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monaboyd Mar. 1st, 2004 09:54 pm)
writteninsable.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Mar. 1st, 2004 09:54 pm)Title: Straight Translators
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
red_moon_rising (or Cai)
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please.
Note #1: I don’t speak Gaelic. Not Scottish Gaelic or Irish Gaelic. I just don’t. *smiles* So you can thankarabella_o for the Gaelic in this chapter, as she found it and translated it and even spelled out how to pronounce the words. *laughs* The same rules apply to the Gaelic as apply to the German. Translations at the bottom.
Note #2: Thanks so much toarabella_o for the lovely beta.
Dom didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the handle in his car when he dozed off, but sliding to the side a bit and knocking his head on the driver’s side window woke him up. He jerked back against the seat, rubbing his forehead, and grimaced at his car in general.
Trying to massage out the kinks in his neck he opened the car door and stepped out. Billy’s car was still next to The Best Pillar In The Whole Damn Parking Garage ™. Dominic rolled his eyes at his silliness, shoved his car door shut with his hip, and walked slowly toward the yellow door that led to the stairs. By the time he’d reached his floor he’d come up with a million different rationalizations for whatever it was he’d written on that stupid piece of paper.
I thought you were someone else!
Oh that’d go over real well…
I didn’t mean it like that!
Didn’t mean what like that, you stupid wanker?
I didn’t know what I was doing!
Well that’s obvious.
He finally just gave up, realizing he didn’t even know which of them would be applicable.
“Besides,” he muttered, walking down the hallway to his condo, “All my excuses were daft, anyway.”
He unlocked his door and stepped inside, expecting Billy’s voice to come floating to him from the living room, asking the questions Dom definitely didn’t want to answer. Instead, he was greeted by silence.
No lights were on and the blinds and curtains were pulled almost shut. Almost, but not quite. There was about a foot of space between the two cloth panels, and pale light filtered in through the gaps in the blinds that he’d created by pulling them down to look outside. Dominic looked around the condo, noting that the kitchen positively sparkled.
He dropped his keys with a soft clink on the (now clean) kitchen table before padding quietly through his house. He’d expected to find Billy on the couch, but he wasn’t there.
Dominic paused, eyes edging toward his open bedroom door. He took a deep breath and walked toward it, peering through into the shadowy depths of his own bedroom, and caught sight of Billy.
Billy in his bed.
Why was Billy in his bed?
To sleep of course, you daft twat, his mind supplied tartly, and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d really appreciate having a nicer mental voice.
Dom tilted his head to the side, watching the slight rise and fall of the sheets tangled around Billy’s chest. The motion was barely visible, just the tiniest bit of shifting fabric over Billy’s torso, but Dom noticed.
And he cursed himself for noticing.
It was part of his problem.
He always noticed too much, over analyzed, and over-reacted.
He realized this about himself, had realized it early-on, and was usually able to curb the temptation to simply give in and let his emotions surge out of control. But sometimes, when he wasn’t particularly wary or when he’d had too much to drink, things got a little out of hand and he wasn’t able to rein himself in.
That’s when things got complicated. Complicated like this was going to be complicated.
Dominic allowed his eyes to follow the line of Billy’s arm to where his hand rested against the pillow near his cheek, fingers curled ever so slightly toward his palm. His gaze focused on that barely-visible palm and an almost-remembered taste flitted across his tongue, salty skin and just a bit of scotch.
He blinked, wondering where that sense-memory had come from before deciding he was probably better off not knowing.
Dom inched further into the room, calling himself ten kinds of fool for the trepidation skating over his nerves, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to rationalize his need for silence, but the rather obnoxious voice in the back of his mind kept interrupting with things like, It’s your own bloody room, make as much noise as you fucking please!
Not helpful, he thought to himself, quietly pulling the chair from the computer table over to the bed before settling down in it.
Just waiting for Bills to wake up, he told himself, deliberately imagining locking his inner voice in a tiny box and throwing away the key.
He looked around, trying to avoid watching Billy but he couldn't help but glancing at Billy's tousled hair, the way it coiled just over the collar of his shirt and the tiny creases on his forehead, begging to be straightened.
Dom looked at the sheets, all twisted beneath Billy’s sleeping body, and thought, for a moment, that maybe he should try to pull them out from beneath him, to make Billy more comfortable. The sane half of his brain kicked in and rejected the idea. There were far too many things that could go wrong if Billy woke up in the middle that that particular covert operation.
Dominic smiled just a little, reminded of other “covert operations” and decided that maybe things wouldn’t go as badly as he’d thought they would. What if he’d just over-reacted again? If Billy had found the translation and was still here, then, maybe…
Stop, his brain instructed, trying desperately to pull him away from thoughts that began with “maybe.”
Protection mechanism, he thought, deciding that the slight curve of Billy’s lower lip was far more interesting, at the moment, than any thoughts concerning “maybe.”
He was just getting to the sweep of Billy’s lashes as they lay against his cheek when said lashes fluttered and sleepy eyes opened, revealing the most brilliant shade of jade-green Dom had ever seen. He cursed himself for a fool yet again when he looked away, trying futilely to avoid staring.
Too green, Dom’s mind supplied, and he had the distinct impression that his mind was getting tired of supplying comments like that.
Dom was just working up the nerve to say something when Billy grumpily muttered, “Bugair,” and turned over, untangling the sheets from his stomach and chest and forcing himself into a sitting position.
Dominic blinked, opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, that meant, but was stopped again when Billy turned to him, nearly glaring, and asked, “What the bloody fucking hell does ‘I live fat,’ mean?”
Dom couldn’t keep his lips from parting a bit in surprise. He just stared at Billy, still blinking owlishly, before slowly shaking his head and replying, “What the hell are you on about, Bill?”
Billy scowled, rummaging around in his pockets until he pulled out a scrap of yellow paper. He brandished it in Dom’s face and declared, “You fucking wrote ‘I live fat’ on the damned paper, Monaghan. What does that mean?”
Dom snatched the piece of paper from Billy’s flailing fist, trying to ignore the fact that said fist was coming perilously close to his nose, and scanned it briefly. He could feel the words bubbling up in the back of his throat. He could taste the bitterness of them, the relief, and the continued uncertainty.
His handwriting was even more illegible than usual. No wonder Billy hadn’t been able to find the correct translation. Dom could barely read it himself. It did look vaguely like “Ich lebe dick,” but he knew that wasn’t what it said.
He knew it, and he also knew that he was never going to tell Billy.
Dominic tried for nonchalance, shrugging and saying as casually as possible, “I’ve no fucking clue, mate,” before crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the general vicinity of the trash bin.
“What do you mean, ‘No fucking clue?’” Billy’s voice was deceptively calm, but Dom could tell he was getting rather angry.
“Just what I said, Bills. I can’t read my own handwriting. I’m surprised you were able to make anything out of it at all.”
He shrugged again, hoping Billy would accept it this time. He didn’t think it likely, so he changed the subject as best he could, though he knew he was grasping at straws as he said, “What was that you were spouting earlier?”
The question caught Billy off guard and he paused, asking, “What?”
“You said something earlier. Sounded kinda like ‘bugger,’ but it wasn’t.”
“Oh. Probably Gaelic.”
“You speak Gaelic?”
“Sometimes, when I’m tired. My Gran taught me some when I was young. Scottish pride, and all that, you know. I guess it just comes through, sometimes,” he yawned, tilting his head back and exposing the taut lines of his throat before lowering his head and looking directly at Dom again.
Desperately, Dominic asked, “Do you know anything else?”
It was Billy’s turn to shrug as he replied, “Mostly just insults my uncles taught me when I turned 13.”
“Like what?”
“Pòg mo thòin, Leodag,” Billy said, stifling another yawn behind his fist.
“And that means?”
“Um…” Billy smiled evilly. “I’m not telling you, mate.”
Dom looked vaguely offended.
“Turn about is fair play, you know,” Billy laughed, throwing off the sheet still wrapped around his legs and standing. He grinned over his shoulder, eyes crinkling at the corners as he said, “Thalla's cagainn bruis, Dom. I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Whatever the fuck that means,” Dom called after him, wondering just what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into now.
War of Words, his brain supplied helpfully.
Dunno if I can handle this, he thought, trying to decide if he really wanted to deal with a Gaelic-spouting Billy in his condo or not…
Translations:
Bugair – Bugger
Pòg mo thòin, Leodag – Kiss my ass, cocktease. (I am so random sometimes, but these Gaelic translations are really amusing…)
Thalla's cagainn bruis – Get lost, or more literally, “Away and chew a brush.”
Chapter 6 has been sent off to the beta. Will be up as soon as possible.
~Cai
Author:
red_moon_rising (or Cai)Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please.
Note #1: I don’t speak Gaelic. Not Scottish Gaelic or Irish Gaelic. I just don’t. *smiles* So you can thank
arabella_o for the Gaelic in this chapter, as she found it and translated it and even spelled out how to pronounce the words. *laughs* The same rules apply to the Gaelic as apply to the German. Translations at the bottom.Note #2: Thanks so much to
arabella_o for the lovely beta.Dom didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the handle in his car when he dozed off, but sliding to the side a bit and knocking his head on the driver’s side window woke him up. He jerked back against the seat, rubbing his forehead, and grimaced at his car in general.
Trying to massage out the kinks in his neck he opened the car door and stepped out. Billy’s car was still next to The Best Pillar In The Whole Damn Parking Garage ™. Dominic rolled his eyes at his silliness, shoved his car door shut with his hip, and walked slowly toward the yellow door that led to the stairs. By the time he’d reached his floor he’d come up with a million different rationalizations for whatever it was he’d written on that stupid piece of paper.
I thought you were someone else!
Oh that’d go over real well…
I didn’t mean it like that!
Didn’t mean what like that, you stupid wanker?
I didn’t know what I was doing!
Well that’s obvious.
He finally just gave up, realizing he didn’t even know which of them would be applicable.
“Besides,” he muttered, walking down the hallway to his condo, “All my excuses were daft, anyway.”
He unlocked his door and stepped inside, expecting Billy’s voice to come floating to him from the living room, asking the questions Dom definitely didn’t want to answer. Instead, he was greeted by silence.
No lights were on and the blinds and curtains were pulled almost shut. Almost, but not quite. There was about a foot of space between the two cloth panels, and pale light filtered in through the gaps in the blinds that he’d created by pulling them down to look outside. Dominic looked around the condo, noting that the kitchen positively sparkled.
He dropped his keys with a soft clink on the (now clean) kitchen table before padding quietly through his house. He’d expected to find Billy on the couch, but he wasn’t there.
Dominic paused, eyes edging toward his open bedroom door. He took a deep breath and walked toward it, peering through into the shadowy depths of his own bedroom, and caught sight of Billy.
Billy in his bed.
Why was Billy in his bed?
To sleep of course, you daft twat, his mind supplied tartly, and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d really appreciate having a nicer mental voice.
Dom tilted his head to the side, watching the slight rise and fall of the sheets tangled around Billy’s chest. The motion was barely visible, just the tiniest bit of shifting fabric over Billy’s torso, but Dom noticed.
And he cursed himself for noticing.
It was part of his problem.
He always noticed too much, over analyzed, and over-reacted.
He realized this about himself, had realized it early-on, and was usually able to curb the temptation to simply give in and let his emotions surge out of control. But sometimes, when he wasn’t particularly wary or when he’d had too much to drink, things got a little out of hand and he wasn’t able to rein himself in.
That’s when things got complicated. Complicated like this was going to be complicated.
Dominic allowed his eyes to follow the line of Billy’s arm to where his hand rested against the pillow near his cheek, fingers curled ever so slightly toward his palm. His gaze focused on that barely-visible palm and an almost-remembered taste flitted across his tongue, salty skin and just a bit of scotch.
He blinked, wondering where that sense-memory had come from before deciding he was probably better off not knowing.
Dom inched further into the room, calling himself ten kinds of fool for the trepidation skating over his nerves, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to rationalize his need for silence, but the rather obnoxious voice in the back of his mind kept interrupting with things like, It’s your own bloody room, make as much noise as you fucking please!
Not helpful, he thought to himself, quietly pulling the chair from the computer table over to the bed before settling down in it.
Just waiting for Bills to wake up, he told himself, deliberately imagining locking his inner voice in a tiny box and throwing away the key.
He looked around, trying to avoid watching Billy but he couldn't help but glancing at Billy's tousled hair, the way it coiled just over the collar of his shirt and the tiny creases on his forehead, begging to be straightened.
Dom looked at the sheets, all twisted beneath Billy’s sleeping body, and thought, for a moment, that maybe he should try to pull them out from beneath him, to make Billy more comfortable. The sane half of his brain kicked in and rejected the idea. There were far too many things that could go wrong if Billy woke up in the middle that that particular covert operation.
Dominic smiled just a little, reminded of other “covert operations” and decided that maybe things wouldn’t go as badly as he’d thought they would. What if he’d just over-reacted again? If Billy had found the translation and was still here, then, maybe…
Stop, his brain instructed, trying desperately to pull him away from thoughts that began with “maybe.”
Protection mechanism, he thought, deciding that the slight curve of Billy’s lower lip was far more interesting, at the moment, than any thoughts concerning “maybe.”
He was just getting to the sweep of Billy’s lashes as they lay against his cheek when said lashes fluttered and sleepy eyes opened, revealing the most brilliant shade of jade-green Dom had ever seen. He cursed himself for a fool yet again when he looked away, trying futilely to avoid staring.
Too green, Dom’s mind supplied, and he had the distinct impression that his mind was getting tired of supplying comments like that.
Dom was just working up the nerve to say something when Billy grumpily muttered, “Bugair,” and turned over, untangling the sheets from his stomach and chest and forcing himself into a sitting position.
Dominic blinked, opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, that meant, but was stopped again when Billy turned to him, nearly glaring, and asked, “What the bloody fucking hell does ‘I live fat,’ mean?”
Dom couldn’t keep his lips from parting a bit in surprise. He just stared at Billy, still blinking owlishly, before slowly shaking his head and replying, “What the hell are you on about, Bill?”
Billy scowled, rummaging around in his pockets until he pulled out a scrap of yellow paper. He brandished it in Dom’s face and declared, “You fucking wrote ‘I live fat’ on the damned paper, Monaghan. What does that mean?”
Dom snatched the piece of paper from Billy’s flailing fist, trying to ignore the fact that said fist was coming perilously close to his nose, and scanned it briefly. He could feel the words bubbling up in the back of his throat. He could taste the bitterness of them, the relief, and the continued uncertainty.
His handwriting was even more illegible than usual. No wonder Billy hadn’t been able to find the correct translation. Dom could barely read it himself. It did look vaguely like “Ich lebe dick,” but he knew that wasn’t what it said.
He knew it, and he also knew that he was never going to tell Billy.
Dominic tried for nonchalance, shrugging and saying as casually as possible, “I’ve no fucking clue, mate,” before crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the general vicinity of the trash bin.
“What do you mean, ‘No fucking clue?’” Billy’s voice was deceptively calm, but Dom could tell he was getting rather angry.
“Just what I said, Bills. I can’t read my own handwriting. I’m surprised you were able to make anything out of it at all.”
He shrugged again, hoping Billy would accept it this time. He didn’t think it likely, so he changed the subject as best he could, though he knew he was grasping at straws as he said, “What was that you were spouting earlier?”
The question caught Billy off guard and he paused, asking, “What?”
“You said something earlier. Sounded kinda like ‘bugger,’ but it wasn’t.”
“Oh. Probably Gaelic.”
“You speak Gaelic?”
“Sometimes, when I’m tired. My Gran taught me some when I was young. Scottish pride, and all that, you know. I guess it just comes through, sometimes,” he yawned, tilting his head back and exposing the taut lines of his throat before lowering his head and looking directly at Dom again.
Desperately, Dominic asked, “Do you know anything else?”
It was Billy’s turn to shrug as he replied, “Mostly just insults my uncles taught me when I turned 13.”
“Like what?”
“Pòg mo thòin, Leodag,” Billy said, stifling another yawn behind his fist.
“And that means?”
“Um…” Billy smiled evilly. “I’m not telling you, mate.”
Dom looked vaguely offended.
“Turn about is fair play, you know,” Billy laughed, throwing off the sheet still wrapped around his legs and standing. He grinned over his shoulder, eyes crinkling at the corners as he said, “Thalla's cagainn bruis, Dom. I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Whatever the fuck that means,” Dom called after him, wondering just what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into now.
War of Words, his brain supplied helpfully.
Dunno if I can handle this, he thought, trying to decide if he really wanted to deal with a Gaelic-spouting Billy in his condo or not…
Translations:
Bugair – Bugger
Pòg mo thòin, Leodag – Kiss my ass, cocktease. (I am so random sometimes, but these Gaelic translations are really amusing…)
Thalla's cagainn bruis – Get lost, or more literally, “Away and chew a brush.”
Chapter 6 has been sent off to the beta. Will be up as soon as possible.
~Cai
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