Jun 05 14:45:44 108 PA - Another New Meeting, the Landing Strip
From Chronicles
Jun 05 14:45:44 108 PA.
LANDING STRIP
Bartholemew is out by one of the hangars leaning against a large hovertruck, a repainted CS Skycycle sits nearby as well. Between both vehicles are a couple of buckets, the ground around the vehicles is wet. More so by the Skycycle.
Across the way, a large man is pulling an equally large bundle of items out of another large, four wheeled ATV. Despite the way that the steel plate that seems to be acting as a sled buckles a tad beneath the weight, Pavel doesn't seem to mind. Once the gear is out, he stands and starts scratching his head, gazing at the open vehicle. "Interesno, kakoi' nazhmite knopku," come out some words in a monotone, the vowels odd, the consonants smooth, and the 'r's rolled.
Bartholemew fires up a cigar, and then grabs a bottle from the bed of the truck to take a swig as he looks across the back of his vehicle to notice the other man unloading his vehicle. The strange words seem to catch his attention more than anything. "Havin some trouble guy?" calling over in a friendly sort of way.
A neck is swiveled toward the oncoming man, the face with a large smile, but disgruntled eyes. He points to the vehicle and pantomimes a closing motion. After gesturing to his throat and mouth, he manages to grind out in horribly accented, barely-English, "Ees maheen, no. Galvin. Need.. need clohs." With a mildly embarrassed smile, he gestures with one hand toward the newcomer, the other toward the ATV. "Cahn hyelp clohs, pozhalui'sta?"
Bartholemew tilts his head slightly, "You speak Dragonese? Not sure I got that last part you tried. You need it closed?" trying to guess as to what the man said.
A large catcher's mitt is raised happily. "Da, da! Clohs, da." He pokes at the various buttons and so on on the side of the vehicle. "I do noht knoh good vit tyechnology. Very bahd." He shrugs and taps at his head. "Glupyi?" Then steps out of the way, apparently hoping that the other man can assist.
Bartholemew steps over and takes a look at the situation, and taps a few buttons and closed the door is. "There ya go buddy. All set." then turns back to the man with a smile and a puff of smoke blown over his head, "My names Bart, you workin for Galvin?"
The big man just smiles. "Spasibo! I Pavel. Noht vork vit Galvin, Galvin neece, geeve me plahce poot theengs." Pavel then turns inwardly for a moment before forcing out, "Ees good meet, Bart. Spasibo. Vahry bahd vit tyechnology." He gestures toward his things, which are only partially covered by a heavy tarp. Scrap metal, various hammers, other items, mostly metal with a few wood-handled hammers and such.
Bartholemew grins looking over the bunch of scrap, "This what ya do for a livin, deal in scrap metal?" gesturing to the junk as far as he's concerned, giving a slight chuckle, "In a way I deal in junk too. That’s how I met Galvin, he usually does all my repairs."
A large shake of his head. "Nyet, nyet. Yoos mehtal, noht... deal?" Pavel grinds out the last word as if it's foreign. Or, more foreign. "Mahk theengs vit mehtal, no.. deal? Deal. Ees buy, syel? Pavel, nyet deal. Mahk." He looks to Bart, examining his clothing, then looks past him a bit. Then, as if in a phrase that he has taken years to perfect so that it can be understood, if nothing else, "I ahm very, sorry. Not speek Engleesh so good." He looks at the man again. "Yoo.. deal.. junk?" Clearly he looks a little dubious.
Bartholemew chuckles, "Well sorta. By the time I'm done with it, it junk. Galvin usually salvages what I destroy. I bring in more junk weapons and armor, than scrap metal. Whatcha make outta all that?"
"Da," Pavel says by way of understanding. "Yoo shoot? Merc laheek Erica? Boom, boom?" He makes the universal, one-handed symbol of a pistol being fired. Then he looks to his equipment. "I mahk.. theengs. Shohvel.. plow.. fahrm theengs. Seelvehrwar eef hahf good mehtals." He then grins somewhat proudly. "I mahk anytheeng ees mahtal. Ahny mehtal, I mahk."
Bartholemew grins pulling his cigar from clenched between his teeth, "Think you could make something that could contain a dino?" apparently finding an interest in the man's profession. "Have to be pretty strong though. Speakin of farms, you hear about the trouble out there?"
Pavel slows backwards a moment and points to Bart's various blades, most of the pointing ending with the short phrase, "I kahn mahk. Da, mahk knaheef. I kahn mahk.." he counts them off one by one, but then shakes his head. "Contain? Ees no moove? Da, I kahn maheek. Geeve mehtal, I mahk. Soft mehtal, hard mehtal, da. Good vit hammahr." He then shakes his head at the mention of farms, not even bothering to comment on them apparently. What he does ask is, "Yoo sahy Russian? Euro?"
Bartholemew shakes his head to the question, "Nah, sorry man. Dragonese yah, American yah, but that’s about it. No translator either, never thought I'd need one. So your from way over yonder, what brings you way over here? Fall through a Rift?"
"Ees, how - lohng story?. Faheef yeers, nohw. New, thees taheem from Mahgic Fehderation." All of the 'r's are thoroughly rolled as Pavel does his best to communicate. He screws his face up a little and taps the side of his skull. "Knohw Pavel sound stupeed. Noht stupeed, just noh speek good. Yoo... makh junk?" The large man seems quite interested in the concept. "Yoo mahk, Galvin takh, Pavel gyet leftohfer?"
Bartholemew nods, "Yup, that sounds bout right. I'll keep my eyes out for any metal I can find, I'll be sure to bring it by for ya. I'm lookin to catch a dinosaur, live hopefully. I'm guessin could be worth some big bucks."
Pavel smiles and holds up a hand as if to say, "Okay, hold on, get ready for this." There's a lot of thought going on behind his eyes before he says, very, very slowly - but still with odd sounding vowels and rolled 'r's - "I.. have never.. seen.. a.. dino-saur." Looking quite happy with his accomplishment, he continues in his normal method, which is apparently still more comfortable. "No daheenosaur eeh Krasny Kut, Wahrlohrd Romanov. Nyever hear of daheenosaur een Russia, or Mahgic Fedahration." A large mitt is pointed at Bart, and a question is asked. "Yoo.. merc, boom boom? Mahk beeg mehtal to small mehtal?" There's a little chuckle at that idea.
Bartholemew nods again chuckling, "Yeah, then I buy back the things made with the scrap I bring back. Kinda keeps the cycle going eh?" puffing a bit more on his cigar to get it going again, then finishing off his beer, "Well, I gotta get back to work, gotta finish cleaning the big truck now and put the bike away. I'm sure I'll see ya round if ya hang with Galvin. Good meetin ya."
"Ah, I see ohther teem, mahybe? Be good, da. Hahf good day, Bart. Spasibo for help." Pavel then turns and starts to drag his sled out of the Landing Strip.
