Ammina, a Kusarikku.

Mon started, and the man quickly apologised. “I did not mean to scare you.” His ear flicked as he spoke. It was long and conical, rising just beside his long horns. He was bulky, heavy-set with a mostly human face. Like many Mythfolk with non-human legs, he wore a kilt under, which was a set of legs that looked like they would be well placed on a bull.

“No, I wasn’t looking for anyone in particular,” she replied.

The man nodded, “I am Ammina. I assumed you were waiting for your husband,” he said, awkwardly sitting beside her. “That is what the two rings on your left hand mean, yes?”

She nodded as she continued to look him over. His horns were cream towards the base, ending in white, finely engraved with filigree, and his shirt was white cotton linen, partially unbuttoned, revealing tribal tattoos at the top of his chest. “Well, yes, I am married. I am not waiting for my husband, though. I am out on my own tonight.”

He waved a hand to the bartender before saying, “Well, if you wish to be left alone,” she interrupted him before he could finish.

“Oh no, you are perfectly welcome.” She turned to face him more, “I’m Monica or Mon.” This time he nodded his head slowly and deeply, and Monica assumed it was a sign of acknowledging what someone said. “Have you been on earth long?” she asked him.

“It is two week, sorry, the second week,” Monica laughed lightly. “In our tongue, we only have one word for numbers, and I sometimes forget you have more.”

“It’s quite all right,” Monica said, “I’ve never been very good with languages. About all I can say in another language is ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?’ and ‘Me baiser comme un chien?’”

Ammina nodded, “I do not know what that means or the language you spoke, but it sounded very nice.”

Monica laughed, “They are lyrics from songs in French,” she explained.

“And, what does that mean?” he asked as a glass of beer was brought to him.

Monica immediately blushed, “Well, it’s kind of dirty,” she said. “So, maybe not something I should translate to someone I just met.”

He took a drink of his beer and smiled, “Well, maybe later then.”

Monica wasn’t sure if his response was meant to be flirty or innocent. “Maybe,” she said, squeezing her legs together. “And can you say something in your language for me?” He said something long before she asked, “And what does that mean?”

His smile broadened, showing large flat teeth. “Well, it is a formal proposal that is quite descriptive.”

Monica laughed, “You mean it’s dirty?”

“Ahh, is that what you meant by dirty? I thought you meant it was of dirt or grime,” he said.

Monica bit her lip, “No, when someone says something dirty, it normally means, well, provocative.”

He smiled again, “And I suppose you only share such dirty things with your husband?”

Monica blushed, “Well, until recently, that was the case.”

Ammina put one hand on her exposed knee, “Oh?”

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