Lost In Translation
Jul. 31st, 2008 02:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charameiTitle: Lost In Translation
Rating: PG for sesquipedalianism
Characters: Four, Romana II
Pairing: Doctor/Romana
Spoilers: What, you didn't know that Four turned red?
Wordcount: 1197
Disclaimer: Alas, for I am no closer to owning Doctor Who. It's still all for fun and practice. English translations are at the end: thanks to torn_eledhwen and alligatorade for correcting my French errors.
Summary: Romana learns French, while the Doctor loses a sock and ponders the nature of the Gallifreyan language. There are some quite important things that you just can't express in it, after all.
/\/\/\
Gallifreyan was a famously difficult language to learn, primarily because of the way its tenses and pronouns shifted. Of course, what most aliens viewed as a secondary complaint was really, the Doctor reflected, the real trouble: 'random fluctuations in the time-space continuum' was a concept that had been compressed into one short swear-word, and yet, in the time it took to ask, "Romana, have you seen my left sock?" he might as well have searched the TARDIS again.
"Beg pardon, Doctor?"
She was pushing buttons again, which could only mean that she was up to something. Oh, dear. Last time she had been near the console, he had come back to it to find all its innards neatly wrapped in colour-coded cable ties, which would have been perfectly all right if only she hadn't failed to understand that he already had a system. He'd quoted Hamlet. She had raised an eyebrow. The cable ties were staying, for now.
"Have you seen my left sock, I said – and what are you doing to the console?"
"Oh, just turning off the translation unit," she assured him, and turned to face him, giving it one last pat. "I'm hoping to learn a language this afternoon, and it would be helpful if the TARDIS wasn't translating things for me. I haven't seen your sock," she added, as an afterthought.
Romana, he noticed, was wearing pink again. Romana had been wearing pink rather a lot lately. He hadn't liked to say anything, but really, he was beginning to wonder if she was perhaps suffering from some hideous disease which rendered her only able to see one part of the spectrum. Hopefully there would be a cure.
Still, he was quite an expert on languages, so perhaps Romana's hypothetical colour-blindness could wait a while longer.
"Oh, languages? I'm quite good at languages; any one in particular?"
"I thought perhaps French."
"French? Oh, no, no, you can't learn French; it's so tediously predictable of you. I recommend English. It's the official language of two of the three Great and Bountiful Human Empires, after all. Besides, we would be able to communicate then."
"We're communicating now, Doctor," Romana pointed out, her logic as impeccable as ever.
He waved this away. "Yes, yes, but we would be able to communicate better. Gallifreyan is hardly perfect, you know."
Romana sighed. "And English is?"
"Well, no, obviously, but for everyday conversations I find it much easier. Do you know how long this conversation has taken us?"
"Three minutes, forty-seven point eight seconds," she said promptly, and in five syllables. Well, to deny that Gallifreyan was anything but the very best language in existence for discussing the passage of time would simply be wrong.
"You see? In English it would have taken half that. And besides, there are concepts that just don't translate." One concept in particular, in fact, which had been irking him for centuries.
"Such as?"
The translation unit was definitely turned off, he was sure of it, which was just as well, because it would butcher this sentence. The Doctor took a breath. "Well, such as that I love you."
There was a moment of silence, then Romana wrinkled her nose in a particularly delightful manner. "Three syllables?"
"Yes." The closest thing he had found in Gallifreyan was I rather enjoy your company, which was a sesquipedalian twenty-one syllables and had a tongue-twisting alliteration right in the middle.
"What does it mean?"
He was quite sure that he was blushing, so he ducked behind the console under the pretence of resuming the quest for his sock. "Well, if you learn English then you'll find out, won't you?"
Romana made a small huffing noise and left the console room. Moments later, her voice drifted back up the corridor. "Have you checked the bath-house?"
"Fourteen syllables," the Doctor said to the TARDIS floor. "Ours is a very sick culture."
Romana spent the whole afternoon in the library. By the time she was finished with French, the Doctor had given up on finding his sock – it would turn up, one day when he least expected it – and retreated to the library himself, to catch up on his reading.
The library was outfitted as a library should be, with towering oak bookcases, leather sofas and some of those funny green lights that you never saw anywhere else. It had also recently spawned a number of chaise-longues, because this body liked to stretch out when given an opportunity to do so; they were mostly in alcoves, and the Doctor, being a practical sort, had taken the one nearest the door.
He was therefore, and completely accidentally of course, in a prime position to spot Romana making her way over to the reference section, then coming back a moment later with an English-French dictionary. There followed ten minutes of furious page-turning, then Romana came out again, this time returning with a proper dictionary in French, and an encyclopaedia.
There was some muttering, then four minutes after that she emerged again, this time heading not for the reference section but for him. He almost stopped breathing, but managed, somehow, to put his book down on his chest as she approached, still looking rather bemused.
"Well?"
"I see," she said calmly. His hearts sank.
"You do, do you?"
"You're quite right. There is no way to express that concept in Gallifreyan. It's a terrible shame; it sounds quite... nice."
"Yes, humans seem to enjoy it."
"Of course, humans aren't telepathic. I imagine a species would require more words to explain a sense of emotional attachment if its members were incapable of simply projecting the sensation to their fellows."
It occurred to the Doctor that this explanation had never occurred to him before. "Well, perhaps," he allowed. "Although I'm not sure if you're thinking of quite the same concept as I am, hm?"
Romana half-smiled, and sat down on a nearby sofa."Oh, Doctor, really. While it is nice to be able to say je t'aime, I can hardly say that the concept is new."
The telepathic sensation hit him at the same moment as she said it, a sudden wave of affection and warmth. He couldn't help but smile as he responded, I love you the Gallifreyan way, all emotion and no words, and simultaneously wondered how he'd managed to miss it up until now and really rather wished he hadn't, because it was entirely beautiful.
"You know," he said, slowly and carefully navigating the verbal minefield, "I rather enjoy your company."
Romana smiled. "Our mutual telepathic field is pleasantly harmonious is shorter, I think. Now, perhaps you could explain to me why it is that ta TARDIS délabré teint continuellement mes vêtements en rose?"
The Doctor frowned. There hadn't been anything wrong with the laundry as far as he was concerned, except that his sock was still missing.
His new red sock, to go with his new red outfit, he thought, as he gazed down himself at his bare foot, its rather magnificent big toe wiggling innocently at him.
"Ah..."
/\/\/\
ta TARDIS délabré teint continuellement mes vêtements en rose – your dilapidated TARDIS keeps dying my clothing pink
He'd quoted Hamlet - Act 2, scene 2, line 206: 'Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.'
/\/\/\
People may also be interested in my Ten Rules for the Gallifreyan Language, which spawned this little fic in the first place.
/\/\/\
Rating: PG for sesquipedalianism
Characters: Four, Romana II
Pairing: Doctor/Romana
Spoilers: What, you didn't know that Four turned red?
Wordcount: 1197
Disclaimer: Alas, for I am no closer to owning Doctor Who. It's still all for fun and practice. English translations are at the end: thanks to torn_eledhwen and alligatorade for correcting my French errors.
Summary: Romana learns French, while the Doctor loses a sock and ponders the nature of the Gallifreyan language. There are some quite important things that you just can't express in it, after all.
Gallifreyan was a famously difficult language to learn, primarily because of the way its tenses and pronouns shifted. Of course, what most aliens viewed as a secondary complaint was really, the Doctor reflected, the real trouble: 'random fluctuations in the time-space continuum' was a concept that had been compressed into one short swear-word, and yet, in the time it took to ask, "Romana, have you seen my left sock?" he might as well have searched the TARDIS again.
"Beg pardon, Doctor?"
She was pushing buttons again, which could only mean that she was up to something. Oh, dear. Last time she had been near the console, he had come back to it to find all its innards neatly wrapped in colour-coded cable ties, which would have been perfectly all right if only she hadn't failed to understand that he already had a system. He'd quoted Hamlet. She had raised an eyebrow. The cable ties were staying, for now.
"Have you seen my left sock, I said – and what are you doing to the console?"
"Oh, just turning off the translation unit," she assured him, and turned to face him, giving it one last pat. "I'm hoping to learn a language this afternoon, and it would be helpful if the TARDIS wasn't translating things for me. I haven't seen your sock," she added, as an afterthought.
Romana, he noticed, was wearing pink again. Romana had been wearing pink rather a lot lately. He hadn't liked to say anything, but really, he was beginning to wonder if she was perhaps suffering from some hideous disease which rendered her only able to see one part of the spectrum. Hopefully there would be a cure.
Still, he was quite an expert on languages, so perhaps Romana's hypothetical colour-blindness could wait a while longer.
"Oh, languages? I'm quite good at languages; any one in particular?"
"I thought perhaps French."
"French? Oh, no, no, you can't learn French; it's so tediously predictable of you. I recommend English. It's the official language of two of the three Great and Bountiful Human Empires, after all. Besides, we would be able to communicate then."
"We're communicating now, Doctor," Romana pointed out, her logic as impeccable as ever.
He waved this away. "Yes, yes, but we would be able to communicate better. Gallifreyan is hardly perfect, you know."
Romana sighed. "And English is?"
"Well, no, obviously, but for everyday conversations I find it much easier. Do you know how long this conversation has taken us?"
"Three minutes, forty-seven point eight seconds," she said promptly, and in five syllables. Well, to deny that Gallifreyan was anything but the very best language in existence for discussing the passage of time would simply be wrong.
"You see? In English it would have taken half that. And besides, there are concepts that just don't translate." One concept in particular, in fact, which had been irking him for centuries.
"Such as?"
The translation unit was definitely turned off, he was sure of it, which was just as well, because it would butcher this sentence. The Doctor took a breath. "Well, such as that I love you."
There was a moment of silence, then Romana wrinkled her nose in a particularly delightful manner. "Three syllables?"
"Yes." The closest thing he had found in Gallifreyan was I rather enjoy your company, which was a sesquipedalian twenty-one syllables and had a tongue-twisting alliteration right in the middle.
"What does it mean?"
He was quite sure that he was blushing, so he ducked behind the console under the pretence of resuming the quest for his sock. "Well, if you learn English then you'll find out, won't you?"
Romana made a small huffing noise and left the console room. Moments later, her voice drifted back up the corridor. "Have you checked the bath-house?"
"Fourteen syllables," the Doctor said to the TARDIS floor. "Ours is a very sick culture."
Romana spent the whole afternoon in the library. By the time she was finished with French, the Doctor had given up on finding his sock – it would turn up, one day when he least expected it – and retreated to the library himself, to catch up on his reading.
The library was outfitted as a library should be, with towering oak bookcases, leather sofas and some of those funny green lights that you never saw anywhere else. It had also recently spawned a number of chaise-longues, because this body liked to stretch out when given an opportunity to do so; they were mostly in alcoves, and the Doctor, being a practical sort, had taken the one nearest the door.
He was therefore, and completely accidentally of course, in a prime position to spot Romana making her way over to the reference section, then coming back a moment later with an English-French dictionary. There followed ten minutes of furious page-turning, then Romana came out again, this time returning with a proper dictionary in French, and an encyclopaedia.
There was some muttering, then four minutes after that she emerged again, this time heading not for the reference section but for him. He almost stopped breathing, but managed, somehow, to put his book down on his chest as she approached, still looking rather bemused.
"Well?"
"I see," she said calmly. His hearts sank.
"You do, do you?"
"You're quite right. There is no way to express that concept in Gallifreyan. It's a terrible shame; it sounds quite... nice."
"Yes, humans seem to enjoy it."
"Of course, humans aren't telepathic. I imagine a species would require more words to explain a sense of emotional attachment if its members were incapable of simply projecting the sensation to their fellows."
It occurred to the Doctor that this explanation had never occurred to him before. "Well, perhaps," he allowed. "Although I'm not sure if you're thinking of quite the same concept as I am, hm?"
Romana half-smiled, and sat down on a nearby sofa."Oh, Doctor, really. While it is nice to be able to say je t'aime, I can hardly say that the concept is new."
The telepathic sensation hit him at the same moment as she said it, a sudden wave of affection and warmth. He couldn't help but smile as he responded, I love you the Gallifreyan way, all emotion and no words, and simultaneously wondered how he'd managed to miss it up until now and really rather wished he hadn't, because it was entirely beautiful.
"You know," he said, slowly and carefully navigating the verbal minefield, "I rather enjoy your company."
Romana smiled. "Our mutual telepathic field is pleasantly harmonious is shorter, I think. Now, perhaps you could explain to me why it is that ta TARDIS délabré teint continuellement mes vêtements en rose?"
The Doctor frowned. There hadn't been anything wrong with the laundry as far as he was concerned, except that his sock was still missing.
His new red sock, to go with his new red outfit, he thought, as he gazed down himself at his bare foot, its rather magnificent big toe wiggling innocently at him.
"Ah..."
ta TARDIS délabré teint continuellement mes vêtements en rose – your dilapidated TARDIS keeps dying my clothing pink
He'd quoted Hamlet - Act 2, scene 2, line 206: 'Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.'
People may also be interested in my Ten Rules for the Gallifreyan Language, which spawned this little fic in the first place.
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Date: 2008-08-01 09:49 am (UTC)