude again about that.. Maybe this new person from Gimlar's cohort had that same problem.. Gimlar decided to ask that one day. But not today.

New Guy decided to speak in English to Gimlar. He said that the Legacy wasn't interupting and apologized.. Changes were difficult for him. Gimlar smiled.. “I know how hard changes can be... But maybe not as much as you.. But its ok!", he said. The way the boy acted, seemed strange to Gimlar. That was until the boy asked about the Gods.. “They are alive.. They are real and watching over us.. Jupiter, our greatest God, rules them. Mars, the God of War, is the second highest God.. He is the God of War.. Bellona, his sister, is the Goddess of War and also one of the important Gods.. And there are so much more! And believe me, I have seen a fair share of Gods.. I was born among demigods and Legacies. I have lived 16 of my 18 years in Camp Jupiter.. My friends got claimed by their parents, my enemies as well.. And I witnessed quite a few claimings, even when I was walking around randomly. And just a few months ago, I witnessed my first claiming since I am back in Camp. Somnus, the God of Sleep, claimed Robin. He is from our cohort, so you might see him around a few times. He sleeps over there”, Gimlar said, pointing to the bed Robin usually slept in, if the boy wasn't sleeping or hunting spiders. “Never look at his watch. It is magical and can put people asleep.. Only do that if you can't sleep at all..” Gimlar played with the stone in his hands... Suddenly he realized he could show the boy something. He smiled.

“Let me tell you who it is you are talking to. I, am Gimlar Marlic, Legacy of Vulcan Libens. When the God Vulcan, the God of Fire, Vulcanoes and Forges claimed me, he gave this ring.” He showed the new guy the silver ring with the stone, glowing like fire. “It protects my hands and arms from heat. As long as I wear this ring, I will not get burned at all.” Gimlar held Jack up in the air so the boy could see it. “This stone is really hot.. You can see the heat coming from the stone right? But you can look at my hands, they are not burned even though I am holding it for some time already.” He put the stone in his other hand and held the other hand in front of the boy. “See? No burnmarks!” Looking around Gimlar looked for something... He found a old sock that had been laying under a bed. He ran towards it and put Jack inside it.. Instantly, the sock caught fire. Gimlar held the sock in his two hands, letting it burn totally.. The barack started to smell bad, but not too bad to leave.. Gimlar was also quite lucky to stand next to a open window, so the smell would go away real soon. “Do you think, that without the Gods, this would be possible? That I would be able to hold this with just my bare hands? And this is just a simple example.. Thanks to Vulcan we are able to cook our dinners, make weapons made of metals. There are soo many Gods, each with their own thing they do.. Apollo, God of the Sun, Poetry and Medicine.. Neptune, the watergod.. Venus, Goddess of Love. Cupid, who is a really well known God among mortals because of Valentinesday, is the son of Venus and Mars.. Do I need to go on?”, Gimlar suddenly said that last part, while looking at Dante. He had been ranting again.. As usual..

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Re: A Tall Man and a Short Man Don't Always Make a Funny Joke ((Gimlar Marlic))

Post by Guest on Sat Apr 13, 2013 11:58 am

Breathing...breathing heavily and hard. But breathing. A moment of lucidity...hearing the short boy's words. Dante frowned deeper. Murmuring softly to himself, Dante shifted closer to the wall, staring at the small man with anger and suspicion. "Dice di sapere degli Dei...questa è una bugia! Le sue parole sono piene di falsità, parla come se sapesse...ma le sue fonti erano false. Se gli Dei sono reali e guardando, dubito che il piacere di ascoltare quello che dice. Devo lasciarlo continuare, o dirgli che mi sta giocando per uno sciocco?" a soft voice in his ear. A soft, familiar voice. Tu sei così gentile, Dante...ma essere feroce quando sarà il momento. Non lasciare che la gente scappare con i fatti o atti che sapete essere sbagliata! Devi parlare, Dante, amico mio! Siete qui per fare il bene, di non lasciare che gli altri farla franca sbagliato. Fare ciò che è necessario per fare il bene, Dante. A strange sort of attempt at a laugh escaped Dante's lips. He did not like the way this boy spoke. The tall boy had read a lot of Roman mythology while he was in Firenze. He knew plenty of the Gods, their names, what they governed, how they connected. This short boy knew nothing. Beatrice said that Dante was kind. But he wasn't any longer. The short time spent in New York City between Firenze and Camp Jupiter had hardened him. Nothing got through, nothing got out. Italian came easiest to the boy, but he was sure he could form the words in English. Either the short boy had learned incorrectly or was playing Dante for a fool. And either way, Dante would not allow that. "Tu non conosci il significato del cambiamento!" Dante snarled. If not for the fright of moving, the boy would have left right then. This odd little man knew nothing and was greatly offensive! He either thought he was funny...or completed clueless. And Dante wanted nothing to do with any of that. He stared for another moment, finding the words that would work best in English.

"I may be a lot of things, but I am not a fool. It's a shame you take me as one, and I really don't appreciate it," Dante finally said, his voice colder than ice. "Or perhaps you just don't know any better," even speaking in English, the boy had traces of an Italian accent. He was not Italian, not that he knew. But Firenze was still his home. "I have spent much time learning of ancient Roman religion. What they learned from the Greeks. You say you know of these things, you have lived these things, but you know nothing of what you say," Dante wasn't aware of how harsh his tone was, so sharp it could cut steel. "Jupiter, , he is the greatest, the king of the Gods. But Mars is not near to being the second greatest. The world we know is split, is it not? The Heavens and air, the mighty oceans, and the ground that burrows to Tartaro. War does not compare to the governing of these realms. Giove, il re del Cielo. Nettuno, dio del mare, di acqua. Plutone, Dio della terra e tutto ciò che si trova sotto di esso," shaking his head, everything felt like rock. "Are you so concerned with war that you have forgotten Neptune who rules the water and Pluto who rules the earth and all that is below? Are you playing me for a fool, or are you the fool yourself? You may have seen, but you obviously do not know. Un pazzo che continua a parlare...un pazzo che non sa quando fermarsi. Forse lascerà se gli dico di paura vera...di malevolenza...che le cose che si perdono nella notte sono così, così reale," Dante whispered the last part in Italian, wanting to scream.

With a deep breath, Dante realized how cutting his words may have been. How his terror and anger had gotten the better of him. Tu sei così gentile, Dante...the voice that drove Dante insane. "Ti sbagli, Beatrice! Io non sono un tipo più, sono diventato indurito dal tradimento e il corso della mia vita. Non più, Beatrice. Non voglio più ascoltare le tue bugie!" the boy shouted, breathing heavily before looking back to the boy looking up at him. "Bellona, a great Goddess of battle would be ashamed to hear you call her Mars's sister. She needs no one to look after her, to be compared to. A minor deity, perhaps, but one central to everything Roman, and you call her Mars's sister. Are you lying to test me, or lying to yourself?" the boy took a deep breath and looked away, ashamed of himself for the bite in his tone and angry that the small man who claimed to know...knew nothing. "L'uomo parla con una tale certezza! Deve essere un test! Non vede come suo eguale a causa delle domande che mi chiedo? Mentre guardo, per come la vedo, come I osservare, sto imparando...sto diventando un credente. E presto uno di loro si riveleranno a me. Un Dio...una dea...forse si spiegano alcune delle cose che non capisco. Eppure questo piccolo uomo mi prende in giro, mi tratta come un bambino. Io non so quello che sono, e non sa nulla di me...assume ancora non so niente affatto!" Dante muttered, his glare moving slowly from the wall to the short man. Anger had eaten his terror...anger, an emotion he had not felt in a long time.

Gimlar Marlic, Legacy of Vulcan Libens. Gimlar...what an odd name. Like something out of a fantasy novel. And Libens...Latin, perhaps. Probably, in fact. Dante stared blankly as Gimlar spoke of his ring, showed what it could do. The words were like a fly buzzing. "Gimlar Marlic," Dante finally said shortly. "You have been friendly, but your perception is skewed. You speak a false language, and I care not for your magic tricks or you trying to feed me false education of the Gods. Anger is not new to me, but you make it feel fresh. An emotion resurfacing where perhaps it should not. You speak of Cupid, but what do you know of his own lover? I do not want you to go on," taking a deep breath, Dante glanced at his hands, curled into tight fists. Another word, another phrase...taking more bites from Gimlar...a spinning world and a flash of bright light.
So che ho letto delle antiche credenze romane, Dante! Di loro Dei e Dee, il loro culto e rituali ... così mi dicono, il mio amico ... che ha benedetto il tessitore della mia sciarpa che ti amo tanto?
Stai cercando di ingannare me, Beatrice? La tua bella sciarpa! Solo una dea ha il talento e la capacità di benedire il suo creatore.
Nessun trucco, amico mio! Chi è la Dea, l'artigiana, che ha benedetto il tessitore?
Lei è Minerva! Una sciarpa così ben fatto...forse è stato ricevuto da Minerva se stessa?
Ora mi stai ingannando, Dante. Un tessitore benedetto, forse, ma non si può paragonare a Minerva se stessa! Credo che hai bisogno di continuare gli studi degli antichi romani. Non lo so, ma forse un giorno sarà tutto tornare utile!

A perfectly woven scarf...nothing but a flashback. His eyes shut tight, Dante took a shaky breath. "Oh, Beatrice...secondo voi che non lo sapevo...ma sono così sicuro che hai fatto." And the silence...had the short man taken his leave, or had Dante forgotten how to hear again?

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