M. C. A. Hogarth (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} haikujaguar) wrote,@ 2007-03-20 10:33:00 |
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| Current mood: |  thoughtful |
| Entry tags: | meta-conversations, writing |
Names
"You are subdued, aunerai," Thirukedi says.
I look at the paper, at the poor penmanship I've displayed in working out, and working out and working out the Ai-Naidari words. "I like to write my name as it would exist in other cultures," I say. "I used to do it for other aunera, other aliens, even... they would choose a set of aliens they felt an affinity for, and I would pen their names in that script, using that nomenclature."
"A fine exercise," Thirukedi opines when I don't go on.
"Yes," I say. "But I can't write my name in your language. Not only that..." I put my pen down. "But I'm a broken thing in your language. Look... I have no caste-rank. No lord to whom I owe allegiance. The only thing I can say is that I am a member of a family."
He looks over my shoulder. "Perhaps you are your own noble house."
"No," I say. "No one owes me allegiance, and I owe no one their livelihoods, their safety and my justice. The closest thing to a noble in these parts is... I don't know. Being a mayor of a town, I guess. A regal might be a governor."
"You do have a caste," he says. "You are a Public Servant."
"But no rank," I say, "because there is no way to discern who I serve." I shake my head. "But that bothers me less than this." I tap my finger where the noble/regal House is supposed to go. "In your world, there is someone you serve. A lord or lady with whom you have a... a relationship. Your work is judged by them, sponsored or overseen by them. They are... like a patron, almost. We don't have that here. We work for faceless entities or groups of people. Or we work for ourselves and answer to no one but those who come to us for those services. Or we work with good friends, who are our equals. But there is no... sense of heirarchy. No personal allegiance."
"If it is so," Thirukedi says, "then perhaps it is because you as aunera wish it to be so."
"Maybe," I say. "But maybe I'm not so good at being aunerai as I could wish."
He looks at my very small, very disconnected name. "It must be very lonely," he says.
"Believe it or not," I say, "I am counted very rich among my kind in love and friendships."
He considers the paper, then says, quietly, "Perhaps, then, Storyteller, you should invite your people to Kherishdar more often."
I accept, with humility and relief, several ideas for short stories.
Stardancer Home.
