Now that I can read a little better I understand a bit more why translations vary so wildly.
Like. On the one hand, if you translate word by word you have so many personal choices to make on which word to use for each thing since there's not many one to one translations. There's deciding to keep idioms or localize them, keep terms and ways of conversing or localize to some degree, etc. And then there's deciding if you cut anything for time it takes to translate and time pressures (I finally get why one guardian translator cut out some of the novel, they were trying to get out the weilan content asap for people). There's also parts where you just won't know how to word it in the language you're translating to, what would be best, and you have to make a decision you don't think is perfect and surely isn't (and maybe there is no perfect decision for translating that line, just many various "Okay but not perfect" choices).
On the other hand. Translation is absolutely a skill. A skill that requires a LOT of practice and is separate from language comprehension skills. Yeah, knowing the languages helps so you don't make foolish grammar or mean meaning errors that machine translations make. But beyond that, so much is you personally breaking down sentences and words and deciding what's a good equivalent in meaning/style/effect in the language you're translating to. And there's no perfect answer, only various "okay" answers that will be biased by translator. Which is why it can be fun to read various translations of one piece, they might all be right but retain certain elements and not others (like when I think of rainbowse7ens edited translations with details added a lot of the emotion/atmosphere of the writing style was retained but specific wording was lost, when I translated some guardian I retained wording amount but wasn't super confident of my word selection and think yuka did better however I felt I retained priests writing style of sentences well and therefore the Effect of it, Yuka did a great job retaining word choice but I think some sentence structure and atmosphere the style created was lost, and meanwhile for modu I think edanglarstranslations did about as perfect a job as one could attempt at retaining mood/style/word choice to the point I could very easily match chinese audiobook to their translation and get a ton of phrase and wording and structure matches). So it's cool to see various translations as every single one will be tinged by translators interpretation of text, strengths and weaknesses, and what they personally valued keeping most and How (cause again there's no perfect one to one way to translate).
I realize the more I learn how much I do value people who do mtls and clean them up, and people who put out "gist" translations that may skimp on details but convey the mood of the text and plot and do it quickly. In both cases, so that either overall words get preserved (as best they can in edited mtl since mtls do tend to shorten and summarize] or so that the overall Feel of the novel gets preserved. So that there's a translation quickly, which is nice when otherwise there'd be none. Or until we hope and wait for a more in depth translator to have the time for those particular projects. Merebear translates is amazing for putting out so many timely dmbj translations which otherwise wouldn't exist at all, Yuka is amazing for putting out a guardian translation that kept the word choice, rainbowse7en was amazing for putting out a guardian translation when there was none and keeping the overall mood intact.
Theres value in a lot of different kinds of translating, along with how each individual one will simply vary by translators own things they tended to interpret/focus on most.
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no ray of sunlight’s ever lost
rating: general
relationships: implied nines/toreador, some general found family-isms with the anarchs and the protag
warnings: none
summary: “Skelter —”
“I’m just giving you the lecture so Nines doesn’t. Save y’ some time, girl.”
"Now, now, Prim. What did we say about bothering the rabble?”
The girl’s expression brightens immediately, and she spins away from Skelter to face her sire with an enormous grin. The gap between them is closed in a blink — Elodie has the thought to scold her for using celerity improperly, but chooses to ignore it — so that Primrose can grasp her arms and grin at her, eyes bright and burning. “Master! I knew you were coming! I could feel you!” Before Elodie can remind her not to call her master, the younger Kindred continues brightly. “And maybe the rabble should stop bothering me.”
“Careful who you’re calling rabble, girl,” Skelter groans as he makes his way to Prim’s side to address Elodie. “Nines didn’t tell us you were droppin’ in, El.”
“I didn’t have time to let him know. Just in the area, figured I’d come visit my favourite anarchs.” Prim’s mouth opens, and El finishes with a laugh, “and my favourite childe.”
The childe’s grin is huge, and she releases her sire’s arms with a pleased hum. Skelter rolls his eyes. “You could visit your favourite anarchs all the time if you joined up.” El’s eyes dance with mocking mirth, but the look is playful, not cruel.
“I’d say going my own way is about as Anarch as it gets, yeah?”
Skelter laughs, head shaking. “Can’t argue with that.” He looks to Prim, who still looks lovestruck. “Can you let Damsel and Nines know she’s here, Prim?”
“But —”
“Don’t worry, hon. I’ll be around a while. Promise not to disappear once you turn around.”
Primrose pouts but then nods, disappearing up the stairs.
“Where’s Jack?” Elodie asks, glancing around the bar.
“Haven’t seen him in a while.” El chews on that. Like she’d like to chew out Jack. (And maybe on. He’s a lower generation than her, and she’d hate to learn if diablerizing works in the opposite direction, but damn if it wouldn’t be satisfying to take out the chessmaster.) “Far warning: Nines has been worried that he hasn’t heard from you. Jack disappearing he can take, but you dropping off the face of the earth? Especially since…”
“Skelter —”
“I’m just giving you the lecture so Nines doesn’t. Save y’ some time, girl.”
Elodie cracks a grin. “Thanks, Skelter.”
“He’s gonna try to convince you to join up. I don’t know if you’re Caine’s favourite or what, and I know your sire was low generation, but you’re still a fledgling.”
“Probably technically a neonate, but I get it.”
Skelter cracks a smirk, but it’s strained around the edges. “I’m just sayin’ that a fledgling on their own is suicide. We could keep you safe.”
“Aww, Skelter. Keep talking like that and I’m gonna think you’re all in love with me.”
“It’s that famed Toreador charm,” he responds with another grin, fangs flashing, and the sight has Elodie laughing brightly.
“Thank god I was allowed to be vain in life and death both.”
Any smart remark from Skelter is quickly silenced by a voice from the landing of the stairs greeting them with a smirk in the syllables; Damsel tuts, “well, well, well, look what the bourgeoisie dragged in.” Elodie’s eyes roll, but even that’s cut short by the sound of Nine’s voice in greeting right behind her, fever - pale eyes snapping to the Anarch like a woman possessed — there’s a drawn look of worry in the old hero’s face, and his smile tenses around the edges before he allows it to break instead into sincere relief. He strides past Damsel and drags Elodie into a hug; her eyes widen, and his grip tightens, and she smiles. For a moment, as her hands settle around his back and she breathes the familiar man in, she briefly considers joining the Anarchs. Or maybe just joining Nines. The moment stretches, breaths held.
It’s Primrose that breaks the silence, voice a bell — “gettin’ awful touchy with my Master.”
Elodie dissolves into helpless laughter, head tucking against Nine’s chest to stifle herself, while Nines groans and casts a look over his shoulder at the fledgling even as his arms don’t move.
“You can’t just let an old man have his moment with his friend, can ya, kid?”
It’s not a friendly look in his eyes when he pulls away, gaze returning to Elodie’s face and studying to be sure she’s uninjured but studying for something else, too. El half - thinks he’ll kiss her, as she’s so often thought he would. She’d noticed it, too, the strange static. Of course, ever the gentleman, he simply steps back, and Elodie laughs to herself as she’s set free.
“It’s good to see you, too, Nines.” Primrose flits back to Elodie’s side now that there’s space there, the girl more fae - like, even, somehow, than her progenitor. Her hands fine Elodie’s arm, grip gentle, seeming more like a reminder that she’s here than any attempt to trap. Elodie’s smile softens. “To see all of you.”
“Damn right,” Damsel quips. “Nines here was all scared you’d gotten yourself ashed, but Skelter and I told him that you were too vain and dramatic to go out without making the news.”
Skelter shoots and apologetic look at Elodie, confirming the story, and Primrose huffs on her Master’s behalf. Nine rubs the back of his head and then groans.
“I’m sure that Skelter already gave you the lecture.”
“Yes,” El agrees with a challenging smile.
“And your answer is no?”
“Still yes.” Her head tilts. “I know you wanna protect me, and I’m grateful. But I’ve spent too much of my death in a cage. Even one you just wanna put me in to keep me safe.”
“Ouch, kid.”
She grins. “Does it help if I say you’re a better - looking jailer than Sebastian was?”
Damsel groans and pretends to gag, while Primrose sighs and leans her head against her shoulder as though put - upon. Skelter laughs, though, and even Nines cracks a grin, some of that worry fading in the face of Elodie’s easy confidence. If there’s one thing that Nines respects, it’s choosing independence over safety.
“But, if it helps,” El continues, “while I’m in town, I’m happy to help with any errands you all need run for old time’s sake.”
Nine cracks a smirk, this time, head shaking. He gestures towards the stairs to the upper level of the bar. His other hand extends in offering. “We can turn you back into our errand girl later. For now, I’m sure you’ve made some great stories to tell since we last talked. I’d love to hear ‘em.”
Elodie can only smile, reach out, take his hand. “I’d love to tell ‘em.”
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