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Szczeosny actually had no idea what he had put on his tray. Some kind of weird, probably American glop. But it smelled like meat, and that was what was important right now. Brightly colored chunks of vegetables swam around in his stew awaiting removal. If they weren't pickles, they really had no business doling them out. Was it wrong of him to be unnerved by so many... vegetables?

He felt rather than heard an echo of agreement to his observations, and nearly jumped. His weapon, Irdlirvirisissong (nicknamed Piosenka for his sanity) was mostly quiet these days since he'd been awoken. He had her on a keychain clipped to a beltloop, in her more portable form. An unassuming little lucky rabbit's foot, with long, sharp claws. There had been a few times she had spoken, and it was those times that he'd realized that it was even a she at all. She spoke in a musical voice, but he only understood a handful of what she tried to say, much like she seemed incompatible with Polish, despite apparently taking up residence in his head. So out of either pity or frustration, she scaled back, only using the most basic words, until perhaps one day they could meet each other halfway. The only reason he was ever sure she was still alive, or on, or whatever, was the prickling feeling of being watched. All the time.

Look.

Involuntarily, he turned his head. There was another person in the cafeteria, surprisingly for this time of day. A woman who looked about his age.

Life Hunter. Piosenka conjured up an image of a golden tree, which matched up to the emblem on the back of both of their coats.

Taking Piosenka's nudge as a push to go talk to her, he made his way awkwardly to her table. Suave as he wanted to appear, his words came out in a heavily accented fumbling between two languages. "Dzień dobry... Can sit here?"

"Dziękuję -- thank you." Sliding his tray onto the table, he slumped into his seat with all the posture of a computer addict. He nervously adjusted his glasses. "Is much different here. English is not first language. Is making such conversation... difficult. She is very much not happy. But me, am just very much not informed."

The woman's plight resonated with him, as it probably should have. Not that it would do any good, but he did lean in to speak a little more quietly and secretly. Force of habit - normal conversations couldn't be listened in to when they were spoken quietly. He felt Piosenka pique up merely at the mental implication of a secret. "Someone else in head, never to get used to. I must ask, for I am much curious. Am to believing they are... alive?"

This earned a psychic huff of indignance, before the disembodied voice launched into a tirade that he could only pick out a handful of words from. All in all it just ended up sounding like musical white noise. Of course I'm alive! I don't know how many times I've tried to explain this to you, I'm just as alive as you are! I'm not one of those throwaway runic weapons. For your information, I'm a Wendigo, scientific name esurius anthropophagus --

"Have seen many strange things in life, but never vould have been fearing if even once they had opened mouths to speak like veapon."

-- can't possibly survive without. ...Did you listen to a single word I just said??

Augh.