nexus_crossings | Language LOL: Translator Malfunction

You know what's cool? Chatting with your pals. Reading the Internet. Navigating the roads because you can understand the Gods-damned street signs. You know what's not cool? Not being able to do any of that. By that metric, one might describe today in the Nexus decidedly uncool.

It's utterly without warning that the multiversal hub goes from automatic to manual translation. Shop signs, radio and television broadcasts, conversations on the streets between vendors and friends and businesspeople are suddenly a jarring cacophony of dissonant languages. Then there's the silence. Then there's the shouting. Turns out people get pissed off when nobody understands them!

Momentary chaos dies down as the average people of the Nexus come to grips with their new situation. Shopkeepers wait outside their stores and stands with expectant expressions, impatiently waiting for the translator to pull itself together and start working again.

Except...

It sort of doesn't.

No, it super doesn't.

Citizens of the Nexus, it would appear you're going to have to adjust...

((The temporary LANGUAGE LOL is now underway! It's freeform fun until you're done and participation is completely optional. Don't feel like this event should stop you from making threads which are unaffected by the LOL in the mean time. If you want your Language LOL'd character to interact with a non-LOL thread, please ask the OP if they want to play that dynamic first. For the OOC and organization post, GO HERE. ))

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There's a flinch when she hears her name shouted over the crowd of various people angry over the translation failures, and when she glances to see if it's who the fuck she thinks it is, she sighs and crosses her arms, adopting an irritated stare, "Yes, I fucking speak common, what the fuck happened here?"

The Ferengi, weighing his options for the moment, decides this is the perfect opportunity to slink off before this situation gets any worse.

"One minute everything was fine, and the next minute we couldn't fucking understand each other." There's that familiar irritated scowl at, well. Everything ever.

Oh, right. Forty swears. Like, constantly! He gets over his renewed surprise with a little anxious laugh. He scratches at one of his sideburns as he looks around. "I got no idea what happened here. Guess whatever keeps us understandin' eachother must'a busted."

He whips his attention back to her and whispers, "Shit, I hope it ain't somethin' like that Khan ordeal all over again..."

Well, he might hope it's not, but the mention of it lights the eyes of the skull at the hilt of the runeblade strapped to his back. It could go for a little 'righteously defending the Nexus from invaders' right about now, sure!

Of course she fuckin' swears, Harrowheart, you got a light damned problem with that? "Looks like. Fucking hell, it happened at the worst fucking time."

She sighs, more irritated at the inconvenience than anything else.

"Well if it's something like that Khan asshole again I'll just drop another fel damned Infernal on his face and see how he likes it when he's punched by several fucking tons of fel-flaming rock."

Harrow laughs and grins at Forty's spunk. "That's the Azerothian way," he says, elbowing her playfully.

Suddenly his expression drops and he stares into the middle distance. Wait a minute. The Azerothian way. The gears of his mind are visibly turning as he slowly drags his attention back to Forty.

"Since you and I can understand each other we're gonna have to team up now, huh? Armies of the Legionfall style." He hooks an arm around Forty's shoulders and pulls her in, and with the hand of that same arm jabs his thumb into his chest. Enjoy the brief headlock. "I speak an Earth language. I can be your translator!"

Fortyskey's eyes narrow at the 'Azerothian Way' and as Harrow lapses into momentary thought. Truth be told, she's never really given much of a fuck about faction lines--following, instead, the very simple policy: If they don't kill her, she won't kill them.

They do try to kill her, they will die in agony.

Still, she's not expecting him to up and grab her. She immediately bristles, going tense like a feral cat unused to human contact and she spits out a swear that doesn't quite translate. Hauled into the headlock, Harrow might really notice how, uh. Little the scrawny, dead warlock actually weighs. Ninety Pounds Soaking Wet might be a fairly apt description.

She sputters and tugs at his arm. "Fuck! Let me go, Harrow!"

However, there's still the fact that she's dangerous. She did melt your face last year, Harrow.

Harrowheart tosses his head back and laughs deeply, but he does comply. Forty is allowed her freedom and Harrow crosses his arms over his chest.

"So is that a 'yes' or a 'no' to me bein' your official translator? And – Ah, hey! I shoulda asked, what other languages do you speak anyway? Orcish, I figure. How about Forsaken? I hear y'all got your own language. Some of your scientists or somethin' went and cooked it up? That true, or?..."

Oh thank everything ever he released her. Immediately upon being released, Fortyskey immediately relaxes, it's almost a visible change in attitude.

Still, she crosses her arms. "Depends on how long this fucking bullshit lasts. Anyway."

Firstly, she rattles off something Harrow will immediately recognize as the guttural dialect that's Orcish, then switches so something that sounds like a bastardized version of Common, but doesn't translate, and she finishes off with something in Demonic.

Then she switches back to Common, "Orcish, Forsaken, Demonic," she counts off on her fingers, "I can understand some of the fucking Blood Elf language, but not enough to converse, and I can recognize most of the other languages from our world, even if I don't know what the fuck they're saying."

Harrow listens to Forty with a novel smile on his face. She's so talented! He's learning interesting things about his little frenemy.

"Demonic kinda sounds like Draenei, don't it? Guess it makes sense when you think about it." Huh.

Oh! "Thalassian! I know one thing, here."

He clears his throat, pauses with his eyes closed, and then begins to sing. His voice is soft, and while he's no professional he's had enough practice to at least be decent and do the song some justice -- though the elves would certainly disagree.

"Anar'alaaah, Anar'alaaah beloreee.
Sin'doreeeei.
Shindu fallah naaaa,
Sin'doooreeei."

He smiles at Forty, and because he's sure he's fucked it up he says, "Lament of the Highborne. I heard Sylvanas sings it real good, but I wouldn't know. Don't think I wanna get close enough to find out, either."

Then he gestures at Forty and says, "You like to sing? I know a dirty Dwarven song that's right up your alley I bet."

"Kinda, but from what I've heard of how Draenei speak their language, Demonic's more forceful." Admittedly, it hasn't been much. With the possible exception of a Draenei Death Knight, Fortyskey hasn't been around too many of them too often, since as Bringers of the Light, they're typically not terribly fond of the Undead.

Especially a fel-fire flinging, worse than a sailor cussing, no fucks given, completely horrible influence undead like Fortyskey, who doesn't really bother to, well. Hide any of that.

~~Seriously, doing the Exodar scenario with Light's Heart was really awkward for her player to think about.~~

"I can cuss in Dwarven, for all the fucking good it does me. And I've probably heard it at this point at least once."

Language LOL: Translator Malfunction

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