LJ-SEC: (ORIGINALLY POSTED BY inthefreakdom)

Leif had been asked, often enough in his lifetime, which language he thought in. Other professionals sometimes asked out of curiosity, usually to ascertain where a person originated from. People, he had learned, often thought in their mother tongue. Depending on the answer (and sometimes the accent) you could tell right away where a person was born or raised.

Of course, Leif had been raised bilingual, so he didn't have a particular mother tongue. His thoughts were all jumbled up, sometimes whole sentences in Lettish, sometimes fragmented between words mixed with English or any other language that floated in. Leif wondered, usually when he had time to sit and just think (like this very moment, waiting for the city bus to whisk him downtown) if other bilingual people had similar language-thought patterns.

At the moment he was functioning in Latvian and English, until a very pretty woman sat on the bench next to him. His brain automatically switched to French (ah oui, the language of love; such a romantic sap). It took him a moment to recognize her (if it was indeed her, because wouldn't it be weird to run into a childhood sweetheart in Burnham City?). "Don't I know you?" he asked tentatively. He wasn't sure he should come right out and call her name, in case it wasn't her. Wouldn't that be awkward?