nyota_uhura24 | (no subject)

The shaman has sent Saval out to gather some herbs, a duty he can't help but resent a bit, because there are more important things he could be doing and more junior healers who could be doing the menial tasks.

As he's stoically picking leaves from trees and trying to make it a sort of relaxing meditative exercise, he catches a flash of movement out on the beach, and ventures closer to investigate. He conceals himself behind a tree and peers suspiciously out at the woman wandering the shore.

Humans aren't completely foreign to him; Sarek's wife has been around as long as Saval can remember. That doesn't mean he wants to see more of them invading his home. He creeps closer, blending expertly into the undergrowth, to assess how much of a threat she is and see how many more humans she's got with her.

Nyota's more than a little relieved that they managed to find safe harbor; the storm destroyed one of their masts and caused a lot of other damage that's difficult to repair at sea. She brought three others with her to shore, and they're not far behind in case she runs into any unfriendly natives. So far so good, she thinks, though there's a prickling at the base of her spine. A feeling that she's being watched.

Her eyes scan the foliage as she tries to determine if there's really someone there. She's learned to trust her instincts, but she dislikes being on shore enough that she's probably overly paranoid. The familiar rocking is absent, replaced by an almost uncomfortable stillness. She keeps her eyes pealed as she wanders further down the beach.*

Saval doesn't miss the three crewmates backing her up. He hadn't thought it wise to confront her alone, but now he's certain of that. He might have the advantage of superior strength and knowing the land, but he can't take four armed humans on his own if they get violent, especially when he doesn't know enough of their language to be able to explain himself.

He backs away and turns to head back to the village, but as quiet as he is, he can't do anything about the loose branch that snaps off a nearby tree and falls noisily to the ground near his feet.

Nyota is prepared to continue searching along the coast line for more supplies when her sharp ears pick up the sign of a branch cracking. It was obviously caused by either a human or an animal, and both are of interest to her. She holds up a hand to tell the men behind her not to move as she creeps closer to the trees. When she nears the source of the sound she moves more quickly, but still as silently as she can, trying to glimpse wherever or whoever is there.

He can tell she's following him, and he considers his logical options. If he continues to try to evade her, he'll end up leading the humans right back to the village, and while the guards can probably dispatch them easily if necessary, he'd still rather not risk it. He can try to lead them on a wild goose chase, taking them to the remote side of the island where they can fend for themselves, but that will take a while, and there's always the chance that they might get fed up and attack him.

Explaining himself is out of the question, thanks to the language barrier, though charades are always an option.

He looks back at her, eyes narrowing. She's lost the entourage. She's still armed, and he's not, but the situation seems to have become slightly less dangerous. He pauses, reconsidering.

After not too long she determines that she's following a human, or else a creature doing a damn good impression of one. Tracking on land isn't really her mug of ale, but she knows how to move quietly through the brush, and how to create a diversion by making some noise in one direction and then moving swiftly and quietly in another.

She manages to get ahead, and then gets a glimpse of the man. If he is indeed a man. There's something different about him, though she can't see him well enough to be sure. She does determine that he's unarmed, and thus feels comfortable enough to reveal herself. Both hands are extended in a gesture of peace; she'll only fight if she has to. "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand?"

By the time he's realized that he can't see her anymore, she's already ambushing him. He shouldn't have taken so long to debate, but at least she's not attacking him, and this way, he can try to ascertain what she wants.

He doesn't startle or flinch when she corners him, though his heart is pounding. He stands his ground and maintains a neutral expression, studying her more closely now that they're close enough to speak to each other.

The words are mostly lost on him, though he does know 'understand.' The gesture is difficult to interpret; it seems that she's telling him to keep his distance, so he does. She hasn't gone for the weapon, which is encouraging.

He folds his arms across his chest, demonstrating that he's not going to pull out any kind of hidden weapon either. "No English," he says finally. It seems the best thing he can say under the circumstances; it implies that there are people around who do speak her language, and that she'll have to behave if she wants him to take her to them.

His reply isn't exactly encouraging, the crossed arms not entirely friendly, but at least he's not attacking or running. She sometimes enjoys a good fight, but talking is often more effective. He doesn't speak English, but his words indicate that someone else might. First, of course, she'll try other languages. "Tu parles francais?" she begins, and then starts cycling through the other languages she knows, hoping he'll speak one of them.

No such luck. She eventually returns to English, since he at least speaks a few words of it. "Is there someone else who speaks English?" she asks, not at all sure that he'll understand, but before she tries to have a conversation through the language barrier she has to at least ask.

He seems wary of her, but there's none of the hatred and fear some people look at her with. Either he doesn't realize she's a pirate, or he doesn't care. In any event, she's not here to plunder and pillage, but to find out what sort of island this is and if the locals are going to cause them any trouble while they look for supplies.

His expression doesn't change in the slightest as she tests out different languages--he gets what she's doing, but none of them mean anything to him, and he just shakes his head mutely as she tries. Not speaking English has never put him at a disadvantage before, but now that he actually needs it, he's wondering if maybe his stubborn pride about it hadn't been a tiny bit misguided.

He can figure out what she must be asking; it would be a logical follow-up question. It's probably safe to take her to the village, as long as she isn't armed. "Yes," he says. He indicates her weapon and gestures for her to set it aside. He supposes he's going to have a tough time convincing her, but he's reluctant to take chances, even if the village guards can probably handle her.

Her eyes narrow in assessment when he indicates her weapon. She doesn't like parting with it, but she knows there are advantages to cooperating, even if it really isn't her style. After a few moments of consideration, she carefully removes the saber at her side. It's not her favorite weapon, but she likes it. Then she removes a knife from beneath her shirt, a gesture of faith. Her eyes are locked on his, a slightly pedantic expression on her face: Never assume your enemy has only one weapon. She has more, but he doesn't need to know that. Holding out a hand, she says, "Wait here. I'm going to hide these." She isn't sure if he understands, but she takes a few steps back, still holding out her hand, and then ducks into the brush.

Vulcans aren't big on concealed weapons, so it doesn't immediately occur to him that she would have more of them, though he narrows his eyes at the one she removes from under her shirt. The fact that she has more than one knife on her is cause for some suspicion, he thinks, but she's agreed to put them away, which is a step in the right direction.

He waits for her, shifting his half-full bag of herbs to his other shoulder. Since she appears to be willing to cooperate, he supposes he can afford to be a little friendlier, though he still dislikes the idea of humans running all over his island unchecked, and her crewmates are still out there. He'll let the elders handle that.

Her weapons are important to her, not only because many of them were gifts from her father or trophies won in important battles, but also because she knows words can only get one so far in some situations. So far, this mysterious being seems wary but not violent. It actually puts her at ease; anyone too friendly and welcoming is suspicious.

She tucks the weapons under some brush, hiding them as well as she can and glancing around so she'll be sure to remember the spot. Then she returns to him, and that's when she notices his ears. Her eyes widen slightly, and then she touches her own ears and then points to his. "Pointy..."

Her surprise is understandable; he finds her ears just as bizarre, though not unexpected. He nods, not sure what to say. He would explain the other physiological differences between their people, just because it's his area of expertise and he always assumes other people will find it interesting, but the language barrier prevents it.

He begins to make his way back to the village, walking more alongside her than in front of her because he doesn't really want to turn his back on her.

As limited as their communication is, at least it's not completely impossible. He indicates himself with a hand on his chest. "Saval," he says, and extends the hand to her in turn, though not far enough that she could take it as an invitation to touch him.

That isn't really very helpful, and though the language barrier frustrates her, it intrigues her as well. She wonders if they'll be around long enough for her to pick up anything. For that matter, she wonders what the hell it is they do speak. She cycled through all the languages commonly spoken in these waters, and he clearly recognized none of them except for English.

When he offers her name, she smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Uhura," she says, pointing to herself. "Captain Uhura." He might understand the title, but it's important to her, a critical part of her identity. She falls into step beside him, also not keen to have him behind her. After a few paces she points to a tree and says, "Tree.... What is it in your language?" A small gesture in his direction, a request.

He vaguely recognizes the word 'captain;' he's heard it before somewhere, though he can't remember what it means. The way she emphasizes it makes it sound like a title, though, or at least a formal component of her name, so he'll use it. Titles are important to Vulcans, and there's no reason to be openly disrespectful.

Her smile, while reserved, is still much more open than Saval's accustomed to, and he responds with an arch of his eyebrow. He's heard stories of how effusive and emotional Sarek's wife used to be, before she learned how to comport herself like a proper Vulcan. It must be a human thing.

He looks over to see where she's pointing, and it takes him a moment of analyzing the inflection of her words to figure out what she's asking. For a second, he thinks she's pointing out something about the tree, but there doesn't seem to be anything odd about it. If she's asking about it, she must know that he can't really respond, other than to tell her how to say it in Vulcan, so maybe that's what she wants to know. He's not sure why, but he'll humor her. It's nice that she wants to learn a few words of his language. "Indukah," he says. It translates as 'oasis plant.'

"I hope that your companions are not disrupting anything," he adds, as long as she can't understand him.

Not a friendly sort, is he? Nyota thinks, shrugging a little to herself as her eyes scan their surroundings. She wants to make absolutely certain that she knows where she's going so that she can get back alone if necessary. With all possible speed. She has no idea where he's leading her, after all.

When he gives a word she nods and repeats it. "Indukah." But the pronunciation isn't exactly right, so she repeats it again. "Indukah." Her smile is a little more genuine, and she nods when he continues speaking, mind picking up on the intonation and the pacing even though the words are a mystery to her.

"Companions... What does that mean?"

Her pronunciation is admirable for her first time speaking the language, enough to get a bit of an approving nod. Saval has a knack for imitating people and getting that sort of thing right as well, which is why the few words of English that he does know are spoken with a flawless British accent.

He's not sure why she picked out that particular word, nor how to explain the meaning, as it's a little more of an abstract concept. As he's pondering how to respond, there's a rustling in the bushes nearby, and a smallish man with more delicate points to his ears steps out, carrying a woodcutting axe. Saval resists the urge to facepalm.

"It means 'friends' or 'associates,'" says Vorik, saluting her in greeting. "Who are you?"

As expressionless as Saval has been until this point, that eyeroll is certainly noticeable. "Mishek," he says, addressing Vorik frostily by title, "surely you have better things to be doing right now than showing off?"

"Well, you don't know how to talk to her," Vorik points out. "It would make more sense to let me take over. How many does she have with her?"

The approving nod has her smiling a little more genuinely; one of her favorite parts about wandering the seas is encountering new languages, new words, new ways to say things. Her attention is focused on their path and the words he's speaking, but she freezes when she sense movement.

The man who appears looks a lot like the first one, though he's smaller. She tenses slightly when she catches sight of the axe, but the words are polite and friendly, the accent impressive. "I'm Captain Uhura. My ship was damaged, so we anchored off shore to make repairs... And you are?"

She catches sight of the eyeroll and arches an eyebrow at Saval, listening intently to their words and trying to commit as much as she can to memory. Getting used to the pronunciation will make it a lot easier to pick up words, but it'll take time. "What did he ask about my friends?"

Vorik is the curious sort, always wanting to know more about the distant lands beyond the island. He's always hanging on Amanda's every word, wanting to hear stories about England and France and all the other places she's been. He understands the potential concerns about humans landing here and wanting to conquer or pillage the island; he's heard of the weapons they have at their disposal, and he understands Saval's objections, but surely a few humans with a reasonable, diplomatic leader won't cause a problem.

"I am Vorik. If your ship is damaged, we can certainly assist you--as a carpenter and apprentice architect, I can personally help with the repairs." He's glad Saval can't understand that, or the eyerolling disapproval would be epic, but fixing things is what he's good at, and he wants to be useful.

"And he was merely expressing the hope that your friends will not cause us any trouble. Saval is...not fond of Englishmen." Diplomacy is not Vorik's strong suit, though he tries.

"It would be helpful," says Saval dryly, "if you would translate for me. I understand that flirting takes priority, but surely you can manage."

"Thank you. That would be very helpful." Her smile is tentative but genuine. She isn't particularly keen to let strangers on board her ship, but if this Vorik proves as helpful and kind as he seems, then it might be safe. They clearly don't see her as the scum of the Earth, as some people seem to, so she'll keep any comments about piracy to herself and instruct her crew to do the same.

"I'm not an Englishman, as it turns out. I'm originally from Africa." She waves her hand. "It's a long story, but you've nothing to fear from us. my friends are only looking around, trying to see what's on the island. They'll defend themselves if attacked, but they don't want to hurt anyone."

Saval doesn't look too impressed with their conversation, but there's not much she can do about it. "The language you're speaking... what is it?"

"It seems we have an accord, then. Nobody here will harm you without provocation." Vorik will tentatively take her at her word, because he'd like to trust her, and because Amanda certainly hadn't turned out to be a threat--though she hadn't had backup, either. He nods, pleased.

"I think I've heard of Africa before," he says thoughtfully. "Only once. We have an Englishwoman here who told me of it."

He's still ignoring Saval, who really can't do anything except stand there with his arms folded. It's not his fault Saval can't understand what they're saying.

"The language is--we call it V'tosh, as we also call ourselves. Mistress Grayson refers to us as 'Vulcans,' after a deity from the ancient myths of her people." Or...something like that, anyway. Vorik's not really clear on the distinction between British people and ancient Romans. "I understand that there are a great many of your people across the ocean."

"Agreed," she says, smiling charmingly. In other circumstances, she might be interested in what treasures these people have, but when her ship is in need everything else becomes unimportant. Besides, she prefers to plunder royal navies and leave ordinary people in peace. What's more, she can't deny herself the excitement of this wholly different culture, of the language whose syllables flow in such intriguing patterns.

"An Englishwoman? She's a long way from home. Is everyone else on the island V'tosh?" As she speaks the word she carefully tries to imitate his pronunciation.

"Yes, there are a lot of us, though I'd like to think that my people are only those who stand at my side." It's difficult for her to claim association with countries who have royal navies that treat their sailors so horribly. Impressment disgusts her, and she's never engaged in the common pirate practice of forcing people to join her crew. Everyone there is there by choice.

Vorik has a hard time understanding that, as would Saval, if he knew what she'd said. He doesn't get the distinction; he uses 'Englishmen' to mean everyone like Amanda, with round ears and red blood and strange cold skin. He's aware that there are a lot of different tribes and factions and so forth among humans, but he doesn't know much about them, and he doesn't want to look ignorant by asking for further clarification. He decides to let it go for now.

"Yes," he says, "all the rest of us are V'tosh. You and Mistress Grayson are the only people we have ever seen who are not. She was the only survivor when her ship crashed here many years ago, before I was born."

Saval has had enough of being ignored, especially as he really needs to be getting back to the village, and so he clears his throat with some irritation. "I have business to attend, Vorik." It's disrespectful to address him that way, and Vorik's raised eyebrow suggests that he's not going to forget it, but Saval's not at all pleased by the way Vorik had just swooped in and taken over. Saval outranks him, if only slightly, and he thinks Vorik would do well to remember that. "You can feel free to come along and translate when I take her to the Council, but I certainly don't have time to stand here waiting all day."

Vorik turns back to Uhura, glad for his pride's sake that she can't understand Saval yet. "If you will, Captain. I'll escort you to speak with the elders."

“Fascinating. I've seen a lot of different people, but never any with ears like yours,” she replies, wondering why no one has ever stumbled across them besides her and the other woman he mentioned. Her mind instantly supplies an answer: the rocks and volcanoes they'd passed through and by to get here would discourage any sailor whose ship wasn't on the verge of sinking. It's probably why the V'tosh she'd met weren't more heavily armed. Nature isolates them and keeps them safe.

The two men in front of her definitely don't seem to like each other much. She strains her brain to pick out the words being spoken, but it does little good when she knows nothing about the language. Still, she thinks she's at least getting a feel for the cadence. It bothers her a little to not know what's being discussed, but any animosity seems to be directed at each other, not at her.

When Vorik turns back to her she nods. “All right... Is everything okay?” She glances at Saval again, hoping she's not walking into some kind of trap. Shifting a little, she feels the press of a knife against her leg where it's hidden in her boot. If she has to she'll defend herself, but she hopes it won't come to that.