writing_shadows

Quick, slightly disjointed, and including some hideous abuses of Google Translate - don't look too closely if you are something of a polyglot, please! - but I thought it was rather sweet. With thanks to

castorlion and

melenky.

***

“You'll need to learn to fight some, Helen.”
Helen sighed, draining her wineglass. She'd been waiting for this. “Isn't the pen supposed to be mightier than the sword?”, she mumbled.
Hayden adopted a helpful expression. “Try an axe.”
Helen rolled her eyes. "Can't I have an - an - I don't know, a vorpal blade or something? Or one of Barrington Bailey's God Guns? I could manage one of those."
“I'm sure there are plenty of people who could teach you to shoot,” Ian chipped in.
Helen sighed. She'd hoped at least he would get it. “It's a gun that could kill God”, she explained. “It worked by proving the existence of God and thereby causing Him to blink out of existence immediately. Exploding in a puff of logic, and all that."
Hayden frowned, uncomprehending, and turned back to his alpha. “Any idea about a pack name?"
Oh goodness, Helen thought. Not this again.
"I think Quiet Life is looking more and more suitable.", Ian replied, with what was possibly a weary glance at his sister.
Hayden chuckled. Helen stayed quiet. Years of librarianship meant she could stay quiet with more volume than anyone ever thought possible.
Hayden, who Helen was fast secretly coming to think of as Captain Mind-Reader, noted the sudden fit of quietude and sighed. “Helen, a Latin name is not going to work.”
Ian turned to her. “What do you think it should be?”
She had no desire to rehash the argument of the day before, and said nothing. Ian smiled a little at her stubbornness. “Quiet Life it is, then.”
"Not 'I'm the bastard lovechild of Korsten Winterfell and all I got was this lousy absent father'?”, she asked, mildly. “I liked that one."
Hayden deadpanned in response. “That doesn't really work, either, but at least it's not Latin."
"Cirstenae Uintervallae puellam sum, autem pater absentis habeo."
“Still doesn't sound right”, Ian mused, teasing. “Maybe you should have tried Greek?”
Helen paused for a moment before replying. “Είμαι παράνομο παιδί Korsten Winterfell και όλες που πήρα ήταν αυτό το κακό απόντα πατέρα.”
Ian looked thoughtful, and then shook his head. “No, I was wrong. You shouldn't have tried Greek.”
“Or in Welsh it would be 'Yr wyf yn Korsten Winterfell's plentyn anghyfreithlon a'r holl Cawn dad oedd hyn yn absennol drwg', but that has altogether far too many consonants.”
Ian rolled his eyes – almost fondly, Helen thought – and Hayden laughed at them both.

It was probably going to be okay.