Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

7: Inglés Safe Stew

He stepped back again slightly, eyes wide as he looked at Vincent. "I was just trying to help!"

Vincent only shook his head. To their audience, he corrected Thomas: "Sine dolore, sine dolore." No pain, no pain.

Ever so gradually, the pipe lowered.

"¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" Her tone made it clear that they were still not welcome, though it was anyone's guess what she was asking them.

Vincent stepped forward slowly and slightly, more to put himself between Thomas and the women than to draw closer to them; he thought it was considerably better they forget Thomas was there, if at all possible.

"Anglicus?" English? It was a hopeful question.

With the pipe's tip now resting on the floor, the woman at the front stepped slightly to the side so that she could watch them – more Thomas than himself, Vincent noticed – but address her friends. "'Anglicus'?" she repeated in a low tone, meeting a few gazes. "'Anglicus'... Inglés?"

Thomas snapped his fingers. "English!"

At once, the pipe was raised again, and more than one of the women let out shocked screams or whimpers. Standing between Thomas and the group, Vincent raised a hand out to either in an attempt to soothe the situation. Thomas he also pinned with a glare.

He grimaced in return. "Alright, I will stop helping."

A murmur of voices to Vincent's right drew his attention back to the other side of the room as a girl stepped forward through the crowd. She could have been no more than fifteen, though it was hard to age her precisely beneath all the grime. It was more the hands of the older women clinging to her, trying to hold her back and keep her safe, that indicated her youth.

Vincent tried to keep his tone even. "You speak English?"

The girl nodded. "Un poco." She held up her finger and thumb, close together. A little.

A little was significantly superior to the Spanish Vincent knew.

He thought to start with the basics.

"What's your name? Uh..." Vincent blinked once, slowly. "Nomen?"

The girl nodded, swiping aside the limp strand of hand that fell across her face. "Mi nombre es Lupe." She tapped the centre of her chest with two fingers. "Lupe."

Nature over-road caution, and Thomas swept into a bow, startling at least half of the room and earning an eye roll from Vincent. "A pleasure to meet you, Lupe! My name is Thomas, and this is my friend Vincent."

As he straightened, he was greeted by universal confusion.

Vincent let out a small sigh. He tapped his own chest. "Vincent." He stretched his arm back, tapping the closest part of Thomas which happened to be his shoulder. "Thomas."

Lupe smiled broadly. "Vincente y Tomás," she repeated, pointing between them.

Thomas returned the gesture. "Lupe!"

Her smile widened. Thomas grinned back, grateful to be less terrifying to at least one person in the room. He was completely unused to such a cold reception, and he felt somewhat cowardly as Vincent shielded him from the women.

The other man lowered his arms finally, straightening and tugging his vest into place. After a moment, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Lupe's lips pursed as she thought. The she raised a hand to wag a finger at them, "'Get to work'," she said, her tone deep and her brow furrowed. Her expression cleared. "En la factoría." She waved her hand towards the stairs they had ascended.