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[Translation] Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | Prologue
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | Prologue
Raw screams shook the sanctuary.
The people who happened to be gathered in that place probably understood . . . that a true scream is more pure sound than a voice. These screams, which seemed to come from throats that were spraying blood, were an explosive noise loosed from souls pushed beyond the limits of terror and anguish.
There were five screams. But all at once.
Just as though they were singing in chorus, without being even one second off, those surging, drawn-out screams trailed into the hall . . . and then, as though to diffuse the sense of horror, they slowly faded.
In their place, an oppressive silence spread out over the hall.
No one moved. No one spoke. Comprehension had not caught up to the circumstances. It had all happened much too suddenly.
Just what had happened?
The focus of the crowd's anxious gazes were five white doors.
On the other side of the massive plank doors that rigidly demarcated inside and outside were five identical cells. There were no other exits. No windows, not even any vents. Once those doors were closed, the cells became sealed rooms in a literal sense--completely inaccessible from the outside.
What could possibly have happened in such a place? And in five separate rooms simultaneously?
Of course, those left outside the doors could not possibly expect an answer. They could only stare and wait for the outcome. And yet those doors that could not be opened from the outside, they repulsed those searching gazes with their sheer whiteness, the epitome of fastidiousness.
And before long.
Beneath the doors . . . from the spaces between the floor and each door, something was slowly beginning to spread. Seeing this, the crowd gasped.
Deep crimson.
The color that embraces the darkness of the abyss in its vividness--it was spreading soundlessly over the unyielding floor. For a moment, the crowd did not understand that it was blood because the amount of liquid dampening the stonework floor was mind-blowing in its excess.
At any rate, if the spilt blood flowing out from under each door had been wrung from a single human being, the amount clearly spelt despair.
Death. A concept at once cruelly simple and obscure, surpassing human understanding.
And then.
While the people stood in wordless vigil, the five doors opened. This too happened as though arranged in advance, and they opened as one without any being even a second off. Rather than calling this unnatural, somehow, it gave the impression of a bad joke.
The darkly narrow cells were now visible.
Inside each room was a single person . . . a total of five red men lay fallen.
Their eyes. Ears. Noses. Mouths. And every pore on their bodies. Blood effused from every place possible, staining their entire bodies. Once-white robes had been perfectly dyed by the spilt blood they drank in, and now they clung soppingly to the bodies. Eclipsing mere feelings of gruesome tragedy, this spectacle lacked all sense of reality.
It would have come as no shock if they were dead.
And yet, miraculously, they had breath in them.
Contrary to expectations . . . they were moving. You would not have noticed unless you were staring intently, so terribly slow were their movements, yet with inexorable certainty, they were crawling out from the cells.
Little by little. Little by little. Little by . . .
Their hands and feet would probably never move again. Wriggling their bodies like insects whose legs had been torn off, the men moved with heart-breaking slowness, crawling over the floor like worms.
But out of all the assembled people, not one made any attempt to move. To rush over and help them up . . . Horror had pierced the hearts of the crowd so deeply that even this utterly natural impulse froze within them.
Because the expressions that were carved into the faces of the men were surpassing gruesome.
What each man had seen, what each had heard in his private room, was unknown. Not one person could comprehend it. But then, it was likely that not one person wanted to know. Knowing would make it impossible to sleep peacefully at night--just seeing those expressions was enough to make that clear. That being touched by those bodies would cause their terror to spread like an infectious disease . . . such foolish delusions drifted through the minds of the crowd.
While the people stood motionless, keeping their heartless vigil . . . the men undulated over the floor like slugs, leaving long crimson trails as they advanced to the center of the hall.
Glggh . . . Disgorging gobs of blood, their mouths opened.
"List . . . en . . . well . . ."
"Ohhh . . . listen . . . well . . ."
While facing the room with half-closed, white eyes, the men's throats spun their voices like thread. Or perhaps all traces of consciousness had already fled from them . . . It seemed all that remained of their lives was being wrung out in the voices that the men were sending forth. Word by word, accompanied by vomited blood.
"The . . . oracle . . ."
"Has been . . . given . . ."
The crowd stirred for the first time.
"We will give . . . the 5111th . . . oracle . . . in the name of . . . the Lord God . . . Mauser1 . . ."
"In this place . . . we will . . . be the manifestation . . ."
The oracle. The Word of God.
Absolute truth that leaves no room for doubt, a miracle that allows humans a glimpse of the otherwise unknowable future. The very reason the people had gathered, waiting impatiently in this place.
The men spat out these blood-stained Words of God.
". . . thou shalt . . ."
". . . the girl-child . . ."
Staring with wide-open, unfocused eyes, the martyrs spoke brokenly, and yet somehow began to sound as though they were singing. Five different mouths spoke with one voice, and the words that poured forth were at once grotesque and cruelly decisive.
It was a spectacle truly deserving to be called a miracle.
However . . .
". . . of Fate . . . "
". . . deadly poison . . ."
As the words accumulated, the crowd's expressions became frozen. The unthinkable contents of the oracle etched shock, bewilderment, and an entirely new kind of horror onto the hearts of the people. They began to comprehend just a tiny fragment of what the men had seen.
And before long.
The men spat out what seemed to be their last word, and fell silent.
Eternally silent.
And now the deceased--without saying a single thing, with only those words they left behind--weighed heavily in the minds of the crowd.
Faced with five corpses that were half-drained from blood loss, and the abominable words of an oracle that had lost even the sense of who would bear the responsibility of carrying it out, the people could do nothing but fall into confusion and dismay.
. . . Incidentally, this took place in the year 5111 of the continental calendar.
Afterward, pursuant to the decision by both the Leinwand Royal Family and the Church of Mauser to prohibit the public release of the oracle's contents by declaring them taboo . . . it was decided six months later that the record would undergo an unprecedented alteration, and in this way, the 5111th Oracle of St. Grendel2 reached its conclusion.
A young girl was walking surreptitiously through the woods.
It was a deep night, the kind where it seems like even the plants and trees are sleeping. She had only the scattered moonlight that fell through the gaps in the canopy above to rely on. She had been walking for so long now that her eyes had already grown accustomed to it; nevertheless, it was not strange that she would occasionally trip over a tree root or a stone. By nature, the nighttime forest was not a place where human feet were meant to tread.
Yet the girl, without even lighting a lantern, walked on earnestly. As though afraid of being found by something, she silenced even her breathing, but she kept a brisk pace.
Her expression was one of anxiety and impatience. That she wanted to end this solitary journey as quickly as possible . . . the contents of her heart could be perceived with perfect clarity. If only there were no danger of tripping and falling, it is likely that she would have been running all-out.
In her arms, for one reason or another, she was keeping a firm hold on a bundle wrapped in cloth. It seemed to be an extraordinarily precious burden. She carried the bundle with extreme tenderness, but she gripped the edge of the cloth with such force that her fingers were white.
And before long.
The wall of vegetation broke off abruptly, and the world opened.
The fragrance of the plants blended with the cool scent of water. The girl had arrived at a small spring.
The moonlight reflected on the surface of the water, dimly illuminating the surrounding area. The scene before her could be called dreamlike and beautiful, but the girl had no time for such thoughts.
". . . Carol-sama."
The girl spoke the name like a prayer. Desperation brimmed in her amber eyes as they searched left and right.
It seemed that she was to rendezvous with someone, but not a soul was to be found. The anxious expression that clung to her face--still so very young--intensified.
"Carol-sama . . . Carol-sa . . . ?!"
Without thinking, she called out again and again, as though trying to shake off her anxiety, but a hand shot out from behind her and clapped over her mouth. For a moment, it seemed she would fall into complete panic, but--
"Quiet," ordered a low, calm voice.
". . . !"
At that same moment, the empty space before the girl's eyes wavered.
A section of the landscape flexed and distorted, and ripples appeared. It was just like a rip opening up in a painting. Time passed, and the distortion spread out, receded, and then . . . in the fissure that had appeared in the landscape, the figure of a slender woman came into view.
Her body was clothed in a long, dark blue garment, and her long silver hair was pulled back into a braid. She was probably in her mid-twenties. The genuine grace, dignity, and intelligence that dwelt in her expression would make those around her unconsciously stand up straighter. Her face and figure retained some vestiges of childhood, but her calm bearing could not be any but that of an adult.
Her red, jewel-like eyes regarded the girl serenely.
The hand covering the girl's mouth pulled away.
"Carol-sama . . ."
As she murmured this, the girl looked over her shoulder.
A bear of a man was grinning as he winked at her.
His body was fortified by multifunctional cuir bouilli armor, and a strange, single-edged sword hung from his waist--a person particularly well-versed in the arts of war would know to call this weapon a "tachi."
He was likely in his early thirties. He had black hair and black eyes, and his features gave the impression of having come from some foreign land. Moreover, they hinted at a curious roughness and ferocity. It was the sort of face you would not really want to encounter on the street at night.
Nevertheless, even in the gloom, the impish gleam in his eyes inspired feelings of love and respect that more than made up for the rest.
". . . Yuuma-sama."
The tension fell away from the girl's body.
"I'm sorry, Claire. Did we startle you?"
The woman called Carol spoke in a tone that was unexpectedly light and child-like as she stepped up to the girl.
"Y--yes . . . I thought my heart would stop."
Putting a hand to her breast, which even now pounded out of control, the girl nodded. It seemed that this man and woman had used an illusory spell to hide themselves.
"Good work."
The woman patted the girl's head gently and took the cloth bundle from her arms. Peeking at the bundle's contents, she gave a lambent smile.
". . . Adorable."
"Let me see here . . ." The man called Yuuma took a sideways peek at the bundle. "Oh, she really is . . . What's her name?"
". . . She doesn't have one," the girl answered sadly.
"Is that right."
The man sighed and turned to face the forest . . . looking up at the direction the girl had come from. The moon shone above the treetops, and beyond that, the sharp outlines of a massive shadow proclaimed its existence like a challenge to the night sky.
A building so enormous that it was visible even from the depths of the forest, surmounting the canopy with an astounding majesty and embodying its master's power. In truth, even this vast forest was but a single parcel of land on that edifice's grounds.
"Leave the rest to us. It'd be best if you returned quickly."
The girl nodded at the woman's words. Having received this affirmation, the man and the woman turned and walked away. Facing their retreating forms, the girl called out, "I was . . . given a message."
They both halted, but only the man turned to look back at her. As for the woman . . . she looked resolutely ahead, as though to reject the words.
"'I entreat you to do whatever you can.'"
Neither answered.
But the man nodded silently.
The girl bowed her head deeply, turned on her heel, and started back the way she had come. Shifting his gaze from her back to the back of the woman, the man sighed once more.
"You really can't forgive her?"
"No, I can't," the woman murmured in reply. "I never thought she was such a cold-hearted girl."
It resembled the pained cry of one who has been betrayed.
"She's got her own position to consider. Stop being so hard on her. After all, she put herself in great danger to entrust this baby to you, so don't you think she did it out of love?"
"If it were me . . ." The woman bit her lip for a moment. "If it were me, if I knew that Shannon and Raquel were going to be killed, even if it meant throwing everything else away, I would protect them . . . with my own--with these two hands."
"There's no one as strong as you."
"I'm not strong! Neither are you. Humans are weak--shamefully weak, pathetically weak. But you know, because of that . . . for that very reason . . ."
After that, the words would not come.
The man put his arm around the woman, who was now weeping softly, and urged her to walk. She allowed herself to be led, and . . . after a while she pressed her cheek into the man's shoulder like a child seeking comfort.
"We . . . need to give her a name."
"That's true."
The man tilted his head to the side. It would be nice to say that he agreed, but it seemed that choosing a name was not particularly his strong point.
"The best name would be one that lots of people will like."
"Ummm . . . hm hm hm . . ." The man rocked his head from right to left, looking troubled. "You know, I'm still not really sure which names sound strange and which names sound normal, so . . ."
His tone was tinged with a foreign accent. The woman looked at him with eyes that imitated a glare.
"Now that you mention it, the first time I told you my name, you laughed like it was the funniest thing you'd ever heard, dear."
"I keep telling you I didn't mean anything by it. Besides, didn't you say that my name was weird?"
"That can be forgiven since I was only a child."
" . . . So at best, I'm a villain who put his hands on a child ten years younger than himself."
Smiling at the man who was now pouting and facing away, the woman added, "This time we're both even worse villains, though."
"What, because we're kidnappers now, or . . . ?"
The woman forced a smile and shrugged. Perhaps even she was not really sure.
"Well, there's no reason to hurry. Let's just take our time in thinking up a name. After all, this child's life has only just begun."
So saying, the woman took another look inside the bundle . . . and smiled at the infant sleeping soundly within.
The man also nodded in satisfaction.
"That's true."
The two walked on.
They walked quietly, furtively, but the strength of their resolve could be seen in their stride.
Common sense. Position. Honor. Their own pasts. And finally, the symbol of them all, which loomed up behind them . . . both had the strength of will to sever those ties.
And so the first curtain closes on this mystifying tale.
Until fourteen years had passed, and this fragmentary, surreptitious account was unearthed . . .
---
[Next]
Notes:
1) Mauser was a German manufacturer of firearms, which was later absorbed by Rheinmetall AG. Back
2) Grendel, Inc. was an American firearms manufacturer whose arms included the Grendel P30 and the Grendel R31. The 6.5 Grendel is a firearm cartridge produced by Alexander Arms. Back
And no, I haven't forgotten about the rest of the requests. It's just that I, uh, can't seem to draw anything right now. Which is why I'm spewing out words instead.
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | Prologue
Raw screams shook the sanctuary.
The people who happened to be gathered in that place probably understood . . . that a true scream is more pure sound than a voice. These screams, which seemed to come from throats that were spraying blood, were an explosive noise loosed from souls pushed beyond the limits of terror and anguish.
There were five screams. But all at once.
Just as though they were singing in chorus, without being even one second off, those surging, drawn-out screams trailed into the hall . . . and then, as though to diffuse the sense of horror, they slowly faded.
In their place, an oppressive silence spread out over the hall.
No one moved. No one spoke. Comprehension had not caught up to the circumstances. It had all happened much too suddenly.
Just what had happened?
The focus of the crowd's anxious gazes were five white doors.
On the other side of the massive plank doors that rigidly demarcated inside and outside were five identical cells. There were no other exits. No windows, not even any vents. Once those doors were closed, the cells became sealed rooms in a literal sense--completely inaccessible from the outside.
What could possibly have happened in such a place? And in five separate rooms simultaneously?
Of course, those left outside the doors could not possibly expect an answer. They could only stare and wait for the outcome. And yet those doors that could not be opened from the outside, they repulsed those searching gazes with their sheer whiteness, the epitome of fastidiousness.
And before long.
Beneath the doors . . . from the spaces between the floor and each door, something was slowly beginning to spread. Seeing this, the crowd gasped.
Deep crimson.
The color that embraces the darkness of the abyss in its vividness--it was spreading soundlessly over the unyielding floor. For a moment, the crowd did not understand that it was blood because the amount of liquid dampening the stonework floor was mind-blowing in its excess.
At any rate, if the spilt blood flowing out from under each door had been wrung from a single human being, the amount clearly spelt despair.
Death. A concept at once cruelly simple and obscure, surpassing human understanding.
And then.
While the people stood in wordless vigil, the five doors opened. This too happened as though arranged in advance, and they opened as one without any being even a second off. Rather than calling this unnatural, somehow, it gave the impression of a bad joke.
The darkly narrow cells were now visible.
Inside each room was a single person . . . a total of five red men lay fallen.
Their eyes. Ears. Noses. Mouths. And every pore on their bodies. Blood effused from every place possible, staining their entire bodies. Once-white robes had been perfectly dyed by the spilt blood they drank in, and now they clung soppingly to the bodies. Eclipsing mere feelings of gruesome tragedy, this spectacle lacked all sense of reality.
It would have come as no shock if they were dead.
And yet, miraculously, they had breath in them.
Contrary to expectations . . . they were moving. You would not have noticed unless you were staring intently, so terribly slow were their movements, yet with inexorable certainty, they were crawling out from the cells.
Little by little. Little by little. Little by . . .
Their hands and feet would probably never move again. Wriggling their bodies like insects whose legs had been torn off, the men moved with heart-breaking slowness, crawling over the floor like worms.
But out of all the assembled people, not one made any attempt to move. To rush over and help them up . . . Horror had pierced the hearts of the crowd so deeply that even this utterly natural impulse froze within them.
Because the expressions that were carved into the faces of the men were surpassing gruesome.
What each man had seen, what each had heard in his private room, was unknown. Not one person could comprehend it. But then, it was likely that not one person wanted to know. Knowing would make it impossible to sleep peacefully at night--just seeing those expressions was enough to make that clear. That being touched by those bodies would cause their terror to spread like an infectious disease . . . such foolish delusions drifted through the minds of the crowd.
While the people stood motionless, keeping their heartless vigil . . . the men undulated over the floor like slugs, leaving long crimson trails as they advanced to the center of the hall.
Glggh . . . Disgorging gobs of blood, their mouths opened.
"List . . . en . . . well . . ."
"Ohhh . . . listen . . . well . . ."
While facing the room with half-closed, white eyes, the men's throats spun their voices like thread. Or perhaps all traces of consciousness had already fled from them . . . It seemed all that remained of their lives was being wrung out in the voices that the men were sending forth. Word by word, accompanied by vomited blood.
"The . . . oracle . . ."
"Has been . . . given . . ."
The crowd stirred for the first time.
"We will give . . . the 5111th . . . oracle . . . in the name of . . . the Lord God . . . Mauser1 . . ."
"In this place . . . we will . . . be the manifestation . . ."
The oracle. The Word of God.
Absolute truth that leaves no room for doubt, a miracle that allows humans a glimpse of the otherwise unknowable future. The very reason the people had gathered, waiting impatiently in this place.
The men spat out these blood-stained Words of God.
". . . thou shalt . . ."
". . . the girl-child . . ."
Staring with wide-open, unfocused eyes, the martyrs spoke brokenly, and yet somehow began to sound as though they were singing. Five different mouths spoke with one voice, and the words that poured forth were at once grotesque and cruelly decisive.
It was a spectacle truly deserving to be called a miracle.
However . . .
". . . of Fate . . . "
". . . deadly poison . . ."
As the words accumulated, the crowd's expressions became frozen. The unthinkable contents of the oracle etched shock, bewilderment, and an entirely new kind of horror onto the hearts of the people. They began to comprehend just a tiny fragment of what the men had seen.
And before long.
The men spat out what seemed to be their last word, and fell silent.
Eternally silent.
And now the deceased--without saying a single thing, with only those words they left behind--weighed heavily in the minds of the crowd.
Faced with five corpses that were half-drained from blood loss, and the abominable words of an oracle that had lost even the sense of who would bear the responsibility of carrying it out, the people could do nothing but fall into confusion and dismay.
. . . Incidentally, this took place in the year 5111 of the continental calendar.
Afterward, pursuant to the decision by both the Leinwand Royal Family and the Church of Mauser to prohibit the public release of the oracle's contents by declaring them taboo . . . it was decided six months later that the record would undergo an unprecedented alteration, and in this way, the 5111th Oracle of St. Grendel2 reached its conclusion.
A young girl was walking surreptitiously through the woods.
It was a deep night, the kind where it seems like even the plants and trees are sleeping. She had only the scattered moonlight that fell through the gaps in the canopy above to rely on. She had been walking for so long now that her eyes had already grown accustomed to it; nevertheless, it was not strange that she would occasionally trip over a tree root or a stone. By nature, the nighttime forest was not a place where human feet were meant to tread.
Yet the girl, without even lighting a lantern, walked on earnestly. As though afraid of being found by something, she silenced even her breathing, but she kept a brisk pace.
Her expression was one of anxiety and impatience. That she wanted to end this solitary journey as quickly as possible . . . the contents of her heart could be perceived with perfect clarity. If only there were no danger of tripping and falling, it is likely that she would have been running all-out.
In her arms, for one reason or another, she was keeping a firm hold on a bundle wrapped in cloth. It seemed to be an extraordinarily precious burden. She carried the bundle with extreme tenderness, but she gripped the edge of the cloth with such force that her fingers were white.
And before long.
The wall of vegetation broke off abruptly, and the world opened.
The fragrance of the plants blended with the cool scent of water. The girl had arrived at a small spring.
The moonlight reflected on the surface of the water, dimly illuminating the surrounding area. The scene before her could be called dreamlike and beautiful, but the girl had no time for such thoughts.
". . . Carol-sama."
The girl spoke the name like a prayer. Desperation brimmed in her amber eyes as they searched left and right.
It seemed that she was to rendezvous with someone, but not a soul was to be found. The anxious expression that clung to her face--still so very young--intensified.
"Carol-sama . . . Carol-sa . . . ?!"
Without thinking, she called out again and again, as though trying to shake off her anxiety, but a hand shot out from behind her and clapped over her mouth. For a moment, it seemed she would fall into complete panic, but--
"Quiet," ordered a low, calm voice.
". . . !"
At that same moment, the empty space before the girl's eyes wavered.
A section of the landscape flexed and distorted, and ripples appeared. It was just like a rip opening up in a painting. Time passed, and the distortion spread out, receded, and then . . . in the fissure that had appeared in the landscape, the figure of a slender woman came into view.
Her body was clothed in a long, dark blue garment, and her long silver hair was pulled back into a braid. She was probably in her mid-twenties. The genuine grace, dignity, and intelligence that dwelt in her expression would make those around her unconsciously stand up straighter. Her face and figure retained some vestiges of childhood, but her calm bearing could not be any but that of an adult.
Her red, jewel-like eyes regarded the girl serenely.
The hand covering the girl's mouth pulled away.
"Carol-sama . . ."
As she murmured this, the girl looked over her shoulder.
A bear of a man was grinning as he winked at her.
His body was fortified by multifunctional cuir bouilli armor, and a strange, single-edged sword hung from his waist--a person particularly well-versed in the arts of war would know to call this weapon a "tachi."
He was likely in his early thirties. He had black hair and black eyes, and his features gave the impression of having come from some foreign land. Moreover, they hinted at a curious roughness and ferocity. It was the sort of face you would not really want to encounter on the street at night.
Nevertheless, even in the gloom, the impish gleam in his eyes inspired feelings of love and respect that more than made up for the rest.
". . . Yuuma-sama."
The tension fell away from the girl's body.
"I'm sorry, Claire. Did we startle you?"
The woman called Carol spoke in a tone that was unexpectedly light and child-like as she stepped up to the girl.
"Y--yes . . . I thought my heart would stop."
Putting a hand to her breast, which even now pounded out of control, the girl nodded. It seemed that this man and woman had used an illusory spell to hide themselves.
"Good work."
The woman patted the girl's head gently and took the cloth bundle from her arms. Peeking at the bundle's contents, she gave a lambent smile.
". . . Adorable."
"Let me see here . . ." The man called Yuuma took a sideways peek at the bundle. "Oh, she really is . . . What's her name?"
". . . She doesn't have one," the girl answered sadly.
"Is that right."
The man sighed and turned to face the forest . . . looking up at the direction the girl had come from. The moon shone above the treetops, and beyond that, the sharp outlines of a massive shadow proclaimed its existence like a challenge to the night sky.
A building so enormous that it was visible even from the depths of the forest, surmounting the canopy with an astounding majesty and embodying its master's power. In truth, even this vast forest was but a single parcel of land on that edifice's grounds.
"Leave the rest to us. It'd be best if you returned quickly."
The girl nodded at the woman's words. Having received this affirmation, the man and the woman turned and walked away. Facing their retreating forms, the girl called out, "I was . . . given a message."
They both halted, but only the man turned to look back at her. As for the woman . . . she looked resolutely ahead, as though to reject the words.
"'I entreat you to do whatever you can.'"
Neither answered.
But the man nodded silently.
The girl bowed her head deeply, turned on her heel, and started back the way she had come. Shifting his gaze from her back to the back of the woman, the man sighed once more.
"You really can't forgive her?"
"No, I can't," the woman murmured in reply. "I never thought she was such a cold-hearted girl."
It resembled the pained cry of one who has been betrayed.
"She's got her own position to consider. Stop being so hard on her. After all, she put herself in great danger to entrust this baby to you, so don't you think she did it out of love?"
"If it were me . . ." The woman bit her lip for a moment. "If it were me, if I knew that Shannon and Raquel were going to be killed, even if it meant throwing everything else away, I would protect them . . . with my own--with these two hands."
"There's no one as strong as you."
"I'm not strong! Neither are you. Humans are weak--shamefully weak, pathetically weak. But you know, because of that . . . for that very reason . . ."
After that, the words would not come.
The man put his arm around the woman, who was now weeping softly, and urged her to walk. She allowed herself to be led, and . . . after a while she pressed her cheek into the man's shoulder like a child seeking comfort.
"We . . . need to give her a name."
"That's true."
The man tilted his head to the side. It would be nice to say that he agreed, but it seemed that choosing a name was not particularly his strong point.
"The best name would be one that lots of people will like."
"Ummm . . . hm hm hm . . ." The man rocked his head from right to left, looking troubled. "You know, I'm still not really sure which names sound strange and which names sound normal, so . . ."
His tone was tinged with a foreign accent. The woman looked at him with eyes that imitated a glare.
"Now that you mention it, the first time I told you my name, you laughed like it was the funniest thing you'd ever heard, dear."
"I keep telling you I didn't mean anything by it. Besides, didn't you say that my name was weird?"
"That can be forgiven since I was only a child."
" . . . So at best, I'm a villain who put his hands on a child ten years younger than himself."
Smiling at the man who was now pouting and facing away, the woman added, "This time we're both even worse villains, though."
"What, because we're kidnappers now, or . . . ?"
The woman forced a smile and shrugged. Perhaps even she was not really sure.
"Well, there's no reason to hurry. Let's just take our time in thinking up a name. After all, this child's life has only just begun."
So saying, the woman took another look inside the bundle . . . and smiled at the infant sleeping soundly within.
The man also nodded in satisfaction.
"That's true."
The two walked on.
They walked quietly, furtively, but the strength of their resolve could be seen in their stride.
Common sense. Position. Honor. Their own pasts. And finally, the symbol of them all, which loomed up behind them . . . both had the strength of will to sever those ties.
And so the first curtain closes on this mystifying tale.
Until fourteen years had passed, and this fragmentary, surreptitious account was unearthed . . .
---
[Next]
Notes:
1) Mauser was a German manufacturer of firearms, which was later absorbed by Rheinmetall AG. Back
2) Grendel, Inc. was an American firearms manufacturer whose arms included the Grendel P30 and the Grendel R31. The 6.5 Grendel is a firearm cartridge produced by Alexander Arms. Back
And no, I haven't forgotten about the rest of the requests. It's just that I, uh, can't seem to draw anything right now. Which is why I'm spewing out words instead.
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Your translation and Tokyo Pop's translation are similar, but still different! Some things, in their version, were even omitted! In one instance, Carol, in their version, spoke Yuma's line.
You must have tons of patience to just sit down and translate it all. Where did you GET the original novels, anyways?
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You know, I'm kind of torn. I'm curious about the changes TokyoPop made (my cousin sent me a few choice nuggets, mostly related to their portrayal of Chris XD), but OTOH I'm worried that having their version stored in my head might give me an excuse to be lazy and borrow their phrasings.
Where did you GET the original novels, anyways?
I got them from Jamazon. Did you want a list of titles and ISBNs, or were you asking more out of general curiosity?
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I think, in comparison now, that Tokyo Pop didn't do a bad job at all. However, it's still a little disapointing, too, considering that they still made changes to it. I don't like it when translators take liberty and change it to suit their own style, you know? But I'm sure they tried hard NOT to do this...I hope.
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And then some copy editor in England decided that he didn't like the main character's motivation and changed it.
no subject