Still more story
Oct. 16th, 2006 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76Am cracking on this. It helps that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hoshikage and sandpanther and I are all in a feeding frenzy on this series, spurring one another to greater heights by writing and translating for one another....
Mirai lay awake in his bed, arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed.
Ryu's name hovered before him in his mind's eye and he examined it more closely. There were certain similarities to his own, he saw now. There was the bold angle on the third stroke that said they were both warriors. In the section that described their hearts, he read a love of the Earth and its people. They both had their share of pride, too, and they shared the acute v-dip that spoke of their knowledge of sorrow, loss. The curve on their characters that spoke of them to outsiders, though, was deeper on his name than on Ryu's; he tried to translate it into Japanese and ended up with the difference between "pure-hearted" and "good-hearted." But where Ryu's name also spoke of his forthrightness, Mirai's was muddled. This he accepted; changing forms and having lied about who he was to his human friends, he knew he could no longer claim truth as part of his being.
He still wondered about that last character on Ryu's name, though. It was obviously the most recent development, given its place in his name. Mirai didn't think it was Marina or Konomi that Ryu loved, nor any of the female engineers or medics he knew. Was it someone outside of GUYS, then? He supposed Ryu /must/ know some people who were. He just couldn't think of who they might be. The straightness of the main line had been precise, though; it certainly wasn't that Ryu loved someone forbidden or unattainable. Mirai half-breathed a laugh at that thought. No, the double curl had been reciprocal; whoever it was clearly loved Ryu in return. He half-pondered writing the rest of his friends' names just to be sure if it was any of them, but decided that felt like it would be too much like spying.
*
"Mirai-kun!" Konomi bounced to her feet as soon as he entered the operations room the next morning, clapping her hands together. "Ryu-san showed us how you wrote his name in your language. Can you write mine too?"
Mirai blinked, and looked at Ryu. "You showed them?" he asked dumbly. For some reason he hadn't thought Ryu would.
"It's only my name," Ryu said defensively.
"It's not just a name!" Mirai replied. "We don't have just names in our writing. It's a description."
"What?" Ryu asked, looking down at the sheet he held in his hands. He looked back at Mirai, half a glare in his eyes. "What did you write about me?"
Mirai sighed, sitting down at his workstation and fishing paper and a ballpoint pen out of the drawer beneath it. He began writing Ryu's name again, going slower with the implement than he had writing it in energy. He talked as he drew, conscious of his teammates gathering around him to watch. "This says you're a living adult, educated in laws and morals and free to make your own choices," he began, drawing a vertical line that slightly slanted toward the right. "The relative length indicates your stage of life; the angle your degree of education in these things. The cross-flourish at the top means you're male, in a bi-gendered species. The closed circle at the bottom indicates your choice toward justice, law, and the right of things...."
"There's all that in one line?" George demanded.
"Amazing," Teppei agreed.
"It's all relative," Mirai explained, beginning the second character. "The angle and depth of the line tells just as much as whether it's a circle, a stroke, or a bar...."
"If you have to be so precise in Ultra writing, then how come your Japanese handwriting is so bad?" Ryu demanded.
Mirai's pen slowed, but did not quite stop. "The meaning is different," he explained, paying more attention than he really needed to to a tight swirl. "Ultra script is more intuitive to write and less rigid. What's described is what we see, what we feel to be... not just a linguistic marker of object, subject, noun, or verb."
"Names are power, aren't they?" Marina asked suddenly. "They're not like with us, where they're something given by parents or a nickname from friends. They're a description of what you /are./"
Mirai nodded, finishing the second character of Ryu's name and looking up at him. "Do you want me to continue, Ryu-san?" he asked softly.
Ryu glared at him. "There's nothing in me I'm afraid for anyone to see," he declared.
Mirai wondered about that, but turned back to the paper. "This is your inclination toward problem-solving, with an indication of mechanical aptitude, which flows into an outward attitude of brusqueness...."
*
Mirai finished Konomi's name and carefully wrote just her given name next to it in phonetic katakana letters. He'd ended up having to explain that there were no sounds associated with words in the Ultra language. Telepathy, after all, didn't need sound to communicate. When he'd first arrived on Earth it had been hard, dealing with the human spoken languages, trying to form the words correctly in the medium of /sound/, which had been utterly alien to him. He thought he'd gotten better at it in the intervening months. Teppei, of course, had asked if that didn't mean /he/ was telepathic and could he read anyone's thoughts. And Mirai was, but he couldn't, and that led to a discussion of the way telepathy worked and how most humans hadn't developed those senses yet. Mirai did admit to a certain familiarity with the way each of their minds "felt," though, which as Moebius enabled him to pick out shouted instructions across a great distance. It was that same sense which enabled him to write each of their names in his language.
"Thank you, Mirai-kun!" Konomi beamed as he walked over to her desk and handed the paper to her. "Oh, it's so pretty, like art. Is it okay if I frame it?"
"Sure," Mirai replied, nodding, pleased at the thought. If he couldn't write Japanese neatly enough to please Ryu, at least his handwriting in his own language was acceptable. Not that any of his friends could read the meanings embedded in each of their names.
"Call it modern art, senorita, and no one will know the difference," George advised from across the room.
Konomi stuck her tongue out at him. "It /is/ art," she declared. "It's much more beautiful than my name in Japanese."
"If it's a beautiful name, it's because you're a beautiful person," Mirai remarked cheerfully, and went back to his own desk, where he could finally get to his work after finishing the last of the six sets of names.
*
George knew he'd lost the betting pool. The way Mirai had been so blithe when he talked about Ryu being in love, and the half-anguished look Ryu had tried to hide as soon as it had crossed his face.... Mirai was utterly clueless.
He dribbled the soccer ball up the field and back down to where Mirai waited at the goal. Even before Mirai's real identity had been revealed, he'd asked the kid to practice with him, reasoning that Mirai had come closer than anyone ever had to stopping his shooting star kick. Now, though, there was a certain pride involved in the activity. If he could get a shot past /Ultraman/, past Mirai not holding himself back, then nothing could stop him. The fact that he hadn't managed it once yet wasn't really a concern.
The fact that Mirai was an idiot and Ryu wasn't meant that Ryu was hurting. But while George was all in favor of amor, he wasn't sure if he should say anything. For one, it meant that he'd be affecting the results of the betting pool, and la bella senorita would skin him if she ever found out. For another, he wasn't sure that Ryu didn't deserve to be miserable if the man didn't have the cojones to speak up.
Then again... Mirai /was/ an alien. Who knew if the Ultra even could love the way humans did? Maybe Ryu was right to be hesitant.
George shrugged off these concerns like water from a duck's back and grounded himself as he pounded closer to the goal, centering, drawing power from the sense of /here/ and /now/, and gathering it into one fierce move, a kick that turned the ball to energy and fire, a force that only Ultraman could stop.
And someday, he swore to himself as Mirai blocked the shot yet again, he was going to get past even that limitation.
hoshikage and sandpanther and I are all in a feeding frenzy on this series, spurring one another to greater heights by writing and translating for one another....Mirai lay awake in his bed, arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed.
Ryu's name hovered before him in his mind's eye and he examined it more closely. There were certain similarities to his own, he saw now. There was the bold angle on the third stroke that said they were both warriors. In the section that described their hearts, he read a love of the Earth and its people. They both had their share of pride, too, and they shared the acute v-dip that spoke of their knowledge of sorrow, loss. The curve on their characters that spoke of them to outsiders, though, was deeper on his name than on Ryu's; he tried to translate it into Japanese and ended up with the difference between "pure-hearted" and "good-hearted." But where Ryu's name also spoke of his forthrightness, Mirai's was muddled. This he accepted; changing forms and having lied about who he was to his human friends, he knew he could no longer claim truth as part of his being.
He still wondered about that last character on Ryu's name, though. It was obviously the most recent development, given its place in his name. Mirai didn't think it was Marina or Konomi that Ryu loved, nor any of the female engineers or medics he knew. Was it someone outside of GUYS, then? He supposed Ryu /must/ know some people who were. He just couldn't think of who they might be. The straightness of the main line had been precise, though; it certainly wasn't that Ryu loved someone forbidden or unattainable. Mirai half-breathed a laugh at that thought. No, the double curl had been reciprocal; whoever it was clearly loved Ryu in return. He half-pondered writing the rest of his friends' names just to be sure if it was any of them, but decided that felt like it would be too much like spying.
"Mirai-kun!" Konomi bounced to her feet as soon as he entered the operations room the next morning, clapping her hands together. "Ryu-san showed us how you wrote his name in your language. Can you write mine too?"
Mirai blinked, and looked at Ryu. "You showed them?" he asked dumbly. For some reason he hadn't thought Ryu would.
"It's only my name," Ryu said defensively.
"It's not just a name!" Mirai replied. "We don't have just names in our writing. It's a description."
"What?" Ryu asked, looking down at the sheet he held in his hands. He looked back at Mirai, half a glare in his eyes. "What did you write about me?"
Mirai sighed, sitting down at his workstation and fishing paper and a ballpoint pen out of the drawer beneath it. He began writing Ryu's name again, going slower with the implement than he had writing it in energy. He talked as he drew, conscious of his teammates gathering around him to watch. "This says you're a living adult, educated in laws and morals and free to make your own choices," he began, drawing a vertical line that slightly slanted toward the right. "The relative length indicates your stage of life; the angle your degree of education in these things. The cross-flourish at the top means you're male, in a bi-gendered species. The closed circle at the bottom indicates your choice toward justice, law, and the right of things...."
"There's all that in one line?" George demanded.
"Amazing," Teppei agreed.
"It's all relative," Mirai explained, beginning the second character. "The angle and depth of the line tells just as much as whether it's a circle, a stroke, or a bar...."
"If you have to be so precise in Ultra writing, then how come your Japanese handwriting is so bad?" Ryu demanded.
Mirai's pen slowed, but did not quite stop. "The meaning is different," he explained, paying more attention than he really needed to to a tight swirl. "Ultra script is more intuitive to write and less rigid. What's described is what we see, what we feel to be... not just a linguistic marker of object, subject, noun, or verb."
"Names are power, aren't they?" Marina asked suddenly. "They're not like with us, where they're something given by parents or a nickname from friends. They're a description of what you /are./"
Mirai nodded, finishing the second character of Ryu's name and looking up at him. "Do you want me to continue, Ryu-san?" he asked softly.
Ryu glared at him. "There's nothing in me I'm afraid for anyone to see," he declared.
Mirai wondered about that, but turned back to the paper. "This is your inclination toward problem-solving, with an indication of mechanical aptitude, which flows into an outward attitude of brusqueness...."
Mirai finished Konomi's name and carefully wrote just her given name next to it in phonetic katakana letters. He'd ended up having to explain that there were no sounds associated with words in the Ultra language. Telepathy, after all, didn't need sound to communicate. When he'd first arrived on Earth it had been hard, dealing with the human spoken languages, trying to form the words correctly in the medium of /sound/, which had been utterly alien to him. He thought he'd gotten better at it in the intervening months. Teppei, of course, had asked if that didn't mean /he/ was telepathic and could he read anyone's thoughts. And Mirai was, but he couldn't, and that led to a discussion of the way telepathy worked and how most humans hadn't developed those senses yet. Mirai did admit to a certain familiarity with the way each of their minds "felt," though, which as Moebius enabled him to pick out shouted instructions across a great distance. It was that same sense which enabled him to write each of their names in his language.
"Thank you, Mirai-kun!" Konomi beamed as he walked over to her desk and handed the paper to her. "Oh, it's so pretty, like art. Is it okay if I frame it?"
"Sure," Mirai replied, nodding, pleased at the thought. If he couldn't write Japanese neatly enough to please Ryu, at least his handwriting in his own language was acceptable. Not that any of his friends could read the meanings embedded in each of their names.
"Call it modern art, senorita, and no one will know the difference," George advised from across the room.
Konomi stuck her tongue out at him. "It /is/ art," she declared. "It's much more beautiful than my name in Japanese."
"If it's a beautiful name, it's because you're a beautiful person," Mirai remarked cheerfully, and went back to his own desk, where he could finally get to his work after finishing the last of the six sets of names.
George knew he'd lost the betting pool. The way Mirai had been so blithe when he talked about Ryu being in love, and the half-anguished look Ryu had tried to hide as soon as it had crossed his face.... Mirai was utterly clueless.
He dribbled the soccer ball up the field and back down to where Mirai waited at the goal. Even before Mirai's real identity had been revealed, he'd asked the kid to practice with him, reasoning that Mirai had come closer than anyone ever had to stopping his shooting star kick. Now, though, there was a certain pride involved in the activity. If he could get a shot past /Ultraman/, past Mirai not holding himself back, then nothing could stop him. The fact that he hadn't managed it once yet wasn't really a concern.
The fact that Mirai was an idiot and Ryu wasn't meant that Ryu was hurting. But while George was all in favor of amor, he wasn't sure if he should say anything. For one, it meant that he'd be affecting the results of the betting pool, and la bella senorita would skin him if she ever found out. For another, he wasn't sure that Ryu didn't deserve to be miserable if the man didn't have the cojones to speak up.
Then again... Mirai /was/ an alien. Who knew if the Ultra even could love the way humans did? Maybe Ryu was right to be hesitant.
George shrugged off these concerns like water from a duck's back and grounded himself as he pounded closer to the goal, centering, drawing power from the sense of /here/ and /now/, and gathering it into one fierce move, a kick that turned the ball to energy and fire, a force that only Ultraman could stop.
And someday, he swore to himself as Mirai blocked the shot yet again, he was going to get past even that limitation.
