Once again, back to the narrative -- even if it turns expository for a bit.
“This crap just keeps happening to us! I don’t get it,” Veronica declares, tail twitching, jaw clenched. “I mean, it’s safe to talk with you about it -- except for the psionics part that I really didn’t expect you to overreact about – but everyone else thinks our family is going to be ashamed of ourselves and we just aren’t. Why would we be?”
Another swig of the screwdriver; I contemplate the orange slice decorating its glass while I think. “You shouldn’t be. I know it’s a really awkward and difficult situation. The part I don’t get is that it’s never about anything real, just badly misunderstood or even totally imaginary versions of your family’s relationships.”
“That’s what I’m saying! That maniac went after Father claiming he was so weak he couldn’t keep Mom from letting a Roth Thokken get under her tail, when there probably weren’t any Roth Thokken within a couple of dozen light years to even try – not that she would have in the first place! It’s not like the genetics of Lethal White are some kind of mystery. Not talked about in polite company, sure, but nothing mysterious. And then that arrogant fool of a hireling took what I’d told him about that, ignored most of it and got the rest wrong. What’s going on here?”
A final gulp and I set the glass down. “It’s your language.”
She takes another sip of hers. “Piers, it can’t be that. I don’t even curse that much.”
“No, not your dialect, the language!” I clarify, perhaps too emphatically. “Every bit of it, from vocabulary to grammar, is wrapped up with self-promotion and contesting status. You know it, everyone knows it. So when you say your father was a hero who laid down his life for his family’s honor, and that your mother loved him deeply, it’s taken as just puffery. They think you’re covering something up. After all, they would if they were in your shoes.”
“But it’s not!” she exclaims.
“I know. You shared the story with me in Galanglic, which doesn’t have that built into it. The neutral story is pretty clear; there's a lot there to be proud of. But the ones who went after you and your family heard it in Gvegh or whatever...”
Roni interrupts. “Right ...and heard self-serving bias when it wasn’t there. Good observation. So when it didn’t match reality...”
I interject right back. “… Yeah. They just went with a story that made your family look worse.”
“Exactly. And made them look better.” She looks momentarily confused, then exclaims, “Colloquy!”
I remember that term from my high school language classes. It’s a failure mode in Gvegh conversation... “We have been finishing each other’s sentences supportively instead of to challenge each other, for the last few minutes.”
“Yes. Just like newlyweds … or an old married couple,” she says. “Yikes.”
We both know the socially necessary action here. I look into her eyes; she looks into mine. We nod, knowingly; then, simultaneously declare, “Newlyweds.” And laugh, and hug, and laugh some more. Sometimes the necessary action is ridiculous dominance moves for comic effect – it’s a common Vargr comedy trope, as a pair vigorously demonstrates denial of their mutual attraction -- but not tonight. Tonight, it’s just silliness.
