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[Translation] Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Songstress | Part 1/5
About a week later than I intended. Got caught up in Plants vs. Zombies other stuff.
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Songstress | Part 1/5
Twilit colored light stained the room's interior.
In that room, in which everything had been overcome by those languid colors, a black-haired young woman was lying in the bed. Watching over her was a young man whose features closely resembled hers.
Breathing a heavy, exhausted sigh (by this time, even he did not know how many sighs it had been), he slumped onto the stool beside the bed.
His handsome face was overlaid by a cast of anguish.
Using both his eyes and ears to check her ragged breathing--breaths that made it clear that she was ravaged by disease--he muttered like a groan, "No way . . . I won't accept it . . . Raquel . . . There's no way something like this could . . ."
"Shannon . . ."
Between shallow breaths came the voice of an elder sister calling her younger brother.
It did not resemble her usual voice in the slightest, and hearing that terribly raw sound, he felt his anguish pierce him all the more deeply.
"I'm sorry . . ."
"Don't apologize . . . What good will apologizing do?!"
Shannon shook off her tenderly extended hand and stood up. As though to sever some tie, he turned his back on Raquel and stood at the window.
". . . Shannon."
He was trembling. Raquel's timorous words came into futile contact with his back, and then dissipated. There was not a single thing she could do for him, now.
Despair somberly diffused amid the stillness.
However . . .
"Shannon-nii~~~~~!"
All of a sudden, an inappropriately merry voice resounded, driving a crack into their amber-tinted world.
"Hey, how about this one? I think it'd look great on you!"
The door was thrown open with such vigor that it seemed likely to fly off its hinges. The one to do this was a petite, blonde-haired, blue-eyed young girl. A girl who wore a strangely happy expression on her sweet-looking face . . . Pacifica (Shannon and Raquel's little sister) rushed over to Shannon.
"But you know, this one deserves consideration too. These frills are just too cute--it's the kind of thing that would give people a complex!1 Shall we pair it with a matching ribbon? I just know it'd be adorable."
What Pacifica held in her hands as she remarked upon these things were a pair of dresses--deep crimson and cerulean, respectively. Both of them were so suggestively gaudy that they were just one step away from being in bad taste. Walking down the street while dressed in either of them would without a doubt call one's sanity into question.
But then, divergence from the ordinary is a selling point of things such as party dresses and stage costumes . . .
". . ."
His gaze still fixed outside the window, Shannon's back trembled.
"Oh, that's right. Underwear's out, since it would ruin the line of the dress."
"Pacifica . . ."
"Oh, right, we'll need makeup and tweezers too."
His woeful voice was completely ignored.
". . . Pacifica."
. . . crrk.
As though enduring bitter pain, Shannon seized the windowsill with such force that it creaked.
"Pacifica!" Shannon shouted. Hearing his voice, which sounded as though he had been pushed past the limits of his endurance, Pacifica abruptly ceased her chatter and turned her gaze on his back. "You . . . Are you really enjoying yourself that much?"
"Well, of course." The girl stared at her elder brother's back, her blue eyes lit by something that could just about be called wickedness. "Now, you're taking Raquel-nee's place since she's got a cold, so hurry up, put this on, and sing for us, Shannon-nii!"
. . . snap.
At the same moment that Pacifica made this triumphant declaration, a crack raced along the windowsill that Shannon was gripping.
The Wild Horse.
An inn-cum-tavern, and one among the longer-standing in Taurus Town.
But then, unlike the Big Bear (which operated year-round), it was open only at night during the off-season, and then only as a tavern. It had three times as many rooms as the Big Bear, and the building itself was three times as large, and even as a tavern, it was probably one of the considerably larger ones in the city of Taurus.
At any rate, a bit of a stage had been set up in the tavern, and they even had an in-house diva.
However . . .
"That Iris, she suddenly went and caught a cold," said Safir Colt2--the owner of the Wild Horse--as he scratched his head. He was a little old man, but one could perceive the vigor of a youth in his affable smile. "Seems to be going around these days. Anyhow, this is perfect--I was just thinking of getting someone to stand in for her. What's more, Raquel, take a look at all these reserved seats, just from rumors spreading about you singing!"
Safir gestured with both hands, indicating the Wild Horse's dining-hall-cum-tavern, where most of the nearly thirty tables had place cards that read "Reserved." Some among them had been written in scribbled handwriting, clearly as a stopgap measure.
"Well, we've still got a minute before the guests arrive, so take your time looking the place over."
"Yes, sir."
The one to reply was not the extemporaneous songstress but one of the two young girls who had accompanied her under the pretext of being her assistants . . . Pacifica.
"Hn, what's wrong? Not feeling well?"
"'m fine--"
On the verge of saying something, the young woman seemed to think better of it and bit her tongue.
Atop her right foot was the sole of Pacifica's shoe, where it had stomped down surreptitiously, yet with enough force to drive it into the floor.
"Oh no, not at all. You're as right as rain, aren't you, Oneechan?" Pacifica said, placing a subtle emphasis on the Oneechan bit.
"Yeah? All right, then. I've got prep work to do for tonight's dishes, so I'll excuse myself to the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything."
With these parting words, Safir withdrew to the tavern's interior in good spirits. Those left behind were Pacifica, and a girl some years older than her with a rather dark complexion and red hair: Winia, of the Big Bear. And also . . .
". . . that's why I've been telling you, this isn't gonna work."
In the next moment . . .
"KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Pacifica burst into helpless laughter.
Even Winia (who normally made a point to step back a bit and view things from a distance, and whose expression never changed much) turned her back on the two of them, her shoulders shaking as she said, "But . . . well . . . he hasn't figured you out yet. At times like this, being twins . . . is very convenient, isn't it?"
"I got no need for this kind of 'convenience.'"
The one to say this in a morose voice was Raquel . . . No, of course not--it was Shannon, who was disguised as her.
"But you know . . . ooh hoo hoo, it's an ama--amazing . . . heh, heheheheh, disguise." Pacifica was still laughing fitfully.
Well, even apart from the fact that they were twins, it certainly was an amazing disguise.
They had chosen an outfit that hid the lines of his body as much as possible, faked a chest by stuffing in a suitable amount of cloth, and concealed his throat by wrapping it in a scarf. A deft application of makeup obscured the lines of his face as well.
At a glance, he could probably pass as a somewhat strapping woman.
But more than any of that, the masterstroke . . .
"Don't laugh," Shannon said listlessly, and at that moment, Pacifica burst out laughing all over again.
"You're--you're--you're so cute Shannon-nii!"
. . . was the voice.
While clothing and makeup could alter his outward appearance, as might be expected Raquel's voice was not something he could manage just by imitating it. And so he had reluctantly had her cast a voice modification spell on him. Thanks to that, his voice itself certainly had come to sound just like Raquel's, but . . . because Shannon's manner of speaking was the same as ever, the effect was curiously amusing.
Incidentally, Winia had asked (given that she was able to change his voice) whether Raquel could also use magic to do something about his appearance, but . . .
"A voice is a sound . . . In short, it's nothing more than the vibration of the air, which originates in the mouth, or rather, in the throat. So it's relatively simple to elaborate, but the moment you try to replicate someone's entire appearance, the degree of difficulty increases. I would have to layer foolproof optical illusions over Shannon to cover him from all angles--front, back, left, right, above, below--and to do that, I'd have to configure and process a casting ritual based on enormous amounts of information.
If I used a hallucinogenic spell instead, the spell itself would be simple, but I'd have to cast it on each and every customer that showed up, so . . ."
. . . had been Raquel's speech.
It was all gibberish to Winia, but in short, it seemed that catching a cold had reduced Raquel's powers of concentration, so that sort of work would have been too much for her. As a result, it was decided that the unwilling Shannon would be forced to masquerade as Raquel, but . . .
"Well, I can definitely handle a lute, at least. Basically, I just don't get why I gotta dress in women's clothes and take Raquel's place."
"Half of the fee he paid you in advance has already gone to rebuilding the wall, and besides, you saw those reserved seats, didn't you? If you tell him you're calling it off now . . . Colt-san will hit the ceiling," Winia said, just barely managing to train her expression back into its usual composure. "At any rate, work hard and earn those repair costs, all right? Well then, I'm heading back."
As she attempted to leave, Shannon hastily caught her hand.
"Wait a second, Winia, you're gonna leave me here by myself? No matter how good the disguise is, I need someone to help me make sure I don't slip up."
"You have Pacifica, don't you?"
". . ." Glancing at his younger sister--who was still laughing so hard that tears ran down her cheeks--Shannon said, in an extremely serious tone, ". . . that's an enemy."
"But I have work to do around the inn. I also need to take care of Raquel-san."
"That's right--we'll be fine, just fine." Forcibly exchanging her guffaws for a smile, Pacifica thrust her index finger at Shannon's nose. "Oniisama is so. Darn. Cute, you know."
Shannon's expression was pathetic, and his strength drained away. Winia freed herself from his grasp and hurried away from the Wild Horse. She was making her escape before matters became any more complicated than they already were.
That was prudent.
"Pacifica . . ." Shannon said in a voice that went beyond weariness--it sounded like a patient on the verge of death.
Pacifica's expression held not one mote of guilt as she said, "Well then! I'll be keeping an eye on your big moment from the guest seats while I have some tasty food, Oniisama--no, I mean, Oneesama."
He was isolated and unaided.
Desperately resisting the urge to tear at his long, black hair (otherwise, there would have been no point in having painstakingly combed it out and arranged it), he stood alone and held his head in his hands.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has 萌え萌えってー感じで！ I CANNOT Back
2) Colt's Manufacturing Company LLC is an American firearms manufacturer, perhaps best known for their revolvers, pistols, and rifles. Back
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Songstress | Part 1/5
Twilit colored light stained the room's interior.
In that room, in which everything had been overcome by those languid colors, a black-haired young woman was lying in the bed. Watching over her was a young man whose features closely resembled hers.
Breathing a heavy, exhausted sigh (by this time, even he did not know how many sighs it had been), he slumped onto the stool beside the bed.
His handsome face was overlaid by a cast of anguish.
Using both his eyes and ears to check her ragged breathing--breaths that made it clear that she was ravaged by disease--he muttered like a groan, "No way . . . I won't accept it . . . Raquel . . . There's no way something like this could . . ."
"Shannon . . ."
Between shallow breaths came the voice of an elder sister calling her younger brother.
It did not resemble her usual voice in the slightest, and hearing that terribly raw sound, he felt his anguish pierce him all the more deeply.
"I'm sorry . . ."
"Don't apologize . . . What good will apologizing do?!"
Shannon shook off her tenderly extended hand and stood up. As though to sever some tie, he turned his back on Raquel and stood at the window.
". . . Shannon."
He was trembling. Raquel's timorous words came into futile contact with his back, and then dissipated. There was not a single thing she could do for him, now.
Despair somberly diffused amid the stillness.
However . . .
"Shannon-nii~~~~~!"
All of a sudden, an inappropriately merry voice resounded, driving a crack into their amber-tinted world.
"Hey, how about this one? I think it'd look great on you!"
The door was thrown open with such vigor that it seemed likely to fly off its hinges. The one to do this was a petite, blonde-haired, blue-eyed young girl. A girl who wore a strangely happy expression on her sweet-looking face . . . Pacifica (Shannon and Raquel's little sister) rushed over to Shannon.
"But you know, this one deserves consideration too. These frills are just too cute--it's the kind of thing that would give people a complex!1 Shall we pair it with a matching ribbon? I just know it'd be adorable."
What Pacifica held in her hands as she remarked upon these things were a pair of dresses--deep crimson and cerulean, respectively. Both of them were so suggestively gaudy that they were just one step away from being in bad taste. Walking down the street while dressed in either of them would without a doubt call one's sanity into question.
But then, divergence from the ordinary is a selling point of things such as party dresses and stage costumes . . .
". . ."
His gaze still fixed outside the window, Shannon's back trembled.
"Oh, that's right. Underwear's out, since it would ruin the line of the dress."
"Pacifica . . ."
"Oh, right, we'll need makeup and tweezers too."
His woeful voice was completely ignored.
". . . Pacifica."
. . . crrk.
As though enduring bitter pain, Shannon seized the windowsill with such force that it creaked.
"Pacifica!" Shannon shouted. Hearing his voice, which sounded as though he had been pushed past the limits of his endurance, Pacifica abruptly ceased her chatter and turned her gaze on his back. "You . . . Are you really enjoying yourself that much?"
"Well, of course." The girl stared at her elder brother's back, her blue eyes lit by something that could just about be called wickedness. "Now, you're taking Raquel-nee's place since she's got a cold, so hurry up, put this on, and sing for us, Shannon-nii!"
. . . snap.
At the same moment that Pacifica made this triumphant declaration, a crack raced along the windowsill that Shannon was gripping.
The Wild Horse.
An inn-cum-tavern, and one among the longer-standing in Taurus Town.
But then, unlike the Big Bear (which operated year-round), it was open only at night during the off-season, and then only as a tavern. It had three times as many rooms as the Big Bear, and the building itself was three times as large, and even as a tavern, it was probably one of the considerably larger ones in the city of Taurus.
At any rate, a bit of a stage had been set up in the tavern, and they even had an in-house diva.
However . . .
"That Iris, she suddenly went and caught a cold," said Safir Colt2--the owner of the Wild Horse--as he scratched his head. He was a little old man, but one could perceive the vigor of a youth in his affable smile. "Seems to be going around these days. Anyhow, this is perfect--I was just thinking of getting someone to stand in for her. What's more, Raquel, take a look at all these reserved seats, just from rumors spreading about you singing!"
Safir gestured with both hands, indicating the Wild Horse's dining-hall-cum-tavern, where most of the nearly thirty tables had place cards that read "Reserved." Some among them had been written in scribbled handwriting, clearly as a stopgap measure.
"Well, we've still got a minute before the guests arrive, so take your time looking the place over."
"Yes, sir."
The one to reply was not the extemporaneous songstress but one of the two young girls who had accompanied her under the pretext of being her assistants . . . Pacifica.
"Hn, what's wrong? Not feeling well?"
"'m fine--"
On the verge of saying something, the young woman seemed to think better of it and bit her tongue.
Atop her right foot was the sole of Pacifica's shoe, where it had stomped down surreptitiously, yet with enough force to drive it into the floor.
"Oh no, not at all. You're as right as rain, aren't you, Oneechan?" Pacifica said, placing a subtle emphasis on the Oneechan bit.
"Yeah? All right, then. I've got prep work to do for tonight's dishes, so I'll excuse myself to the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything."
With these parting words, Safir withdrew to the tavern's interior in good spirits. Those left behind were Pacifica, and a girl some years older than her with a rather dark complexion and red hair: Winia, of the Big Bear. And also . . .
". . . that's why I've been telling you, this isn't gonna work."
In the next moment . . .
"KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Pacifica burst into helpless laughter.
Even Winia (who normally made a point to step back a bit and view things from a distance, and whose expression never changed much) turned her back on the two of them, her shoulders shaking as she said, "But . . . well . . . he hasn't figured you out yet. At times like this, being twins . . . is very convenient, isn't it?"
"I got no need for this kind of 'convenience.'"
The one to say this in a morose voice was Raquel . . . No, of course not--it was Shannon, who was disguised as her.
"But you know . . . ooh hoo hoo, it's an ama--amazing . . . heh, heheheheh, disguise." Pacifica was still laughing fitfully.
Well, even apart from the fact that they were twins, it certainly was an amazing disguise.
They had chosen an outfit that hid the lines of his body as much as possible, faked a chest by stuffing in a suitable amount of cloth, and concealed his throat by wrapping it in a scarf. A deft application of makeup obscured the lines of his face as well.
At a glance, he could probably pass as a somewhat strapping woman.
But more than any of that, the masterstroke . . .
"Don't laugh," Shannon said listlessly, and at that moment, Pacifica burst out laughing all over again.
"You're--you're--you're so cute Shannon-nii!"
. . . was the voice.
While clothing and makeup could alter his outward appearance, as might be expected Raquel's voice was not something he could manage just by imitating it. And so he had reluctantly had her cast a voice modification spell on him. Thanks to that, his voice itself certainly had come to sound just like Raquel's, but . . . because Shannon's manner of speaking was the same as ever, the effect was curiously amusing.
Incidentally, Winia had asked (given that she was able to change his voice) whether Raquel could also use magic to do something about his appearance, but . . .
"A voice is a sound . . . In short, it's nothing more than the vibration of the air, which originates in the mouth, or rather, in the throat. So it's relatively simple to elaborate, but the moment you try to replicate someone's entire appearance, the degree of difficulty increases. I would have to layer foolproof optical illusions over Shannon to cover him from all angles--front, back, left, right, above, below--and to do that, I'd have to configure and process a casting ritual based on enormous amounts of information.
If I used a hallucinogenic spell instead, the spell itself would be simple, but I'd have to cast it on each and every customer that showed up, so . . ."
. . . had been Raquel's speech.
It was all gibberish to Winia, but in short, it seemed that catching a cold had reduced Raquel's powers of concentration, so that sort of work would have been too much for her. As a result, it was decided that the unwilling Shannon would be forced to masquerade as Raquel, but . . .
"Well, I can definitely handle a lute, at least. Basically, I just don't get why I gotta dress in women's clothes and take Raquel's place."
"Half of the fee he paid you in advance has already gone to rebuilding the wall, and besides, you saw those reserved seats, didn't you? If you tell him you're calling it off now . . . Colt-san will hit the ceiling," Winia said, just barely managing to train her expression back into its usual composure. "At any rate, work hard and earn those repair costs, all right? Well then, I'm heading back."
As she attempted to leave, Shannon hastily caught her hand.
"Wait a second, Winia, you're gonna leave me here by myself? No matter how good the disguise is, I need someone to help me make sure I don't slip up."
"You have Pacifica, don't you?"
". . ." Glancing at his younger sister--who was still laughing so hard that tears ran down her cheeks--Shannon said, in an extremely serious tone, ". . . that's an enemy."
"But I have work to do around the inn. I also need to take care of Raquel-san."
"That's right--we'll be fine, just fine." Forcibly exchanging her guffaws for a smile, Pacifica thrust her index finger at Shannon's nose. "Oniisama is so. Darn. Cute, you know."
Shannon's expression was pathetic, and his strength drained away. Winia freed herself from his grasp and hurried away from the Wild Horse. She was making her escape before matters became any more complicated than they already were.
That was prudent.
"Pacifica . . ." Shannon said in a voice that went beyond weariness--it sounded like a patient on the verge of death.
Pacifica's expression held not one mote of guilt as she said, "Well then! I'll be keeping an eye on your big moment from the guest seats while I have some tasty food, Oniisama--no, I mean, Oneesama."
He was isolated and unaided.
Desperately resisting the urge to tear at his long, black hair (otherwise, there would have been no point in having painstakingly combed it out and arranged it), he stood alone and held his head in his hands.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has 萌え萌えってー感じで！ I CANNOT Back
2) Colt's Manufacturing Company LLC is an American firearms manufacturer, perhaps best known for their revolvers, pistols, and rifles. Back
no subject
But seriously, with shoulder pads like those in the world of Sutepri, I imagine it would be a lot easier to disguise your figure.
no subject