trekwriter151 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trekwriter151) wrote2010-04-13 08:30 pm
trekwriter151) wrote2010-04-13 08:30 pm
Entry tags:
ENT Fic: A Linguist's Dream
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em.
Notes: Written for a challenge. "Linguist, Dream, Nightmare".
I think this is my shortest story yet. Less than 400 words. (LOL!)
Please R&R. Thanks.
Pairing: R/S
A Linguist's Dream
The Denobulan open market at Legai was a dream or a nightmare, depending on the person. Elderly ladies and enthusiastic children pressed against each other, jostling and pushing to the front of the crowd. The sellers sang out their offers and peddled their wares, a cacophony of alien words set to music. The smells of banjaa sticks and fried nak-to wafted in the air around them. Not even the most iron stomach resisted the creamy lusciousness of a khirpa, a citrus drink guaranteed to quench the most stubborn thirst.
Each stall prominently displayed their licenses, cleanliness ratings, and a list of prices. The beautiful Denobulan script, red against crisp white paper, seemed to ebb and flow as a cool breeze stirred the fabric tents. A set of Triaxian silk scarves billowed in that same wind, blooms of color in a maelstrom of chaos.
It was a linguist's dream.
But a claustrophobe's nightmare.
She hesitated before the gates, as the siren song called out to her. Her self-preservation warred with her curiosity. Her professional calling warred with her terror. She hovered, frozen with indecision, her feet stuck to the ground.
Then she felt a firm hand on her arm and looked up into a pair of blue-gray eyes. Instantly, she knew that no harm would come to her. He would keep the press of people from harming her, provide that escape to freedom when she needed it.
Bound yet free. She felt the familiar thrill of encountering a culture not like her own. It was a heady feeling.
She smiled at him, linked her arm through his, and together, they entered the open marketplace.
Notes: Written for a challenge. "Linguist, Dream, Nightmare".
I think this is my shortest story yet. Less than 400 words. (LOL!)
Please R&R. Thanks.
Pairing: R/S
The Denobulan open market at Legai was a dream or a nightmare, depending on the person. Elderly ladies and enthusiastic children pressed against each other, jostling and pushing to the front of the crowd. The sellers sang out their offers and peddled their wares, a cacophony of alien words set to music. The smells of banjaa sticks and fried nak-to wafted in the air around them. Not even the most iron stomach resisted the creamy lusciousness of a khirpa, a citrus drink guaranteed to quench the most stubborn thirst.
Each stall prominently displayed their licenses, cleanliness ratings, and a list of prices. The beautiful Denobulan script, red against crisp white paper, seemed to ebb and flow as a cool breeze stirred the fabric tents. A set of Triaxian silk scarves billowed in that same wind, blooms of color in a maelstrom of chaos.
It was a linguist's dream.
But a claustrophobe's nightmare.
She hesitated before the gates, as the siren song called out to her. Her self-preservation warred with her curiosity. Her professional calling warred with her terror. She hovered, frozen with indecision, her feet stuck to the ground.
Then she felt a firm hand on her arm and looked up into a pair of blue-gray eyes. Instantly, she knew that no harm would come to her. He would keep the press of people from harming her, provide that escape to freedom when she needed it.
Bound yet free. She felt the familiar thrill of encountering a culture not like her own. It was a heady feeling.
She smiled at him, linked her arm through his, and together, they entered the open marketplace.