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 Posted: Sun Mar 18, 2012 7:41 pm
"Hunger is a very serious thing," said Fritz as seriously as he could manage - though his eyes were glinting teasingly, and the smile he gave her was amused.
He set his own menu down and peered across the table at Lene's, trying to read the words upside down. "French onion soup does sound appetizing," he agreed musingly, and then leaned back, taking up his own menu once more and skimming over a few of the choices. "Though carmelized onions don't sound...quite as good, I will admit," he added with a laugh, shaking his head. Red hair fell across his freckled cheeks, and Fritz pushed it aside, eyeing the food. "And ratatouille reminds me of the movie."
Snapping the menu smartly shut, Fritz crossed one leg over the other and linked his fingers together, smiling at Lene.
"They are," he said agreeably. "I took French, but I'm afraid I'm not quite as good as I was supposed to have been at it. Four years, and all I can say is comment allez-vous, ferme la bouche and J'ai une cieste - and I don't even know if the last is right."
One brow lifted, Fritz tilting his head. "I've never thought about Swedish, though," he said with interest. "Any particular reason for that language, or just because you like it?"
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2012 10:07 am
"What! But caramelized onions are the best!" Lene's shocked face was actually sincere this time around. "They're all mushy and gooey and... kinda mellow... I guess that doesn't sound super appetizing when you say it..." Lene frowned, genuinely distressed by her inability to communicate to Fritz how freaking delicious caramelized onions were. Then she sat back in her chair with a shrug and gave him a crooked smile. "Ah well. Trust me and give 'em a try some other time."
He'd made his decision at any rate, and the waiter came by and took their orders with hardly a word and a somewhat befuddled smile just as Fritz demonstrated the extent of his French. "I honestly have no idea what you just said in either case, you're doing pretty good by American standards," said Lene, and she wondered if the waiter's strange smile was because he did. "My friend once taught me je ne suis pas une moto, which I think is supposed to mean 'I am not a motorcycle.'"
"It's my father's first language, Swedish," she said, prodding at an icecube in her waterglass with her straw. "Even though he was born here, his parents were both from Sweden and it was the only thing they spoke at home. So he learned English entirely outside his home. Which is really weird, because they speak English just fine. I mean, granted, it's been like 45 years since then but still-"
She'd read in a book once that certain nuances of a foreign language were forever lost on people who didn't learn it as children, and for a while Lene had been mad at him in an irrational, teenage sort of way for not teaching her when she was little. As though he'd deprived her of it purposefully, didn't want her to have something that came to him utterly naturally. But it occurred to her now how isolated her mother would've been in a household that could lapse suddenly into another world where she couldn't follow - linguistically, anyway.
Lene blinked, reemerging from her thoughts. "Oh. That was weird. I'm sorry. You didn't ask for my father's life story, heh. S- sorry."
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Posted: Tue Apr 17, 2012 4:30 pm
"I think it's the caramel part of 'caramelized onions,'" said Fritz with a laugh, shaking his head. "I just don't think something as sweet as caramel should be with something as...not sweet...as onions."
Her shocked face was actually rather adorable, and Fritz had to suppress the desire to grin, instead looking back down at his menu, scanning around again just in case there was anything he had missed. But the French onion soup had sounded just as good as it had a moment ago, and he set down the menu once more, reclining back comfortably in his seat.
"Well," he said seriously. "And here I was, wondering this entire time if you were a motorcycle. Now, however, I have been enlightened by your delightful French and am no longer questioning."
Fritz held the solemn expression for as long as he could before it broke, amusement clearly evident in his bright green eyes. He laughed aloud, shaking his head, and pushed his menu to the side of the table so the waitress would see it. She came by and collected them - as well as their orders - and Fritz and Lene were left alone once more.
He lifted a brow. "Swedish? That's rather interesting," he said sincerely. "I'm afraid being from England is as 'exotic' as I get when it comes to countries - and we don't even have a different language. Well," he amended, tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you count cockney - which a lot of people do, since it can be quite unusual in how its spoken."
Taking a sip of his water, Fritz setting his elbows on the table, fingers interlocked and his chin resting atop them. He smiled warmly at Lene and said, "I may not have asked for it, but I did enjoy listening to it quite a bit. You're a very interesting person, you know."
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