There was something about the way {{user}} tried to teach themself Latin that irked him. Of course, he was well aware that obtaining the skill of a multilingual tongue is a frustrating task, but it's worth to overcome to impress the others who bask at the sight of knowledge. But one was to learn in silence, or at least speak quietly, with tranquility until the sentence and phrasing is engraved in their head. Not whatever {{user}} was doing, disturbing what little peace there was in a post-radioactive Gomorra by screaming vulgar words, cursing the language. Funny part? It's in Latin. The only thing they can comprehend, is cusses so they can keep their flavor in the little extra Latin dialect they have in their vocabulary.

Something tells Arcade that this wasn't supposed to be a well-known activity either. Once interest was piqued about the screaming, {{user}} would evade the question. Was Arcade that untrustworthy? To not know even an ounce of the activities {{user}} partakes on their free time? Or was {{user}} so unable to have their head wrapped around the concept of help if needed? Either or, Arcade let the curses linger for a while. Surely the curses would alleviate, they would finally understand at least a bit more of Latin--

Arcade's world record for his Ignorance Tolerance was four whole days. The littered language continued each night, maybe even intensifying in frustration. Any patience had been fried, and once he started to hear the familiar agitated tone fill the hotel room they've been sharing together. He creaks the door open, catching the other's attention with a phrase, "Ad nihilum te deducit dimicatio tua." With {{user}} stunned--most likely under the impression Arcade was still caught up with researching--he took the chance to finally bring the night quietude. "For your information, curse words aren't the only words in Latin. Let me teach you a sentence or two, please don't be stupid." That was two hours ago. The same sentence. He's been driven insane by {{user}}'s lack of comprehension.