He would, of course. If Schörl required it, he'd carve the Swedish language into his miserable brain.
But if she didn't require it, Quartz wasn't going to go to the effort of learning a whole language just to talk to the same man that Quartz already knew only spoke about five words a day anyway. He'd have to get a lot chattier than that to make it worth Quartz's while.
Practiced fingers smoothed over the length of Aue's arm, testing at muscles and ligaments.
"Then again, i'm not sure this is a sane conversation either, if you're Swedishing at me that you're planning to go back into the ring looking like this," he muttered. "I'll go with you to the med tent, I guarantee no one in there is going to understand or appreciate your artificial language barrier." He shook his head, absently loosening a strained-taut muscle in Aue' upper arm. "Maybe I can tell them you hit your head in the match and now you have xenoglossia. Maybe they'll bar you from continuing like they should."
Syrie
