Cornelius
For how nervous and uncomfortable she tended to feel while outside of the woods surrounding the Cradle she couldn't have been more comfortable in the low ceilings and patchwork lighting of her favourite pawnshop out on Isakstad's west end.

Gustafson's Goods oft found itself overshadowed by the juggernaut that was the Sefina Pantbank chain, a fact bemoaned to Akvilė by its owner Karl more than once, but its eclectic selection kept her coming back time and time again. Uranium glass ashtrays sat next to matroyshka dolls and 1:64 models of Group B rally cars on one shelf, and across from it was a grandfather clock converted into the mother of all espresso machines by some madman with all the time and money and absolutely no scruples about ruining a beautiful timepiece in the process. How was she supposed to go elsewhere when the Sefina in town wouldn't even *Look* At half the shit this little hole in the wall kept?

Leaning back on the heels of her hiking boots Akvilė stood near one such shelf, out of sight of the entranceway yet not out of sight of the watchful eye of the shopkeep. She picked up a small porcelain figurine and focused on it, eyes looking it up and down and shaky fingertips trying their best to rotate it like shawarma without sending it directly to the floor. She had no idea what the figurine was supposed to be, but it was clearly old. It felt worn, and it left a distinct mustiness on her fingertips as she rotated it and looked for any defects that might let her haggle just a little. She found none and set it back with a sigh.

She could do this all day, and she *Would* If the gods didn't give her a reason to do otherwise.
Steven
Barric couldn't begin to wrap his head around the bus or it's schedule. The big vehicle he was expected to use anytime he wanted to go anywhere was probably the most terrifying thing about Newton's. He hadn't seen one outside of the abundance of pictures of them online before arriving here. Just another interesting experience. But beginning to even understand how those things worked seemed to throw him for a loop. Barric wasn't a fan. Somehow he had managed to figure it out enough to get to Isakstad on this faithful day. It was a funny sounding name. Barric liked the way it sounded. He had spent hours trying to mimic the way everyone said it. But it always came out mangled with his accent. Wandering the streets of this weird place quickly brought Barric a plethora of weird shops to explore. Today's being Gustafson's Good. Some kind of a pawn shop. It caught his attention pretty quickly. Everything else seemed so put together compared to the shit hole he had just arrived in. If you could even call it that.

Barric opened the door, stepping inside the place. He stood at the door scrapping his muddy boots across the mat provided. It seemed to only slightly solve the problem. After a minute, he had given up on politeness and stumbled further into the shop. He stopped at a large grandfather clock, his head tilted. What the fuck had someone turned it into? He scanned it, trying to guess what machine someone had shoved into this poor clock. It was so ugly now. After a minute of just standing there staring at it, he had grown pretty bored. Time to find something else. Barric turned away from it, continuing to wander around. The store was small, but there were parts not visible from the entrance. Around a corner, he found another person. Barric instantly wanted to slink back around the corner. The unexpected person kind of ruined the shop's appeal to him. He didn't fully want to leave yet.

Peering over his shoulder, the shopkeeper was still behind the counter, fiddling around on a phone. He turned back, staring at the person who stood in front of him, a porcelain doll in their hand. They seemed strange. Something that Barric couldn't place his finger on. But everyone in this town seemed sort of strange. Probably because of its proximity to Newton's. He tilted his head, scanning them. They seemed unkept. That was rude to think, he had quickly decided. His eyebrows furrowed. Barric was already staring at them. Might as well strike up a conversation. "Hello." Barric paused, unsure what to say next. He sat there quietly for an uncomfortable amount of time, just kind of staring at the person. What was he supposed to ask in this situation? He reverted to his nervous habits, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "I like your boots." He debated bashing his head into the wall right then.
Cornelius
The door swung open and in with it came a gust of cold air and the sound of textured soles rubbing against the thick curls of the welcome mat. That and the jingle of the bells Karl had hung from the closer fastened to the shop door so long ago half of them were inoperable– so clogged was their interiors with dust.

Akvilė knew she wasn't the only regular at this shop. No less than twenty-seven people seemed to frequent the shop by her latest observations, and she was expecting to see one of their faces from where she stood by the knick-knack shelf once the door swung shut and the rubbing of bootsoles stopped. It wasn't one of the regulars.

Akvilė gulped.

Staring back from behind thick and slightly crooked rimmed glasses, she fell silent and tensed up significantly. She never liked this feeling, being face to face with a stranger when she expected an acquaintance (in loose terms), yet the boy she saw down the aisle seemed just as eager to stare back. So she stared and leaned into her heels just a touch more, first finding herself thoughts drifting towards admiring his tan skin before turning to a cancerous pit gnawing at her stomach as she noticed after images of her first impression in his pupils. 

*He thought she was unkempt. She could see it in his gaze.* Nobody stared like that without a reason, and she could not deny that the untameable texture of her hair meant she always looked wild.
-

Akvilė doesn't say hi back at first. Instead she waves, lips cut into what clearly was meant to be a smile before her timidness corrupted it into a wavy frown. Her hazel eyes look not unlike a doe caught in the headlights of a Dodge Ram, but there's less fear in them– and in her wave. It's a gentle wave, really nothing more than her right hand quickly darting upright and waving side to side with only two fingers fully outstretched, and after about two seconds she drops her hand down to her hip. The compliment to her boots seems to give her the courage to open her mouth however; "O-oh, um... Thank you. They are much comfortable, yes." She replies. Her voice is quiet and accented, but not difficult to understand. Some syllables and words come out skewed yet register as close enough to King's English, and it seems to simply be a symptom of multilinguality. She falls quiet for a moment too, for multiple reasons.

"But, uhm... I saw you face the grandfather when in you came. It— it is espresso machine I think. I have never seen it used but it says so on... Uhm... The note stuck on side."
-
Steven
The wave was small and a bit disappointing. He was expecting a hello. But talking isn't everyone's type of thing. He definitely wasn't. Barric glanced back at the clock when the girl mentioned it. It was blurred, but he could still see the large outline. An espresso machine? He knew what one was, but what the hell was the point of putting it in a clock? He turned back to her and blinked. "Why is it inside a clock?" His drawl seemed to spike, his face going pink at the slight hint of the accent. There was a note on the clock, apparently. Barric couldn't see it. He bit the inside of his cheek. Confusion overpowered the feelings of slight embarrassment from his accent. Why would someone need to make coffee inside a clock? Why would someone ruin a perfectly good clock like that? It was confusing. People here were just plain confusing. 

He looked back at the girl, debating on what to say next. Barric was still so new to this whole conversation thing that he didn't really understand how to talk to people, let alone people his own age. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable. His mind couldn't focus. Barric's hand reached down in his pocket, fidgeting with the pocket watch nestled inside. He ran his finger along the indents and scratches. "Uhm, do you go to the school?" It was asked quietly, and he was trying to not let his drawl slip again. "Newton's or the cradle. I don't know." He was rambling and he should shut up. She seemed like the type to go up there. Everyone seemed like it in this town, he noticed. They all seemed weird, confusing, or both. His teeth were back to biting on his cheek, his heart slamming in his ear like a war drum. Finding something else to focus on was hard in this store. Everything was so overstimulating all of a sudden. Barric found himself just staring the girl down, trying to focus on anything other than talking.

She was strange. Stranger than most. Not much smaller than Barric height wise, but she seemed so skinny compared to him. His brain raced to point this fact out, and he found the words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You're skinny. Really skinny." He murmured, still staring her down. Barric hadn't meant it in a rude way, but he could feel himself cringing inside. He bit back any other observations he had about her. It was already bad enough he had called her skinny like that. "I didn't mean it in a bad way." It had been far too late after the original comment to probably save any remnants of positive feelings the girl had towards him. But he still attempted. Barric breathed quickly out of his nose. "I'm sorry. That was rude."
Cornelius
Akvilė shrugged at the question, and noted the befuddled look on the lad's face.

"Uhm... Why would it not be?" She quietly says in turn, almost sounds like she's trying to make a funny quip. Acutely aware of this new stranger's gaze being fixed directly on her she shifts about in her boots slightly, tucking an arm up against her stomach and pointing her own gaze back at the shelf of knick-knacks; mostly at least. Plucking a figurine of a bear with a sombrero off the shelf she mulls over whether to address the question of where she stays before – once again – an off-hand comment of his strikes her like slush cast up from a puddle. She stiffens a little, and laughs awkwardly. 

"I? Um. Y-yeah. I have been slim always, and Crad–" Akvilė's expression sinks. *Fuck.* "Th-the Cradle needs new cooks I think. I eat little of what they make." She tightens her arm against her stomach in an attempt to squash out the hornets sending it top over bottom. She falls quiet for a moment, propping and pawing the jovial bear betwixt the tips of her fingers anxiously.

"But, uhm... It-it is OK. I say much things off cuff too. At least you‐ you say what you mean. Many people only say what they don't."
Steven
Barric looks back over at the clock for one last time, instantly looking back at the girl. "I guess if that's what they want to do with the thing. It's kind of ruined now." He scrunched his nose. "It looks so ugly now." Barric murmurs. He shuffles slightly closer to the girl. A weight of guilt from the earlier comment still weighing heavily on him. "I'm still sorry about that, ma'am. That was rude of me. Shouldn't go around commenting on people's appearance like that." He paused, trying to think if he should keep apologizing or just shut up and let the woman be. Unfortunately, he had already trapped himself in a conversation and leaving now just seems like he'd leave a bad impression. Barric was now regretting talking to the woman at all. He half wished he hadn't acknowledged her.

"Saying what's on your mind ain't always the best thing." It was often more rude than it was good. He crouches down, looking at the lower shelves. There wasn't anything that caught his eye, but he needed something to talk about. "Is the food really that bad? I don't eat much, but everything I've had isn't the worst thing in this world." He certainly had worse in his lifetime from what he could remember.

Barric reached over, swiping up a random figurine that he didn't recognize. He needed something to occupy his hands. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he watched what to girl was doing out of the corner of his eye. He moved the character's arms around a bit, fidgeting with the different moving parts of the figurine. "You never answered my question earlier. I'm assuming you were at least there at some point, though." That sounded creepy, didn't it? "Because of you now. The cooks comment." He muttered. Barric didn't want to seem like a creep to one of the few likeable people he had met so far. He hadn't introduced himself. Barric looked away, avoiding looking at her even out of the corner of his eye now. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Barric." He seemed focused on fiddling with the figurine.
Cornelius
Akvilė glances at the espresso clock once more and shrugs. She doesn't exactly agree; it doesn't matter enough, however, to voice it. She looks back at the sombrero-toting bear pinched twixt her shaky fingers as the lad speaks, still rhythmically tightening the various muscles and strands in the arm tucked against her stomach in a bid to soothe her nerves.

"It– it may be somewhat unkind, but... Uhm. It is honesty and honesty is king I think." Akvilė says after a moment, silently deciding that the sombrero-wearing bear is coming with her. The som-*Bear*-o. She's unable to stifle a giggle as the wordplay crosses her thoughts, a failure that soon sets the tips of her ears ablaze in mute embarrassment. "Uhm... Sorry. I was laughing at you not. I-I-I simply had funny thought. Is all." She says from behind a partial curtain of her hair, the reddened tips of her ears hidden beneath yet spreading their stain onto her freckled cheeks. "But anyways. Th-the food simply tastes wrong to I, as if the uhm... Vegetables are spoiled when they enter the pot and the meat is from mistreated life. I may simply be wrong however."

She sets the figurine into a wicker basket she brought with her, next to a framed behind the scenes picture of some western stars of old with the camera crew and a horse. 

"But, Barric? I-I see. Welcome to prison." Akvilė says, a wryness to her voice that betrays how she sees the Cradle. "Others say it is not prison, but then, uhm– th-then what is it? Is prison not concrete walls and a leash tight around your throat?" She continues. "I'm Akvilė though. Hi. My- my manners are on vacation I guess."
Steven
"There's probably some way that you can do both." Something that he would probably never achieve. It seems as if Barric could never do both at the same time. Maybe he just had to shut up about his observations of people. The giggling had caught him off guard. He stopped his fiddling with the toy in his hand, trying to figure out what she was laughing at. Had he said something meant to be funny? His cheeks and tips of his ears flushed in embarrassment. "What was the thought?" He blurted out, his embarrassment fueling a slight need for reassurance that she wasn't laughing at something he had said or done. He ran his tongue along his teeth, putting the figurine back onto the shelf. 

"How do you taste if something is mistreated life?" He understood, knowing the tasting of rotting vegetables. He could taste if something was rotting even if it you burnt it to a crisp. "Do you mean like the meat not being a specific cut or something? Or it wasn't harvested right? I know some people can't eat that shit if it's not right." Maybe it was just a feeling thing? He was just plain confused at this point. He may have been overthinking her words too much. 

He moved back, moving from the crouching position he had been in to a kneeling one. Barric snorted loudly at the prison comment, quickly covering his mouth and nose. After a moment of silence, he dropped his hand, embarrassment flooding his mind again. "I didn't mean to do that." He coughs, trying to recover quickly. "Prison is an interesting way to put it, I guess." He could see her point on it being a prison the more and more she explained it. "A boarding school? I mean, don't those also keep a tight leash around your throat? I can see what you mean, though." He muttered the last part, placing the figurine back on the shelf and becoming bored with it. "It's okay. Nice to meet you, Akvile."
Cornelius
"Uhm... It's nothing. Really. Just a– a funny thought. It is not at you."

Somewhat hesitant in tone Akvilė tried her best to steer the conversation away from the sombearo remark. It didn't seem pertinent, or even all that important, and considering the pun had formed itself in her noggin in her native tongue she almost didn't want to bother attempting to translate. She looked the shelf up and down once more, and once satisfied that she'd missed nothing she strolled down the tight hall formed by the shelves and tables at each end, coming to a stop by a smattering of kitchen tools and whatnot. She picks up a porcelain pot of some make and turns back to Barric, a thoughtful look on her face.

"It's... Hard to explain I guess. In English at least. I-I. Do you, uhm... Speak Polish by chance? Otherwise I may have to feed my thought through digital translator." She admits, rotating the pot in her hand and inspecting it for chips and cracks amidst some dim hope of being able to properly explain herself to this lad. "Trilinguality has its, uhm... Downsides. Not perks; opposite that. B-b-but I would know not, I was never schooled in traditional sense. If boarding school is like Cradle then both thrive on tight leashes I guess."

She falls quiet, spins the pot again, and tucks it against her chest. The sound of porcelain grinding against porcelain pierces the alley as she takes the lid off to snoop inside, both eyes focused inwards yet her body language displaying some sense of continued conversation.
Steven
Barric scampered after Akvile as she moved on the section, almost tripping over his own feet trying to follow her. He reached her after a little skip, the toy still in his hands. As Akvile stops at a shelf to look at pots and other kitchen utensils, Barric stands by, mostly ignoring the shelf. She looked at leaning against a spot she wasn't looking at the items. "No, I don't. I'm way too dumb for anything like that. I'm sorry ma-" He cuts himself off quickly, changing the almost ma'am to her name.

 "You don't have to explain it if it's too much work. You can just explain it to me when you know the words in English or somethin'." He murmured, his hands wrapping around the toy's arms again. She didn't need to go through all the work of typing it out in a translator.

He hummed in agreement. Barric couldn't really say anything about boarding schools. He thought Newton was one, but guess not, according to Akvile. "I wasn't either. Online schooling. I sat on a computer all day and didn't really talk to people. I know some kids got those community activities for homeschooled kids, but I never did. I just sat at home and worked when we needed help." He grumbled. He hadn't really noticed how bitter that rant had been. Even if he did, he wouldn't pull back. All of it was true. "What was your schooling like? Was it online or something else?"
Cornelius
Akvilė, for just a moment, feels decades beyond her age as Barric reflexively calls her ma'am– or at least forms the word in his mouth before squashing it and sucking the thought back like juice from a passionfruit.

"Ah. It is OK. Uhm... One– one moment. I will find." She presses her hand against the bulbous rim of the pot in her hand with hole-punched fingers outstretched and begins to dig into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Keeping her attention split between the phone-seeking of her fingers and what Barric is saying doesn't prove an easy task but she keeps at it, nodding occasionally and trying her darndest to keep a finger on what he's saying and what it roughly translates to in her native tongue. 

"You were, uhm... Schooled online however? Th-that seems easily undermined. How did teachers make sure you cheated not? Not to imply you are cheat or stupid." Despite her attempts the question still comes out sideways, somewhat, and she internally winces at how poorly it's worded. But she knows her weakness, and she knows her true intent. She continues to dig. 

"B-b-but I was homeschooled as well. No online. I knew not of the internet until I was seventeen. I simply... Uhm... Learned. I was taught by an uncle, and by my mother. They are– they are muchly smart." She speaks with just a little hesitation. Not a suspicious amount, but it's clear the words forming in her mouth are all getting gummed up in the works. "It sounds muchly lonely however, the way you were schooled. And it sounds hard to learn as such."
Steven
Barric watched her dig through her back. Trying to figure out what she was digging for. Soon, the dots connected in his mind. "No no. It's okay, you don't need to translate it. That seems like a lot of work for just a question." He murmured the last part under his breath. He was curious, yes, but he didn't want her to have to type the long explanation out. 

He snorted. Cheating. "They didn't. And it's okay. I will admit, I did cheat quite a bit." He paused, trying to make it sound better. "Only on the dumb stuff. Or the shit I thought was dumb." He continued tilting his head, a joking smile on his face. It was probably bad to admit that he cheated on a good chunk of his assignments, but he didn't fail any classes and they couldn't necessarily prove he needed to retake those classes. 

"I'm stupid, though I'm very aware of that. No need to apologize for pointing out the obvious. Like you said honesty is king or something." There wasn't much he could say. He was aware he wasn't an argument in favor of him being smarter than he seemed. "But it was kinda a mix of both. My dad taught me for a bit at the beginning. Not much if we're being honest, but there were some things."

Barric stares down at the toy again. "I was online for most of my life." He laughed a bit, shaking his head. "Don't have a phone, though funnily enough. Never was given one." He wasn't really sure why he never got a phone, but he just didn't. "How was that? Your ma and uncle teaching you?" He grunted in agreement. It was lonely. "Yeah, I didn't really talk to anyone outside of my parents till I came here. You're actually the fourth, maybe fifth, person I've talked to since I came here." He hummed, leaning his head against the shelf, closing his eyes.
Cornelius
Akvilė shakes her head. Whether it's at Barric's attempts to dissuade her from translating or something else entirely, though, is a mystery. A mystery that's soon answered as she pulls – no, *Whips* – her phone out and onto the shelf in front of her, microphone pointed at her throat.

"Ah. I-I said it not, but you did. It is... Uhm. Muchly good to be aware of your flaws though, I think." She speaks, hesitant and gentle and slightly wry in delivery. Silence fills the aisle momentarily as she tip-taps at the screen of her phone, one finger outstretched like E.T. And equally as odd-looking with the holes along her knuckles and tips of her fingers. It almost looks as though God attempted to bore stigmata into her skin and got bored halfway through. If Barric snoops he can see an online translator being brought up, and with a hand held up to halt whatever thought he might be having Akvilė begins to speak into the microphone.

Of course, the language she speaks is unfamiliar. But it comes out with a comfort and a smoothness absent from her English. She doesn't even stutter as she explains why a bear with a sombrero had made her laugh, and the translator spits her words back out in English, albeit with the cold interpretation of her words only an AI could produce. It says the gist though: she saw a figurine of a bear with a sombrero, and had a pun come to mind. She leaves the translator open but inactive, turning her head slightly to face Barric once more.

"So, uhm... Yes. Th-that was all." She states plainly. "And it was OK being taught by family. I learned what I needed, and they listened to me much. It was... Nice."

She sets the pot back on the shelf, and flexes her fingers and wrist to loosen a little tension.
Steven
He watches in destain as Akvile still whips out her phone to translate the message. But he bites his tongue. He wasn't going to tell her what she couldn't and could do. That wasn't his place. He waited silently for her to begin speaking into the microphone in the language she had asked about. "I guess you could say that. It's mostly sitting on a computer screen all day trying to figure out all that crap was burning through my brain." He laughed. It was kind of funny admitting that to Akvile. That wasn't the type of thing you just went around admitting and in no way was he bragging. But he had no reason to hide it from Akvile. At least, not that he knew around. 

Barric eyed the small holes that littered the girl's skin. "What are those?" He asked, very obviously pointing at the holes in the hand closest to him. It had to be part of the reason she was here. He was pretty sure no matter where you're from, you didn't have holes all over your skin. Barric listened quietly as she began speaking in the language. He had honestly forgotten about the bear that she had been holding. He let out a small snort at the dumb pun the ai spit out of the phone. Barric pitched the bridge of his nose, still chuckling to himself as he began to speak. "You didn't need to go through all the trouble of translating that. But." He paused, laughing quietly a bit more. "But it is funny." 

He nodded as the conversation continued. "My dad taught me for a bit." Barric tilted his head, leaning it into his open palm. "If you could call it that." He murmured, closing his eyes. Barric's grin fell as he stood there with his eyes closed for a moment, thinking. Barric stood there for a moment in silence, with Akvile just thinking. As the pot was placed down, Barric straightened himself moving down the aisle to see if there was anything he was interested in.
Cornelius
Akvilė noticeably tenses up once the questions turn to the holes in her skin. She stuffs both her hands into the various nooks of her outfit and takes a half step down the aisle.

"They are fly bites. Horsefly I think." Akvilė answers after a strained moment, still hiding her hands and all the skin that attaches them under the various folds and fabrics of her heavily layered outfit. It's a lie of an answer, and perhaps suspicious given the innocence of Barric's question, but every fiber in her muscles and along her spine and jaws screams to keep her mouth shut; so she does. "Y-you must be aware of such buggers? Given you are farmboy and such. They um... They go for the meat I say. And they hold back none of their contempt."

Her mind once again turns, and it's now towards the question of leaving. 

"But yes. I-I-I see. Was his tutelage not muchly good?"
Steven
"Those don't look like.." Barric glances at Akvile, noticing the slight tense in her posture. Even Barric could pick up on the feeling of uncomfortableness radiating off of Akvile. "Yeah okay. Horseflies? Those fucking suck. Do they have them where you are?" He rambled on, trying to move on from the conversation topic. "You aren't from America, right?" He asked, suddenly not remembering if he had asked her about that. "We have them bad in Alabama, especially in my area. Probably because of all the animals. You know the cows and shit. Especially the horses." He murmured, just continuing rambling, trying to figure out where to take this conversation.

He finally seemed to process the other comment that came from her. "Uh kinda? He's weird." He didn't full know what to say about the man. In no way was he stupid, but he definitely wasn't the person who should've taught Barric in his early days. Barric's fingers found a scab on his hand, picking away at it. He stared off over Akvile's shoulder, not really looking directly at her. "Uh, he's just a weird guy, if you know what I mean." He let out an awkward chuckle, not commenting further on him.
Cornelius
Akvilė feels the tension constrict her throat like a python before– *Phew.* Barric takes the hint and rolls with her white lie rather than prod her hands out from her coat. Her posture loosens slightly.

"Yes, we have them home, in Baltics. We have much for insects, really." She speaks, looking less at the shelf in front of her and more towards the window in the wall, towards the passersby rendered shadows by the dirty window and the vehicles passing by. Her expression shifts in thought. "And they–... They are muchly hungry. Th-they bite rough and tear until they are with their pound of flesh. Cruel, but earth-mother makes little mistakes, no?" She waits just a moment for a nod, or a laugh, or silence that illustrates how he really feels.

"But I think I understand, yes. He uhm... Is not all present upstairs? Many such people on planet." She continues. "Schooling in America would have done you much worse however. I think. I-I have heard little good and much horrors come from such places; homeschooling seems the best in the world next to it."
Steven
Barric could've let out a sigh of relief at seeing her posture loosen. He'd never been good at reading people, so actually reading someone correctly was an achievement in itself for the boy. Usually he'd just piss people off on accident, then leave and never talk to them again. So maybe Akvile could turn out to be someone he talked to more than this once. Barric grinned slightly, listening to her words about her homeland.

"We have a lot of flies back home. It's common to see a lot of other bugs where I'm from, but flies are the biggest problem. It's because of all the cows, but still it doesn't help that we're surrounded by people with different animals." The memory of his neighbors suddenly popping into his head. They lived over a mile from his family, but flies seemed to just migrate between each farm, replacing the last batch that had just left. Barric hummed in agreement. He laughed at the mother earth comment. "Yeah, do you all have to deal with a ton of mosquitoes there? At night in the summer, I used to get eaten up if I stepped out of my house for more than a few seconds. Mosquitoes are definitely one of mother Earth's worst mistakes."

Barric grinned, faltered at the comment of his dad coming back. His joking attitude seemed to fall back. "He's definitely all there. He knows what he's doing and saying." Barric didn't elaborate going back to the homeschool conversation. "I kinda wish I went to public school. Probably would've benefited me more than online school did. Even with how bad it is, it'd probably be better than the education I got."
Cornelius
Akvilė nods as the boy talks, rocking slightly on her heels and taking in the tales of rural America he told. It sounded familiar, but uncanny. She couldn't put a finger on why.

"Mos-keeto? Ah– um." The tips of her ears turn paprika as she realizes her strange pronounciation. Too late. "Yeah. I had to translate inside what you meant; sorry. B-but we have them yes, and they are *Bastards.*" Her voice curls at the end, the itching of carpets' worth of bites accrued growing up brought back with a single glance in the rear view. "The flies, though... They must have– they fed on cow tears, I assume? It is odd practice, but the butterfly drinks piss, so... Nature is just like that. I-I guess."

She leans the backs of her thighs against a sturdy table, halfway sitting on it yet never setting any real weight against it. 

"But um... Y-you think risk of being peppered with more holes than I would have been of much worth? At least online is safe." It's not a cold question by any stretch. If anything Akvilė sounds slightly confused, latent European showing in her distaste for the pop culture understanding of American education she'd picked up in Poland and elsewhere.
Steven
"Mos-keeto?" Barric mimicked, a bit confused by what she was doing. He blinked for a moment, trying to figure out what she was saying almost instantly, forgetting the conversation topic. After a few seconds of repeating the words under his breath, he turned back to her, realizing what she probably thought he was doing. "Oh, shit sorry, yeah, mosquitos." He continued on with the conversation, silently hoping Akvile didn't think he was making fun of her English-speaking skills. Barric nodded in agreement at the bastard's comment. "I don't mind bugs usually cause they exist just like we do, but it feels like mosquitoes were put here to just harm us." His nose scrunched in disgust as the mosquito conversation continued. He had an unrivaled hate for the little bastards. "Face flies? Yeah they're weird. It's not just the tears they feed on, though. They feed on the cows snot and saliva as well."

Barric was a bit surprised by the butterfly comparison, but he guessed they were both pretty similar in how weird they were. He mimics her, leaning back against the table, moving to stand next to her rather than across from her. He slowly turned to her, a slightly shocked look on his face at the question. "Uhm." Barric was honestly at a loss for words. He paused for a moment, debating on how to respond to Akvile's comment. "Uh, I guess that's an upside?" He shrugged his shoulders a bit, staring at her face with a slightly concerned look in his eyes. His ears darkened, a slightly embarrassed feeling washing over him. "I don't really know how to respond to that. I didn't know the first thing people thought of when talking about American schools was shootings." Barric scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head as he laughed a bit.

He moved his hand away from his neck, shrugging again. "I guess it's kinda true, though. We don't have the best reputation with that type of thing." He looked back at Akvile, debating what to say next.
Cornelius
Akvilė snorts amusedly.

"I-I would agree. All life has a purpose... But mosquito pushes such reality." She speaks, briefly side-eyeing Barric as he mirrors her lean and feeling self-conscious because of it. She couldn't explain why. "But the flies eat good with the cows, sounds like. It-it is odd, but nature wastes not wants not I guess. The flies home eat muchly on the pigs we keep too, and they–..." She hums, face twisting in thought as she tries her best to translate the way the annoyed squeals and stampeding of the swine her kinfolk kept made her feel. It was a hard feeling to place a finger on. "They became meals for flies. It was unpleasant seeing them in such a state, restless and squealing..."

Barric seemed somewhat uncomfortable, and given the sounds of home flitting about her head she felt the same. His laugh snaps her from her thoughts.

"It-it is not reputation as much as it is oil stain on country record, no?" She speaks, a hint of uncertainty to her voice. "I-I mean, would Europeans be aware as such without there being much purpose?"
Steven
"Good way to put it. I wish we could just kill all the fuckers off." He grumbled under his breath, moving towards a shelf to search through it. His fingers delicately wrapped around a fragile-looking teacup. He moved it off the shelf and looked back at Akvile as she began speaking again. 

"Yeah, I suppose they do, don't they? Your family farmers too?" He asked at the mention of pigs. It'd be interesting to meet someone else who could somewhat relate to his upbringing. He turned back, continuing to examine the cup. It was neat looking. Small blue and purple flowers running along the sides of it with a white background. The trim running along the top, bottom and handle of the cup was gold. Likely fake, but it still was a nice touch. Barric just might end up buying something on this trip. He didn't have a need for a cup, but he wanted it. "I guess that's a way to put it. But isn't an oil stain just a bad reputation?" He wasn't sure what she meant. Cause even something bad was still part of a reputation. Wasn't it? Or did he just sound like an idiot to Akvile? 

"I suppose they wouldn't be. But also Europeans still seem to be talking about America or any other country in some capacity, no matter what it's about. Good or bad." That theory stemmed from his time spent reading various articles online. "Maybe it's just the news article they were showing me but I saw a lot of chit chat about other countries in online news outlets." He laughed to himself. "Or maybe they just think all I wanted to read about was other countries opinions on us."
Cornelius
Akvilė nods shallow, two or three times. She hums in agreement and turns her focus back to the topic of pigs and kids in coffins.

"Farmers of sort. It is more like... Uhm. Good farmland is scarce home so pigs fill us instead. We fill them and they fill us, just as earth births us and we return to her eventually." Akvilė talks, mentally dancing around the truth of her homeland as she does so. It's not harmful to talk about the pigs, after all, but talking about the ritual sacrifices of said pigs and the dodgy farmland of northwest Lithuania would've raised more questions than she was willing to answer. So she holds back. "It is all cycle. I was not involved muchly with the rearing and slaughter however; I would at most make sausage."

"B-but... On topic of American reputation, I think it is just in European blood to look down on America. It isn't *Good,* But it– it is simply how most of us are. Doubly so as much of Europe was under Soviet rule less than lifetime ago. It is... Complex, I guess."
Steven
Barric let out a grunt of agreement as he continued to examine the teacup. "Yeah, sometimes farmland is just weird." His vision focused on the cup as Akvile told him about her life back home. It was an interesting way to view life. She was right in many ways with that explanation. "If you provide for the earth, she'll provide for you too, right?" He looked back at her, a grin on his face. "I really like this teacup. I think I'm going to buy it." He exclaimed excitedly. Barric had no use for it. He hadn't ever drank tea before unless you count sweet tea. But it was nice looking, and he honestly didn't care. He had no use for it. He could use it as a decoration or something. Barric walked back towards her. 

"Because you all think you're better than us or something?" His tone was deadpan. A quick and sudden switch from the excited tone he had just moments earlier while talking about the teacup. After a moment of just staring Akvile down, a smile broke out on his face. "I'm sorry, that was mean. But yeah, parts of your continent were Russia not even 70 years ago. So I understand all the judgments towards Americans." He wasn't sure if it was necessarily okay to call the soviets Russia but he had already gone through with it so there was no point in going back now. "I'd be a bit judgemental of us, too. We do some weird things."
Cornelius
Akvilė nods.

"Yeah. The earth mother is not... Um. Unkind? She is generous, but it's when people take far too much she strikes a tornado upon them. B-but feed her well and she feeds you greater. It is how I see it at least." She talks, voice soft with affection but resolute with belief. It's clear she has a rural, almost wild worldview, seeing the ground beneath her feet and the sky above as parts of a greater cradle nurturing all the world's creatures and plants. It's a quaint – if antiquated – worldview. She says nothing at Barric's decision to buy the teacup; not like she was looking at it. She's instead looking towards the counter, lips moving wordlessly as she listens to him speak. 

At least, it's a wordless sort of motion until Barric blurts out yet another banger from left field. She can't help but snort.

"Maybe that is part of it. I've heard such things on road. B-but I feel not that way, I simply have seen too many articles of atrocities from there. There are many though who likely still wish the Soviets had let nukes fly. It is complicated." She speaks, taking the first step towards the counter with her basket half-empty of trinkets and baubles. *Not a great haul.* "What is weirdest thing you have seen in America? I-I have heard they fry pickled things in oil, and that seems muchly odd."
Steven
"I've never viewed it as an unkind cycle. You have to do what you have to do to survive. And we're providing for its survival just like everything else does for us, right?" It was a simple thought to him, really. Returning to the earth was something he wished for in death. At least, that was what he liked to think. "I think returning to the earth is a nice end of the cycle, don't you?" This was probably the deepest conversation he had since coming to Newton's, and it had been an interesting one so far. Listening to Akvile's view on life and death had made this whole shopping trip worth the time and effort it had become. "I mean, if the nukes had flown, your home would've been destroyed too, right? Do they not realize it was a double-edged sword?"

He knew something people didn't enjoy, Americans or their views on everything, but hoping they had bombed the entire country seems like a lot. "America is not the best. But I don't think any country has no skeletons in their closest." Barric quickly followed behind the girl as she stepped towards the counter with her basket of trinkets and other items. "Uh yeah, they do that. I never understood it. It's really gross, honestly. We fry Oreos and a few other sweets too, which just seems even weirder to me. It's mostly just eaten at fairs and stuff, so it isn't like the only thing we consume." He snorted a bit, remembering all the stupid stuff he had seen fried by his fellow Americans. 

"What about your country, huh? What's the weirdest thing you've seen over there?"
Cornelius
"It is where I... Intend to go when she calls. Th-the mother of us all, that is." Akvilė nods, voice tinged with fondness and just a bit of apprehension. Nobody likes thinking about their own demise, and she is no different. "She cares for us, even if much of the planet tramples her and abuses her. But that will not be for many seasons I hope. I-I– um. I dwell on it little; it is inevitable that I will nourish the soil so why worry?"

She continues walking.

"But you have point. I um... Agree. Nuclear exchange of any kind is the end of everything we know, and it is somewhat... Baffling? That we consider such weapons worthwhile at all. Nuclear power is muchly better use of such materials; a million Chernobyls is less harm than a single Minuteman, for instance." She continues, nearing the counter with each step. She exchanges a short glance with the pawnbroker, a man with thin hair light as birch wood and a characteristically sleazy expression. "And home would have endured I think. I-I-I believe it was of concern in those days. Elders had plans and they blessedly never had to enact them as such. I understand it got muchly close."

"But an Oreo? In oil? What is Oreo? I assume some sort of... Uhm. Confection?"