Linguistic Hybridity examples

Linguistic Hybridity examples

4.

Jueves

By: Lily Argetfricai

One-shot. A chance meeting on a bus brings an alchemist from a far away land to the arms of a boy who looks like his brother. Based on the song Jueves by La Oreja de Van Gogh.

Rated: Fiction K - English - Hurt/Comfort - A. Heidrich, Edward E. - Words: 419 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 3 - Published: 6/17/2011 - Status: Complete - id: 7092254

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AN: This was inspired by the song Jueves by La Oreja de Van Gogh. I totally ship them together but que sera sera. As usual I am just borrowing these two guys to play with them and they do not belong to me.

Read, Enjoy and Review

There was him again. Blond, silver eyed, pink poking out tongue, book on his lap and probably no idea that I was taking this bus just to see him. He was clueless about how much his presence affected me. The splitting image of Al, if Al had his body back anyways

He always sat across the aisle from me, more like I sat across the aisle from him since he probably didn't even know I existed. I wanted to talk to him, hear his voice -"Brother"- and his laugh. He was my little brother and at the same time he was not, a complete stranger, just like I hadn't been the other Ed.

But I was still drawn to him, I didn't dare. What if he was Al's opposite, hated cats or something like it? I wouldn't risk it, that's why I had been taking this bus for a month now, even if it was a detour from my route. Looking at the not-Al was my addiction. Maybe if I was whole, better, people smart and like Al, I would be brave enough to cross the aisle and talk to him. Mustang would probably be laughing right now, the Fullmetal alchemist who faces chimeras and crazy serial killers can't cross an aisle and talk to a guy.

"Alphonse," I said, my voice cracking from the pain and love that single word made me feel.

The not-Al must have heard me, because he snapped his head up. Great, now he will think I'm a weirdo, not the greatest way of meeting people.

"Entschuldigen sie bitte, haben sie meinen namen?"

"Nein" he looked crestfallen, and I felt like I had to add something so he wouldn't feel bad, I had called his name after all. "Ich bin Edward"

"Alfons," I replied grinning in the most Al-like way. "Alfons Heidrich."

And then he did the most weird, also Al-like, thing he could do, he stood up, crossed the aisle to my seat and hugged me. I was being hugged by a guy who looked like my brother, on a bus on a Thursday, Thursday just became my favorite day of the week.

2.

It's November eleventh, Edward. Sankt Martinstag." Still no recognition sparked in the elder's eyes, and Alfons sighed.

"You know who Saint Martin was, right?" As the golden-haired teen shook his head, Heiderich sighed again, "Basically, Martin was a Roman soldier who chopped his cloak in half to keep a beggar from dying of cold in a snowstorm. He later became a priest, and was canonized after his death. It's a big feast day, and the kids have a parade." He turned back to the window, grinning as music became audible in the distance. The younger man's lips moved, forming inaudible words that soon matched with those floating in with the chilled November air.

,,Ra-bimmel, ra-bammel, ra-bumm.*" The words held no meaning that the Elric knew of, but the smile on his little brother's double's face was like a mug of the drink they called 'hot chocolate' here and 'firewater' back home in the cold.

,,Ich geh' mit meiner Laterne, und meine Laterne mit mir. Dort oben leuchte die Sterne, hier unten, da leuchten wir." Alfons was still young enough to sing in a quivering soprano, voice floating out to join the childrens' chorus as the bobbing lights of lanterns became visible at the end of the street. Ed joined his housemate at the window, making sure to keep enough distance between them (damn, what was with these Germans and personal space? Or maybe it was just Heiderich) while being able to stick his head outside as well. Parades were always big events, and hell, what harm could it do to watch?

,,Der Martinsmann, der zieht voran, ra-bimmel, ra-bammel, ra-bumm." As he repeated the line, Edward noticed the glow that rarely shone in those blue eyes, save when talking about rocketry. Though he stumbled over the odd words, the older blond joined in for the last phrase of the verse and the first few lines of the next. Completely guessing at the meaning of half the words, Ed continued singing along, half second behind the group as he tried to grasp the pronunciation. The warm feeling from earlier settled around his heart, and the teen no longer wondered what made his friend's eyes light up so. There was a certain joy to be found in innocence, in being part of a group that had nothing to do with responsibilities or dangers.

,,Ein Lichtenmeer zu Martins Ehr, ra-bimmel, ra-bammel, ra-bumm."

Soon enough the music faded, though Heiderich kept singing under his breath to the end of the verse. ,,Mein Licht is aus, ich geh' nach Haus, ra-bimmel, ra-bammel, ra-bumm."

Ich geh' mit meiner Laterne, und meine Laterne mit mir.

Dort oben leuchten die Sterne; hier oben, da leuchten wir!

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A/Ns: Yeah, a fluff-drabble. I wrote it. Just had to show a bit of Heiderich's gentler side, the side that we didn't really get to see in CoS. And celebrate Sankt Martinstag!

*Ra-bimmel, ra-bammel, ra-bumm has no real translation. It's just a space-filler used in the song to keep the tempo. Sort of like saying 'la-ti-da' in an English song.

Translations:

Sankt Martinstag- Saint Martin's Day

Ich geh' mit meiner Laterne, und meine Laterne mit mir. Dort oben leuchte die Sterne; hier unten, da leuchten wir.- I go with my lantern, and my lantern with me. Up above, the stars are shining; down here, we are shining.

Der Martinsmann, der zieht voran- St. Martin, he marches on

Ein Lichtenmeer zu Martins Ehr- A sea of light in honor of Martin

Mein Licht is aus, ich geh' nach Haus- My light is out, I go home

4.

Right now he supposes all he can do is get Alfons home in one piece, shove him into bed, and then get to bed himself. They've at least made it past the end of the driveway and onto the street, where the majority of partygoers have dispersed and no one will see if Heiderich somehow manages to embarrass himself. Like now.

"Libiamo, amor, amor fra i calici," the blonde warbles. "Pi caldi baci avr!" (1)

Edward winces. Alfons is practically shouting, and his mouth is right next to his ear. "Singing?" he asks. "In Italian? How much champagne did you have?"

"It's from th' opera," Alfons replies in a dismissive tone. "La Traviata, y'know. Written in eighteen... eighteen fifty-something and the Italian is absolutely beautiful." He starts to sing again - only Alfons's singing doesn't sound anything like 'beautiful Italian'. "In questo paradiso, ne scopra il nuovo d." (2)

"I swear you mispronounced something there," Ed mutters, and wonders whether Al would be this intractable when drunk. Well. Al was always rather intractable, but in a quiet, understated way - not like Alfons is being now, hollering the words to some damn opera Edward has never heard of. An opera he had never heard of before Lady Violette's party, at any rate, because being the cultured expatriate Parisian she was, she insisted on scheduling the performers from the Krolloper for light entertainment. (3)

"Quando non s'ami ancora...!" Alfons bellows. (4)

Edward claps his hands over his ears and gives a furtive glance around to see if any passerby are watching. "You went to this party to promote rocketry!" he hisses at Alfons under his breath. "Will you stop singing like a dying canary? If- if that woman Eckert sees you now, you're dead, right?"

The blonde's eyes widen. "Eckert? Where?" he asks, looking around frantically.

Very tempted to smack his head against the nearest lamppost - repeatedly - Edward sighs. "Nowhere. It was just a hypothetical question." He wonders if dunking Alfons under that obnoxious fountain in Silber Platz would make a difference. Probably not. Heiderich is just as stubborn and thickheaded as Al.

"Are you sure?" Alfons asks in a small voice, his former exuberance gone. Now Ed feels like the bad guy.

"Yeah, Alfons, I'm sure. Let's just get home.

5.

"ALPHONSE!" My godthe only thing that stopped me from clasping him to my chest was the color of his eyeslike the ironically named 'forget-me-nots'and that his hair wasn't the warm caramel shade of my brothera perfect blend of my father's blond and my mother's light chestnut.

"Al-fonzs," he laughted a little, correcting my pronunciation. "And youyou are Herr Elrich, ja?"

"Uhhja. From London. Call me Edward."

"Ah! Ed-vart."

"Ed-war-d."

His eyes twinkled and he mined scribbling my name in the air with his empty pen. "Ja. As I said. Edvart. Meine English iss gut, yes?"

I offered the inkwell and scowled at him. "Your English sucks, Herr Heiderick."

"Heiderich. Ich! Und your German iss disgraceful. You will be left in the dust in this class, Herr El-RICK."

"The hell I will!"

We were both laughing now. God, that smile made me homesick. "I shall make a bargain mitt you, Ed-WARD. I shall correct your German. You shall correct meine English. Ve study together as friends, ja? Und we shall race to the top marks, und make Herr Oberth pleased."

Die Rakete zu den Planetenraumen (The Rocket into Planetary Space) was published in 1923 by our teacher and mentor, Hermann Oberth.

I was the only non-German in the Verein fr Raumschiffahrtthe Spaceflight Society. My plausible lie, however, was that my father Hoenheim had been living and teaching in London but my mother was from the Austrian-Germany borderlands, from a tiny village called Resembool. My German was passableonly just, but my fair hair and skin and even, angular features could be easily mistaken for Aryan instead of Amestrian. More to the point, I was a scientist, and my enthusiasm for Professor Oberth's classes and high marks opened doors that otherwise would have remained firmly shut in the face of an 'Englishman'. I wisely kept my mouth shut during political bickering, shrugged noncomittally when Britain's policies were scorned and generally projected the air of a man without borders, neither embracing nor openly rejecting the rise of National Socialism.