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Ares followed Calintha's lead toward the man driving the ox, eying the people as they scampered away. Were they afraid? Were they going for reinforcements? Either way, she felt more comfortable going to the cart driver. He was holding switches, she was holding switches -- hey, look, common ground.

The language they were speaking was unfamiliar, and Ares wasn't sure how useful Calintha's attempts would be. She kept a hold of her switches and then whispered, "Show him our sign. Maybe he will understand that." Her smile was not as delicate as Calintha's; it was hardly a smile at all.

Ares was looking at the man like he was some sort of alien, which -- in a way -- he was. And then at the ox. She hadn't seen a real-live ox in a long time. Then again... this wasn't a real live ox either, was it?

They hadn't seen Delphine either, and Damon glanced towards the town, silently agreeing with Ares' opinion to head down there. They were all from Destiny City apparently, so perhaps he would find his sister there. Better yet, he could find the family of the tree baby.

He glanced towards the building with an axe, wondering if that meant they were blacksmiths. Perhaps they would know Montrose or whoever the baby belonged to. It was better to ask, but the couple had just fled, shouting in an unknown language. Perhaps the locals did not speak English at all, which would be a barrier.

Still, he followed Calintha and Ares to the wagon driver, keeping a distance away from them. If the man didn't seem to speak English or anything, maybe he would just go in the axe building to find someone who did. "I don't suppose," he said to the baby, "you would say or do anything to help."

Sailor Thuban followed where Damon and the tree baby had gone, keeping near the shadow of their steps. Thuban stayed out of the conversation Calintha and Ares were trying to have with the ox-driver. He was not a people person. Damon, he got the impression, was also not a people person. They could be not people people together.

The axe over the door certainly wasn't the Montrose crest (if it was a crest) they'd seen before -- but an axe could certainly be a woodcutter. Perhaps the shopkeeper would know the Montrose family. "Damon," he nudged the other boy. "After we talk to this guy, we should try in the shop."

Thuban wandered over to the fountain while he waited, to take a look at it. This was not because he felt awkward in this strange motley group situation. It was not because he felt self-conscious about his ability to function as a team player.

Definitely not. He just happened to want to look at the fountain.

Marx frowns a bit when he notices that, again, the people in those weird (well, weirder) clothes run off from them all. Just like that guy in the forest had vanished on them. The village, town, city, whatever you chose to call it, still looked quiet enough if that detail was ignored though. And quiet doesn't really mean helpful, darn.

Thinking it over for a second or so, he walks off to follow the girl who had tried threatening them all with a handful of sticks, and the other girl in normal clothing. Leave Arsinoe to group up with someone else if he so chose. And the man with the ox id look relatively safe. If the animal is dirty looking and, well, big.

Calintha smiled at the Wagon driver. It seemed he had at least understood what language they were speaking, which was nice. After a moment of thought, she decided to ask the wagon driver a question. "Can you help us?" She didn't know exactly what to ask for help on, but if the man could understand them long enough to show them where to go.

Her eyes wandered a bit, looking for where the two yelling townsfolk had gone. She was still hoping it might have been good, but Calintha didn't hold high hopes. They way they had looked at the group of strangers had not seemed particularly nice.

Calintha turned her eyes once more to the wagon driver, eyes pleading. If anyone could help them, she was sure that he could. He seemed amicable enough, considering he had attempted to talk to them in the first place. She hoped he would understand the word help, at least.

As everyone filtered into the town, Sailor Ares let her eyes stray briefly to the others before flicking back to the wagon driver. Damon and another boy were standing near them too. Calintha had tried to ask the driver a question, and he responded with more burbles from another language. She vaguely thought she understood the last word, but it didn't make sense to her. What did England matter? Maybe it was "in gland" or "angling" or... a Romanian word that her mind was trying to force into English. Either way, she wasn't sure what to make of it, and in an odd turn of events, Calintha seemed determined to be the one to lead the talking points.

This was just as well. Ares preferred action.

While Calintha bothered with another question (was there a point?), Ares turned to Damon. "Bring the baby here for him to see. It's making... baby noises." Maybe showing him the baby would inspire some kind of trust? They had the same bizarre eyes, and if the sign hadn't mattered, maybe the breathing and burbling nightmare baby would.

Ares had never understood Tartaros particularly well, but she knew it was full of tricks and games. If this was a game, she wanted to win it. The first step would be getting her foot in the door. Hopefully, it was the door that didn't lead to certain doom.

Marx frowned a bit at hearing more of the gibberish again. Rather than asking anything, like the other normally-clad person there with him, he decided to tell the man something instead. "We're not from around here, stop staring at us like we're the freaks already." Sure, that kind of comment wouldn't earn him any points, if the man even understood him. But really, staring wasn't getting any more welcome for him in this place.

It was strange that Valleriite hadn't caught up with them, come to think of it: hadn't they just come down the hill into this square? It hadn't been very far, had it? No, it hadn't. The hill was right there.

Night was falling, though. The sun was low in the sky. And the treeline was not far, like a black line of advancing soldiers.

Lieutenant Valleriite was gone.

[Lieutenant Valleriite has been eliminated from Tartaros due to inactivity under the 24-hour posting requirements. She will fall into a deeper coma for the duration of Tartaros, and wake up at the conclusion of the plotline. Please PM me if there are any questions.]

The wagon driver looked at the baby for a moment or two, and his brow furrowed in an unreadable expression as his eyes flickered away; then he shook his head, as if to say I don't know whose that is, or I can't take the child, or something along those lines. It was possible. The two didn't look anything alike, apart from their eyes. He addressed Calintha next, who he seemed friendliest to:

"England," he said again in his thick accent, shaking his head. "England. England." Once again, shaking his head.

Apparently he was indicating that was the only thing he knew how to say -- or something along those lines? It was hard to say, as then he said with a frown, and another shake of his head, "Haka. Haka."

Unfortunately, they still didn't speak his language. The ox, which was tubby and complacent-looking, snorted once and flicked one of its ears, as if impatient to unload its cargo.

The coins were rusty and a little grimy, but not hard to gather up in Sailor Thuban's hands. He'd have to think of somewhere to carry them, though.

The voices, on the other hand, were approaching on the path, not incredibly quickly but fast enough that they'd arrive soon. They were speaking, unsurprisingly, in that same incomprehensible Slavic language, but by the sound of them they weren't a lynch mob -- they were a group of men, somewhat out of breath and relatively cheerful-sounding. They'd arrive shortly.

Dusk was drawing near to night.