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Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Travelers Come | Part 1/4
"You 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, fault-finding grumpy old JERK1!"
Hearing that shrill voice, which seemed to shake the Big Bear, Winia paused for just a moment in setting the table.
However, it was only the very shortest of moments. Her amber eyes did not even glance toward the ceiling--toward the second floor, which held the guest rooms.
It happened each and every morning, with the wearying predictability of a daily routine, so she had grown perfunctorily accustomed to it.
Besides, while it was a fact that they had haggled the lodging fees down greatly, they had paid money to stay, and a customer was a customer. At a time like this, there were no guests who did not makes nuisances of themselves, and the Big Bear could not afford to be choosy about its clientele.
In this city of Taurus2, during the off-season (as opposed to the pilgrimage season, when it would overflow with adherents of the Mauser faith), customers were a precious commodity. This was especially true for the Big Bear--even Taurus had enough small inns that they were locked in competition to be the best.
The provincial city of Taurus.
Located in the east of the Kingdom of Leinwand, it was an ordinary city. It was one of the 105 pilgrimage sites of the state religion, the Church of Mauser, and as such, it flourished during the pilgrimage season, but . . . the rest of the time, it was nothing more than a simple backwater town.
For that reason, in this city, the majority of places that bore the signboard of an inn only operated seasonally, as side businesses for farmers and the like.
But even so, the well-maintained high road brought a trickle of curiosity seekers, traveling merchants, wandering minstrels, and their ilk to this city, where they sought lodging for the night. And so there were a minority of inns that operated year round, relying on such visitors. The Big Bear was one such exception.
. . . well then.
The shouting continued for a while, but by the time Winia had finished setting the breakfast table, the inn had grown quiet. This, too, was an everyday occurrence.
Before long, the sound of a single set of footsteps descending the staircase.
"Good morning."
"Yes, good morning."
While giving her usual reply to that somewhat slow-sounding voice, Winia looked back over her shoulder at the staircase that connected directly to the dining room.
There--also as usual--was the tall and lean form of a young woman. Both her long hair, which reached to around the middle of her back, and her dewy eyes were the same jet black. Those glossy shades of night showed to all the better advantage by contrast to the whiteness of her smooth skin and immaculate casual dress. She had no attention-grabbing flashiness about her, but her refined features held a freshness and sophistication reminiscent of a wild flower.
She was beautiful. Surely anyone would concede that.
However, perhaps because she always wore a slack expression--much like that of a child who has just woken up--she left one with an impression of cuteness rather than beauty . . . she was that sort of young woman. Perhaps for that reason, she had none of the sort of inaccessibility that is so common among beautiful women.
The name written in the inn's register was Raquel Casull.
". . . what is it?" Raquel asked, tipping her head slightly to one side. Her long, sleek black hair swayed fluidly, and even Winia--who shared her gender--was momentarily dazed by the grace and elegance that drifted about her.
"N--no . . . it's nothing."
Winia slid her gaze away from Raquel.
. . . God really is unfair, isn't He?
That was what Winia thought every time she saw her.
Unruly red hair. Freckles. A dark complexion. And plain, unusually mature amber eyes that conveyed hardly any hue of emotion.
She was not beautiful. Nor was she cute.
She was not quite homely, but at the same time, she lacked any sort of charm or distinguishing feature that would draw the eyes of others . . . That was Winia's assessment of the self she saw in the mirror.
Actually, even looking back on the past seventeen years of her life, she had never once received a compliment telling her she was beautiful, or cute, or anything like it.
"They're in high spirits each and every day . . . those two."
"Sorry about that," Raquel said, returning Winia's wry smile with one of her own.
"Well, we don't have any other guests right now, so . . . as long as they don't dirty the room or break any furniture, it's none of my business whether they fistfight or play Ring-Around-the-Rosie.3"
That small, cheap inn had a staff of two. The other, Winia's grandmother, was a sickly woman who spent a lot of time sleeping in the inner room, so for all practical purposes, the Big Bear's landlady was Winia. Incidentally, both her parents had passed away before she was old enough to understand what had happened. She did not even remember her father's or her mother's face.
"I don't have siblings, so I don't understand it very well, but . . . are sibling quarrels really quite as frequent as that?"
"Well . . . I'm not really sure how it is in other people's families either . . ."
There, Raquel paused for a moment.
As though to stitch up that gap, the sound of a single pair of footsteps came down the stairs. It seemed that the remaining guests were descending.
Raquel gave a small shrug of her shoulders and continued.
"Our family is a bit complicated, so . . ."
". . . 'morning . . ."
The one who had said this while scratching his head with his right hand was, as expected, a tall and lean young man.
His name was Shannon Casull.
He normally used a narrow strip of white cloth to carelessly bind his long black hair, so Winia had never really noticed it before, but . . . seeing him like this, it was quite clear that he and Raquel were twins.
However, he gave a completely different impression than his sister did. In contrast to Raquel, who always wore a soft smile, Shannon's face was always fixed in a listless, hassled expression. Because he resembled Raquel, he was certainly something of a looker, but (perhaps because of the rather exhausted air about him) the impression he gave was strangely like that of an elderly man.
Perhaps he had many and various cares.
And then.
". . . 'morning."
The blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl swinging at the end of Shannon's arm said this sullenly. She was a lovely, petite girl in her mid-teens. Her features were not only regular but also traced out in slender, delicate lines, and one could perceive only grace and dignity in them. All she would need to do is dress in a luxurious gown and keep quiet, and she could probably pass as the sheltered daughter of a noble family.
However . . . seeing her dangling from the scruff of her neck like a kitten, with her navel exposed, it may have been impossible to perceive any of that grace or dignity.
Even her long hair--which she usually wore so precisely arranged--was rumpled and bed-mussed. If one were to dare to talk about it, there was simply no way to sugarcoat her state.4
The owner of the loud voice from not long ago was this girl.
She was Pacifica Casull.
Winia had heard that she was Shannon and Raquel's little sister, but . . . no matter how you looked at it, neither her features nor the color of her hair and eyes resembled theirs. Perhaps she had been adopted or something like that.
. . . our family is a bit complicated, so . . .
Winia ruminated on Raquel's words.
"You get along so well."
As soon as Winia had said this in a shocked tone, Pacifica gave a graceful shrug and a little scoffing snort. Because she was still dangling from Shannon's hand, even this cheeky behavior had something charming about it.
It seemed that Pacifica had been sulking and refusing to move, so Shannon had dragged her downstairs against her will.
"Who gets along with some old man with a personality like his? He's always, always, always running his mouth about nothing but how it's all a 'pain in the ass.' Don't you think it'd be better just to walk around wearing a sign on your back that has 'Pain in the Ass' written on it?"
"You know, you . . ."
"And after I so kindly woke you up, too. You just said, 'Shut up,' or whatever, and went back to sleep. If waking up is a hassle too, just be a good boy and rest in peace."
". . . hey, Raquel," Shannon said, seeming fed up. "I guess we can't just tie Princess Heinous up and hang her from someone's eaves, huh?"
"Well, we're not making jerky, so . . ."
"You know, generally, knowing your place as a courtier means a lack of hostility, Shannon-nii! To begin with, courtiers should know no greater joy than being at the sides of their masters, who they should feel adoration for--"
"My Princess . . . I don't really want to hear about 'knowing your place' from you."
"Silence!"
. . . these siblings had arguments like this every day. The basic pattern was that, once Shannon and Pacifica had pretty well worn each other out, Raquel would intercede.
Winia thought it was an interesting relationship.
For some reason, it weighed on her mind. She suddenly realized that she had been unconsciously following their movements with her eyes, catching their conversations with her ears.
Perhaps she was driven by simple curiosity . . . Their perplexing and boisterous (yet somehow heart-warming) arguments reflected strangely gleamingly in Winia's eyes.
What bothered her particularly--what attracted her attention--were the words they sometimes used to refer to each other in conversation, words like "princess" and "courtier."
They cropped up rather frequently for mere nicknames, or an in-joke, and their use had no logical coherence.
Just who were these three, and what was their relationship?
Honestly, Winia had thought up this scenario: Pacifica was a daughter of the nobility or something, who was traveling incognito, and Shannon and Raquel were attendants who had disguised themselves. But something about that seemed a little off. Perhaps it was because Shannon's treatment of Pacifica was much too rude and careless . . . but at the very least, she could not possibly see the two of them as a princess and her attendant.
For example . . .
"You ate it, didn't you? You ate that, didn't you? I'm disappointed in you, Shannon-nii!"
A voice that seemed to pierce through and gouge out one's eardrums reverberated. Well, if she were to talk normally, her voice would be quite lovely, but . . .
"You know . . . you know that omelettes are my favorite food, and yet without batting an eye--! Doing whatever you want without regard for anyone but yourself!"
"Whatever I want, nothin'--it was my omelette."
"Silence! As long as everything works out for you, then that's fine? It's thinking about only yourself like that that gave rise to--umm, what was it again?--oh, that's right, the homogenizing and exclusionary principle of competition, which says it's acceptable to just stomp all over other people and, uhh, which leads to the concentration of wealth and, er, brings about a society straining under structural unemployment!"
Shannon played the straight man to Pacifica--who had delivered this speech while her glance flitted to the small slip of paper she had pulled from her sleeve.
"Don't go making point-by-point cheat sheets . . ."
"Leave me alone! Anyway, as a human being you shouldn't ever forget to think, huh, maybe I should share just a bit of my omelette with my precious little sister, out of respect and adoration for my mistress--does that even mean anything to you? That's all I'm asking!"
"Nope, nothing at all."
"Ooh . . . Raquel-nee~, Shannon-nii is so cold."
"All right, all right. I'll give you my share, so stop crying and strangling Shannon."
A single instance indicates the norm . . . and this situation was that single instance.
They had been staying at the inn for a week now, yet Winia was not the least bit tired of watching them. But perhaps that was because she watched them through the eyes of an only child. A person who actually had siblings might say that there was nothing particularly odd, that it was all quite normal . . .
"Secret Technique: Double Fork Tornado!"
"You're too soft."
"--is just a feint to cover the Esoteric Technique: Phantom Knife Execution!"
"You've still got a long way to go."
"Gr, now that it's come to this, I'll have to use my Forbidden Special Move . . ."
". . . argh, knock it off! That's bad manners!"
. . . or perhaps not.
The knives and fork clattered as they struck each other.
They really are strange.
That is what Winia thought as she watched the battle between Shannon and Pacifica (or rather, watched as Shannon coolly deflected Pacifica's one-sided attacks with the knife in his right hand), still not quite sure what had started it.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) "Fault-finding grumpy old jerk" is actually 黄昏野郎 (tasogare yarou, literally something like "twilight bastard"), which is hard for me to pin down. I kind of get the idea that it's a label for people who see nothing but faults in others while seeing only their own good points/people who flame without knowing what they're talking about, and it also seems to be an insult for people who are past their prime. Then again, sometimes it's just used as another word for a troll. That could be other people who don't really get it, though. In fact, its (mis)use apparently sparked a bit of Internet backdraft about ten years back.
I did see a suggestion on one board that maybe it has its roots in the "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality (i.e., twilight is a dim time of day, so you end up shooting people without first confirming their identities), combined with the "past their prime" meaning. So maybe willfully ignorant old jerks who are quick to attack others? Iunno. Back
2) Taurus International Manufacturing, Inc. is a manufacturing conglomerate that produces--among many other things--pistols and revolvers. Back
3) The text has wa ni natte odorou (輪になって踊ろう), which is literally something like "form a circle and dance." I think "play Ring-Around-the-Rosie" does a better job of getting the idea across since it's basically referring to something young schoolchildren do. Back
4) I . . . think. The text is: これで喋ろうものなら、もう取り繕いようがない。 Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Travelers Come | Part 1/4
"You 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, fault-finding grumpy old JERK1!"
Hearing that shrill voice, which seemed to shake the Big Bear, Winia paused for just a moment in setting the table.
However, it was only the very shortest of moments. Her amber eyes did not even glance toward the ceiling--toward the second floor, which held the guest rooms.
It happened each and every morning, with the wearying predictability of a daily routine, so she had grown perfunctorily accustomed to it.
Besides, while it was a fact that they had haggled the lodging fees down greatly, they had paid money to stay, and a customer was a customer. At a time like this, there were no guests who did not makes nuisances of themselves, and the Big Bear could not afford to be choosy about its clientele.
In this city of Taurus2, during the off-season (as opposed to the pilgrimage season, when it would overflow with adherents of the Mauser faith), customers were a precious commodity. This was especially true for the Big Bear--even Taurus had enough small inns that they were locked in competition to be the best.
The provincial city of Taurus.
Located in the east of the Kingdom of Leinwand, it was an ordinary city. It was one of the 105 pilgrimage sites of the state religion, the Church of Mauser, and as such, it flourished during the pilgrimage season, but . . . the rest of the time, it was nothing more than a simple backwater town.
For that reason, in this city, the majority of places that bore the signboard of an inn only operated seasonally, as side businesses for farmers and the like.
But even so, the well-maintained high road brought a trickle of curiosity seekers, traveling merchants, wandering minstrels, and their ilk to this city, where they sought lodging for the night. And so there were a minority of inns that operated year round, relying on such visitors. The Big Bear was one such exception.
. . . well then.
The shouting continued for a while, but by the time Winia had finished setting the breakfast table, the inn had grown quiet. This, too, was an everyday occurrence.
Before long, the sound of a single set of footsteps descending the staircase.
"Good morning."
"Yes, good morning."
While giving her usual reply to that somewhat slow-sounding voice, Winia looked back over her shoulder at the staircase that connected directly to the dining room.
There--also as usual--was the tall and lean form of a young woman. Both her long hair, which reached to around the middle of her back, and her dewy eyes were the same jet black. Those glossy shades of night showed to all the better advantage by contrast to the whiteness of her smooth skin and immaculate casual dress. She had no attention-grabbing flashiness about her, but her refined features held a freshness and sophistication reminiscent of a wild flower.
She was beautiful. Surely anyone would concede that.
However, perhaps because she always wore a slack expression--much like that of a child who has just woken up--she left one with an impression of cuteness rather than beauty . . . she was that sort of young woman. Perhaps for that reason, she had none of the sort of inaccessibility that is so common among beautiful women.
The name written in the inn's register was Raquel Casull.
". . . what is it?" Raquel asked, tipping her head slightly to one side. Her long, sleek black hair swayed fluidly, and even Winia--who shared her gender--was momentarily dazed by the grace and elegance that drifted about her.
"N--no . . . it's nothing."
Winia slid her gaze away from Raquel.
. . . God really is unfair, isn't He?
That was what Winia thought every time she saw her.
Unruly red hair. Freckles. A dark complexion. And plain, unusually mature amber eyes that conveyed hardly any hue of emotion.
She was not beautiful. Nor was she cute.
She was not quite homely, but at the same time, she lacked any sort of charm or distinguishing feature that would draw the eyes of others . . . That was Winia's assessment of the self she saw in the mirror.
Actually, even looking back on the past seventeen years of her life, she had never once received a compliment telling her she was beautiful, or cute, or anything like it.
"They're in high spirits each and every day . . . those two."
"Sorry about that," Raquel said, returning Winia's wry smile with one of her own.
"Well, we don't have any other guests right now, so . . . as long as they don't dirty the room or break any furniture, it's none of my business whether they fistfight or play Ring-Around-the-Rosie.3"
That small, cheap inn had a staff of two. The other, Winia's grandmother, was a sickly woman who spent a lot of time sleeping in the inner room, so for all practical purposes, the Big Bear's landlady was Winia. Incidentally, both her parents had passed away before she was old enough to understand what had happened. She did not even remember her father's or her mother's face.
"I don't have siblings, so I don't understand it very well, but . . . are sibling quarrels really quite as frequent as that?"
"Well . . . I'm not really sure how it is in other people's families either . . ."
There, Raquel paused for a moment.
As though to stitch up that gap, the sound of a single pair of footsteps came down the stairs. It seemed that the remaining guests were descending.
Raquel gave a small shrug of her shoulders and continued.
"Our family is a bit complicated, so . . ."
". . . 'morning . . ."
The one who had said this while scratching his head with his right hand was, as expected, a tall and lean young man.
His name was Shannon Casull.
He normally used a narrow strip of white cloth to carelessly bind his long black hair, so Winia had never really noticed it before, but . . . seeing him like this, it was quite clear that he and Raquel were twins.
However, he gave a completely different impression than his sister did. In contrast to Raquel, who always wore a soft smile, Shannon's face was always fixed in a listless, hassled expression. Because he resembled Raquel, he was certainly something of a looker, but (perhaps because of the rather exhausted air about him) the impression he gave was strangely like that of an elderly man.
Perhaps he had many and various cares.
And then.
". . . 'morning."
The blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl swinging at the end of Shannon's arm said this sullenly. She was a lovely, petite girl in her mid-teens. Her features were not only regular but also traced out in slender, delicate lines, and one could perceive only grace and dignity in them. All she would need to do is dress in a luxurious gown and keep quiet, and she could probably pass as the sheltered daughter of a noble family.
However . . . seeing her dangling from the scruff of her neck like a kitten, with her navel exposed, it may have been impossible to perceive any of that grace or dignity.
Even her long hair--which she usually wore so precisely arranged--was rumpled and bed-mussed. If one were to dare to talk about it, there was simply no way to sugarcoat her state.4
The owner of the loud voice from not long ago was this girl.
She was Pacifica Casull.
Winia had heard that she was Shannon and Raquel's little sister, but . . . no matter how you looked at it, neither her features nor the color of her hair and eyes resembled theirs. Perhaps she had been adopted or something like that.
. . . our family is a bit complicated, so . . .
Winia ruminated on Raquel's words.
"You get along so well."
As soon as Winia had said this in a shocked tone, Pacifica gave a graceful shrug and a little scoffing snort. Because she was still dangling from Shannon's hand, even this cheeky behavior had something charming about it.
It seemed that Pacifica had been sulking and refusing to move, so Shannon had dragged her downstairs against her will.
"Who gets along with some old man with a personality like his? He's always, always, always running his mouth about nothing but how it's all a 'pain in the ass.' Don't you think it'd be better just to walk around wearing a sign on your back that has 'Pain in the Ass' written on it?"
"You know, you . . ."
"And after I so kindly woke you up, too. You just said, 'Shut up,' or whatever, and went back to sleep. If waking up is a hassle too, just be a good boy and rest in peace."
". . . hey, Raquel," Shannon said, seeming fed up. "I guess we can't just tie Princess Heinous up and hang her from someone's eaves, huh?"
"Well, we're not making jerky, so . . ."
"You know, generally, knowing your place as a courtier means a lack of hostility, Shannon-nii! To begin with, courtiers should know no greater joy than being at the sides of their masters, who they should feel adoration for--"
"My Princess . . . I don't really want to hear about 'knowing your place' from you."
"Silence!"
. . . these siblings had arguments like this every day. The basic pattern was that, once Shannon and Pacifica had pretty well worn each other out, Raquel would intercede.
Winia thought it was an interesting relationship.
For some reason, it weighed on her mind. She suddenly realized that she had been unconsciously following their movements with her eyes, catching their conversations with her ears.
Perhaps she was driven by simple curiosity . . . Their perplexing and boisterous (yet somehow heart-warming) arguments reflected strangely gleamingly in Winia's eyes.
What bothered her particularly--what attracted her attention--were the words they sometimes used to refer to each other in conversation, words like "princess" and "courtier."
They cropped up rather frequently for mere nicknames, or an in-joke, and their use had no logical coherence.
Just who were these three, and what was their relationship?
Honestly, Winia had thought up this scenario: Pacifica was a daughter of the nobility or something, who was traveling incognito, and Shannon and Raquel were attendants who had disguised themselves. But something about that seemed a little off. Perhaps it was because Shannon's treatment of Pacifica was much too rude and careless . . . but at the very least, she could not possibly see the two of them as a princess and her attendant.
For example . . .
"You ate it, didn't you? You ate that, didn't you? I'm disappointed in you, Shannon-nii!"
A voice that seemed to pierce through and gouge out one's eardrums reverberated. Well, if she were to talk normally, her voice would be quite lovely, but . . .
"You know . . . you know that omelettes are my favorite food, and yet without batting an eye--! Doing whatever you want without regard for anyone but yourself!"
"Whatever I want, nothin'--it was my omelette."
"Silence! As long as everything works out for you, then that's fine? It's thinking about only yourself like that that gave rise to--umm, what was it again?--oh, that's right, the homogenizing and exclusionary principle of competition, which says it's acceptable to just stomp all over other people and, uhh, which leads to the concentration of wealth and, er, brings about a society straining under structural unemployment!"
Shannon played the straight man to Pacifica--who had delivered this speech while her glance flitted to the small slip of paper she had pulled from her sleeve.
"Don't go making point-by-point cheat sheets . . ."
"Leave me alone! Anyway, as a human being you shouldn't ever forget to think, huh, maybe I should share just a bit of my omelette with my precious little sister, out of respect and adoration for my mistress--does that even mean anything to you? That's all I'm asking!"
"Nope, nothing at all."
"Ooh . . . Raquel-nee~, Shannon-nii is so cold."
"All right, all right. I'll give you my share, so stop crying and strangling Shannon."
A single instance indicates the norm . . . and this situation was that single instance.
They had been staying at the inn for a week now, yet Winia was not the least bit tired of watching them. But perhaps that was because she watched them through the eyes of an only child. A person who actually had siblings might say that there was nothing particularly odd, that it was all quite normal . . .
"Secret Technique: Double Fork Tornado!"
"You're too soft."
"--is just a feint to cover the Esoteric Technique: Phantom Knife Execution!"
"You've still got a long way to go."
"Gr, now that it's come to this, I'll have to use my Forbidden Special Move . . ."
". . . argh, knock it off! That's bad manners!"
. . . or perhaps not.
The knives and fork clattered as they struck each other.
They really are strange.
That is what Winia thought as she watched the battle between Shannon and Pacifica (or rather, watched as Shannon coolly deflected Pacifica's one-sided attacks with the knife in his right hand), still not quite sure what had started it.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) "Fault-finding grumpy old jerk" is actually 黄昏野郎 (tasogare yarou, literally something like "twilight bastard"), which is hard for me to pin down. I kind of get the idea that it's a label for people who see nothing but faults in others while seeing only their own good points/people who flame without knowing what they're talking about, and it also seems to be an insult for people who are past their prime. Then again, sometimes it's just used as another word for a troll. That could be other people who don't really get it, though. In fact, its (mis)use apparently sparked a bit of Internet backdraft about ten years back.
I did see a suggestion on one board that maybe it has its roots in the "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality (i.e., twilight is a dim time of day, so you end up shooting people without first confirming their identities), combined with the "past their prime" meaning. So maybe willfully ignorant old jerks who are quick to attack others? Iunno. Back
2) Taurus International Manufacturing, Inc. is a manufacturing conglomerate that produces--among many other things--pistols and revolvers. Back
3) The text has wa ni natte odorou (輪になって踊ろう), which is literally something like "form a circle and dance." I think "play Ring-Around-the-Rosie" does a better job of getting the idea across since it's basically referring to something young schoolchildren do. Back
4) I . . . think. The text is: これで喋ろうものなら、もう取り繕いようがない。 Back
