exsilium | 001

[He speaks with a mildly British accent, mixed with twinges of French in every other consonant. His first instinct would have been to use his native language - the latter - but it's become clear that he'll have more luck being understood going with his father's.]

I... wish I could think of something wrong I'd done. Something that would explain why I'm here and why I have to - fight. [He's having a hard time expressing himself. Peter doesn't... really know what he wants to say, other than that he would very much like to be placed back where he came from.] Then I'd feel there was some kind of justification I could understand.

Anyway, uhm - if there's someone I know out there, is... is there any way I can find them? Contact them? I'd really appreciate any help. I - I have a friend - his name is Frederick, he's a doctor, English, taller than me... [He gestures with a flat hand, above his head. Then he reaches into his pocket to bring a small photograph closer to the camera,] This is the only picture I have of him. I don't have pictures of anyone else.

[With a soft sigh, Peter's shoulders drop. He then mutters to himself, a presence of annoyance in his tone,] Je ne sais pas sur quel pied danser...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Maria has just barely managed to figure out the basic functions of her tablet, and while it's the accent that catches her attention—British, like hers, and French is the other language she speaks fluently—she still opts to reply in text. Anything else is still a little overwhelming for her.]

Men will use many justifications for war. I've yet to speak to anyone who's come up with a sensible reason for making this one ours.