Catching Cultures

In writing fantasy, one of the absolute most difficult things to do is to relay how different cultural norms interact.  Once I know exactly how both cultures express the same sorts of things, it's much easier to play out the scene.  But to do this, I often find that I need an intermediary step.

About The Piece

The Word Doodle below illustrates how I often work out certain interactions.  In this case, the theme is acquiring language late in life and having a private tutoring session interrupted by a woman from a different culture.  This is non-canonical (as most Doodles are), but there are some terms to understand going in.  First, Hard vs Soft, Feral vs Civilized.  These are cultural designations (Jewish vs Hindu, etc) and so are capitalized to denote as much.  Most races fall cleanly into one or the other category by virtue of their birth (and some try to cross ranks and refer to themselves as one or the other).  Humans are the exception, and a Civilized (aka Soft) human might be likened to an upper-middle-class American (my culture of reference) while a Hard (aka Feral) human might be likened to someone a bit more poor backwoods or inner city, with gradients between.  Second, orcs are a race in the scientific aspect of the term, incapable of producing viable young with any race other than humans (humans in my settings can technically breed with anything), hobgoblins are a race, elves, humans, gnomes, etc.  Finally, the term "hybrid" refers to the offspring of a human and another race or between such a hybrid and another hybrid of like makeup.  "Hybrid" is generally considered polite until a specific designation is given while "mutt" is always mildly offensive.

When working out how two races will interact, I generally will first attempt a few word doodles with each race and a human intermediary.  This is one such doodle, and it ends rather abruptly because, as with many sketches, another thought caught my fancy.

Scratchings and Code

Aathuxt settled onto the crate, lifting the skin of liquid to his lips.  Ah, fermented pika, the liquified fats cut with alcohol and a bittering enzyme coated his tongue and clung to the base of his tusks.  Back home, the spices were set properly. Out here, these were calories. Bitter, ill-seasoned, lukewarm calories. A great way to finish off a twelve hour day hauling ossified wood for the softies.  He scowled, lifting the skin again.

“You game for another round?”  The hobgoblin more sagged than leaned into the wall, sweat glistinging from his peach and lime skin.  The elves who ran this rig were moderately kindly to those who worked themselves the bone and quick to “disemploy” anyone who slacked off during the shifts.  Disemployed meant no one else in the area would hire, but he and the floral-hued Oanuazai, along with a couple dozen others, had worked for the Le’yealt for half his life, a good fifteen-twenty years.  

“Yeah.  I’ma first shove for crick, though.”  Aathuxt imbibed the post-meat and closed his eyes.  Le’yealt. He’d heard about the ruckus to the south.  Here on the border, things were flacid. Limp. Neither side moving, both parties feigning total disinterest.  It couldn’t last. He worried a little after the Le’yealt kids. The elders only came this way but once every two or three years, and though they weren’t pleasant, they tried not to be rude.  Losing prospect, but still. Since this work couldn’t be done in the rainy season, Authuxt and the rest had taken plenty of side gigs and knew the exception the family’s respect represented.

“I ken.   Modur tagging?”

“Nah.  Bum leg.  Taking a quarter-moon.”  Aathuxt would be sure to swing by in a few days to check on his subordinate, but he didn’t much fancy giving up a chance at furthering his education.  Taking a final sip of the band, vaguely off-tasting slush. He massaged it, the leachate having separated from the more viscous liquid below. “Now’s good.”

Rising and straightening, the old friends shuffled off to the shanty down by the complimentary workers’ housing, joints creaking as they stretched spines, legs, and arms to normal ranges.  Around them, the season’s new hires and old, familiar faces all this deep into the summer, joked and smiled, their motions subdued with latent exhaustion. The shanty kept open from the sheer bulk of foot-traffic -- that and the fact that the patrons were their own enforcers.  Everyone here was poor, and the drinks and quick meals were purchased for only marginally more than the comprising components.

Slipping within, Oanuazai and Aathuxt crossed to a table nearish the back, central enough to avoid direct contact with the skirmish chiefs and suchlike that camped in the deeper gloom but far enough from the front to indicate that the excitement of a bar brawl was not desired.  Mindy, the human aspect of the trio who ran the hole, deposited two mugs of deeproot doer, a kind of fermented brew aged in iron-rich stone urns. She showed the current tab to Oanuazai who studied it briefly, requested a side of pickled squeakers. Mindy smiled across at Aathuxt in what he imagined was a flirtatious manner.  He jutted his chin with convivial intent, squaring his chest and leaning back invitingly as he did every night. Her laugh was as musical chimes driven by the wind -- and just as meaningful. Her smile for most patrons was just the same.

As she slipped away, Oanuazai shook his head briefly at the exchange and pulled out a piece of slate and a stick of ground, recompressed shell.  “You going or just show?”

“I wouldn’t refuse.  She’s small, though, so her nerves are sensical.  We eruditing?”

“The word doesn’t translate, but yes, we can start.”  The hobgoblin studied the flat of stone for a few moments before sketching out lines in a particular sequence.  Three horizontal, one vertical, and a quarter line up and to the right. Even before he turned the slate, Aathuxt recognized the strokes, calling the letter almost immediately.  His old friend smiled, wiped a hand across this surface, and drew out another. This one was simpler -- only three lines -- but it represented a root to a classification of words instead of just a sound.  Aathuxt had to study this facing the correct direction before the meaning came to him. He sipped at his brew at the smile and watched those peach and lime hands draw out another form.

“I never asked.”

“Hmmm?  Oh, that letter’s oyeh.  Used by goblins, mostly.”

“Mim.”  The vocalization accompanied another slight smile of affirmation as the compressed calcium mixture was cleared and reapplied.  “I never asked if you wanted help with that.” The angle of his friend’s wrist indicated Mindy. The ogre-hybrid and orc-hybrid, Txorajcha and Domass, were ejecting some young buck at speed.  The kid showed enough sense not to resist, either sensing or knowing that every soul seated nearby would route him much less gently if he so much as faked a swing. The lasses, for their part, removed him efficiently, Txorajcha even taking orders as she went.

“Not that I’m not interested, but I’m old.  Lass like that’ll want something with a bit more zest.”  Aathuxt studied the form emerging. It was one of the newer letters, one that he hadn’t quite mastered yet.  He guessed, not nearly certain, and himself smiled when he proved himself correct.

“Eyes scream of banked embers.”

The idiom didn’t translate well, but the pair had been friends enough that the words didn’t need to be the source of meaning.  Aathuxt tapped a tusk twice before shrugging and leaning forward, an arm surrounding his drink as he keyed his interest. “Since when?”

“Since this.”

Ah.  Writing was traditionally taught in the circles, the three or four elders sharing the skill with the dozen or so youngsters under their direct care, but his village was poor, desperate long before the celenicic enforcers razed it to ash and molten glass and metal.  Someone, somewhere, had raided the wrong coach, so all the local villages had burned. He suspected the culprit had been Soft with a band of hired thugs, but there was no way to tell. His childhood had ended long before it should have, his history interrupted just in time to find a day’s work and a solid meal with the Le’yealt clan.  It had always bothered him that he could not read, but until this last year, he’d never forced himself to make time to develop the skill.

“Why’s this of note?”
“No idea.  Novelty, bites.”  Oanuazai touched his pinky and thumb together, referencing an old proverb.  “But her smile’s different.”

“Seyah.  Makes a hard sound at the beginning, soft at the end, and is a root for terms involving carnage.”  Another smile and slate wiped clean. “Every tusk, web, rock, merc, and quick-pint plays at passing.  She’s cold and clean.”

“A pup in snow, but you’re thigh-high clover.”  Another symbol. This one was new, but it… ah, it was building on one he knew, had a root that he was confident he could guess, and the newest set of scratches… Aathuxt stared at the word for several long moments, trying out different possibilities until -- “Ah.  Grisa toxt. Root word was edge.”

“Very nice!  I wasn’t sure if you would get that one.”

“This letter.  What is it called?”  

The two discussed the new letter while Aathuxt practiced drawing it out on the back of the slate, flipping this over to double-check the exact details at each pass.  He was getting better at using the soft material to form these sorts of marks, but he knew his lettering would never be so good as that of his friend’s. Their discussion of this and tonight’s new symbols was cut short as Mindy set the platter of baby birds on the table between them.  Usually, Domass handled the serving of food, so this change felt highly notable. Aathuxt exchanged a glance with the hobgoblin before moving his hand, palm up to show he held no violent intent. Mindy quirked her head to the side, her smile somewhat in contrast to the furrows in her brow.

Humans were odd like that.  In many ways, their modes of emoting more closely resembled those of the more traditional Soft races, though their body language tended toward the Hard.  Aathuxt held the gesture longer than was standard, as he’d learned the Le’yealt required in non-verbal communications, then withdrew his hand and hefted his mug, lifting a leg onto the wide bench with his free arm tossed over the back.  He turned to Oanuazai and regarded the hobgoblin’s incredulous stare calmly. Mindy tittered and backed away, her cheeks flushing with blood as she moved to seat the next entrant. She wasn’t a threat, but the poorly repressed show of aggression was somewhat disheartening.

“You need help, ilzaeg.”  The slang was unfamiliar, but the tone was almost familial after so many years working the site together.  Decades, even. Aathuxt shrugged.

“She ran aggressive. It’s fine.  I’ve sired plenty.”

“No, she… wait right here.  Better yet, see if you can guess out owl on the slate.”  His friend rose smoothly, half a pickled squeaker in hand as he made his way to the front counter.  The two hybrids cut him short for a spade of breaths before allowing him to interrupt Mindy at her tasks.  She and he exchanged a few brief words before the lass came back over.

“So Mindy here is silver gilded.”  The human drew the edge of her lower lip into her mouth, the teeth slightly evidenced.  It was such a strange thing for a creature to do that Aathuxt found himself straightening a little, slightly bunching the muscles of his upper arms.  These popped in stark relief, the hard labor asked of them complementing his physical form nicely. She stared at his arms, then at his chest, her eyes scanning for weakness as they travelled a touch lower.  Aathuxt leaned forward, knowing he self-consciously squared himself for a fight even as he checked himself against truly overt shows of aggression. “But, uh, yeah. She’s definitely kitting to the foal.”

The deep slang flitted straight over the human’s head, but it clocked Aathuxt’s response cold.  Oanuazai was about as stable as schist in bedrock, elsewise Aathuxt would have suspected a farce.  Instead, he forced himself to believe his friend’s words over the evidence otherwise presented. “Working late?”

“Right, yeah.”  The hobgoblin took a seat and gestured with his hand for Mindy to take a seat beside Aathuxt.  “So Mindy here’s on a break for a bit.” The human scootched in, chewing on her lower lip a little more with blood at the surface of her cheeks and her pupils somewhat dilated.  She crossed her far leg over the near one and turned her body to settle a more squarely. Rather than give rise to these unfriendly, crassly challenging gestures, Aathuxt left his arm draped over the back of the bench and turned his attention back to the slate.

“This?”

“Mim.”  His hobgoblin resumed the quiz, interspersing lessons on new letter combinations.  The core concept that the parts added up to whole, complex words and thoughts had felt like magic right up until he’d started practicing.  Now, it was just a skill at which he had minimal practical experience. Mindy, meanwhile, began edging closer, closer, closer, until her nearest hand drifted toward Aathuxt’s foot where it rested on the bench.  He paused in his lessons to glance down at her before dropping from the table’s shared Vexra to his native Urterkt, knowing the hobgoblin would be able to dredge meaning with moderate success.

“She’s aware of the fact that I could win this challenge flat out, right?”

His accent thick enough to choke on, Oanuazai responded in subdued, conciliatory tones, both hands resting palm up and wrist crossing over the other to relay friendship and relaxed amusement.  “She thinks she is acting in flirting.  She is to you attempting to cute.”

“Strange way of showing interest.  What’s she expecting in response?”

“Try gently tugging her hair.  I’ve seen human men do that during this kind of dance.”

Tapping the table twice with two fingers to indicate a noncommittal, somewhat incredulous response to this weird advice, Aathuxt reached down with his rested hand and lightly tugged Mindy’s yellowish hair, amused at the way she turned back to look at that hand as though unsure what to make of the action.  About to turn back to tonight’s lesson in sounding out words from the scratched signals, he startled as she shifted her body sharply to the side, leaning against his inner legs and resting an arm over his knee. Dropping back into Urterkt, he knew his words slogged through guttural alarm. “She suicidal?  What’s this?”

“I don’t know the term.  Simple words.”

“What, by all seventeen hells, is wrong, faulty, broken, or the problem with this human?  Is she asking me to end her?”

“OH!  No, don’t hurt her.  It to be a human thing of females.  She saying trust because make vulnerable.”

“What are you boys talking about?”  Mindy was looking up now, and it was plain from her voice and the slight change in scent that she was only now growing fearful.  Oanuazai splayed his fingers and moved his palms back and forth twice in front of his chest and neck, showing his upper teeth as he adopted the mid-range facial expressions of halflings, humans, and gnomes.  

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about, gemling.  Just guy talk is all.”

“Guy talk?”  She twisted around, her body entirely too close for comfort, even if the folds of her uniform relayed an absence of dagger or other hostility enabler.  “Oh. Uh. I must have… I thought, um.” She said something in Nieltre, the common language of Soft creatures, the capillaries in her cheeks flooded enough that actual heat radiated from these.  Across the table, the amusement was obvious, though the hobgoblin waited until she’d slipped half from the table to settle her fears, speaking in the same tongue as things were resolved. She paused, abusing her lower lip again with the tips of her fingers resting on the edge of the table, her palms set at ninety degrees from this.  She moved a bit closer again, though her movements were a touch more jerky, and she glanced up repeatedly. Her eyes locked on his tusks, and her tongue slid to the corner of her mouth.

The entire display was bizarre, but humans didn’t usually work the ossified stands, and there hadn’t really ever been need to fraternize. He returned to studying the slate, finding himself correct far more often than even yesterday.  All the while, Mindy kept moving a bit closer, leaning in and looking at the slate. He tried ignoring her, concentrating on alternately deciphering or scratching out the symbols. Finally, though, and largely because his coworker kept making doe-eyes as though he witnessed the fluffy excesses of affection, he curled over Mindy and lightly struck the back of her head with his forehead.  The connection was solid, but he was careful not to wound.

The human startled, issuing a yelp and spinning around, her eyes wide with fear but her nostrils flared in what was unmistakably anger. Oanauzai quickly interjected something in Nieltre, and her expression changed, softening.  She reached a hand up, her fingertips shaking slightly as she made to touch his rightmost tusk. Aathuxt pulled back a few inches, tensing his upper arms to clearly indicate that this was not an acceptable course of action. It was one of the few innate body-language tropes that translated between his employers and the rest of the race, but the human didn’t seem to understand how offensive the act was. She kept her hand where it was, clearly waiting for him to settle before continuing the ill-advised attempt.  He caught her wrist, careful not to squeeze at all, and lowered her hand back toward her lap, leaving his hand over this and her other hand to keep her from repeating her mistake.

“D’awwww.”  Oanauzai had his forearms crossed, his elbows on the table, and leaned his chin midway between the two as though he observed a scene as adorable as two pups discovering their first dead rabbit.  He couldn’t imagine he and the human were so cute as that, but it tempered his frustration. Oanauzai had much more experience with the race, after all, so perhaps things were going well.

“Starling, what winds do you hear?”  

“Starling is a term of endearment, kid.  The big scary orc’s not sure if you’re teasing him.”

That hadn’t even crossed his mind, but clearly today’s writing lesson was being abandoned.  Aathoxt reached close and pushed the slate back toward his friend, ruefully releasing a long, slow exhale.  “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

“Probably. But if she wanting a tradition experience, she have no chosen worse.”

“It’s rude to talk in code like that, you know.”

Aathoxt glanced down at the female -- woman, human lasses called themselves -- and relaxed his pressure, letting her pretend the victory of drawing her hand free.  She kept her hands in place, which was a rather odd choice. Across from them both, a peach and lime face grinned wildly at their apparent lack of understanding. “I’m just commenting on how awkwardly adorable you two are.  Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“I’m being awkward?  How so?” She gazed up again, her eye contact a bit too intense for a check-in.  “I thought this was how… am I being too forward?”

Oanuazai laughed sharply at that, netting a pair of matched glares.  He buried his mirth in his mug of doer, though his eyes screamed volumes.  Mindy glanced up after this, her face radiating puppy-like confusion.

“Don’t mind the jackdaw over there.  He’s one eye for mischief and keeps the other one closed.”  

“I thought he was your subordinate, like part of your crew.  You guys are always in here, and the gals said you worked the same areas. Doesn’t that mean he’s supposed to be all respectful and such?”

Alarmed that this slander might have been overheard, Athoxt raised a hand in partial surrender to the actual crew leaders before immediately correcting the human female.  “I don’t run a crew. The term’s specific. I’ve worked for the Le’yealt for a long time, and I help translate and relay their directives, and perhaps I outrank many, but I make no claim to a crew.”  He patted the human’s belly twice, figuring that, with such juvenile, puppish behaviors, this would be interpreted as friendly. Any orcine female would have been immediately offended, but Mindy didn’t seem to mind.  He wondered at that, not sure if the juvenile, playful aspect was a turnon or not. The human was obviously of age, but maybe she just liked being treated like a kid. Some folks did. No skin from his knuckles.

“Oh.  Sorry, I’ve only been working down here for a few months, and the courses didn’t really go over politics much.”  She pursed her lips, ending the expression by fidgeting and twisting free, her brows knitting. “So he outranks you?  They said you orcs don’t believe in equals.”

Oanauzai covered his chortle with a coughing fit, sipping at his brew to further mask his amusement. Aanuxt and the hobgoblin had sorted things nearly a decade past, and though more grizzled, there was no question of relative status between the old friends.  The orc regarded the human for a few moments, questing for motive and finding only ignorant friendlines. “We don’t. And he doesn’t, despite how much play I tolerate.” A bit of emphasis fell on this last word, triggering a fully unmasked giggle. The hobgoblin raised a hand in casual surrender and ducked his head, dropping to the niceties of rank even as he flaunted the privilege of long friendship,

The human looked from one to the other, smiling in a manner that betrayed her nervousness before opting to snuggle in closer, seeming to feel safer after having made herself entirely helpless.  This was something he’d observed with men and women at shanties during the rainy season and something that made very little sense. He forced himself to relax at this display, much though it seemed entirely unnatural and odd that she should so react.

“So, little starling, you are looking for synesthetic relaxation and not progeny, correct?”

“What? No.  Or, um, I mean, buy a girl a drink first.”

Aanuxt, perplexed by this, moved his mug closer to the lass.  She stared at it, equally confused, as Oanauzai covered both mouth and nose to poorly mask his mirth, his smaller, thinner tusks comically revealed to the side. Her expression changed suddenly and she laughed in delight, striking herself in the forehead with the flat of her palm. The goblin gesture seemed to have been used with exactly the same intent, indicating a mistake in thought or action paired with a mix of exasperation and bemused levity.  

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you’d be so direct.  I mean, I did, but, like, wow. That was a real question, right?  And I answered it wrong?”

“You stated a preference for prior payment.  I reciprocated via indicating the price I was willing to pay.  Did you not intend to begin negotiations?”

“Wait, did you just call me a--”

“-- Woa whoa, you two.  Let’s not kill this before it breathes.”  Oanauzai waved his hands animatedly, interjecting before the human could finish her thought.  “Let me step in here. Help smooth things out.” He drew his mug to his lips, realized it was empty, and gestured to the ogre and orc hybrids before continuing.  “Mindy, what my associate here is really asking is if you want to have a fling or if you’re looking for something a bit more permanent, more akin to a boyfriend. There are a TON of cultural differences between what he and you would call dating, but that is something that he’s suggesting is an option.  A one night stand, though, is much more convenient and is generally considered more flattering in his culture. So before we double down on the complementary schismogenesis here, take a moment to decide what you actually want.”

Mindy opened her mouth, her expression sharp and likely indignant, but stopped herself from speaking ill.  She instead smiled faintly, shaking her head and leaning against his inner thigh, a hand playing over his raised knee again.

“Maybe we can try one night, see if we like each other?”
The suggestion was decidedly weird, but beyond its inherent strangeness -- and the implied insult -- he could find nothing particularly objectionable with the proposal.  Aathuxt made a fist of the hand on the table and pounded the surface once, careful not to make the rapidly-diminishing tray of infant squab jump. The human lass startled and stared at his fist for a full three breaths