Translation Plot

[littlegreycells]

It does not take a detective to notice the sudden shift of the sounds of the Bar. Gone is the smoothness of conversation in what sound to Poirot like English and French, and in its place a Babel of strange languages, some familiar, some alien. Poirot had never thought till now about just how and why he understood everyone. It is most curious that it has stopped. Though perhaps it offered a chance to learn something now. Or to see if he can understand without understanding.

That said, he does hope that somewhere in the cacophony he finds someone who speaks French.

[ooc: As noted, Poirot speaks English and French, and also knows a smattering of Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Flemish, and bits and pieces of German.]

Comments

[childofrebellion]

(OOC: Cassian speaks Basic/English, Festian/Spanish but with an otherworldly accent.)

Its been a while since Cassian's seen the detective and he nods to him from where he's sitting resting his ankle and working on his datapad. He's finding all the languages remind him of when he left Fest and started to live more in Basic.

[littlegreycells]

"Can you understand me, friend?" He tries English, and then French.

[childofrebellion]

"I can understand the first language you spoke. I don't know the second one," Then because he's curious he says in Festian, "[But it reminds me slightly of my first language.]"

[littlegreycells]

"So you speak English, but not French." And whatever that other language was, it sounds very much not of Europe.

[childofrebellion]

"I speak Galactic Basic which seems similar to English. French, that's a language from where you're from?"

[littlegreycells]

"It is my native tongue." And he proceeds to demonstrate, knowing full well that Cassian will not understand. "I find it simpler than English, but I have spoken the English for thirty years and beyond." Indeed, he knew it well enough the day her arrived in England. The first language of law enforcement, it seems.

[childofrebellion]

Cassian smiles as he understands that feeling and answers in Basic, "I've been speaking Basic for almost twenty years but prefer grew up speaking Festian."

[littlegreycells]

Poirot is not a linguist, but he wonders how Basic and English are similar. Perhaps there are rules for languages that serve as a lingua franca (though once that language was of course French).

"It is most peculiar, is it not, that the language here is many when it was one."

[childofrebellion]

"Yes, I don't understand that, but I've heard it spoken all over the galaxy by various species,"

Language is something he thinks about in terms of codes not as much the history behind them. This has him wondering more.

[littlegreycells]

"I have rarely given it much thought. Everyone in London speaks English, even the foreigners." He would not recognize it in the 21st century. "It made my life simpler."

[childofrebellion]

"As Basic allows communication between almost everyone. There are some species with the wrong sorts of vocal cords like Wookies who understand Basic but can't speak it."

[littlegreycells]

"But in here, and until today, such things were not a concern. Most fascinating." He smiles, since any mystery is welcome.

[childofrebellion]

"Yes, and no one seems to know what created the translation to start with so its harder to fix,"

It seems like the kind of mechanism that perhaps should be visible now its not working.

[thewidewideworld]

Like Poirot, Sinric is listening keenly to the babble of voices. He loves it, smiling warmly as he picks up scraps of languages he knows. And better still, ones he doesn't know.

He spots Poirot and waves to him. "[Good evening, sir.]" He greets in Latin.

[littlegreycells]

Poirot has to reach far back into his memory, to church services he attended often before leaving Belgium (he lost the taste for them in London, despite staying faithful). "Ah, my friend. I greet you." His syntax is weak, his accent rather difficult.

[thewidewideworld]

Poirot's Latin is sweetly naive and makes Sinric smile. "It would seem the bar has confuses our speech."

[littlegreycells]

"The Bar does work badly." He stops and thinks and hopes he got it right. "My Latin is that of a church."

[thewidewideworld]

"Your Latin is lovely." Sinric assures with a warm smile. "Would it be better in another tongue?"

[littlegreycells]

"[Can you speak French?] Or English?" He could try Flemish - as a senior official in Brussels, he took it on himself to learn some - but no proper resident of Brussels rushes to speak Flemish.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric switches to modern English, a little careful. "My English is better. My French is too old." he apologises.

[littlegreycells]

"The French not of the Third Republic and General de Gaulle but of Charlemagne, no doubt." Poirot knows nothing of that language but suspects he could manage between his modern French and his Latin.

"It is quite the wonder, for the Bar to be Babel, with the myriads cast about in confusion."

[thewidewideworld]

"Charlemagne indeed." Although Sinric's tone implies he doesn't have a very high opinion of Charles the Great right now.

He smiles at the mention of Babel and nods, "A hundred voices from a hundred worlds." He clearly thinks it's wonderful.

[littlegreycells]

"And perhaps the wonder is not that there are one hundred voices, but that there are not the rest of the time." He never thought about it.

[thewidewideworld]

"Bar magic is-" he flutters his hands, looking for the word, "sprained? Like twisted ankle. I felt it. It will heal."

[littlegreycells]

"It s most unusual sprain, mon ami. And I do not know who would aid in healing a magic bar." Assuming it's really magic. He is professional skeptic at times.