Lost in Translation: Tag Djaq

[imani]

(Firstly I have to apologise, you got stuck with a thread with Imani! My Gisborne muse is sleeping, much as he’d love to chase Djaq around. ^^ The second apology is for in case my grammar’s gone a little astray, it’s almost 3am and I’m in Arabic mode, so hopefully you’ll forgive me.)

There was only one thing wrong with England; and according to the Saracen girl casually ambling through the market looking practically frozen, it was most definitely the weather! Of course, there was the small issue of a usurper on the throne, and an elaborate plot to murder the rightful king, but who honestly cared about that when your body temperature dropped a degree with every few yards you managed to travel? Today however, that wasn’t the worst part of her daily trip into society, it was the fact she was being forced to participate in a cruel and unspeakable evil.

Shopping.

Now, it wasn’t like a trip into the streets of Jerusalem laden with stalls and traders, here it was much more low key, perhaps even a little depressing if you looked closely enough. Imani preferred not to think about it, she simply placed a scarf over her head, and stepped out into the unknown without so much as a second glance. She didn’t speak English, and pointing seemed to defy the entire exercise in social diplomacy, so really, having sent her to the market to buy things that had to be physically consumable, was just an act of sheer cruelty all on it’s own.

She couldn’t protest though. Not to the Sheriff, not to the rather disturbing chap running around in cow hide, or even to the very people she worked with. It was all one elaborate sob story waiting to happen. She didn’t need pitying though, or for the British to change their ways, she just needed to know that Allah at least, was on her side. Speaking of which, brown opticals flicked upwards to the sky to note the position of the sun, in less than an hour she’d have to resort to praying while cleaning the kitchen floor.

It wasn’t all bad though, she was alive at least. So with a silent prayer to Mohammed, the Saracen weaved her way through the crowd, (well, attempted to, at least, for somewhere so small, it was awfully busy) until she came to a halt in front of the first stop of her day. The rather intriguing vegetable stand. Half of them, the Saracen had never even seen, let alone fetched, so it was with great apprehension that she began singling out the ones that looked the least….toxic.

Opening her mouth to speak, all that came out was a sudden influx of foreign words and questions that didn’t even begin to reach the realms of comprehension when it came to the trader. A nervous looking smile was given before she diverted her gaze to the brightly coloured objects she now held in hand. A little divine intervention wouldn’t go amiss one of these days, but alas, that was asking for miracles where they could not be granted.

The only thing she really had to worry about, was whether or not Vasey would want to eat a bright orange coloured vegetable, and whether or not it would kill him in the process. Standing looking clueless before the stall, the woman played over all possible scenarios in her mind, doubt now playing heavily on features. Pick something edible, or risk killing someone in power. Gee, no pressure there then.

[Anni]

(no need to apologize for "getting me stuck with Imani" )

Djaq sat on her bunk in the outlaws camp. It was a slow day. There Sheriff had nothing cooking in his head, Guy was not pursuing Marian at the moment, and the boys were just being silly boys, though she did love them. Now that Allan was back, Djaq found she had to share Will more, and though she pretended she didn't mind, Djaq had enjoyed doing missions with the quiet lad. Also having Allan back made things more complicated. It always felt like he completed a triangle between Will, himself, and Djaq.

So, this only meant that Djaq had to get out of the camp and find something to do. Though it had been advised to travel in pairs for safety, she could slip through crowds much easier on her own. Her dark skin could draw attention and she was looking more feminine, but the risk was always there, no difference being alone or having someone tag along.

It was market day in Nottingham, and though it would appear to be the most dangerous place for Robin's gang to go, it surprisingly was not. The Sheriff expected them to be anywhere but there and it was heavily guarded and so close to the prisons. Instead he had guards keeping watch in the villages and the roads. So once Djaq found a disguise, simply a cloak that covered her figure and head, she was able to slip in past the guards.

Market day had been described as boisterous, filled with exotic or even useful goods. People would be out in their fine things to see what they could afford to buy and what they could sell. This was nothing like what she had heard about. It was depressing, gray, and gloomy. It had been that way since Djaq had arrived in England. She almost missed her home and her family and the old tradition, but to be in England gave her a freedom. She did not have to cover her hair or her body from head to toe and she could fight along side the men like she had wanted to at home. She was happy here, even if she was not like the gang at all and an outlaw.

Djaq walked through the stalls, looking at the goods being offered. She was given a little money to spend for her needs, but most of what they stole went back to the peasants. She hadn't decided though if she was going to buy anything, or just look. Djaq didn't know if she needed anything more at the moment, well other than a bar of soap. It was quite dirty being an outlaw.

As she walked through the stalls, Djaq saw a figure dressed in a style she thought she wouldn't see in England. Curious, she walked up to the woman, pretending to look at the food there, while trying to figure out who it was.

[imani]

Had the country been a little warmer, then perhaps she too would’ve embraced a more subdued way of dressing, but seeing as how the young woman had yet to adapt to temperature changes (working in the kitchen made you strangely attuned to the cold) it was rather beneficial to be covered from head to toe, especially as it provided both practicality and modesty. Of course, it could be said that dressing in such a manner drew attention to herself, but at least she wasn’t parading around in something low cut and fitted. Besides, it made it easier to sneak things in and out of the castle grounds if she wore loosely tailored garments.

That however, was beside the point. Fingers resting nervously on the edge of her headscarf, Imani took a deep breath before attempting to convey her point once again. This time with added hand gestures of a rather crude variety. If she couldn’t be understood verbally, she’d find other ways. Perhaps next time she could draw pictures! And colour them in using the dyes left absent mindedly in the seamstress’ chambers. Or not. That seemed to be going to too much effort for the individuals that had stolen both her freedom and her dignity.

The flurry of Arabic speech, came quickly and quietly, asking what things were, if anyone could understand a word she was saying, and for the purposes of continuity, she even found herself asking what arsenic actually was. The response she received however, was not entirely tolerant. A confused look she could contend with, but the hand reaching across the sturdy wooden stall to tug her scarf from her head was too much to bear. The fabric slid down over her shoulders, look of contempt and horror gracing her features as she stared at the merchant.

“Don’t you speak English?” Came the seemingly obvious question, to which she continued to stare dumfounded. This was why she liked the kitchens; barely anyone came down there, and barely anyone acknowledged her existence. It was how it should be, nobody could publicly humiliate her that way. A few seconds past, and the shock wore off, body bending in two to lower herself to the ground to pick the cloth scarf up from the dust covered ground. The rush had her bumping into the new arrival next to her, or rather the arrival’s knees.

Scurrying around on the ground wasn’t exactly her ideal career aspiration, but down there, it was a lot easier to just blend in. The weave of dull fabric was placed once again over her head, this time, her hand kept a firm grip upon it’s edge in a silent insecurity complex to which she would never truly be rid of. Her eyes shifted once to the merchant, and then to the fellow market goer to whom she’d bumped into it. Her eyes moved upwards, the barely audible apology being about the only thing she could muster before the realisation hit.

Narrowing her gaze, the slave blinked once, as her eyes took in the sight of darkened skin. It didn’t matter who it was man or woman, the fact that there was another Saracen just a few feet away, proved that Allah was smiling down upon them. Even if he did have some very unusual ways of showing it.

[Anni]

Djaq had long grown accustomed to the strange weather as she had basically lived out doors since the moment she set foot in England. It was also much help that she had 5 men to cuddle with if she grew too cold, but she had never had the pleasure yet. She couldn't resist a smirk at the though of cuddling with the outlaws. They were quite a cuddly bunch when they wanted to be, but she had seen every side of them. The good, the bad, the painful, and the lovestruck. She had seen John wish to die. She had seen Will go over the breaking point when his father died. She had seen Robin lovestruck. She had seen Allan betray, and she had seen Much betrayed. They had gone through so much together.

Djaq had been glad to share her own home with them when they went to the Holy Land, and she was glad to share her skills with medicine as well. But she did miss her country and her kin. If it wasn't for the closeness she had grown to feel with the men and the love she realized she had for Will, perhaps Djaq would have stayed with her father's friend. She didn't know now as she hadn't known then, but she could guess it. If the gang were to die, there would be nothing to keep her in England.

But it was England where she was right now and she was standing next to a woman in Saracen clothing, trying to speak to the manager of the stall, though Djaq did not hear one word of English. She watched as the man pulled at the woman's scarf and she wished she could help, but did not want to draw too much attention by drawing her sword or bawling the man out for his insensitivity. But she did listen quietly, wondering if she could help in more discreet ways. Then she noticed the woman had noticed her and Djaq looked up to catch the woman's eye.

[imani]

It’s the natural state of man to want to live with the comfort of knowing that their lives will be predictable, but every day is like waking up to the unexpected, especially in a slave’s case. It’s a small miracle if you’re allowed outside, but it’s an even greater feat of power to run into long forgotten friends. Djaq looked up, and in a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Imani felt her heart stop in it’s chest. She knew that woman, she actually knew someone. Shocked smile stretching from ear to ear, the youth let loose a short burst of surprised laughter before essentially throwing herself at the familiar woman in a hug.

You see, this particular slave didn’t have anyone to cuddle up with at night, and the idea of doing so was practically ludicrous (unless of course you were that enigmatic chap that came down at 4am to find bread, in which case she wouldn’t say no.) But when it was her own flesh and blood (to a certain degree at least) public displays of shocked endearment were perfectly reasonable courses of action. Arms resting on either side of her shoulders, the Holy Land native swallowed before unleashing an onslaught of speech onto the newly found friend.

“Djaq? It is you! You have no idea how hard it is finding sanity amongst the gaudis. Nobody understands a word that I’m saying!*” Well, that was true. But if you understand the subtle tones and grammar constructs, it was like hearing your native tongue without even needing to think about it. You simply understood what was being said without any real effort. Nobody else would, but at least the woman that had shared her pain aboard that slave ship would at least heed her frustration and perhaps offer some sort of reassurance.

Then again, who needed reassurance when you were meeting old friends!? It was like Eid come early, she’d found the closest thing she had to family and it was with that thought alone that she focused on the task at hand. If she was here, then that meant she was free! There were no manacles at her feet, no brands on her skin, she was living within a free society and that alone was a foreign concept to the devout Muslim.

She didn’t appreciate the value of Outlaws just yet, nor did she appreciate Nobles for that matter either, it was simply the good and the bad merged together into one influx of madness. “Where have you been?*” Came the next question, the subtlety of her eastern tones now long gone as she forced the sounds with a new found enthusiasm. She had plenty of questions, but perhaps asking them in the middle of a market place wasn’t the best idea.


( * = Translated from Arabic, ‘cause I’m the only one that would understand it if I actually write it. )

[Anni]

When the woman looked back at Djaq, it was as if time stopped. She had expected to see a frightened young woman who had the same features, but was someone she didn't know. Instead she recognized the woman, which was a pleasure and at the same time a knife in her heart. She hated how her people were mistreated by the British; how they were enslaved and forced to live in a culture so foreign to their own. She did not want to see someone she knew in that position, so this reunion was a happy and sad one for her.

Djaq stepped closer so that she could speak with the knew found old friend. "Imani!*" Djaq responded, her face breaking out into a grin. "Yes, it is me. I am so glad to find someone I know." The statement was true, though she did not add how she was sad as well. She didn't want to put a damper on the mood. Djaq was so glad to hear her native tongue spoken so perfectly. Robin could speak a little, but his accent was horrible and it made her laugh.

"I was rescued by a band of men who have adopted me into their group," Djaq said, not mentioning that they were outlaws. She didn't know if Imani would understand why Djaq would be fighting for England as it was England that had plagued their home and enslaved their people. Djaq at first questioned why she had joined them, but she agreed with Robin and his views. Perhaps when their job was done she would go back home, but it all depended on how she stood with a certain outlaw. Again she shook that thought from her head. She had not told Will how she felt, and she doubted he had the same feelings.

"And where have you been?" she asked Imani.


(*not translated, just like the idea of making non-english communication in italics. )

[imani]

Djaq being rescued was a wonderful thing, but the slave girl couldn’t quite get her head around the methods in which she’d been involved. A band of men. She didn’t know whether to be shocked or impressed! Mind you, if failing to follow the strict rules in which she normally adhered to, meant running off into the unknown, with the taste of freedom in her mouth, perhaps it wasn’t all bad. She’d have to enquire about that at some point. Perhaps not in the middle of a crowded marketplace, but eventually.

It didn’t take a genius to realise that said band of men would be outlaws either. It seemed like a natural state of progression. Nobles wouldn’t accept someone with her darkened skin, and the peasants would probably be too frightened due to the rumours of Turk Flu. Which left only one true possibility, and that led her to the wonderful assumption of Outlaws. The maids kept talking about Robin Hood, and in the same sentence names arose along with ‘Saracen’ , so perhaps she was running around with the legendary hero!

Then again, perhaps not. Imani couldn’t truly see her sister at arms having gone and supported the English (albeit the good few), but the idea was still there, somewhere in the back of her mind. She just opted not to bring it up, through the knowledge that it would most likely ruin the current camaraderie between the two, in ways she would rather not think about. She couldn’t find and lose a friend in the same day, it just made no sense. "You found freedom then, though apparently not a bath! I’m happy for you."

Outlaws were muddy, yes. They rolled around in the great outdoors and did great feats of heroics without having to even think about personal hygiene, but Djaq should know better. She wasn’t expected to wear the full Hijab, but a little soap and water more frequently wouldn’t go amiss! Grinning, the woman tilted her head to one side as she mused over the question addressed to her. She didn’t really know how best to describe the joys of servitude, but she’d have to. It wasn’t as if she could lie and turn it into a happy story of emotional change.

“I’ve been here. Well, not right here but in the castle. I work in the kitchens, I don’t get paid, but I stay alive. Which I suppose is a fair exchange. Besides, you meet all kinds of interesting people down there; I don’t understand a word they say, but they seem to be content enough with their occupations.” Well, it was the nice way of putting her current living situations into a conversation. In truth she was about an inch away from the noose, or in homage of her home country, being stoned to death for impudence. Her only salvation was the fact that she could make stew to rival that of even Much!

“You live here too? she asked, wondering how close exactly her friend did reside.

[Anni]

Djaq laughed. "I do try to keep clean, but it is hard in England where cleanliness is not as important," she said. Though Djaq bathed regularly, being in the forest made her dirty pretty quickly. But the men didn't seem to mind. They seemed to like to rough it up and live in dirt. But most of them had been peasants before and probably lived in luxury now since they were free unlike the peasants.

Djaq liked the freedom that came with living with the men, even if it was against her culture and religion. But she had to adapt in some ways to survive in England. "You need to get away from the Sheriff. Is there any way of getting back home?" she asked. Perhaps Robin could hatch one of his famous plans and help her friend to get back. Either that or out of the sort of prison she was in now.

It was degrading to be treated as a slave and it was hard work. Perhaps harder than being an outlaw. Both positions required fear for their lives, but at least Djaq had freedom. "I live in Sherwood Forest where it's safe for a dark skinned girl like me," she said. That would give it away that she was with the outlaws as everyone knew where they lived.

[imani]

[/I] Lamented the slave as she gave a brief glance to the stall and remembered what exactly it was she was supposed to be doing. “But it’s not as bad as you think. The bruises fade, the glaring stops, and you just get on with it. The Sheriff thinks I’m an idiot, so I get ignored most of the time, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” The last few words were emphasised, and even met with a smile. Yes, it was a bit of a degrading activity working in the castle, but it was better than being slaughtered by crusaders!

Besides, you learnt things in the castle that you wouldn’t elsewhere. Even more so than when you stood in front of people and blatantly flouted your ‘lack of understanding’. People just assume that as a foreigner, you’re not capable of picking up on plans and schemes. Which is why, it’s entirely feasible, to shout ‘I told you so’ when they happen to let vital bits of information slip. Working in the kitchen was almost like being a spy, except you weren’t working for anyone other than yourself.

The words of her current living arrangements made Imani bite her lower lip. Djaq lived quite happily within the forest. The Forest. It was dirty, full of animals, and rather cold if British weather was anything to go by, but it was Freedom. Perhaps that was the basis for it’s appeal. The lighter skinned of the two, inclined her head before musing on such an abode. “I’d still prefer a house on the outskirts of Acre. Wouldn’t mind Prince Malik either.”

Well….a girl can dream! [/ul]

[Anni]

"I suppose it is safer here than at home with all the soldiers roaming around, blood thirsty. But I believe King Richard wants to make peace." Djaq remember the last time she was home. That had been with Robin Hood and his men They had been strung out in the forest to die because the King thought they were going to kill him. Then Carter had saved them and they triumphantly saved the king. Djaq wondered how Carter was at the moment. He had survived the vicious attacks from the Sheriff and his men

"If King Richard did make peace, and he came home, then you won't need to be a slave here. I doubt he would allow the slave trade to continue," she said hopefully. Djaq supposed it all that happened, then she would stay here. She wouldn't have to live in the forest with the dirty men as they could be clean as well. She wondered then if they would still stick together, or if they would go separate ways. She knew John had a wife and a child and Robin had Marian. Much would follow Robin to the ends of the Earth. That left her, Allan, and Will. She wondered if the two lads would then go off into the sunset together to have adventures, two best friends living the good life. That would leave her to do what?

Djaq didn't want to think about those things as they weren't even close to beating the Sheriff, and there was no new of the King's return. Djaq laughed at Imani's last comment. "No, I don't doubt it," she said with a grin. But would Djaq prefer Prince Malik? She had been around these cream colored guys for such a long time that she became used to their complexion. And it wasn't only how they looked, but what was inside. She found herself thinking of Will with his pale skin, dark hair, and electric eyes. And then of Allan with his lighter hair and friendly smile. She found them both attractive and maybe more so then the men she knew at home.

"But for now, a girl can dream," she added. Yes, Djaq could dream of the future and what it could possibly bring, but she had to remember reality and the present. There was a war between Robin and the Sheriff. Her live was constantly in danger, and so was her identity as well.