Wealthathon: It's Better to Give
Aug. 21st, 2013 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeThis story was prompted by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ysabetwordsmith and also the 'winter' prompt for my Stuff100. This story takes place in the Infinity Smashed universe, but it's completely self-contained and requires no context. It was sponsored by the bonus writing count you guys earned! Happy wealthathon!
One further note: because Pidgin Sign is a concept-based language, not sound-based, and M.D.’s name is a meaningless initialism, Little Shocker is how she ended up. Considering that Biff's name got translated to Hits-People, she got off easy, really.
It’s Better To Give
When their new junior healer moved into their under-root space, Scorch-Unburnt and Flame-Belly were delighted. It’d been too long since they’d last had an apprentice, and things had felt unbalanced, wrong. Now their practice was in alignment again. Plus, they no longer had to scrub everything and dispose of medical waste themselves.
Of course, such an event had to be celebrated with gifts. Little Shocker was new to town, and it was winter; there were a lot of things she needed to get started. Scorch-Unburnt dug up one of his older blankets, nice and warm and also richly imbued with his scent. A night under that, and every nose in town would know who she worked for, and treat her accordingly. Flame-Belly went and bought a nice soft covering for the under-root floor, but she wasn’t satisfied.
“These are ordinary, everyday things,” she grumbled. “Anyone would give a newcomer these things in winter. We need something special.”
“What do you get someone like that?” Scorch asked. Hominids in Treehouse were rare. “Do you know what she likes?”
Not really. They knew Little Shocker preferred to cook her meat, and which food-stalls she patronized, but food was an even more plebian gift than winter blankets. She did wear textiles, and she seemed to have trouble with temperature regulation, so a winter coat would’ve been good, but they didn’t know if she had contact allergies. On the whole, they just didn’t know her well enough.
“Let’s ask her,” Scorch said, and that seemed best.
Little Shocker accepted the floor covering and the blankets with gratitude, but when asked what she would like for a proper gift, she became fidgety.
“You no get me thing. Is fine.”
Scorch and Flame drew back, aghast and trying to hide it. They exchanged glances, reminding each other that she was new and likely didn’t understand the grave social offense.
“Here, it is customary to give a newcomer and a new apprentice a valuable gift, to celebrate their employ and welcome them to their new place in society,” Flame explained. “Wouldn’t you…”
“But I no can return!”
Worse and worse! Flame’s ruff began to rise, and Scorch hastily took over the conversation.
“What exactly do gifts like this mean, where you come?” He asked delicately.
It took a while, between the mutual cultural ignorance and their new apprentice’s clumsy Pidgin Sign, but they finally got it straight: in her society, gifts conveyed a sense of obligation. The receiver was expected to return the favor, in equal or greater measure, preferably quickly.
“No, no, no,” Flame said. “That’s not how we do it here. We have only just hired you; of course you can’t give us an expensive gift. You don’t have the barter! You are giving us the gift of your labor, attention, and intelligence, so this is our gift to you. A gift. Not a trade.”
“No gift,” Little Shocker repeated.
Steam began to leak from Flame-Belly’s jaws. “Refusing a gift is a very rude thing to do here. It suggests that our gifts are unworthy of you, that we are poor employers.”
“No gift,” Little Shocker insisted, and it was obvious from her signs that this was the end of the conversation.
That night, curled in their private den next to the fire, Flame vented her aggravation.
“No gift! Really! If she weren’t new in town, I’d…”
“Local social mores, my sunlight,” Scorch told her, giving her a comforting nuzzle. “It’s obvious that gifts are very different, where she comes from.”
“But look at her! Her clothes are all patches and holes! She was living on fish and fungus until we hired her; why would she refuse a gift? People will look at her and think we’re mistreating her!”
“There, there. Give her time,” Scorch soothed. “She’ll adjust, her Pidgin Sign will get better, and I’m sure we’ll all come to a mutual understanding.”
Flame-Belly still wasn’t happy about it, but she stopped steaming and snuggled into her spot against Scorch-Unburnt’s belly, warming him against the chill and metabolic drop of winter.
Little Shocker stayed their junior healer, and she worked very hard. She learned quickly, and her Pidgin Sign improved. As time progressed, she even accepted some nicer gifts—spices, a bottle of Vivify Blue, story webs. Smaller things were easier to get her to accept. But still, whenever they tried too hard, broached the subject of something truly nice:
“No gifts!”
After a while, Flame-Belly lost her indignation. It just became another personal quirk, evidence of the truth of the local saying, “Many people, many ways.” They kept trying—manners demanded it—but after a while, it became a mere formality, never with the expectation of a yes.
Their junior healer’s health rose and fell. She went through trials and tribulations, and for a while, it looked like she would have to give up her apprenticeship. By then, however, she was part of the family, and Scorch and Flame nursed her as they would a hatchling of their own. In return, she became a true gift, a strong junior healer who they agreed had the makings of a good senior one day. Her manners got better. She even accepted baskets of meat, and a piece of fancy furniture—used, of course. But still, it was far less than Scorch and Flame wanted to give her.
“I’ll catch her, one day,” Flame told Scorch.
“You need to accept that her culture was different.”
“Was, yes. She’s one of us now. One day, something amazing will happen to her, something so wonderful that she’ll have to accept a proper gift. And then—!” Flame opened and closed her claws, as though in anticipation of finally catching luscious prey that had long eluded her.
Scorch let his mate have her dream. Whatever made her happy. Considering their junior healer’s luck, he personally doubted that Flame would get her wish any time soon. Little Shocker, unfortunately, seemed destined to an eventful life with many hardships.
Then, two years after her hire, after eight seasons of hard work, one chill winter day… their junior healer came in late.
This was unusual. In a town where time was often a matter of dispute, Scorch and Flame had enjoyed the distinction of employing an apprentice who always moved at a good pace. But now, here she was, rushing in with her coat open and laces flopping, frantically signing apologies with one hand and cramming breakfast into her mouth with the other. Her body language was different from theirs, but Scorch and Flame had been around her enough to recognize that she was mortified.
They could smell the love and happiness on her.
Scorch saw his mate’s eyes go wide with sadistic glee. After two years, finally, finally—
They let her apologize, tie her apron, and arrange the files before Scorch finally asked her, “Got yourself a couple of mates then, have you?”
Little Shocker turned an entertaining shade of purple. “You smelled it on me the moment I walked in, didn’t you?”
“The nose never lies,” Scorch said, trying to contain his amusement for the sake of her dignity.
Flame had no such compunction. She flapped to her highest perch and spread her wings for maximum dramatic effect. “You know what this means!” She crowed.
“Oh no. Flame, boss, no—”
“This is a momentous occasion, is it not?” Flame asked Scorch.
“Most momentous,” he agreed.
“Our dear, dearest junior healer, practically our own hatchling, has found herself a mate—or two—worthy of her! Isn’t that lovely?”
“Truly,” Scorch agreed.
Little Shocker tried to speak, but Scorch and Flame made a point not to look at her hands, and continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“This is a momentous occasion! A glorious occasion! A fantastic, scrumptious, stupendous occasion!” Flame declared. “And do you know what that means?”
“What does it, my sunbeam?”
“It’s really not that big a—”
“Gifts!” Scorch and Flame signed together. “Gifts, gifts, gifts!”
Little Shocker stood there, purple and fuming and too well-trained to express it. Her shoulders slumped.
“Fine. Whatever. Do your worst, you wretched reptiles.”
Scorch and Flame rushed to make a list.
“Nice coat. The magenta and lime green really add a certain something.”
“Shut up, it was a gift.”
ysabetwordsmith and also the 'winter' prompt for my Stuff100. This story takes place in the Infinity Smashed universe, but it's completely self-contained and requires no context. It was sponsored by the bonus writing count you guys earned! Happy wealthathon!One further note: because Pidgin Sign is a concept-based language, not sound-based, and M.D.’s name is a meaningless initialism, Little Shocker is how she ended up. Considering that Biff's name got translated to Hits-People, she got off easy, really.
It’s Better To Give
When their new junior healer moved into their under-root space, Scorch-Unburnt and Flame-Belly were delighted. It’d been too long since they’d last had an apprentice, and things had felt unbalanced, wrong. Now their practice was in alignment again. Plus, they no longer had to scrub everything and dispose of medical waste themselves.
Of course, such an event had to be celebrated with gifts. Little Shocker was new to town, and it was winter; there were a lot of things she needed to get started. Scorch-Unburnt dug up one of his older blankets, nice and warm and also richly imbued with his scent. A night under that, and every nose in town would know who she worked for, and treat her accordingly. Flame-Belly went and bought a nice soft covering for the under-root floor, but she wasn’t satisfied.
“These are ordinary, everyday things,” she grumbled. “Anyone would give a newcomer these things in winter. We need something special.”
“What do you get someone like that?” Scorch asked. Hominids in Treehouse were rare. “Do you know what she likes?”
Not really. They knew Little Shocker preferred to cook her meat, and which food-stalls she patronized, but food was an even more plebian gift than winter blankets. She did wear textiles, and she seemed to have trouble with temperature regulation, so a winter coat would’ve been good, but they didn’t know if she had contact allergies. On the whole, they just didn’t know her well enough.
“Let’s ask her,” Scorch said, and that seemed best.
Little Shocker accepted the floor covering and the blankets with gratitude, but when asked what she would like for a proper gift, she became fidgety.
“You no get me thing. Is fine.”
Scorch and Flame drew back, aghast and trying to hide it. They exchanged glances, reminding each other that she was new and likely didn’t understand the grave social offense.
“Here, it is customary to give a newcomer and a new apprentice a valuable gift, to celebrate their employ and welcome them to their new place in society,” Flame explained. “Wouldn’t you…”
“But I no can return!”
Worse and worse! Flame’s ruff began to rise, and Scorch hastily took over the conversation.
“What exactly do gifts like this mean, where you come?” He asked delicately.
It took a while, between the mutual cultural ignorance and their new apprentice’s clumsy Pidgin Sign, but they finally got it straight: in her society, gifts conveyed a sense of obligation. The receiver was expected to return the favor, in equal or greater measure, preferably quickly.
“No, no, no,” Flame said. “That’s not how we do it here. We have only just hired you; of course you can’t give us an expensive gift. You don’t have the barter! You are giving us the gift of your labor, attention, and intelligence, so this is our gift to you. A gift. Not a trade.”
“No gift,” Little Shocker repeated.
Steam began to leak from Flame-Belly’s jaws. “Refusing a gift is a very rude thing to do here. It suggests that our gifts are unworthy of you, that we are poor employers.”
“No gift,” Little Shocker insisted, and it was obvious from her signs that this was the end of the conversation.
That night, curled in their private den next to the fire, Flame vented her aggravation.
“No gift! Really! If she weren’t new in town, I’d…”
“Local social mores, my sunlight,” Scorch told her, giving her a comforting nuzzle. “It’s obvious that gifts are very different, where she comes from.”
“But look at her! Her clothes are all patches and holes! She was living on fish and fungus until we hired her; why would she refuse a gift? People will look at her and think we’re mistreating her!”
“There, there. Give her time,” Scorch soothed. “She’ll adjust, her Pidgin Sign will get better, and I’m sure we’ll all come to a mutual understanding.”
Flame-Belly still wasn’t happy about it, but she stopped steaming and snuggled into her spot against Scorch-Unburnt’s belly, warming him against the chill and metabolic drop of winter.
Little Shocker stayed their junior healer, and she worked very hard. She learned quickly, and her Pidgin Sign improved. As time progressed, she even accepted some nicer gifts—spices, a bottle of Vivify Blue, story webs. Smaller things were easier to get her to accept. But still, whenever they tried too hard, broached the subject of something truly nice:
“No gifts!”
After a while, Flame-Belly lost her indignation. It just became another personal quirk, evidence of the truth of the local saying, “Many people, many ways.” They kept trying—manners demanded it—but after a while, it became a mere formality, never with the expectation of a yes.
Their junior healer’s health rose and fell. She went through trials and tribulations, and for a while, it looked like she would have to give up her apprenticeship. By then, however, she was part of the family, and Scorch and Flame nursed her as they would a hatchling of their own. In return, she became a true gift, a strong junior healer who they agreed had the makings of a good senior one day. Her manners got better. She even accepted baskets of meat, and a piece of fancy furniture—used, of course. But still, it was far less than Scorch and Flame wanted to give her.
“I’ll catch her, one day,” Flame told Scorch.
“You need to accept that her culture was different.”
“Was, yes. She’s one of us now. One day, something amazing will happen to her, something so wonderful that she’ll have to accept a proper gift. And then—!” Flame opened and closed her claws, as though in anticipation of finally catching luscious prey that had long eluded her.
Scorch let his mate have her dream. Whatever made her happy. Considering their junior healer’s luck, he personally doubted that Flame would get her wish any time soon. Little Shocker, unfortunately, seemed destined to an eventful life with many hardships.
Then, two years after her hire, after eight seasons of hard work, one chill winter day… their junior healer came in late.
This was unusual. In a town where time was often a matter of dispute, Scorch and Flame had enjoyed the distinction of employing an apprentice who always moved at a good pace. But now, here she was, rushing in with her coat open and laces flopping, frantically signing apologies with one hand and cramming breakfast into her mouth with the other. Her body language was different from theirs, but Scorch and Flame had been around her enough to recognize that she was mortified.
They could smell the love and happiness on her.
Scorch saw his mate’s eyes go wide with sadistic glee. After two years, finally, finally—
They let her apologize, tie her apron, and arrange the files before Scorch finally asked her, “Got yourself a couple of mates then, have you?”
Little Shocker turned an entertaining shade of purple. “You smelled it on me the moment I walked in, didn’t you?”
“The nose never lies,” Scorch said, trying to contain his amusement for the sake of her dignity.
Flame had no such compunction. She flapped to her highest perch and spread her wings for maximum dramatic effect. “You know what this means!” She crowed.
“Oh no. Flame, boss, no—”
“This is a momentous occasion, is it not?” Flame asked Scorch.
“Most momentous,” he agreed.
“Our dear, dearest junior healer, practically our own hatchling, has found herself a mate—or two—worthy of her! Isn’t that lovely?”
“Truly,” Scorch agreed.
Little Shocker tried to speak, but Scorch and Flame made a point not to look at her hands, and continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“This is a momentous occasion! A glorious occasion! A fantastic, scrumptious, stupendous occasion!” Flame declared. “And do you know what that means?”
“What does it, my sunbeam?”
“It’s really not that big a—”
“Gifts!” Scorch and Flame signed together. “Gifts, gifts, gifts!”
Little Shocker stood there, purple and fuming and too well-trained to express it. Her shoulders slumped.
“Fine. Whatever. Do your worst, you wretched reptiles.”
Scorch and Flame rushed to make a list.
…
“Nice coat. The magenta and lime green really add a certain something.”
“Shut up, it was a gift.”
no subject
Date: 2013-08-23 01:54 am (UTC)Melikes this. A new universe to me, which like so much else I-ain't-got-time-for-but-I'm-readin'-anyway.
Your mention of Pidgin Sign at the top got my immediate attention, 'cause I'm a lifelong language geek and a careerlong linguistic researcher* and I wrote my postgrad work on ASL. SO naturally I'm interested!
I was going to disagree with "concept-oriented", but then I realized
1) this is not the place to do it, and
2) we're talking about an interspecies sl, between two (at least in this story) species with very different body structures.
So Never Mind that. Unless you want to discuss it, either here or out-of-thread.
* ← That's my icon as Dr. Whom: Consulting Linguist, Grammarian, Orthoëpist, and Philological Busybody, but I'm not using his rather pedantic writing style thispost.
(You know how hard it is to type when your beloved kittycat is busy trying to macerate your arm with her allergenic barbed tongue?)
no subject
Date: 2013-08-23 02:29 am (UTC)or give you cat-upuncture on the leg that's holding up the laptop? :)
also here via
I love that the number of mates is not a cause for shock and horror but a cause for further celebration! Highly uncommon amongst humans...
no subject
Date: 2013-08-23 03:23 am (UTC)Pretty sure there are a LOT of poly species in town there. Scorch and Flame are monogamous... but they're also different species, which nobody cares about either.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-23 03:02 am (UTC)And yes, Pidgin Sign is intended to be used by people with very different body structures and sensory apparatus. While everyone in this story can hear, a lot of other people in town are deaf as posts. There is no Pidgin Sign equivalent of finger-spelling, or an alphabet. There isn't a solid writing system either--well, not in the way people here usually think of it.
I didn't get to study much in the way of sign language, so I'd be more than happy to hear what you know to give my stories more verisimilitude!
--Rogan