Greetings, a story of Vas' World for the Giraffe Call
To 
eseme's prompt.
Vas' World has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.
The whole thing was insane. Vas couldn't come up with another word for it. Well, that wasn't true. He knew the words for "this breaks the way the world ought to be" in seventeen different languages; it was a word an explorer such as he was had been trained not to use. After all, "the way things ought to be" in Hoboken was not the same as it was in Halboingcartmen-chtallax, for instance, or at least not the same to a New Jersesian as it was to a Chtallaxon.
But this... this, he was pretty sure, would have Jersian or Cthallaxon agreeing with him. This was crazy. Here he was, ten light-years from home, and he was bowing politely to a woman who wouldn't have looked out of place in the right underground clubs back in the City. She had blue hair, sure, and a purple tinge to her skin, a couple extraneous features that one of the team members could probably tell him were adaptations to something or other on this planet. But she had human (not humanoid) features, and a human (not humanoid) voice.
The giant purple Clydesdale walked up behind him, resting its head (her head) comfortably on top of Vas' skull. "I will trrrrranslate," it whinnied.
The blue-and-purple woman nodded, and then bowed deeply to Vas. She spoke for a few moments in a melodic language with harsh ending consonants, and then bowed again.
“The Lady of the Tribe-by-the-Waterfall offers her greetings. It is a tradition of their tribe to give gifts to all who guest in their town. She brings you-” the horse paused, as the woman handed each of them a complex carved bone tool, “gifts of the best of their craftsmen.”
“We thank the Lady of the Tribe-by-the-Waterfall for their fine gifts.” It was Diplomatic Speech Two; he hadn’t had a chance for Speech One yet. “We are honored by their care and attention to humble travelers.”
The horse whinnied for a while to the blue woman, who eyed Vas with an uncomfortable perceptive gaze. When she spoke again, it was short, curt-sounding, and with less melody and more harshness.
The horse coughed. “This is the parrrt,” it whispered, “where you gift her in returrrn.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/206239.html. You can comment here or there.
eseme's prompt.
Vas' World has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.
The whole thing was insane. Vas couldn't come up with another word for it. Well, that wasn't true. He knew the words for "this breaks the way the world ought to be" in seventeen different languages; it was a word an explorer such as he was had been trained not to use. After all, "the way things ought to be" in Hoboken was not the same as it was in Halboingcartmen-chtallax, for instance, or at least not the same to a New Jersesian as it was to a Chtallaxon.
But this... this, he was pretty sure, would have Jersian or Cthallaxon agreeing with him. This was crazy. Here he was, ten light-years from home, and he was bowing politely to a woman who wouldn't have looked out of place in the right underground clubs back in the City. She had blue hair, sure, and a purple tinge to her skin, a couple extraneous features that one of the team members could probably tell him were adaptations to something or other on this planet. But she had human (not humanoid) features, and a human (not humanoid) voice.
The giant purple Clydesdale walked up behind him, resting its head (her head) comfortably on top of Vas' skull. "I will trrrrranslate," it whinnied.
The blue-and-purple woman nodded, and then bowed deeply to Vas. She spoke for a few moments in a melodic language with harsh ending consonants, and then bowed again.
“The Lady of the Tribe-by-the-Waterfall offers her greetings. It is a tradition of their tribe to give gifts to all who guest in their town. She brings you-” the horse paused, as the woman handed each of them a complex carved bone tool, “gifts of the best of their craftsmen.”
“We thank the Lady of the Tribe-by-the-Waterfall for their fine gifts.” It was Diplomatic Speech Two; he hadn’t had a chance for Speech One yet. “We are honored by their care and attention to humble travelers.”
The horse whinnied for a while to the blue woman, who eyed Vas with an uncomfortable perceptive gaze. When she spoke again, it was short, curt-sounding, and with less melody and more harshness.
The horse coughed. “This is the parrrt,” it whispered, “where you gift her in returrrn.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/206239.html. You can comment here or there.