Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Mikhail regarded the woman contemplatively, his expression revealing some of his stress after the quake. Nevertheless, his eyes soon curved, their cool color offset by a natural pleasantness. After she explained herself, and offered an apology, the pale man tilted his head, for two reasons: one was so he could turn his good ear to her voice. The other reason was his own befuddlement as a smile - small though it was - stretched across his pallid maw.

"Milday, there is no need to apologize. Ach, I was rather foolish to have ignored the signs that something was... ah... well-" There was a particular word he was looking for. He blinked a few times, shook his head. Unable to remember it, he chose another after confirming it in his own native tongue softly, "Nicht gut. Not good." He paused again, but this time rather than searching for a word he was looking back up at the woman, that smile returning. "I have only ever heard of these... these-" Stuck again. "...shaking things," a sheepish look overcame the man at that point, for he knew she had spoken the proper common word for them moments before...

"I suppose it is back the way I have come then," he murmured to himself, then to the woman: "My name is Mikhail Weiss. What might I call you?" With a name, he could thank her properly. He wondered if she would say at all... she seemed a little shy.