Intricate's spider robot hits a Shaker field and a Striker fist at the same time and everything goes white and red.
When the dust clears, only a Pugilist Brute and a Grey Gang Changer are alive, let alone standing, and also six square meters of another world have been switched in for some of the storefront of a Dunkin' Donuts and a bit of parking lot.
Also he was idly watching the lesson for the older apprentices through one of their eyes and now he can't see it, and there was singing and now there isn't, and the light in the sky has changed entirely, and this place is really really ugly except for the surprisingly intricate detailing on the placards everywhere - maybe they're communicative -
- yep, after another few seconds of staring he is pretty sure they are, there are recurring characters and they're not a fraction as elegant or beautiful as his, they don't tell you anything about how to speak the language, but that doesn't matter because this is a place where literacy is so widespread you can just put up signs with words on them and he is wholly enamored. He walks up to one and starts clearing the dust off it, reverently.
There are people around, too, lots of them. None very nearby except the two unconscious ones in the weird outfits, because something scary was going on around here till just now, but a ways off.
He listens to them!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee he bounces and traces the letters of '32nd street' and quietly repeats the things people are saying - they all keep enough thoughts public it's easy to tell what they mean -
If they think it's rude for him not to then that'll be a little bit weird.
Though if they think it's rude to keep thoughts private and also rude to confront people on things they're thinking but not saying, that might be all right.
Or maybe they're keeping some thoughts private and it's just not very noticeable because they leave a lot in public, he's not sure he'd be able to tell the difference.
He makes everything public just in case that's the local custom - it's not as if he objects to people observing his process of figuring out the language - and continues repeating phrases. Singing them, because this place really is ugly.
But they have writing! How could you have writing and -
He does not know enough to do anything about this yet and he does not want to be locked up and die horribly.
He runs away.
The concept for 'cape' is close enough to the one for 'dangerous person we will lock up' to be nervewracking. He continues running.
- he looks around. Most of the locals have darker skin than he's seen among Elves, but not all of them, there are ones who could be Noldor. If they didn't cut their hair very short, or wear it loose, which they do. And if they weren't wearing skintight clothing in good fabrics but dreadful designs, which they are.
Cutting off all his hair is better than being locked up but still pretty horrible, he's not sure he could make himself go through with it.
There is a bridge. There are people sleeping under the bridge. He ducks down under it and leans against the ugly slimy wall and trembles.
"Hey," he repeats, relaxing a little.
He is super not looking at her hair. He stares off at the water instead. Even the water is ugly. "I'm running," he says. "Running - away? Fast. I speak Quenya, I not-speak this, yet, not-read this either but reading is good."
'stolen' doesn't translate at all. The rest is reasonably accurate, though, how'd she guess - "My mother's dead. My father - means well. His new wife is terrible. I get a job but then suddenly here."
He beams at her. Or at the water he's staring at instead of her. "I don't think I talk not-Quenya enough for a job here. What jobs are there."
"I don't know those words. I don't mind gardening. I don't got any Spanish, can you teach me -"
"Mexicans speak Spanish, here speak -"