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tamingthemuseTitle: The Art of Language
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Any Joke in the Storm
Warnings: none
Rating: G
Summary: Jacky learns that he does indeed know this forgein language.
Jacky woke with an ache in his neck and a pair of strong arms holding him secure on a horse’s back. He groaned low in his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the painful ache. He blinked at the landscape lazily passing them by.
The sky was a clear blue, pale and distant. The ground was dry and the foliage sparse. In the distance, Jacky could see mountains raising out of foot hills, and from the mountains grew a heavy cloud of white smoke.
He struggled to sit up so he could see over his rescuer’s shoulder. “What-” he began before he remembered the language barrier.
Nonetheless, the man looked over his shoulder as well, before meeting Jacky’s gaze. It was all Jacky could do to ignore the fluttering in his chest, the primal tug of lust low in his gut.
He said something and Jacky, once again, felt as if he should know that word. It was so familiar, on the tip of his tongue, and yet so far away. He repeated the word out loud and felt the vibrations of the man’s chest as he spoke cone more. Then he pointed to a boulder on the side of the path and named it. Jacky repeated each word presented to him, whishing for paper and pen to write it all down.
Hours passed with Jacky nodding off into a natural sleep after a few words repeated, soothed to sleep by the warmth of the man behind him and the steady gait of the horse under them. He was then jolted awake by the man dismounting. He was surprised to find that the sun had set and he was once again surrounded by the bright lights of billions of stars and a few campfires.
His companion spoke quickly with a few of the people, and then the two of them were seated before a fire, food being pressed into their chilled hands. Jacky ate greedily, his stomach rumbling. He devoured his food, listening to the steady cadence of the voices around him. Although it seemed as if these people were refugees like them, there was no fear in their voices, only exhaustion.
As he ate, Jacky came to realize that the man beside him was guarding him, even here. He didn’t taste test his food, but he did watch every bit Jacky ate with a critical eye, and his body was so close to Jacky’s that he couldn’t help but bump into him with every movement of his elbow. It was making Jacky nervous and jumpy.
Who was this man? Who was Jacky to him?
With resignation, Jacky concentrated on filling his empty stomach.
As the night progressed, Jacky caught more and more words that felt so very familiar, words that he was sure he knew, if only he could hear them more clearly, without the heavy accent and spoken slower. It was frustrating and was beginning to give him a headache, so he turned his attention once more to his champion.
The man had bags under his oh so bright blue eyes, and he looked tired. He appeared pale under his golden tan, and Jacky wondered if he was stealing all the man’s sleep. When had the man last slept? Every time Jacky had woken, his guard was up and about, finding them food, helping him escape, holding him in his strong arms.
Jacky’s mind began waltzing down the road of lustful thoughts as he stared at his companion, noting that he was tall and lean. His fingers were long and calloused, the nails short. He had a small scar between his thumb and index finger that was little more than a white line. A leather band had been wrapped around his palm, and appeared to have been there for ages, if the cracking and dirt was any evidence. The clothes he wore were very similar to a few others in their group, and Jacky decided that he, indeed, was a soldier, and those dressed similarly were as well.
Bored, Jacky leaned heavily on the man’s shoulder as he spoke intently with the other soldiers. He wasn’t tired for once, and he idly watched the firelight flicker around the camp, watching the people.
At some point, the men began drawing maps in the dirt around the fire, and even labeled a few points. Jacky leaned over to watch, curious, then felt his heart begin to pound heavily in his ears. He could read those words!
It was as if a fog had suddenly lifted from his sleep addled brain. Everything should have been so clear from the start, but, for some reason, he hadn’t made the connections! He had been an idiot.
Hadn’t he been in Hattusa when this whole thing started? It only made sense that that’s where he would end up. Then…
The fire he had witnessed had been documented ages ago. The people had set fire to their city as they had escaped into parts unknown to prevent their enemies from gaining what they had lost. He was living the destruction of one of the four great ancient empires.
And he could read the language. It was cuneiform and he could read it!
The language he had been so sure he knew was nothing less than fluent natives speaking their own language. In the way it was meant to be spoken.
While he was marveling at how any joke in a storm could bring a smile, the group around them dissipated and left the two of them briefly alone. Jacky pointed to a word etched in the dirt and spoke it how he had thought it was supposed to be pronounced. His companion frowned a moment, shook his head, then repeated the word with the proper pronunciation. Excited, Jacky repeated the process with every word, moving vowels about and testing his accent.
This was what he had been trained for, this is what he had wanted to do ever since he had seen that headdress back in the museum.
That thought brought him up short as he suddenly remembered that headdress. His eyes went wide, then he looked to the saddlebags still attached to the horse. It was the same headdress. Hammered gold, in the form of a sun disk.
He licked his lips nervously and wondered for the first time, was him being here fate?
The man beside him drew his attention back to him and pointed to his own chest. “Mata’ka’ala.”
“Is that your name?” Jacky wondered out loud in English. “Mata’ka’ala?”
Mata’ka’ala nodded, and then pointed to Jacky. “Telepinu.”
Jacky shook his head. “No,” he said, switching to his butchering of nešili. “Jacky.”
Mata’ka’ala frowned heavily and repeated, “Telepinu.”
Jacky didn’t know what the name meant, and he was quickly becoming too tired to fight with the man over it. He merely shook his head and began writing what he could of the cuneiform and pronouncing the symbols. Mata’ka’ala corrected him as he went, and Jacky filed it all away, rearranging his knowledge of the language.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Any Joke in the Storm
Warnings: none
Rating: G
Summary: Jacky learns that he does indeed know this forgein language.
Jacky woke with an ache in his neck and a pair of strong arms holding him secure on a horse’s back. He groaned low in his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the painful ache. He blinked at the landscape lazily passing them by.
The sky was a clear blue, pale and distant. The ground was dry and the foliage sparse. In the distance, Jacky could see mountains raising out of foot hills, and from the mountains grew a heavy cloud of white smoke.
He struggled to sit up so he could see over his rescuer’s shoulder. “What-” he began before he remembered the language barrier.
Nonetheless, the man looked over his shoulder as well, before meeting Jacky’s gaze. It was all Jacky could do to ignore the fluttering in his chest, the primal tug of lust low in his gut.
He said something and Jacky, once again, felt as if he should know that word. It was so familiar, on the tip of his tongue, and yet so far away. He repeated the word out loud and felt the vibrations of the man’s chest as he spoke cone more. Then he pointed to a boulder on the side of the path and named it. Jacky repeated each word presented to him, whishing for paper and pen to write it all down.
Hours passed with Jacky nodding off into a natural sleep after a few words repeated, soothed to sleep by the warmth of the man behind him and the steady gait of the horse under them. He was then jolted awake by the man dismounting. He was surprised to find that the sun had set and he was once again surrounded by the bright lights of billions of stars and a few campfires.
His companion spoke quickly with a few of the people, and then the two of them were seated before a fire, food being pressed into their chilled hands. Jacky ate greedily, his stomach rumbling. He devoured his food, listening to the steady cadence of the voices around him. Although it seemed as if these people were refugees like them, there was no fear in their voices, only exhaustion.
As he ate, Jacky came to realize that the man beside him was guarding him, even here. He didn’t taste test his food, but he did watch every bit Jacky ate with a critical eye, and his body was so close to Jacky’s that he couldn’t help but bump into him with every movement of his elbow. It was making Jacky nervous and jumpy.
Who was this man? Who was Jacky to him?
With resignation, Jacky concentrated on filling his empty stomach.
As the night progressed, Jacky caught more and more words that felt so very familiar, words that he was sure he knew, if only he could hear them more clearly, without the heavy accent and spoken slower. It was frustrating and was beginning to give him a headache, so he turned his attention once more to his champion.
The man had bags under his oh so bright blue eyes, and he looked tired. He appeared pale under his golden tan, and Jacky wondered if he was stealing all the man’s sleep. When had the man last slept? Every time Jacky had woken, his guard was up and about, finding them food, helping him escape, holding him in his strong arms.
Jacky’s mind began waltzing down the road of lustful thoughts as he stared at his companion, noting that he was tall and lean. His fingers were long and calloused, the nails short. He had a small scar between his thumb and index finger that was little more than a white line. A leather band had been wrapped around his palm, and appeared to have been there for ages, if the cracking and dirt was any evidence. The clothes he wore were very similar to a few others in their group, and Jacky decided that he, indeed, was a soldier, and those dressed similarly were as well.
Bored, Jacky leaned heavily on the man’s shoulder as he spoke intently with the other soldiers. He wasn’t tired for once, and he idly watched the firelight flicker around the camp, watching the people.
At some point, the men began drawing maps in the dirt around the fire, and even labeled a few points. Jacky leaned over to watch, curious, then felt his heart begin to pound heavily in his ears. He could read those words!
It was as if a fog had suddenly lifted from his sleep addled brain. Everything should have been so clear from the start, but, for some reason, he hadn’t made the connections! He had been an idiot.
Hadn’t he been in Hattusa when this whole thing started? It only made sense that that’s where he would end up. Then…
The fire he had witnessed had been documented ages ago. The people had set fire to their city as they had escaped into parts unknown to prevent their enemies from gaining what they had lost. He was living the destruction of one of the four great ancient empires.
And he could read the language. It was cuneiform and he could read it!
The language he had been so sure he knew was nothing less than fluent natives speaking their own language. In the way it was meant to be spoken.
While he was marveling at how any joke in a storm could bring a smile, the group around them dissipated and left the two of them briefly alone. Jacky pointed to a word etched in the dirt and spoke it how he had thought it was supposed to be pronounced. His companion frowned a moment, shook his head, then repeated the word with the proper pronunciation. Excited, Jacky repeated the process with every word, moving vowels about and testing his accent.
This was what he had been trained for, this is what he had wanted to do ever since he had seen that headdress back in the museum.
That thought brought him up short as he suddenly remembered that headdress. His eyes went wide, then he looked to the saddlebags still attached to the horse. It was the same headdress. Hammered gold, in the form of a sun disk.
He licked his lips nervously and wondered for the first time, was him being here fate?
The man beside him drew his attention back to him and pointed to his own chest. “Mata’ka’ala.”
“Is that your name?” Jacky wondered out loud in English. “Mata’ka’ala?”
Mata’ka’ala nodded, and then pointed to Jacky. “Telepinu.”
Jacky shook his head. “No,” he said, switching to his butchering of nešili. “Jacky.”
Mata’ka’ala frowned heavily and repeated, “Telepinu.”
Jacky didn’t know what the name meant, and he was quickly becoming too tired to fight with the man over it. He merely shook his head and began writing what he could of the cuneiform and pronouncing the symbols. Mata’ka’ala corrected him as he went, and Jacky filed it all away, rearranging his knowledge of the language.
