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Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Guardian's Melancholy | Part 2/7
"Heh."
In the next instant, the man's expression changed all at once . . . from the pallor of terror to the glow of joy.
"Eh heh heh . . . Wahahahaha!"
Suspiciously eyeing the man who had suddenly burst out laughing, Shannon lowered his katana. He seemed to have gone mad, but Shannon caught the gleam in the man's eyes--the hubris of one who is certain of his own victory.
"Wahahahahaha, brat!"
". . . what the hell, 'Stache-man?"
"'S--'Stache ma . . . A--anyway, it's your loss, bastard! Look behind you!"
Despite his injuries, the mustached man pointed over Shannon's shoulder at what lay behind him. Knitting his brow in a melancholy frown, Shannon--without displaying the slightest bit of vigilance--obediently looked back over his shoulder.
Nothing could be more careless than this.
For a moment, the mustached man was dumbfounded, but this was the chance of a lifetime, so he moved to attack that black-clothed back.
. . . idiot!
However.
The man froze on the spot. He could not move. His entire body stiffened as though paralyzed. It was not due to some outside pressure. Rather, his survival instincts were screaming at him and refusing to let him move.
Shannon was not looking in his direction. He did not even have his katana pointed at the man. Even so . . .
"Ugh . . ."
For the first time, the man understood just what true bloodlust really is.
Meanwhile . . . behind Shannon . . .
The sibling's coach was stopped on the side of the road.
It remained basically unchanged from the day Count Franchi had given it to them. It showed just a bit more wear and tear than before, but at a glance, it gave one the impression of being no different from the freight coaches that one so commonly caught sight of along the high roads.
However, hidden beneath this guise of an ordinary, civilian coach lay a variety of devices which had saved Shannon and his sisters on any number of occasions. The slatted shutter on the passenger compartment's window was inlaid with armored steel plating, and the jet black paint that covered the majority of the coach's body was a fireproof paint used on military coaches. Even the horse blankets, which to all appearances seemed intended only to keep out the cold, were of a knife-proof material that had steel woven into its fabric.
It was anything but a dray.
In terms of quality, it rivaled even military coaches.
And right now . . . three figures stood beside it.
The first person.
Standing there, dressed in the same sort of outfit as Shannon--from the black cloak to the thick leather gloves to the leather boots--was Raquel.
Dressed in such a similar manner (particularly since it was these two), they looked just alike. If you said this was only natural given that they were twins, then you would certainly be correct, but still . . . While there were the sort of differences you'd expect between men and women, their faces and figures had so many things in common, it was as though they had been cast from the same mold.
However, the carefree air that she had about her remain unchanged from the time before they set off on their journey. Her drowsy eyes, which always had something of a clouded cast to them, certainly gave off the feeling of a baseless euphoria, in sharp contrast to Shannon.
"Oh, come on . . . Raquel."
"Hmm, what is it, Shannon?"
She answered him lazily, in a voice that would cause one's knees to feel as though they would give out just hearing it.
"Who's that next to you?"
It was the second person.
He was a man of medium build, dressed in the clothes of an ordinary villager. He had no particular distinguishing characteristics, or rather, perhaps that very lack was his distinguishing characteristic . . . He was just that sort of person.
Which made what he gripped in his hands all the more striking.
They were two slender daggers. He had one keen point held to the throat of each girl.
It seemed they had been ambushed. This man had probably sneaked up to the coach while Shannon had been focused on the four men on the ground.
"Throw down your weapon."
The voice that gave this order, too, lacked any trace of personality.
It was not a threat. The sort of person who would speak in such a voice really would kill two girls without a care. It was a dry voice, characteristic of professional assassins who have grown so accustomed to killing that they no longer feel anything.
" . . . guess I've got no choice."
Breathing a sigh, Shannon thrust his katana into the ground. Then he took three steps back.
At the same time . . .
"You MOROOOOOON!" cried a high, reckless voice.
With obvious reluctance, Shannon turned his gaze to the owner of that voice.
The third person.
"Why is it everything you do is so sketchy, Shannon-nii?! You start fighting, and you completely forget about protecting! Thanks to you, I'm in a major crisis! You go around acting like anything and everything is such a big hassle, always going on and on about how 'it's a pain in the ass' all the time! If it's really that much of a hassle, then maybe you should just stop breathing too!"
". . . now just a minute here."
Heaving an especially long sigh, Shannon spoke up to the owner of that voice . . . a young girl whose brilliant, jewel-bright blue eyes were glaring up at him.
It was Pacifica.
She had her wavy1, golden hair perfectly coiffured, and she had clothed her rather petite frame primarily in scarlet and amber. She had grown just a little taller over the past year, but both her appearance and behavior retained a powerful immaturity.
If she were to keep quiet and stand still, she would be so sweet and lovely as to fill you with the instinctive desire to hug her, but . . .
"Pacifica . . . I mean, O My Princess. Was it not you who kicked up a fuss about wanting to sleep under a roof tonight, no matter what, and so had us take a shortcut that left us this vulnerable to attack?"
"So what if it was?"
. . . the moment she opened her mouth, her robust stock of cheeky remarks would fill you with the instinctive desire to strangle her to death.
She had no trace of introspection. When someone is that cheeky, it comes back around to charming, which is quite a mysterious thing.
"If only Your Highness would be so kind as to take your situation into just a bit more consideration, our duties as your personal guards would also become easier . . . That thought has occurred to me as well."
"Silence! Don't go trying the courtier act now! Especially after you've gone around all this time playing the self-important big brother! This is lèse majesté! Lèse majesté! I sentence you to the straw rope bagworm2!"
". . . what the hell is that?"
"A newly designed torture3. Straw rope is wound around your face, and your hands are bound. Your nose and head and everything get all prickly and itchy, but you can't scratch them. Eh heh heh heh. Ground-breaking, isn't it? Serves you ri~ight."
Shannon gazed at Pacifica in silence--it was difficult to tell whether he was angry or astounded.
"If you're going to weep and beg forgiveness, make it quick. Normally you'd receive the severest penalty, but because I'm so kind, I'll forgive you and send you on your way for now. Let's see . . . I'll give you till the count of ten. Before then, compose a speech no less than fifty words and no greater than one hundred on the subject 'Now that I have reflected deeply on my actions.' Got it? I'm counting down now. All right, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . um."
She showed increasing reluctance as she repeated "one" five times over . . . and then choked on the last one.
Now that the girl had fallen silent, Shannon replied in an extremely soft voice, ". . . have you calmed down?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Got anything to say?"
" . . . help," Pacifica said, her face sullen.
Breathing a short sigh this time, Shannon turned to face Raquel, who had been sleepily gawking at her siblings' argument.
"Raquel . . . give me a hand."
"All right."
With a sudden, easy motion, Raquel raised one hand. The man holding the daggers did not move. Perhaps her movements were just so natural that he missed the opportunity to move.
Pointing one white, slender fingertip at the dagger that was held against her, she chanted.
"O Mjölnir, strike."
Crack!
From her fingertip . . . or more accurately, from the space right in front of her fingertip, a violet flash surged up, then raced along the dagger to twine around the assassin like a serpent falling upon its prey.
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) At least, I think that's what "やや癖の入った[...]髪" means. Having difficulty confirming at the moment (largely due to lack of time, energy, and inclination), so feel free to leave a correction in the comments if I'm wrong. Back
2) Almost certainly a callback to this scene in Chapter 2. Back
3) The text actually just has "実用新案," which literally means a "new design for practical use." Given the context, I think "newly designed torture" makes more sense as a translation. Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Guardian's Melancholy | Part 2/7
"Heh."
In the next instant, the man's expression changed all at once . . . from the pallor of terror to the glow of joy.
"Eh heh heh . . . Wahahahaha!"
Suspiciously eyeing the man who had suddenly burst out laughing, Shannon lowered his katana. He seemed to have gone mad, but Shannon caught the gleam in the man's eyes--the hubris of one who is certain of his own victory.
"Wahahahahaha, brat!"
". . . what the hell, 'Stache-man?"
"'S--'Stache ma . . . A--anyway, it's your loss, bastard! Look behind you!"
Despite his injuries, the mustached man pointed over Shannon's shoulder at what lay behind him. Knitting his brow in a melancholy frown, Shannon--without displaying the slightest bit of vigilance--obediently looked back over his shoulder.
Nothing could be more careless than this.
For a moment, the mustached man was dumbfounded, but this was the chance of a lifetime, so he moved to attack that black-clothed back.
. . . idiot!
However.
The man froze on the spot. He could not move. His entire body stiffened as though paralyzed. It was not due to some outside pressure. Rather, his survival instincts were screaming at him and refusing to let him move.
Shannon was not looking in his direction. He did not even have his katana pointed at the man. Even so . . .
"Ugh . . ."
For the first time, the man understood just what true bloodlust really is.
Meanwhile . . . behind Shannon . . .
The sibling's coach was stopped on the side of the road.
It remained basically unchanged from the day Count Franchi had given it to them. It showed just a bit more wear and tear than before, but at a glance, it gave one the impression of being no different from the freight coaches that one so commonly caught sight of along the high roads.
However, hidden beneath this guise of an ordinary, civilian coach lay a variety of devices which had saved Shannon and his sisters on any number of occasions. The slatted shutter on the passenger compartment's window was inlaid with armored steel plating, and the jet black paint that covered the majority of the coach's body was a fireproof paint used on military coaches. Even the horse blankets, which to all appearances seemed intended only to keep out the cold, were of a knife-proof material that had steel woven into its fabric.
It was anything but a dray.
In terms of quality, it rivaled even military coaches.
And right now . . . three figures stood beside it.
The first person.
Standing there, dressed in the same sort of outfit as Shannon--from the black cloak to the thick leather gloves to the leather boots--was Raquel.
Dressed in such a similar manner (particularly since it was these two), they looked just alike. If you said this was only natural given that they were twins, then you would certainly be correct, but still . . . While there were the sort of differences you'd expect between men and women, their faces and figures had so many things in common, it was as though they had been cast from the same mold.
However, the carefree air that she had about her remain unchanged from the time before they set off on their journey. Her drowsy eyes, which always had something of a clouded cast to them, certainly gave off the feeling of a baseless euphoria, in sharp contrast to Shannon.
"Oh, come on . . . Raquel."
"Hmm, what is it, Shannon?"
She answered him lazily, in a voice that would cause one's knees to feel as though they would give out just hearing it.
"Who's that next to you?"
It was the second person.
He was a man of medium build, dressed in the clothes of an ordinary villager. He had no particular distinguishing characteristics, or rather, perhaps that very lack was his distinguishing characteristic . . . He was just that sort of person.
Which made what he gripped in his hands all the more striking.
They were two slender daggers. He had one keen point held to the throat of each girl.
It seemed they had been ambushed. This man had probably sneaked up to the coach while Shannon had been focused on the four men on the ground.
"Throw down your weapon."
The voice that gave this order, too, lacked any trace of personality.
It was not a threat. The sort of person who would speak in such a voice really would kill two girls without a care. It was a dry voice, characteristic of professional assassins who have grown so accustomed to killing that they no longer feel anything.
" . . . guess I've got no choice."
Breathing a sigh, Shannon thrust his katana into the ground. Then he took three steps back.
At the same time . . .
"You MOROOOOOON!" cried a high, reckless voice.
With obvious reluctance, Shannon turned his gaze to the owner of that voice.
The third person.
"Why is it everything you do is so sketchy, Shannon-nii?! You start fighting, and you completely forget about protecting! Thanks to you, I'm in a major crisis! You go around acting like anything and everything is such a big hassle, always going on and on about how 'it's a pain in the ass' all the time! If it's really that much of a hassle, then maybe you should just stop breathing too!"
". . . now just a minute here."
Heaving an especially long sigh, Shannon spoke up to the owner of that voice . . . a young girl whose brilliant, jewel-bright blue eyes were glaring up at him.
It was Pacifica.
She had her wavy1, golden hair perfectly coiffured, and she had clothed her rather petite frame primarily in scarlet and amber. She had grown just a little taller over the past year, but both her appearance and behavior retained a powerful immaturity.
If she were to keep quiet and stand still, she would be so sweet and lovely as to fill you with the instinctive desire to hug her, but . . .
"Pacifica . . . I mean, O My Princess. Was it not you who kicked up a fuss about wanting to sleep under a roof tonight, no matter what, and so had us take a shortcut that left us this vulnerable to attack?"
"So what if it was?"
. . . the moment she opened her mouth, her robust stock of cheeky remarks would fill you with the instinctive desire to strangle her to death.
She had no trace of introspection. When someone is that cheeky, it comes back around to charming, which is quite a mysterious thing.
"If only Your Highness would be so kind as to take your situation into just a bit more consideration, our duties as your personal guards would also become easier . . . That thought has occurred to me as well."
"Silence! Don't go trying the courtier act now! Especially after you've gone around all this time playing the self-important big brother! This is lèse majesté! Lèse majesté! I sentence you to the straw rope bagworm2!"
". . . what the hell is that?"
"A newly designed torture3. Straw rope is wound around your face, and your hands are bound. Your nose and head and everything get all prickly and itchy, but you can't scratch them. Eh heh heh heh. Ground-breaking, isn't it? Serves you ri~ight."
Shannon gazed at Pacifica in silence--it was difficult to tell whether he was angry or astounded.
"If you're going to weep and beg forgiveness, make it quick. Normally you'd receive the severest penalty, but because I'm so kind, I'll forgive you and send you on your way for now. Let's see . . . I'll give you till the count of ten. Before then, compose a speech no less than fifty words and no greater than one hundred on the subject 'Now that I have reflected deeply on my actions.' Got it? I'm counting down now. All right, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . um."
She showed increasing reluctance as she repeated "one" five times over . . . and then choked on the last one.
Now that the girl had fallen silent, Shannon replied in an extremely soft voice, ". . . have you calmed down?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Got anything to say?"
" . . . help," Pacifica said, her face sullen.
Breathing a short sigh this time, Shannon turned to face Raquel, who had been sleepily gawking at her siblings' argument.
"Raquel . . . give me a hand."
"All right."
With a sudden, easy motion, Raquel raised one hand. The man holding the daggers did not move. Perhaps her movements were just so natural that he missed the opportunity to move.
Pointing one white, slender fingertip at the dagger that was held against her, she chanted.
"O Mjölnir, strike."
Crack!
From her fingertip . . . or more accurately, from the space right in front of her fingertip, a violet flash surged up, then raced along the dagger to twine around the assassin like a serpent falling upon its prey.
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) At least, I think that's what "やや癖の入った[...]髪" means. Having difficulty confirming at the moment (largely due to lack of time, energy, and inclination), so feel free to leave a correction in the comments if I'm wrong. Back
2) Almost certainly a callback to this scene in Chapter 2. Back
3) The text actually just has "実用新案," which literally means a "new design for practical use." Given the context, I think "newly designed torture" makes more sense as a translation. Back
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-05 07:28 pm (UTC)Raquel is always too cool for words :)
Poor Shannon, being the middle child...
Pacifica's hysterics are just too funny. The interchange between her and Shannon is really entertaining :D
no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 09:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 04:42 pm (UTC)I like how Shannon starts out coldly sarcastic, then switches to gentle when Pacifica finally runs out of steam. She's yelling because she's scared!
I think those are ringlets, which would be "縦ロール." Also the text refers to her "黄金色の髪" (golden hair) being "きちんと結い上げ" (neatly/precisely worn up/arranged), so the "やや癖の入った" would have to apply to her hair overall.
Googled around a bit more just now, and I kept finding hair care sites that list "直毛," "やや癖毛," and "癖毛" as hair types. It seems a pretty good bet that those ⇒ "straight," "wavy," and "curly" in English.
Thanks for the suggestions, though! This sort of conversation helps to put me in the right frame of mind for translating, and sometimes just explaining my choices can help to boost my confidence about them a bit (or to spot what needs to change).