#italian idiom of the day

[sayitaliano]

Days of the week - sayings and usages

Let's talk about the week (it doesn't understand 🎵) -- no fr, let's talk about the days of the week! And sorry for this late 90s throwback (Prezioso and Marvin, it's still Italian dance music anyway lol)

Anyway

The post I reblogged yesterday from @spanishskulduggery reminded me of some sayings and songs we have related to the days of the week. And I admit I felt kinda bad about this Wednesday-shaming, so here I am :)

"Né di Venere né di Marte ci si sposa né si parte... né si dà principio all'arte". (= You don't get married on Tuesday -Marte+dì- or on Friday -Venere+dì-, nor you start any endeavour). The first bit is the most famous tbh, as we often repeat it even for someone's marriage or when someone is leaving for holidays.

"Mercoledì!" - As mentioned in this post and in the comments too, we (as Spanish) may use "Mercoledì" to not swear (well, to not say "merda" plainly tbh, or to actually mention it in a more "imaginative/mild" way as I added in the reblog... it depends a bit)

We also have the very famous saying "Thursday dumplings, Friday fish, Saturday tripe" = Giovedì gnocchi, venerdì pesce, sabato trippa. You may hear us saying these separately according on the day we're in (or that gets mentioned) as well.

"Gli/Le manca un/qualche venerdì" (he/she misses a/some Friday/s, literally). You can use this sentence when you want to refer to someone that seems a bit weird or eccentric, even crazy. Sometimes you may hear "Non hai tutti i venerdì a posto" (you don't have all the Fridays in the right place). Some may use "giovedì" instead of "venerdì", tbh but I generally hear Friday the most. This probably originates from the fact that Thursday and Friday are kinda central days of the week and missing them the week is incomplete and therefore "not entirely sane".

There are some sayings about "Venerdì" but honestly I have never really heard of them. Still, here you have the main one (meanings are basically the same): "Chi ride il venerdì, piange la domenica" = Those who laugh on Friday, cry on Sunday. I believe this is simply not true lol.

"E il sabato? E il sabato fa così🎶" (by La Rua)

Francesco Salvi, singer, published the album "In gita col Salvi" in 1992. The songs are mostly about our cultural (and Regional, at times, as you may hear some Lombardo here and here) background -eg: La macchina del capo, Mamma mia dammi 100 lire, Vecchio Scarpone, FlikFlok-, and he made them in a kinda different/more excited(?) way. One of them is related to the days of the week and it's this one. The link will bring you to the whole album's list though, so feel free to give a listen to others as well.

[whereishermes]

Italian 101 | Verbs and Nouns | World Environment Day Edition

Welcome to our special World Environment Day edition of Italian 101! In this blog post, we are going to embark on a linguistic adventure to explore the world of verbs and nouns related to the environment and nature in the Italian language. As we commemorate the significance of our planet and the urgent need to safeguard and preserve its natural beauty, what better way to enhance our Italian…

[periwinkla]

Final NRMT poster with all panels! Print here <3 Did anyone notice... anything about the bottom right panel? It's not too obvious but I wanted it to at least be noticeable within the poster itself that something is... 'off' if you compared it with the other panels. And there's a reason. Honestly it's just about a silly headcanon of mine, and it is also a silly way for me to include it but... I'm silly myself. Under the cut, the hanakotoba notes for the flower panel... and other stuff. The other stuff isn't important really but it was funny for me.

Already talked about this in the flower panel post - but these are the main things I took into consideration when choosing the flowers:

3 sunflowers specifically mean 'I love you' - so I also added 3 chrysanthemums to complement them. By the by, among other things, sunflowers mean 'passion', 'love', 'adoration', 'I only have eyes for you' - while white chrysanthemums mean 'truth'. Red chrysanthemums signify 'love' but I opted against them in favor of the following flowers.

The small blue flowers are forget-me-nots, which, other than the obvious, mean 'true love' in hanakotoba. 

The pink flowers are Japanese primroses ('sakurasou' - they get their name because of their resemblance to cherry blossoms), which mean 'first love', 'longing', 'purity', 'youthful love', 'the beginning of youth and sadness'...

Also, here the nmweek24 tag on the blog to see the posts for the individual panels with additional info/behind the scenes: https://periwinkla.tumblr.com/tagged/nmweek24 note: there are a few minor adjustments I made for the final poster compared to the individual panels (you probably won't even be able to see them honestly) ---Sentimental story time--- The reason I wanted to do something special for nrmt week was because tomorrow (the 8th) will mark the day I first started playing AA1. And I'm so happy I got into it! Funny story: my first exposure to AA was the anime (almost 10 years ago!) I got to the end of the first 12ish episodes, obviously was very confused because it's not meant to be consumed by someone who didn't play the games, and promptly abandoned ship and forgot all about it. Completely. I even forgot I had watched it! until I got to Turnabout Goodbyes because I had a vague recollection of having seen the boat photo. But other than that, complete oblivion (my memory is quite terrible in general). Basically, last year I had finished Detective Pikachu 1 and wanted something similar because I usually play classic jrpgs and needed a change of pace... AA1 was my choice. As I mentioned, I remembered absolutely nothing from the anime (I had no idea Mia died, so, imagine the shock). I went completely blind till I finished with AJ and AAI1-2. Honestly, it's a beautiful experience when you play games without knowing anything about them. It feels like the good old days. I absolutely don't believe that study that says spoilers don't spoil the experience. Also I find it nice that I got into nrmt without outside prompt, because I find it funny that my brain needed to play through 6 games in order to see it. I seem to have prosciutto on my eyes (Italian idiom). In my defense I usually don't look for romance in stories and ship stuff unless it's very obvious. Nrmt comes too close to it to ignore. Ok, end of nostalgic sentimentality. ...And here's the 'other stuff': This print was the thing I said I had hidden 'in plain sight'. It has been on the print shop since... Thursday. 'It was there all along'-well more like half-along really <3

[monzabee]

red, white and blue's in the sky (social media au) -

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles has an olympian girlfriend.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader (model used: zehra güneş)

Warnings: none other than some cursing and the internet being the internet, kym illman

Author's Note: hi, hey, hello! okay you guys knew i had to do something with my girls, and i had this idea in my mind for a few weeks that i just couldn't shake! just an fyi, if you end up researching zehra, the face claim, and see her height, just know that we are totally prentending her and charles are both complimentary heights. okay? okay, good. i hope you guys enjoy! xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

ynyln18

Liked by charles_leclerc, volleyballworld, and 782,681 others

ynyln18: ready for the final round, biz voleybol ülkesiyiz!❣️

sauronyx: yn 'the wall' yln! turkey is proud of you!

derevclara: forza ragazze, faremo il tifo per voi!

yasemingul: even the italians are rooting for the turkish team😭

view all 3,381 comments

scuderiaferrari: go red team!❤️

charles_leclerc: ❤️❤️

(translation: the best moment of the match the man's life came out of his mouth) (it's a turkish idiom, so you know it makes no sense at all)

(tiktok transcript: Next up, is Charles Leclerc - who is currently dating Y/N Y/LN, best known for her position as middle blocker. Y/N is a player in the Turkish team, 'Vakifbank', and due to the national team season, she is currently away with the Turkish National Team. As one of the most followed volleyball players in the world, Y/N has been awarded the 'Best Middle Blocker' award from VNL two years in a row - quite the achievement to receive against tens of teams and hundred of players at the young age of only 23. I first met Y/N at the Turkish Grand Prix in 2020, where she was the person to award the Pirelli Pole Position award to Lance Stroll in a turn of events. She was there as the guest of Mercedes, as she is one of the athletes associated with the brand. Charles and Y/N met in 2020 in the Turkish Grand Prix, and the pair has kept in touch and became close friends, eventually coming out as a couple in the summer of the 2021 season. Though we don't get to see Y/N in the paddock very often, she is a delight when she has the time to come and support her boyfriend in the Ferrari garage - a great loss for Toto Wolff, I presume.)

charles_leclerc

Liked by scuderiaferrari, sebastianvettel, ynyln18 and 752,938 others

charles_leclerc: Always special to be part of @scuderiaferrari when in Italy. Thank you for the incredible support throughout the whole week ❤️ Congrats to Carlos for the amazing drive from FP1 to the last lap of the race. See you in Singapore 🇸🇬

ynyln18: je suis fier de toi, mon amour❣️ (i'm proud of you, my love)

charles_leclerc: ti amo❤️

leclerclechair: next weekend will be better!!

view all 6,948 comments

ynyln18

Liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, arthur_leclerc and 688,515 others

ynyln18: champion’s dump🫠 (x2)

pierregasly: liked by pierre gasly

charles_leclerc: casse toi ynyln18: hon hon croissant🥐

tarkanofficial: ❤️🇹🇷🏐

powervolleyballofficial: CHAMPIONS 🇹🇷🏐🏆

harleytifosi: DAI!

view all 3,278 comments

abreusmelissavargas: ben malatyalıyım

charles_leclerc posted a story!

ynyln18

tagged location: Istanbul Contemporary

Liked by handebaladin, abreusmelissavargas, ebrarkarakurt18 and 897,647 others

ynyln18: a week off in istanbul before tokyo, aferin charles öğreniyosun bi şeyler (📸: bawsixteen)

ebrarkarakurt18: kolyen olayım tak beni

formulayolla: SHE TAGGED THE PRIVATE ACCOUNT

pennyzizzazz: yes queen!! make him drop the jpg account!!

ynyln18: working on it, chief🫡

romondo__cr: our turkish wall🇹🇷

view all 1,707 comments

paolaegonu: aşko dur

ynyln18: aşko duramam

charles_leclerc: j'ai une jolie prof😂

charles_leclerc

Liked by kymillman, pierregasly, and 817,524 others

charles_leclerc: Next stop, Japan 🤍❤️ @vistajet @thomasflohrvista

sv5yams: the way this man has no regard for global warming

cl16_tifazzi: really? reeeaaally?

ynyln18: 🥹❤️

volleyyn: is he coming to see you? is he?👀 charles_leclerc: of course❤️

charlesleclerc_fanclub_italia: good luck in suzuka!! we believe in you!!

view all 4,738 comments

ynyln18

tagged location: Tokyo, Japan

Liked by kpvolley, fileninsultanlarivn, and love4wags 765,928 others

ynyln18: daydreaming about paris in the summer

charles_leclerc: madonna mia❤️

paulaegonu: Y/N, chi è quest'uomo? ynyln18: la mia musa

view all 3,928comments

hasankaya: olympic medal is loading!

lilymhe: best of luck!🩷

[andarans]

light, death, and the commedia dell’arte: an analysis on lucanis’ name symbolism and what that may mean for his arc & endings

i was doing some thinking on lucanis’ name recently, and there was something that i knew felt familiar from my days in high school latin class, so i did some digging and now i feel like i may be onto something in regards to what lucanis’ character arc and companion quest could be about. from what i could research online—and definitely feel free to correct me if i got any translations wrong:

‘lucanis’ has associations with light/dawn. lucania was the name of a historical region in southern italy. just a quick overview from wikipedia:

Historians at University of Naples Eastern Studies concluded that the root of the name Lucania is derived from luc, the Osco-Sabellic peoples word for light, which has the same meaning in the Latin idiom. The people that moved from the Osco-Sabellic tribes to occupy the land east of the Sillaro River, which was an area associated with the morning star, Lucifer (Latin for bringer of light). Therefore, Lucania means eastern land or land from which there is light.

what sticks out to me most of course is the parallel with lucifer, which i’ll discuss more about later—but the main takeaway is that his given name is pretty much embodying the idea of light, consistent with ideas of hope/dawn/renewal.

but his surname has a very different tone and connotation. ‘dellamorte’ means ‘from/of death’ in italian. (again, if any italian speakers have a better translation, pls feel free to correct/expand on this!)

juxtaposing these two names together is a very interesting choice, and one i think was definitely intentional. you could think of his full name either being something hopeful (light after death / from death, light) or something sinister (from light, death / the death of light).

and i feel like this dual nature is exactly what his arc will explore. we know lucanis has magic-sensing abilities and from the latest trailer, straight up magical wings—it gives me a lot of “angel of death” vibes with, again, using the purple color of pride demons to highlight the bone structure. and of course a lot of pride demon imagery with eye motifs in his design + tarot card:

we learn that he has died from the short story The Wake. a lot of people have speculated that he faked his death, but what if lucanis did actually die? what if, on the verge of death, he made a deal with a pride demon to continue living?

what if lucanis’ arc is one of struggle to embrace either light or death? will rook be able to influence lucanis’ fate—be a vessel for the demon, be a death bringer, or free him from its influence, choosing to bring light instead? and this is where that “lucifer” dynamic kicks in. lucifer, a fallen angel, who rebelled against his father. will his arc mirror this with potentially him rebelling against caterina?

and then an interesting tidbit from the commedia dell’arte—and i might be totally overthinking this, but i thought it was interesting to mention nonetheless. commedia dell’arte is an italian form of theatre focused on masked type/stock characters.

from folk play research’s “Death and Resurrection in the English folk play and Italian Commedia dell’Arte”:

A common theme that runs through both the English folk play and many of the stories of the Italian Commedia dell'Arte is that of death and resurrection. In the latter, this generally involves the character or 'mask' of Pulcinella/Punchinello, who is frequently killed through misadventure or executed as a result of some misdemeanor, but revived through some intervention, usually magical or demonic.

pulcinella’s mask does give me crow vibes…

however his arc may play out, i’m really excited to see. i think he’s most definitely has something going on with spirits/demons, and we have had a spirit companion in some way every game, so i think lucanis could be a really interesting addition to that list 👀 what do you think?

[copperbadge]

[ID: A graffiti drawing of a wolf on a stucco wall in an alley in Rome; the wolf's eyes and muzzle have been replaced with the word "Lupo". This is likely a reference to the Italian idiom "In bocca al lupo!" which literally means "in the mouth of the wolf" but is a phrase you use to wish someone luck.]

I didn't post about NaClYoHo yesterday, but I have been doing it! Hasn't been much to post because I'm still doing the digital cleaning, but I took the day off from answering asks and emails (communication is tiring!) to continue sorting photos for my annual photo yearbook, which is a bigger task this year because I haven't done one for the past two years. I'm on 2023 now, and thus working my way through what I want to put into the yearbook.

The Europe trip was a little bit a mixed bag which was to be expected given it was my first time; I loved it but I had moments of anxiety and upset as well. Still, very much a net positive -- I enjoyed every city I was in, even Amsterdam where I didn't have the greatest time. There's just something about Rome.

I spent the least time there, the museums I went to in London and Paris were bigger and nicer, the food in Rome was great but Paris was better. Rome just...calls to me. I thought about the next Europe trip I want to take, and I thought, well, I could just split the trip between England and Amsterdam (to give it a more fair shake) with a daytrip to Paris for the D'orsay...but if I go to Europe I have to go back to Rome.

Maybe it's because I spent the least time there, or because it was jammed full of intense emotion, between visiting the Great Synagogue and seeing the AS Roma game. But also I think it's just...a city I will love for reasons that will always be a mystery to me. Boston is the same way. Something about old cities with weird histories and streets laid out like you're never supposed to find where you meant to go. And very intense love for sports teams involving the color red.

I love Chicago and my life is here; I think at this point it would be extremely difficult for me to relocate anywhere. But the very short list of places I would move to if I did leave definitely includes Rome.

[hyean-studio]

Chinese idioms of the week

时时刻刻 [shíshíkèkè] - constantly; all the time

引经据典 [yǐnjīngjùdiǎn] - to quote the classical texts

胡说八道 [húshuōbādào] - to talk nonsense

乱七八糟 [luànqībāzāo] - in a complete mess; at sixes and sevens

不伦不类 [bùlúnbùlèi] - nondescript; neither fish nor fowl

不明不白 [bùmíngbùbái] - unclear, vague, for no reason

大喊大叫 [dàhǎndàjiào] - to scream loudly

日日夜夜 [rìrìyèyè] - day and night; day in, day out

哭哭啼啼 [kūkutítí] - to cry continuously

筋疲力尽 [jīnpílìjìn] - to be exhausted

下定决心 [xiàdìngjuéxīn] - to make a firm resolution

毫无疑问 [háowúyíwèn] - without a doubt; certainly

吞吞吐吐 [tūntūntǔtǔ] - to mutter and mumble

仅此而已 [[jǐncǐéryǐ] - just this and nothing more

一五一十 [yīwǔyīshí] - (of narrating) in full detail

井然有序 [jǐngrányǒuxù] - orderly; in apple-pie order

不好意思 [bùhǎoyìsi] - too embarrassed or shy to do something

无关紧要 [wúguānjǐnyào] - unimportant

日积月累 [rìjīyuèlěi] - to accumulate over a long period

事先通知 [shìxiāntōngzhī] - to announce in advance

夸夸其谈 [kuākuāqítán] - to boast; to talk big

All of these I encountered while reading the book <鞋带> by Domenico Starnone. It's a translation from Italian. I would recommend it for those who have an intermediate level. The language is quite simple and the sentences are short which is good for language learning. The overall story is also engaging.

[germanpostwarmodern]

Up until February 18, 2024 the Schirn Kunsthalle in Frankfurt/Main shows the first Lyonel Feininger retrospective in over 25 years in Germany, a welcome occasion to (re)discover the Bauhaus master and the lesser-known facets of his extensive oeuvre. Unlike past retrospectives it goes well beyond the iconic works and also features caricatures, toys and recently rediscovered photographs.

Feininger, born in New York, in 1888 passed the entry exam of the Königliche Akademie der Künste in Berlin and although he never completed his studies soon launched his career as a caricaturist for German, French and American papers.

It took until 1907 for his first painting to emerge it proved highly impactful: in his early figurative paintings, inspired by paper cuts and shooting gallery figures, Feininger experimented with surfaces, space and movement until roughly 1911. In this very year Feininger discovered Cubism and Robert Delaunay in particular as well as the Italian Futurists who proved hugely influential as his 1913 painting „Gelmeroda III“ demonstrates.

At the same time the Gelmeroda series, which spans 42 years between 1913 and 1955, is proof of Feininger’s undomgmatic moving between styles as later works are e.g. carried out in expressionist and cubist idioms.

But Gelmeroda wasn’t the only recurring topic in Feininger’s oeuvre: since his childhood days he was fascinated with sailboats and ships and consequently depicted them in crystalline, cubist forms that today rank among his popular works. Closely related to this body of work are his beach scenes, remarkable cubist compositions that sensibly capture the loneliness of the empty beach as well as the unique color moods of the sea.

These as well as the other works in the exhibition are crisply reproduced in the exhibition catalogue, recently published by Hirmer Verlag. In seven essays experts address a range of topics including the genesis of the Bauhaus manifesto, the importance of music for Feininger’s art or his life as caricaturist. Both exhibition and catalogue offer a unique opportunity to get to know Lyonel Feininger in the entirety of his artistic existence, surely a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

oh my god? learn something new every day.

oh my god. okay so i looked up la volpe e l'uva immediately when i saw that subtitle bc it diverts so much from the english (the german had 'injured pride') and at first i thought it mightve been an italian idiom/reference but then i learnt sour grapes is actually a reference to this fable and moreover it's not also a reference the italians know, it seems, the translator here just, i assume, looked up sour grapes to figure out how to translate it, ended up at this fable, and just put that in and honestly i find that kind of a valid choice

no dutch on this ep unfortunately but let me check french and spanish

okay french is just "cette rancoeur" which is a similar choice as the german made but i think it works slightly better in the context of the sentence (take that with a grain of salt though bc i literally only picked my german back up today)

latin american spanish goes for "el desdén" like the german and french, but spain spanish!

las uvas del rencor! thats gotta be a known reference/expression in spain too then, right? im not 100% if it is in italian or not but this sounds like a shortcut reference like sour grapes right? google gives me nothing lets see wikipedia

says this but the reference is an english book and if you google uvas agrias you mostly get ezekiel so ??? inconclusive

oh btw the italian wikipedia abt the fable says that it's mostly known in english through the victorian translations which changed unripe grape to sour grape (perhaps to avoid sexual connotations) and so changed the psychology of the fox from perhaps just postponing his grape dinner to giving up on it definitively

[fragiledewdrop]

Isn't it amazing how, when you are exposed to multiple languages, it changes the way you think about reality?

I don't even mean when you learn a language well and it starts merging with your native tongue. More like...

...there are so many words for "apple" in this world, but to me the apple's truest name will always be "alma", because my Hungarian grandmother used to make me say it over and over and was sad that I never got the pronunciation exactly right. She was my "nagymama".

The first time I fell in love, it was with a girl of Chinese heritage, which means that, deep in my soul, the sweetest way to say "I love you" is 我愛你, both in Cantonese and Mandarin.

I was around German speakers a lot as a child, and I thought it was very funny that "sorry" was "Entschuldigung", so that's what I think every time I bump into someone on the street. I had a seizure at a hospital once, and when I came to the nurse started asking questions to see if I was all there. She showed me a pen and asked me what it was, and my immediate answer was "Kugelschreiber". She was so confused, but it took me a while to remember the Italian word, because "Kugelschreiber" has always been much more satisfying to think and say than "penna".

My Polish friend says "kurva" every time she swears (which is quite often), and so I have started saying that too.

Although, since I began studying French, my instinctual swear word is a very classy "putain de merde". When I am really happy, I am "aux anges". How are you? "Ça va". There is a game of cards that can be called many things, but to me it's "bataille corse", because I used to play it a lot with a French coworker in Ireland.

When I was little, I played almost every day with a girl who came from Venezuela. We could understand each other just fine, but once she asked me to pass her the "pajaro" and I didn’ get what she was saying. Eventually I understood she meant our Barbie's little blue plastic bird, and not a sparrow, which is what the word sounded like to me. So when I see birds in the trees? "Pajaros en las ramas". I had another friend whose surname was a play on the Spanish word for sunrise, which she was very proud of, and one of my favourite verses by Garcia Lorca is about the "breaking cups of dawn". When I watch the sun rise, the first word that comes to mind is "madrugada".

As a teenager, I read "Poor Folk" by Dostoevsky and there was a letter in which the protagonist wrote to his lover and called her "golubchik". I still think that's the sweetest pet name- along with "honey" in English.

After coming back from Japan, my brother has started slipping idioms in his speech when he is distracted. I couldn't understand them at first, but I thought it endearing, and now "wait a moment" is "chotto matte". He is my "ototo", "little brother".

A Romanian lady helps take care of my grandfather. Ever since I have met her, known her, helped her pick out gifts for the kids that she can see so rarely, taught her recipes and learned recipes frome her, "thank you" to me has become "mulțumesc".

A person I don't know is "ξένος (xénos)", the Greek for "foreigner, stranger", but also "guest, host, friend".

There are many more. I am a mosaic of the voices of the people I have met, the people I have loved. My own language is beautiful and it's home, but even its ancient, melodious poetry is not enough to encompass the beauty and tragedy of this world. And if I dream in English, curse in French, think of my former Christian God with a Hebrew name and of holiness as the prayer in Arabic over my sick bed that fell from the lips of a Malian refugee who had become a family friend, maybe I can come closer to grasp it.

[uniandtea]

04.11.2024 <3

first day of my fourth semester at uni done ! i had one class today but the whole of this week´s classes are going to be just a presentation of the program and the first steps into the discipline ahead... neverless to say that im always astonished to come back to uni and have my classes, i fall in love with my degree at each milestone achieved ! i am manifesting a great 4 semester !

also i completed my italian course provided by my uni but i will continue studying the language in Kultivi (idioms platform) im thinking about studying 2 days in the week for 2 hours each, to get in the rhythm...

byyyee

[101flavoursofweird]

Title: Casa Mia

Set: During, before and after LMJ

Spoilers: Mainly for the anime and the final case of the LMJ. Slight spoilers for Mystery Room, Curious Village, PL2 and PL3

Warnings: The title of this fic was originally going to be ‘The League of Absent Fathers’… because it contains a lot of talk about absent fathers— and very light mention of a character becoming pregnant and giving birth.

Also, contains a lot of headcanons connecting LMJ to characters from the original series

Also, contains a lot of Italian phrases and some idioms literally translated into English! I’ll include some translations below. 

Inspiration: The title, ‘Casa Mia’, is a translation of ‘My Home’. I wish I could say this fic was inspired by an Italian song, but no, it’s ‘My House’ from Matilda the Musical

-

Casa Mia

“Miss Perfetti, I believe you owe Miss Layton an apology!”

Emiliana blinked at Katrielle’s besotted schoolboy assistant. (She really needed to get a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for her office door…)

“Chiedo scusa?” Emiliana said, a tad sarcastically.

If she had hoped Ernest Greeves would be intimidated by her native tongue, then she was mistaken… 

“M-Mi Dispiace!” he replied in passable Italian. “I’m sorry… See— that wasn’t difficult, was it?” He offered her a smile, but Emiliana still didn’t understand.

“Why would I owe her an apology? Have I done something to offend Kat?”

Ernest’s smile retracted. “As a matter of fact, you have! Miss Layton was frightfully ang— upset by how you treated us— I mean, her, at the cafe the other day…” 

“Oh…” Was he referring to the little competition she’d had with Kat during the stakeout? “She’s not still upset about that, is she?”

Sternly, Ernest nodded.

Emiliana arched her eyebrows. On her way out of the cafe, she had seen Katrielle stomping her feet like a petulant child, but surely Emiliana’s actions hadn’t affected her that much!

Emiliana had predicted Kat would storm off in a huff, but she would cool down as soon as she’d had some ice strawberry cream or some frozen cheesecake…

“I paid for everything you two bought at that cafe,” Emiliana reminded Ernest. She leaned back in her desk chair, lifting her chin. “It’s not my fault if Kat’s a sore loser, obsessed with horoscopes—“

Ernest planted his hands on the desk. “That’s not what upset her!”

Emiliana stared at him. 

Ernest reared back, probably shocked by his own boldness. “I… It was…” He clenched his fists. “…how you lied…” He pointed at Emiliana. “…about your tragic backstory!”

(Cosa diavolo…?)

Emiliana pushed her glasses up her nose. “You mean Kat actually believed— the fictitious plot line of a movie— was my life story?”

“I-it might be fictitious to you,” Ernest fumed, “but you shouldn’t make light of such things!”

“What things—?”

“Missing parents!” Ernest burst out.

…Oh. Perhaps she did owe Katrielle Layton an apology after all.

-

Of course Emiliana was aware that Professor Hershel Layton was still missing…

Emiliana had never looked into the case herself— Scotland Yard seemed keen to forget it by the time she’d started working there— but she knew not everyone had forgotten Professor Layton.

Her mentor— once a student in Layton’s archaeology class— had ceased his investigations into the disappearance after a few years. (Secretly, Emiliana had been relieved. She couldn’t imagine losing her blundering mentor as Kat had lost her father…)

Then there was her distant colleague, Inspector Alfendi Layton— Professor Layton’s controversial son and Kat’s far more qualified older brother.

Alfendi might have aided in the search for his father years ago, but now (most likely due to the Forbodium incident Emiliana had heard so little about) it was rare to find him outside of his office.

Emiliana had only bumped into Alfendi on a handful of occasions, and he had never breathed a word about the Professor to her.

That wasn’t to certify that Alfendi had given up on the search entirely— but he had by all outward appearances.

The same could be said about Commissioner Barton and the other senior members of Scotland Yard. As much as they wanted to locate the Professor— to bring closure to the Layton family— it had been over a decade since Layton had left (on his own accord). 

All those funds and work hours could go towards helping other missing people. Surely Professor Layton would agree…

And then there was Katrielle Layton. Like Alfendi, Kat had never mentioned her father directly to Emiliana…

In turn, Emiliana had never thought to ask.

Obviously, Kat must miss her father. She had taken up his mantle as a puzzle-solver and a detective, naming her agency after him. Kat even had her own top hat!

She differed from her father in a lot of ways, though; where Layton had relied on his famous intuition, Kat depended on ‘instinct’ and dumb luck.

Layton had a lot of salt in his gourd and a polite tongue. Kat, on the other hand, had a habit of losing her gourd and she did not have a single hair on her tongue.

The Professor had fought all sorts of villains and machines in a composed manner. Kat was all pepper— full of life— every second of the day…

Though, maybe that wasn’t completely true, now that Emiliana considered it.

There had been an… incident when Emiliana shared a cabin with Kat aboard the Thametanic.

Early in the morning, Emiliana had awoken to the sound of sniffling. Rolling over in her bed— ignoring the rocking of the boat— she had asked Kat what the matter was.

“Nothing!” Kat had exclaimed, before stumbling out of her bed, dashing across the cabin and locking herself in the bathroom.

After that, Kat had brushed the whole thing off as “Sea sickness!” and Emiliana had pretended to believe her, because it was easier.

(Because how could Emiliana comfort Kat if she was crying?)

At the cafe, upon hearing the synopsis to ‘Lonely Study Girl’, Kat— and Ernest— had shed tears. Emiliana had assumed they were overreacting, playing up in front of Mama Sandra, but now that she thought about it… 

Kat had looked so concerned when she mistook Mama for, well— Emiliana’s mamma.

Emiliana’s mamma was nothing like Mama Sandra. She was big-boned and brown-eyed, with flowing dark hair. 

Mamma made most of her own clothes. By comparison, most of Sandra’s clothes were designer labels.

Emiliana’s mamma was not an award-winning actress— she couldn’t even keep a straight face if she lied! 

She was a beauty therapist who owned her own salon. Every other day, she would call Emiliana just to gossip about the customers she had to deal with. (“Emi, you won’t believe what Mrs. Wolfe was wearing this morning…!”)

When Emiliana was little, her mamma hadn’t had a lot of money— one trait Emiliana actually shared with the ‘Lonely Study Girl’— but she had her family to help her.

Contrary to ‘Lonely Study Girl’, however, Emiliana’s mamma would never dream of leaving her! 

Mamma had moved to England with her just so Emiliana could follow her mentor…

But Kat, believing Emiliana was abandoned as a child, had felt sympathy.

No wonder Kat had been so unsettled when she found out the truth— that Emiliana was simply summarising her favourite movie.

That movie mirrored Kat’s reality.

Yes, Emiliana definitely needed to apologise after that glaring oversight.

So, as soon as she had finished work for the day, she went with Ernest to visit Kat.

Kat lived a few streets away from her detective agency— up a hill.

Emiliana had to stop to catch her breath as they reached a bright blue block of flats. It was a nice neighbourhood— hill notwithstanding— but Emiliana was surprised Kat could afford to live here.

Either private detectives were paid more than Emiliana had assumed, or maybe Kat’s family helped her out. 

Kat’s bother earned a decent wage as an inspector… But was there anyone else Kat could depend on? Grandparents? Aunties and uncles? Cousins…?

Ernest hadn’t been beaten by the hill— not as badly as Emiliana, anyway. 

He marched up to the front door and pressed the buzzer for the intercom. “Hello— Miss Layton? It’s me, and— and Emiliana—“ Ernest broke off as they heard barking.

Emiliana had a feeling the barks were aimed at her. “The dog lives with Kat?”

Ernest nodded. “They don’t always get along, but Sherl’s good company for Miss Layton.”

“Right…”

“I’ll take Sherl out for a walk while you two talk—“

Much to Ernest’s relief and Emiliana’s apprehension, the front door clicked open. Ernest held the door for her. “After you…”

The stairs did nothing to improve Emiliana’s shortness of breath— or, admittedly, that might have had something to do with her nerves. 

She had confronted violent criminals without flinching, and yet, the thought of facing Kat, after Emiliana had hurt her, was daunting.

When— and why— had Emiliana grown to care about Kat so much?

Yes, the two of them were friends, but Emiliana was friends (Well— colleagues!) with Inspector Hastings and she had no qualms about insulting him!

Occasionally, Emiliana would bicker with her mamma— over how Emiliana worked too hard, or how Mamma could be so picky— but they would always make up afterwards…

Emiliana hadn’t irreparably ruined her relationship with Kat, had she?

The barking grew louder as Ernest led her across a landing. Emiliana gulped when they reached a door— Kat’s door— and Ernest knocked.

From inside, Kat called, “C-Coming!”

Kat (and Ernest) had no reservations about invading Emiliana’s office unannounced, so why should she feel intrusive visiting Kat’s home? 

Kat even had a green ‘Welcome!’ mat, sitting slightly askew outside her door. 

Emiliana didn’t feel very welcome as the door opened by a crack and, with a low growl, Sherl poked his snout out.

“Sherl,” Ernest chided. “Don’t be so rude! I invited her…”

The snout snorted at Emiliana.

Meanwhile, Kat had been fiddling with the door chain. She unlocked it and lifted Sherl up with a grunt. “Alright— your guard dog duties are no longer required!”

Kat fully opened the door. She looked flustered; sans top hat headband, her hair was tousled. Not to mention, there was a grouchy basset hound in her arms. 

“Hi!” Kat gasped. She straightened up the ‘Welcome’ mat with her bare foot. “Welcome to my humble abode!”

“Va bene,” Emiliana replied, crossing her arms.

She stared at Kat. Kat stared back.

The silence between them was broken by Ernest stepping forward. “Should I take Sherl out, Miss?”

“Yes— thanks, Ernest.”

Sherl grumbled as Kat handed him over to Ernest. Turning to Emiliana, Ernest told her, “Sherl said he’s very sorry for his rudeness!”

Emiliana hummed dryly. “I didn’t know you spoke dog…”

To his credit, Ernest just gave her a content smile, before he carried Sherl downstairs.

“Do you want to— come in?” Kat said.

Unfolding her arms, Emiliana forced her feet forward. (Forza e coraggio!) 

Walking past a cabinet with a mirror, Emiliana fought the urge to check her reflection. Her hair looked how it always did— how Kat always saw her— but after their misunderstanding at the cafe, Emiliana felt tempted to change her appearance so she wouldn’t resemble Mama Sandra as much.

Locking the door behind her, Kat hollered, “Please excuse the mess…”

Entering the front room, Emiliana saw Kat’s coat and hairband hanging off a wooden stand, a half-eaten bowl of choco-pops and a rolled-up newspaper on a table, a pale pillow and a fluffy blanket that had fallen off a green settee, and a slightly disordered bookshelf. (Granted, Kat didn’t have as many books as Emiliana, but it was still more than Emiliana had expected.)

Kat’s flat wasn’t that messy… just lived-in. Maybe even comfy.

Joining Emiliana in the front room, Kat gestured for her to take a seat. 

The back of the settee was designed in a way that looked like Kat’s curls, Emiliana noticed, as she sat. She tried not to glance at Kat’s bouncy hair as Kat plonked down beside her.

There was nothing— special about being close to Kat like this. Wasn’t this a common thing among friends? Visiting each other’s homes?

Kat had picked up a yellow pillow. Hugging it against her chest, she began apologetically, “I told Ernest I wouldn’t be accepting any cases today—“

“I’m not here about a case!” (Emiliana hadn’t meant for that to come out so sharply…)

Kat blinked. “Oh?”

“I just need to— explain myself to you,” Emiliana gritted out, “after what happened at the cafe. I… Ernest said you were upset…”

“Oh,” Kat said again, more softly. She put the pillow down. “S-should I get us some tea?”

“Do you have any of that mint stuff?” (Emiliana was going to need it.) 

As Kat nipped into the kitchen, Emiliana surveyed the dark blue mantelpiece facing the settee. 

Above the mantelpiece— alongside an old radio and a lamp— were several framed photographs. In one of them, Emiliana saw a child-Kat and a teenage-Alfendi (His hair was a bolder shade of red…), with Professor Layton, Luke Triton and a young brown-haired woman.

There were other photos of other people Emiliana didn’t recognise…

“I have a big family!” Kat was back, clutching two cups of mint tea.

“That’s… good,” Emiliana murmured as Kat passed her a purple cup.

“So,” Kat said, returning to her seat.

“So…” Emiliana took a sip of tea, as if it could give her strength. She swallowed and started, “First of all… I shouldn’t have involved you and Ernest in that stakeout without informing you first—“

“We were fine!”

“I know,” Emiliana said. “I calculated the risks beforehand, and I knew you could handle it.“

Kat preened at her praise. “Thanks!” 

Emiliana hid her face behind her cup. “Secondly, it was never my— my intention to deceive you or mock you when I was discussing the ‘Lonely Study Girl’ movie. I swear, Mama Sandra was there by complete coincidence… but still, I didn’t consider how the… content of that movie might be, er, sensitive for you.” She placed her cup in her lap and looked Kat in the eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“N-no problem!” Kat exclaimed. (Clearly, she hadn’t expected an apology from Emiliana.) “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did— it wasn’t very ladylike, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t…” Emiliana smiled. “But you don’t need to be ladylike all the time.”

“I try to be, for my dad…” Kat’s eyes became distant as she gazed at the photo with Professor Layton. 

If Emiliana gripped the teacup any harder, it was going to shatter.

She had only just worked up the courage to apologise— how was she meant to console Kat? 

Clearing her throat, Emiliana ventured, “Like you, I have no idea where my father is…”

Kat glanced at her with shock. 

Emiliana was about to throw the hoe on her own feet, but she forged forward anyway.

“…However, unlike you, I do not miss my father. I never knew him. I never needed him. My mamma— my mother— and our family are more than enough.” She sighed. “But just because I don’t care about my father doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care. I-I’m sure Professor Layton was a good dad…”

“He was,” Kat whispered. “I mean— he is. He could just be absent-minded.”

Professor Layton wasn’t the only one! Emiliana’s mentor constantly had his head amongst the clouds. Once, he had left seven-year-old Emiliana in his car by mistake.

There were far worse crimes… 

Kat had gone quiet again.

“Kat…” Emiliana hedged. “Do you live alone?”

“N-not really!” Kat laughed. “I have Sherl, and sometimes my older sister, Flora comes to stay…” Kat pointed to the brown-haired woman in the family photo.

“And did your siblings look after you, while your— while you were growing up?”

“Of course! My Grandma Rosa was there too, and my aunts and uncles…”

“Che sollievo,” Emiliana murmured. It didn’t sound like Kat had been passed from relative to relative, or made to feel like a nuisance.

“What about you?” Kat returned.

“I live alone, yes— but not far from Scotland Yard. It’s actually nice to get away from the trambusto…” Emiliana clicked her fingers until she found the word. “…From the bustle the end of the day.”

Still, it could get lonely sometimes. Emiliana was glad whenever Mamma came over for a ‘girl’s night’, or if Nonna flew in for a visit.

“And can I ask—“ Kat enquired hesitantly, “—have you always lived in England?”

“I grew up mostly in England,” Emiliana confirmed, “but I was born in Italy—“

“Ooooh! What part of Italy? I bet it’s so lovely there, with all the food, the weather, the history, the culture, and the food….” 

Emiliana chuckled. “It is lovely!”

Kat kicked her legs against the settee with excitement. She shuffled closer to Emiliana. “Tell me more! Come on— allez! Wait, that’s French…!”

“Va bene,” Emiliana sighed. She hadn’t come here to spit the toad out regarding her family history, but if that would make Kat happy… Then so be it.

-

“I was born in Atranori, a village (though, it is considered a town these days) on the Amalfi Coast, in south-western Italy. It was a peaceful place, famous for its picturesque beaches and its prized lemon trees.

One day, the peace was disturbed by the arrival of a stranger in town. 

This man was no ordinary tourist; he had the strangest hair, shaped like a bull’s horns, an equally sharp moustache, and a perpetual sneer—“

-

Kat hummed. 

“What?” Emiliana grunted. (Here she was trying to be honest with Kat— sharing her life story or whatever it was close friends did— but Kat had interrupted her!)

“Nothing!” Kat shook her head and motioned to Emiliana. “Go on!”

-

“The man’s white shirt and tie indicated formality— perhaps he was of an academic or office career— but his dishevelled coat contradicted this. 

He might very well have washed up on the sands of Atranori. The only bags he carried with him were the ones below his eyes.

Everyone in Atranori was wary of the interloper… except for a young woman who worked in a beauty salon. Her name was Bhamini Perfetti.

When the man wandered into her salon, Bhamini took pity on him. (Her mother had been in a similar situation years before, travelling all the way from India, until she’d met Bhamini’s father.)

Bhamini offered to give the man a makeover— tidying up his hair and his moustache. She would even throw in a facial!

He agreed, and he told her his name was Marco.

Marco was so grateful and so impressed by Bhamini’s work that he asked if he could take her out to dinner. Bhamini accepted.

So began the pair’s ‘whirlwind romance’; they would build sand castles on the beach, share pistachio ice cream, paint each other’s nails, browse records in the music shop, explore Atranori’s Roman ruins…

As the townspeople saw Marco spending time with Bhamini, they gradually lowered their guards around him. Marco was still considered eccentric, but how bad could he be, if he had captured Bhamini’s heart?

Several months into their relationship, Bhamini invited Marco to live with her. 

Marco, having been residing above an old bar, jumped at the opportunity.

Their first night in the same house was filled with laughter and passion…

But when Bhamini awoke the next morning, she was very much alone. 

Panicked, she searched the house, but in Marco’s absence, all she could find was a note. It read:

‘Tesoro mio,

I’m sorry to leave you, and I’m even sorrier to confess I have lied to you.

I’m not who I claimed to be, even though, for the first time ever, I felt like I could be myself when I was with you. Thank you for bringing out the the best in me.

I’m a wanted man, and I’m worried that if I stay here, I’ll bring you unwanted attention.

I’ll admit, I’ve taken some old jewellery from you— but just enough to buy my way out of Italy. I’ll pay you back every cent someday, I promise. 

Once again, I’m sorry. You don’t need to forgive me.

Addio!’

Bhamini tore the letter to shreds as tears fell from her eyes. She had given all of her love to this man— this lying, swindling thief— only for him to break her heart and steal her possessions.

Soon, however, Bhamini would discover that he had left her with something far more precious—“

-

“You?” Katrielle gasped.

Emiliana nodded.

A squeak escaped from Katrielle. “I’ve heard a similar tale before! I know how this ends!”

Emiliana chose to humour Kat. “Okay…”

“Fifty years after your birth,” Kat recited, “your daughter will track down her grandfather, and your family will finally be reunited!”

“Per amor di Dio…” Emiliana rolled her eyes. “I thought we’d already established my life isn’t a movie!”

“It could still happen! The truth is always stranger than fiction!”

With a huff, Emiliana continued her story. “The truth is…”

-

“Bhamini, thankfully, had her own mother, her father and the rest of their family to fall back on.

Despite “Marco’s” duplicity, Bhamini vowed to raise her child with her whole heart— for it was not irreparably broken.

From the moment she felt the first kick… right up until she gave birth, Bhamini

knew nothing would ever rival the love she harboured for her daughter.

She named the girl “Emiliana” and chose to use her family’s last name, “Perfetti”.

Even as an infant, Emiliana was inquisitive.    Much to her family’s amusement, she would inspect toys, food and objects with a thoughtful expression.

Propelled by curiosity, she learned to crawl, walk and talk far faster than other children her age. 

By the time she was in nursery, she was reading books that some university students would struggle with.

Her nonno proudly declared she was “Un genio!”— a genius—“

-

“I guessed that,” Kat scoffed, grinning. 

Heat claimed Emiliana’s face. She coughed. “Anyway—“

-

“Little Emiliana also developed a love of movies (Everything except horror!)— with her favourites being from the mystery genre.

One afternoon, Bhamini was shocked when she came to collect Emiliana from her parents’ house; five-year-old Emiliana had been watching a psychological thriller about a wanted thief!

Emiliana tried to explain that she was following her favourite actress, Mamma Sandra, but the movie was rated VM18!

Far too violent for Emiliana— no matter how mature she was for her age!

From then on, Bhamini would double-check any films her daughter chose, but Emiliana still had questions.

“Did you say my papà was a thief?”

“Yes,” Bhamini huffed (for she had never kept this a secret from Emiliana). “He was a liar, a swindler and a thief— and he left us before you were born.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes… but I have you, Emi. You are mio tesoro più grande.”

“…Can I finish watching that Mamma Sandra movie now?”

“After I’ve watched it on my own it first!”

Soon, Emiliana grew bored of her movies, her schoolwork and her books. She longed to help people and solve mysteries, like one of Mamma Sandra’s heroines.

Her opportunity arose when news spread throughout Atranori that someone was stealing from the town’s lemon groves.

While Bhamini’s back was turned, Emiliana ventured out to question her neighbours. Apparently, the police already had a suspect: a stranger who had driven through a red traffic light on his way into Atranori.

(Could this ‘stranger’ possibly be Emiliana’s thieving father? Had he returned, at long last?)

Emiliana went to visit the suspect at police headquarters— much to the amusement of the officers.

The suspect insisted he was not a thief, but a detective, and he has come to aid the townspeople after hearing about their plight.

His tone of voice, his eyes and his body language indicated he was telling the truth…

Emiliana decided to trust him, and she was determined to prove his innocence.

She set out, with the so-called detective in tow, to track down the true culprit.

The detective took drastic measures, like sneaking onto the lemon farms for a stakeout, while Emiliana was more level-headed, analysing any evidence they uncovered.

Finally, in front of the entire town, Emiliana revealed that the lemon thief was in fact… a rat. A greedy rat, stockpiling lemons in its burrow.

The rat was given a new home at Emiliana’s school, and the detective was freed from all charges.

The detective expressed his gratitude to Emiliana by gifting her a pocket notebook. 

Before he could speed away in his car, leaving Atranori and Emiliana behind forever, Emiliana asked him—“

-

“Are you my FATHER?”

“Wha—? NO!” Emiliana pinched the bridge of her nose. “She— I asked— can I be your assistant?”

“Awww,” Kat cooed. 

“The detective agreed, after my mamma agreed. We moved to England so I could investigate more cases with him.”

Kat breathed, “I know I’ve heard that story before…”

Of course she had; Emiliana’s experience mirrored that of a young Luke Triton, who had become Professor Layton’s apprentice. Layton and Luke had gone on many adventures together.

Professor Layton had also inspired Emiliana’s mentor to become a detective— Though he was far more impulsive and accident-prone!— so, some of Emiliana’s knowledge had been passed down from the Professor.

But Kat didn’t need to know that.

Rapidly, Emiliana concluded, “As I got older, I decided I wanted to work for the police. I studied psychology at university and then I became a criminal analyst at Scotland Yard. Fine della storia!”

“Then you met me!” Kat chimed in.

And my life has been a perfect storm ever since, Emiliana mused. Unpredictable, unprecedented,unrefined…

Exciting, congenial, cordial…

Finally, Emiliana had met someone who she felt comfortable opening up to— revealing the imperfect parts of herself and her family history…

Emiliana simply nodded. 

“I don’t think you were entirely correct earlier,” Kat said, clutching her chin in her hand. “You do share some similarities with the ‘Lonely Study Girl’… like your love for your mother, and how you became a criminal analyst to find out what happened to your thieving father.”

“I don’t care what happened to him!” Emiliana growled. “My goal— if I’m ever given the chance— is to bring him to justice! But I’m not going to waste time hunting him down.” 

She crossed her arms firmly. The sudden movement caused her to dislodge the cup in her lap. It fell onto Kat’s rug. Emiliana gasped.

“Mi— sorry!” She scrambled to pick up the cup.

“Don’t worry!” Kat crouched beside her. She took the purple cup from Emiliana’s hands. “You never know— your father might find his own way back to you!”

“I sincerely doubt that…” Standing up, Emiliana smoothed out her skirt. “Your dad is far more likely to come back.”

“I hope so…” Kat sighed.

Looking at Kat’s crumpled face, Emiliana realised she might have a way to console her after all. 

“Some people at Scotland Yard might have given up on finding him, but I won’t,” Emiliana vowed. “If you get any leads, let me know, and I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“Th-thank you…” Kat whispered. 

A smile pulled at her lips— one Emiliana had never seen on Kat. Usually, Kat wore a bright grin or a satisfied smirk. But this smile looked small, sad and lost.

Kat promised, “I’ll do the same for you.”

-

“You were driving at SIXTY MILES PER HOUR in a THIRTY ZONE!”

“With good reason—!”

“Hello?” Kat’s voice called from outside. “Is this a bad time…?” 

Before Emiliana could reply, Kat breezed into her office— right into the middle an argument. (Emiliana really needed to get a lock for that door!)

“You should knock first, Kat,” Emiliana sighed from behind her desk. She shot a glare at her maverick mentor. “Non importa… We’re finished here—“

”Wait— did you say ‘Kat’?” Blue eyes widening, he looked between Emiliana and Kat. “As in ‘Katrielle Layton’?!”

Smiling, Kat held her hand over her heart. “That’s me! And you are—?”

“No one of relevance!” Emiliana interjected, leaping to her feet. 

“Carmine Accidenti,” Carmine exclaimed (so quickly that Emiliana hoped Kat had misheard him). “I was your father’s student years ago— he’s the one who inspired me to become a detective— Emiliana, cosa stai facendo?”

Emiliana was shoving him out of her office. (The one time he wasn’t in a rush to leave…!)

“Pay your speeding fine!” she snapped, before she slammed the door on him.

Puffing, Emiliana turned to Kat. “You didn’t need to hear all of that…” Emiliana meant that partly as a rebuke, but Kat took it as an apology.

“It’s fine! You should hear me arguing with Alfendi…” Kat smirked. “Though, I never argued with my dadthat much—“

“He is not my father,” Emiliana grumbled.

“Father figure, then?” Kat teased.

“Non! Carmine is— was— my mentor—“

“And my dad was his mentor?” Kat deduced.

Emiliana gaped at her, caught out like a criminal during an interrogation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kat didn’t sound offended— Grazie al cielo!— just curious.

“I… I…” Emiliana foundered. She pressed her back against the door. She glanced around her office, searching for something to distract Kat with, but it was fruitless.

She removed her glasses, cleaned them on her sleeve for a few moments. 

When she put her glasses back on, she realised Kat had crept closer.

Emiliana sighed deeply. “I suppose… I didn’t want you to have any… preconceived notions about me when we first met.”

“Hang on!” Kat said, pouting. “Weren’t you the one who underestimated me?”

Shamefully, Emiliana bowed her head. “I assumed you were a fraudulent detective, based on what I had heard… but, the more I thought about it, how could that be the case, when your father taught my mentor? What would that make me?” She peered up at Kat. “What would you make of me?” 

“First impressions are rarely right,” Kat said knowingly. “We’re friends now, and that’s what matters!”

“That’s very wise,” Emiliana said, smiling with relief.

Then, Kat reached into her coat and pulled out a envelope, sealed with a waxy red ‘L’. 

“Can I ask you a favour, Emiliana?”(Emiliana gestured for her to continue.) “I’ll be… leaving London tomorrow, but if I’m not back within a week, please give this letter directly to Alfendi and Lucy—“

“Why? Where are you going?”

Kat beckoned her closer. She whispered in Emiliana’s ear, “Southampton… I’ve finally found a leadlinked to Dad’s disappearance—“

“I’ll go with you!” Emiliana gasped, knocking heads with Kat.

“Ow…” Kat winced. “Thanks, but I need someone I can trust to pass this letter on to Al—“

“Why can’t you tell him yourself?” Emiliana rubbed her head. “Or call him?”

“I don’t want to let him down if this is another false lead.” Kat glanced out of the office window. “He’s been doing so…. well lately… I won’t ruin that for him by dragging him out on a wild goose chase—“

“We— he’ll have to go after you if you put yourself in danger,” Emiliana pointed out through clenched teeth.

Kat handed her the letter. “This is just a backup plan— I’ll be fine! Sherl and Ernest will protect me!”

“Are you sure you can trust ‘Ernest’?”

Emiliana was embarrassed she hadn’t seen through Ernest’s— or rather, Miles Richmond’s— act sooner. 

He’d really believed the Seven Dragons had stolen his family’s fortune, and he really did care about Kat— but that was no excuse for Emiliana, the ‘genius analyst’!

She’d been tempted to resign for her post, but then, she still needed to help Kat…

Kat was frowning. (Emiliana had never seen such a serious expression on her!)

“I trust Ernest with my life… and I trust you will give this letter to my brother if I don’t return.”

“Bene allora,” Emiliana conceded. She slipped the letter into her blazer. “You have my word.”

“Thank you…” For a few seconds, Kat hesitated. Then she added, “If you see Alfendi… tell him— tell him I said… ‘I love you’, okay?”

“Okay,” Emiliana whispered. And, because she was a coward, she said, “Ti voglio un mondo di bene, Kat.”

“What does that mean?” Kat breathed.

Emiliana gave her the literal translation, 

“I wish the best for you,” but it meant more than that.

Kat meant far more to her than Emiliana would ever admit.

-

Professor Hershel Layton and Luke Triton had been cryogenically frozen in a cathedral for the past eleven years, until Kat had freed them. 

Instead of waiting for her father and her uncle to wake up in hospital, Kat had rushed off to find the man responsible for all of this.

And Layton— rather than chasing after Kat— had found time to stop at Scotland Yard for some files!

“What are you doing HERE?” Emiliana barked when she caught Layton and Luke rooting through the archives. (She didn’t care that she was addressing the Professor Layton— Kat’s father— they needed to help Kat!)

“Please excuse us,” the Professor said in a polite but hurried tone, “we require some files— it’s urgent—“

“Urgent?” Emiliana repeated angrily. She stabbed her finger at Layton. 

Luke shuffled away from them with his nose in a file.

“Your daughter has gone to confront your captor—“ Emiliana spelled it out to him “—after waiting eleven years for you to come home— and you think this is urgent?”

It felt like Kat’s letter was burning a hole in Emiliana’s blazer. Why hadn’t Emiliana informed Alfendi sooner? Why had she waited until Kat‘s life could be at stake?

Layton, in his infuriatingly calm way, tried to explain, “Our captor is an astronomer. We’re looking for any information that could—“

“I will find that information for you! You need to catch up to Kat!” Emiliana grabbed a file off a shelf and started speed-reading.

Luke said, “Thank you, Miss—“

“GO!”

Sometimes, one needed to be impulsive.

-

Emiliana waited a week— giving Professor Layton time to catch up with his family— before she called Carmine with the good news:

After eleven long years, Professor Layton was finally home!

Within an hour, Carmine was outside Scotland Yard, honking his car horn.

Emiliana scolded him as she entered the car, “You’re in a staff parking space— Accidenti!” She cursed when he hit the accelerator.

“Rallentare!” She slammed the car door as he sped way. “Professor Layton isn’t going anywhere…”

“Let’s hope not!” Carmine quipped. He glanced at her, smiling as she put on her seatbelt. “So, you helped the Professor with his research to stop the villain—?”

“When you say ‘villain’, you make it sound like a fairytale,” Emiliana muttered. If they had been in a fairytale, Emiliana would have confessed her feelings for Kat after Aldebaran’s fall…

But no; Layton had waxed poetic about how Aldebaran had ‘planted the seed that would save the world’ and Kat had deemed him an ‘unsung hero’— just like ‘brandy kneaded into a plum cake’. 

(Qualunque coda significhi!)

After that, they had all returned to London. Kat had reunited with her family and Emiliana with hers, separately.

Mamma had said it was fine if Emiliana wanted to join her friends, but Emiliana hadn’t wished to intrude.

Surely Kat would rather spend some time alone with her family… with Ernest there too.

But Ernest was different— he was an orphan, so of course Kat would invite him along. No doubt, the Laytons had already embraced him as one of their own!  

Would they mind Emiliana dropping by today with Carmine?

Carmine was just pulling up at the end of Chancer Lane. He hit the curb as he parked the car, but Emiliana was too perturbed to chide him.

“Here we are!” Carmine said, pointing out the window at the Layton Detective Agency’s storefront.

He opened the door on his side and got out. Emiliana stayed in her seat.

“Emiliana, vieni anche tu?” Carmine poked his head back inside the car.

“Tu va’, io aspetto qui,” she replied stiffly, sticking to Italian in case Kat and Co overheard. (Unless Ernest was there, then he would translate everything and they could all mock Emiliana!)

Carmine frowned with concern. “Perché?”

Emiliana mumbled, “Non hai bisogno di me…”

Kat didn’t need Emiliana anymore. Professor Layton was home. He could help Kat with her cases now— far better than Emiliana ever had done.

“Sei il mio assistente,” Carmine said wryly.

Emiliana argued, “Non più—!”

“Not anymore,” Carmine agreed, in clear English. “Now, you’re Emiliana Perfetti, Scotland Yard’s genius criminal analyst. You’ve solved countless cases— many of them with Katrielle Layton!” He smiled softly. “I’m sure she would be most disappointed if you didn’t show your face—“

“Shhhh!” Emiliana hissed, flushing. “Va bene, va bene— I’ll go with you.” 

As she exited the car, she added, “I’m only where I am today because I had a decent mentor.”

Carmine snorted as they made their way over to the detective agency. 

Their knocks at the door were answered by Ernest, who announced their arrival to everyone inside.

Luke Triton had been crouched next to Sherl’s dog bed, but he stood up as Emiliana and Carmine came in.

“Nice to see you again?” Luke sounded uncertain. Emiliana gave him a reassuring nod.

Sherl didn’t growl— he just grumbled at them.

Professor Layton had been sitting on the settee, reading a book. His eyes widened when he saw Emiliana and Carmine. 

“Hello, Emiliana… and Carmine, it’s been too long!” Smiling, he also stood up.

Kat, who was in her usual seat, spun around. She beamed at Emiliana. “Is that you, Emiliana? It’s been a whole week!”

A long week…

Emiliana smirked slightly in return. “How did you survive without me…?” Her retort was halfhearted, however. 

Emiliana glanced at Carmine. He was 

already surging across the room to shake the Professor’s hand and ask him a dozen questions.

While the two of them chatted, Kat got up and approached Emiliana. 

“I need to tell you something,” Kat murmured. Emiliana gulped.

Ignoring Ernest, Luke and Sherls’ curious stares, she followed Kat through a door at the back of the agency.

Was this it?

When they were alone together in a small kitchen— just when Emiliana thought she was about to burst with tension— Kat blurted out, “We might know who your father is!”

Emiliana deflated. “What?”

-

Upon hearing Emiliana’s description of ‘Marco’, Kat had gotten a hunch. 

She had shared this hunch with Professor Layton and he had agreed— ‘Marco’ sounded familiar.

When the Professor learned Emiliana’s mentor was none other than Carmine Accidenti, that had cinched it.

Years ago, over a decade before Kat was even born, Professor Layton had gained an arch-nemesis… 

A self-proclaimed nemesis, all because Layton ‘stole’ the affections of a young woman from him.

This man swore to get revenge, bore a grudge for ten years, and tried to foil Layton on several occasions— always failing.

He and Layton did come to a truce during the ‘Future London’ affair, when they teamed up to defeat a greater enemy. 

Following this were a few years of peace between the pair… until, one day, the man asked for Layton’s help in locating his lost daughter and her mother. 

“I started looking into his request,” Professor Layton explained, when Emiliana and Kat came to talk to him in the front room, “but I had to stop when I discovered Carmine had brought you and your mother to England—“

“He didn’t bring us here,” Emiliana objected. “I asked to join him as his assistant— and Mamma came with us!” Carmine nodded in agreement.

“Apologies,” the Professor said, “but I feared your father would blame Carmine for ‘stealing you away’. I didn’t want to put Carmine, you or your mother at risk.” 

The Professor frowned at Emiliana. “Your father has responded… adversely to what he perceived as rejection in the past—“

“Dad has personal experience,” Kat interposed.

“Thank you, Kat,” the Professor sighed. “Yes, I’ll confess that due to personal experience, I thought it best to keep the truth hidden from your father, and I halted my investigations. He took this as an offence—“

“—And he returned to his old ways,” Luke said, with a grim smile.

Emiliana hummed. “Let me guess… Lying, swindling, thieving—“

“Golly!” Ernest piped up, as he popped in to pour everyone some tea.

“And kidnapping!” Luke added. “He trapped me at the British Museum—“

“When was this?” Carmine asked, looking from Luke, to Layton, to Emiliana, to Kat. 

“Sorry— I’m having trouble keeping up…”

“Kat was ten at the time,” the Professor clarified. “I allowed him— Emiliana’s father— to escape, and we were able to free Luke—“

“What was his name?” Emiliana demanded.

“Don Paolo!” Luke declared.

The Professor amended, “Paul was the name he went by during our time at Gressenheller…” 

The Professor went to grab something from his trunk. He returned with a near-faded photo of a university class.

Emiliana recognised Hershel Layton as a young adult in the front row. (Was this before he’d gotten his top hat?)

Layton was smiling next to an older bearded man— his archaeology professor, perhaps?

Behind them was a figure in a pale pink blazer with a white shirt. This man’s smile was strained and off-putting. His piggy eyes were aimed at Layton and their archaeology professor.

His flat brown hair reached his shoulders, but he was balding on top of his head. He had a dark goatee and a moustache beneath his long nose.

Emiliana scowled. At a stretch, she could say her hair was a similar colour to his…

But the resemblances ended there.

Could this man— Paul/Don Paolo— really be her father?

-

Professor Layton let her borrow the photo to show her mamma.

At first, Mamma’s face froze— her brown eyes widening. Then, they became filled with rage. Her lips trembled.

Fearing Mamma would tear up the photo, Emiliana took it back.

“That’s him,” Mamma confirmed in a hiss— or it might have been a sigh. “Marco.”

“I’m surprised you recognised him,” Emiliana noted, impressed. (Don Paolo had been a master ofdisguise!) 

“I could never forget…” Mamma caught Emiliana’s hands, crushing the photo between them. “What are you planning, Emi? Please, don’t go chasing him down! He’s not worth it…!”

“But you are,” Emiliana whispered. She squeezed her mother’s hands. “He lied to you, stole from you and left. I need set things right.”

Mamma sniffled. She tried to tuck a frizzy curl behind Emiliana’s ear, but it instantly sprang back out. “Tesoro mio,” Mamma murmured.

-

Atranori had changed a lot in the years since Emiliana had left, but the old bar had mostly remained the same— just down the road from Mamma’s former salon.

At first, Emiliana had planned to travel alone, but Kat had insisted on joining her, and of course Ernestcouldn’t bear to leave Miss Layton’s side, and then (much to Emiliana’s relief) Professor Layton had offered to them chaperone them, and Luke— as the Professor’s apprentice— came along too. 

(Sherl, thankfully, had been left on the care of Alfendi, who had called the hotel several times to make sure Layton and Kat were safe.)

The five of them entered the bar. Emiliana led the way, though her heart was hammering in her chest. 

Professor Layton indicated to a dark-haired man perched on a barstool, far away from the other patrons. The man had his back to them, his head bent over a beer as if he hoped to find a better life at the bottom of the bottle. 

Emiliana glanced around at her companions. She received a thumbs-up from Luke, an encouraging nod from Layton, and a bright smile from Ernest.

Kat placed her hands to Emiliana’s shoulders and pushed her forward.

Emiliana tapped the man on the back as he took a swig of his drink. “Excuse me,” Emiliana muttered, in English.

“Hm?” He turned his head to her. His dark eyes bulged. He spat out his drink, narrowly avoiding Emiliana’s scowling face. “Y-you…!” Don Paolo spluttered.

(Had he noticed the resemblance between Emiliana and her mamma?)

“I,” Emiliana announced, “am Emiliana Perfetti, daughter of Bhamini Perfetti. I am twenty-two years old. I was born in this town, and I stayed here until the age of five, when I moved to London with my amazing mamma and my detective-mentor…”

Still gaping, Don Paolo looked past Emiliana— at Layton and Luke.

“L-Layton?” he gasped. “And Luke? You’re alive?”

“I now work at Scotland Yard,” Emiliana went on, “as a criminal analyst—“

“She’s a genius!” Ernest crowed.

Emiliana’s father— Don Paolo— returned his attention to her. “So… what? Are you here to arrest me?”

“Consider yourself lucky…” Emiliana levelled him with a glare. “I don’t have permission to make arrests abroad— without reason.“

“I won’t give you any reason,” Don Paolo said, holding up his hands. “I’ve retired from my criminal ways— though, I retain the title of ‘genius scientist’.”

Overhearing this, Kat cried, “Like father, like daughter!”

Emiliana felt her face flare up. She bit the inside of her cheek. 

“Is that Layton’s kid— his youngest?” Don Paolo muttered.

Nodding, Emiliana replied in a low voice, “She’s twenty-one…”

Don Paolo raised his brows. “About the same age as you, then! Are you two rivals?   Friends? Or—“

Before he could continue, Emiliana called the others over.

As Layton and Luke regaled Don Paolo with the details of their ‘mystery journey’— while Ernest ordered them all some drinks from the counter— Emiliana stood back with Kat.

“Grazie mille, Kat,” Emiliana said quickly. “I never would have tracked him down without your help…”

“Did you really mean what you said—“ Kat wondered, “about not being able to arrest him?”

“Yes— even if I could, I don’t think that I would…”

What would be the point, all these years later? Emiliana wouldn’t gain any satisfaction from seeing her father in a cell— and neither would Mamma…

At least Emiliana had finally found him, just as Kat had found her dad.

Kat chuckled. “Careful, Emiliana! Your soft side is showing—“

“I’m not soft!” Emiliana protested. “It’s just protocol…”

Kat hummed hopefully. “Would protocol permit you to take me out to dinner later?”

“I think, for you, I can make an exception,” Emiliana said, smiling and blushing even more. 

Kat beamed. The two of them leaned their heads together—

“Are you two DATING?” Don Paolo cried, cutting off the kiss. He turned to Kat’s dad and demanded, “Layton, are our daughters DATING?”

To Emiliana and Kat, Luke mouthed, “Good luck!”

“If they get MARRIED, YOU’RE going to have to fork out for the WEDDING, Layton! I’M saving up to pay my ex-girlfriend back…!”

“D-did I miss something?” Ernest had returned from the other end of the bar counter, carrying a tray of drinks.

Kat gave Emiliana a quick peck on the cheek. “Keep up, Ernest!” Kat said lightly. “I was just making dinner plans with Emiliana… but before that, why don’t we all visit that ‘Museum of Cinema’ you saw earlier?”

Much to Emiliana’s relief, Ernest smiled at the both of them.

“That sounds perfect, Miss.”

[dufferpuffer]

Hi 😊

Tried the ask way this time 😁

I can't remember a thing, internet doesn't know what I'm talking about so i don't know if it's just an italian translation and doesn't exist in English

Question on wizards idiomatic expressions and translations

I remember Hermione talking about wand "knots" possible?

Because i remember

"Ti si è annodata la bacchetta?"

I think she was talking to Ron and he was a grumpy ass

It's in English too?

It was used in other ways this idiom? Or it's just for when someone is angry?

Is it possible that Slughorn used it at the three broomsticks?

Sorry if i bothered you 😅 have a nice day 😊

Ha! Wand in a knot... I don't remember this - but apparently Hermione says it in Goblet of Fire movie (theres a clip) Idk if its in the books - but I found it listed here: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Wizarding_idioms

Which is a really cool page. If you want English wizarding idioms... that the best I can offer. I never really thought of Wizarding idioms much... thanks for making me think of them!!!

Never bothers me. If it bothered me I just wouldn't reply. :) (sometimes I dont reply because I am slow, though - not because I am bothered... don't worry so much :9 )

[coquelicoq]

this post is brought to you by: la lettre c!

[previously: la lettre b]

i recently spent nearly a month reading the C section of this french dictionary. and by gum now you are going to hear about it!!

stats

percentage of dico taken up by C words: 10.6% (yeah you heard me. a tenth of this dictionary is just for the letter C. you've been warned)

percentage of dico read (as of the end of the C section): 23.5%

rate and duration: 3 pages/day for 27 days

total entries: 3449

rows added to my vocabulary spreadsheet: 708 😅

fun facts

more pages in this dico are devoted to words starting with C than with any other letter! which if you think about it makes sense. not only can a word-initial c be followed by any vowel, it can be followed by h, l, and r, plus the prefix con/com- is EXTREMELY generative…19 of the 81 pages are dedicated just to words that start with con or com (over a page of which are actually words that start with contre). i love that you get nearly 1/4 of the way through this dictionary before you even get to the 4th letter of the 26-letter alphabet.

as mentioned in the B post, there sure are a lot of slang words meaning "head" that start with c. you've got your caboche (hobnail). you've got your cafetière (coffeemaker). you've got your carafe (carafe) or your carafon (small carafe). you've got your chou (cabbage). you've got your ciboulot (diminutive of ciboule, which means head). you've got your citron (lemon). shockingly coco (coconut) is not slang for noggin to my knowledge…but it's not like there's a one-to-one mapping between "round things" and "things that are slang for noggin", or we wouldn't be in this situation with carafe, now would we?

speaking of noggins, there are also a lot of idioms meaning "to wrack one's brain" that were in the C section, either because the "wrack" word starts with a c or because the "brain" word does: se casser la tête (casser: break), se creuser le ciboulot/la cervelle/la tête/les méninges (creuser: dig).

page hogs

(entries taking up 1/6 of a page or more)

carte

ce

chaîne

charger

chien

compte

conseil

corde

corps

côté

couleur

coup

coupe

couper

courir

cours

croire

culture

i knew coup would be big, and i wasn't surprised by corps or cours, but damn there are a lot more chien idioms than i was expecting!

🤯 momence

i looked up the etymology of un casanier/une casanière (homebody) expecting it to be pretty straightforward given the spanish casa meaning house, but it actually came from an italian word meaning "moneylender"??? which was then influenced by the word that means house, but still. not sure i buy the logical leap made in the CNRTL entry for casanier that the "homebody" sense "s'explique prob[ablement] par le fait que les prêteurs italiens installés en France semblaient tenus à résider en un lieu précis, évolution favorisée par l'infl[uence] de case* « maison », fréquent au XVIe s". yeah but were italian moneylenders unique in liking to stay in one spot? i kinda doubt it…

chevronné(e): experienced, seasoned, highly qualified. one of my favorite things about this project is how much i am learning about etymology just because words from the same root whose meanings have since diverged still often occur near each other in the dictionary. chevronné comes right after chevron, which is a pattern in the shape of a V (or upside-down V). on a military uniform, chevrons indicate an officer's rank. so someone who is chevronné is someone who wears a lot of chevrons because they have a high rank, which generally indicates a lot of experience.

and if you're wondering why chevron means an inverted V shape, another meaning of chevron is "rafter", as in, the beams in a roof that slope to either side…forming an inverted V shape. and why is that beam called a chevron? well, we're getting into speculation now*, but chevron comes a few entries after chèvre, goat. according to this dictionary, chèvre is also another word for chevalet, which means "sawhorse" and comes from the word cheval (horse). now, chèvre and cheval, though they look similar in french, come from completely different latin roots. but goats and horses are both four-legged animals, and a sawhorse is, of course, a support structure made of two upside-down Vs that look like the two pairs of legs of a four-legged animal. so i'm not sure of the exact chain of causality here, but it does seem plausible that the inverted V came to be called a chevron because of its resemblance to a pair of legs? of some animal or another??

*(the CNRTL etymology entry for chevron claims that it comes from a latin word that meant both goat and chevron, capreolus, but i haven't been able to confirm for myself that capreolus meant chevron so am not taking that as gospel.)

couché(e) en chien de fusil: lying curled up in a ball/in the fetal position. the fun thing about this one is that there's this passage in les mis where gavroche notices that the pistol he's stolen from a shop window "n'avait pas de chien." this confused the hell out of me when i read it. the pistol didn't have a dog? why the fuck would the pistol have a dog??? eventually i managed to wrap my head around the idea that chien might mean something other than "dog" in the context of a pistol, and once my mind was opened to that revolutionary possibility it didn't take long to discover that the hammer of a gun is called a chien. so when i got to this entry in the dictionary, i was like yeah, yeah, le chien de fusil, we've all seen it. the problem is i still don't really get how that translates to the fetal position. they just don't seem that similar to me? so this one is a work in progress.

être à la colle: live together, be shacked up. (colle means glue.) i also like vivre en concubinage, which means the same thing. you can imagine my surprise when i got to concubinage and finally learned it does not mean "the state of having concubines" as i had been assuming. i would see it in like news articles about modern french people and be like "that doesn't seem right, but i don't know enough about french culture to dispute it."

somewhat relatedly, i don't think i had ever come across et consorts ("and company") in the wild before reaching its entry in the dictionary, which is good because i'm sure i would have grossly misinterpreted it as well. on balance i think english getting so much vocab from french does make learning french vocab much easier than it would be otherwise, but there are times when it would really help to be bringing to the table fewer preconceived notions about the meaning of words lol.

let's talk about compris(e). so service (non) compris (service (not) included (in the price of something)) is one of the phrases i learned back when i was a kid who didn't know any french, because i was going to france and it was in some guidebook or other. then y compris (including) caught my eye very early on in my french education because i didn't know what the y was doing in there and i probably latched onto it because it looked like spanish. (the french word y has a completely different meaning than the spanish word y, but i didn't know that at the time because i hadn't learned about adverbial pronouns yet, and learning "y compris" didn't help me figure it out because it seemed to make total sense for a phrase which means "including" to contain a word meaning "and". but i digress.) and of course i learned the verb comprendre (understand) in year 1 of french. but it was not until now, TWENTY YEARS LATER, that i put together that the compris in service compris and y compris is...THE PAST PARTICIPLE OF COMPRENDRE! HELLO!!! like i knew that compris is the pp of comprendre, but i never connected it with those other expressions! and the english word comprehend also has both "understand" and "include" senses (think lizzy saying "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman" in pride and prejudice), so all the pieces were there all along! truly i am surrounded by countless wonders just waiting to be discovered.

i am continuing to take note of verbs that no one ever told me take être as auxiliary. the first one since accourir is convenir de [qqch], but it seems to only take être in some circumstances and i'm not really clear on what they are…just in literature or when being formal? the jury is out. this one is less mindblowing than accourir because it does have venir right there in it, which doesn't mean that it obviously must take être, but i feel a little more primed to accept it. accourir was just a total shock. i'm still feeling the reverberations.

favorite words to pronounce

cessation [sesasjɔ̃]

champignonnière [ʃɑ̃piɲɔnjɛʀ]

cliquetis [klik(ə)ti]

clopin-clopant [klɔpɛ̃klɔpɑ̃]

cocotte [kɔkɔt]

coléoptère [kɔleɔptɛʀ]

compensation [kɔ̃pɑ̃sasjɔ̃]

consciencieusement [kɔ̃sjɑ̃sjøzəmɑ̃]

contentement [kɔ̃tɑ̃tmɑ̃]

coquelicot [kɔkliko]

cumulus [kymylys]

cyclique [siklik]

so the mouthfeel in the C section is simply exquisite. sometimes i just say "consciencieusement" out of nowhere because it soothes me. that said, possibly my least favorite word to pronounce in the entire french language (yes even more than procureur du roi) also starts with C: chirurgie. like damn. have mercy. also found myself struggling with condamner (apparently you don't pronounce the m and you don't nasalize the vowel before it. IS THIS EVEN FRENCH????), construire (dedicating my life to learning synonyms for every sense of this word so i never have to say it out loud), and coopérant (no, not the double o! please, i'll do anything!).

favorite words period

c'est le cadet de mes soucis: that's the least of my worries. cadet is also the word you would use to talk about a younger sibling, like ma sœur cadette, so that's the association i have with it. out of all my worries, this one is the baby. aww.

avoir le cafard: have the blues, feel depressed, be down in the dumps. un cafard is a cockroach btw. i'm gonna need my fellow anglophones to either learn this french expression or at the very least calque it into english because i use it all the time now. lads i got the roach today…yeah no i'm gonna have to reschedule, it's that damn roach…

c'est fort du café: that's a bit much, that's going too far, that's pushing it. the coffee is too damn strong! dial it back people!

the C section contains both cahin-caha (with difficulty) and clopin-clopant (with a limp, falteringly). i'm always a sucker for (quasi-)reduplication! and with these two in particular, i like the way that the sounds rock back and forth, like an aural representation of the action they would describe.

renvoyer/remettre [qqch] aux calendes grecques: postpone [sth] indefinitely. i was confused by this one because i looked up calendes and naturally it translates as calends, which as a former latin student i know to be the first day of the month (just as the ides is a specific day in the middle of the month) in the ancient roman calendar. but according to this random website whose trustworthiness i have not determined, that's precisely the point: to postpone something until the calends of the greeks is to never do it, because the greek calendar doesn't even HAVE a calends. makes me think of that episode of parks & rec when ron had like 90 meetings on the same day because april had been scheduling all his meetings for march 31st, thinking that march only has 30 days. damn, should have scheduled them all for the greek calends. the french could have told her that.

calter/caleter ([qqch]): shift [sth], move [sth]; scram, scat, leg it. i will just be scooping this up and squirreling it away in my hoard of ways to talk about getting the hell out of dodge, thank you…

faire un câlin is to hug…or to have sex!! why does french keep doing this to me. i just want some affection-related words that are not also sex slang, is that so much to ask??

callipyge: endowed with a nice butt. i am not making this up, it is a word and it is in this pocket french dictionary. would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for the meeting at which they decided to keep this one in. "callipyge? oh yeah that one's essential." done and dusted. (okay after i wrote this i did hear moira say "my callipygean ass" in an episode of schitt's creek i was rewatching, but i think that still proves my point, because moira.)

une cambuse: can't believe there's an entire word for "hovel" that victor hugo never used in les mis. monsieur come collect your word (that also means "ship's galley")!

un camembert: obviously there is a cheese called this but DID YOU KNOW it's also the word for pie chart?? that's so french omg.

faire la carpette: bend over backwards to please someone; lie on the floor. i love the double meaning: figuratively being a doormat or literally just being flat on the ground. oh carpet we're really in it now…

faire la carpe pâmée: feign unconsciousness. quick, they're looking this way! do the fainted carp!

so many great casse- compounds, including three that all mean snack (un casse-croûte (lit. break-crust), un casse-dalle, un casse-graine (lit. break-food)). there's a whole bunch of casse-[body part] compounds: un(e) casse-couilles (lit. break-balls) and un(e) casse-pieds (lit. break-feet) both mean pain in the ass, while un(e) casse-cou (break-neck) is a daredevil and un casse-tête (lit. break-head) is a brainteaser, a conundrum, or a club/mace. the adjective casse-gueule (lit. break-face) means risky, dangerous, tricky. i also checked my separate french slang dictionary (you can't expect me to have just ONE french dictionary, come on) because i thought it was weird that there was no casse-cul even though the word cul is like the number one word to put in french idioms, and guess what. un(e) casse-cul is ALSO a pain in the ass. i am feeling so smug about this extremely obvious deduction. eat yer heart out, hercule poirot!

ça passe ou ça casse: it's make or break. love me a pithy rhyming cliche! i hope they say this on french reality shows…i can totally imagine it in a dramatic announcer voiceover.

je me casse: i'm outta here. yes!! another one for the casual farewell arsenal!!!

être assis(e)/avoir le cul entre deux chaises: have a foot in each camp, be sitting on the fence, be caught in the middle. literally: be sitting ass between two chairs. just such a good image.

appuyer sur le champignon: step on the gas. why is the gas pedal a mushroom? heck if i know, but i am on board with it and ready to be charmed.

tenir la chandelle: be the third wheel. listen, it was probably really complicated to have sex back in the days of 1) complicated dress and 2) no electricity. maybe you need someone to illuminate all the tricky fastenings you're trying to undo…that's where the candle guy comes in.

passe ton chemin !: on your way/off with you! i am collecting soooo many ways to tell people to leave. if i could just go back twenty years to that one time i was in a phone booth in the south of france with a friend who was being harassed by an adult french man…i sure would be able to yell something at him in the right language this time. rick steves taught me how to propose to someone in marriage but not how to rebuff a creep. come on, rick! priorities!

être comme cul et chemise: be thick as thieves, be bosom buddies. literally, be like ass and shirt, which maybe didn't age super well, because these days most shirts don't even cover the ass 🙄 interestingly, i looked up "be in cahoots with [sb]" on wordreference to see if that was also a possible translation of this expression, and it turned up être en chemise avec [qqn]. which is maybe just a slightly less vulgar way of saying comme cul et chemise? i don't have a great sense for how rude of a word "cul" is considered to be, since as i mentioned previously it appears in approximately five hundred thousand french expressions.

just to throw another thing in the mix, être en cheville avec [qqn] ALSO means to be in cahoots with [sb]. maybe être en chemise avec is what happens when être comme cul et chemise and être en cheville avec have a baby?? (before reading this dictionary i only knew about the "ankle" sense of cheville, but apparently it's also like a dowel that you use when building stuff? so that's probably the sense that's being invoked in this expression.)

chiche (incidentally, pronounced just like "sheesh") is an interjection meaning "i dare you!" (it's also an adjective meaning stingy.) this section of the dictionary also has cap ou pas cap ? (cap: short for capable), which appears to mean the same thing. kids gotta have ways to taunt each other into doing dumb shit. it's a universal law, probably.

bête comme chou: dead simple, easy as pie, easy-peasy. literally, stupid as cabbage. it's so easy a cabbage could do/understand it, and cabbages aren't exactly known for their feats of intelligence or skill. remembering this one should be bête comme chou. (i wish i could leave it there but i did actually look up the etymology of bête comme chou and it seems to be more that chou was slang for ass, so calling someone bête comme chou was like calling them a dumbass, and then at some point the meaning shifted to refer to things a dumbass can't do or understand rather than the dumbass themselves. but "so easy a cabbage could do it" is easier to remember, so.)

faire chou blanc: come up short, come up empty-handed. i was reading this thinking, man, the french sure don't think much of the capabilities of cabbages, but i looked up the etymology of faire chou blanc and this actually comes from the berry dialect, where coup is pronounced chou. un c[h]oup blanc was a phrase used in the game of quilles (skittles, related to bowling) for when you fail to hit any pins whatsoever. so faire chou blanc is basically to throw a gutter ball!

ferme ton clapet !: shut your trap! jotting this down for my trip in time back to that one phone booth harasser guy 👀📝 he will rue the day i built a time machine and also the day i decided to read the entire french dictionary.

prendre ses cliques et ses claques: pack up and leave, take one's things and go. listen, i'm a simple guy. you put two words that sound almost the same right next to each other and i eat that shit right up. also, as established i have this weird obsession with learning as many ways as possible to talk about removing myself from situations. so welcome to the fold, my child. you may have clique-claqued your way out of wherever you were before, but you are home now. allow me to introduce you to all your new siblings.

des clous !: no way!, no chance! clous are nails. don't look at me, i don't get it either. i just think it's catchy.

le petit coin: bathroom. literally "the little corner". as far as euphemisms go, i much prefer this to "the little boys'/girls' room".

c'est le comble/c'est un comble: that takes the cake, well now i've heard it all, you couldn't make this up. le comble is the pinnacle of something, the most [thing] that [thing] can be. so it's like whew, there's no beating that! also it comes from the latin word cumulus btw.

comme tout: as anything, as can be. in other words, af.

en compote: aching, sore. as though your muscles have been pureed into jam i guess?

une contrepèterie: a spoonerism! this is when two sounds in a phrase are switched, changing the meaning of the phrase in a comical way ("the lord is a shoving leopard" for "the lord is a loving shepherd", for example). the french example given in the wikipedia article for spoonerisms is "femme folle à la messe et femme molle à la fesse" ("insane woman at mass, woman with flabby buttocks") from a novel by rabelais. (which is kind of giving me freak in the sheets lady in the streets vibes now that i think about it.)

convivial(e): convivial, friendly, congenial, of course, but also easy to use, user-friendly! i find this so charming. i am truly so easy to please.

sauter/passer du coq-à-l'âne: go off on a tangent, be all over the place. literally, jump from the rooster to the donkey. makes sense to me. you thought we were talking about the rooster? well, now we're talking about the donkey. try to keep up.

les coquelicots: period, menstruation, time of the month. un coquelicot is a poppy, but les coquelicots? watch out. i haven't confirmed this, but i'm choosing to believe it's because of the color. also, i love poppies, and i love the word coquelicot. if getting my stupid period gives me the opportunity to say this fun word, i'll take it.

corser [qqch]: spice [sth] up (figurative or literal); complicate [sth]; flavor [sth]. my first thought was "is corsican cuisine known for being spicy??" but the etymology of corser is actually from the word corps, meaning body. so, you're giving body to something. neat! there's also se corser (get complicated, thicken), as in la situation se corse (the plot thickens). oh yeah. now we're cookin'.

en tenir une couche: be a dumbass, not be playing with a full deck. une couche is a layer, so i'm thinking this is like not having much going on under the hood. what you see is what you get. there's nothing under the surface. nobody at home.

ma couille: dude, mate. i definitely need ways to say dude in french. couille means testicle btw, because of course it does. this is french we're talking about.

un coupe-coupe: machete. literally, a cut-cut. if only more french words were formed using this logic!! i could get used to this.

le crachin: drizzle. which also allows you to say the truly incredible phrase il y a du crachin (it's drizzling). (cracher is to spit.)

ça craint: that sucks; life sucks. craindre [qqch] is to be afraid of [sth], so i don't totally get the connection, but i say "that sucks" all the time, so it's nice to have a way to say it in french. actually, it would be better if things could just suck less. but that does seem more difficult than just learning some words.

avoir un (petit) creux: feel peckish. un creux is a hollow so this is giving me vibes like please sir 🥺 my tummy is a lil empty 🥺👉👈

le cuir: leather, but also apparently the word for making a liaison (aka pronouncing the letter on the end of a word because the following word starts with a vowel) when you're not supposed to. no idea what that has to do with leather, but i do find myself kind of charmed against my will to know that there's a specific word for this mistake i make all the time. i guess that means i'm not alone. OR they made up the word just for me 🥰 either way, a win imho.

avoir du cul: be damn lucky. okay the rest of these are cul idioms. i told you there were a lot, so i have just picked my very favorites.

avoir la tête dans le cul if translated literally would be more or less "have one's head up one's ass", mais attention because apparently in french it means be half-asleep, be dozy, feel like shit. so if someone says j'ai la tête dans le cul, they are probably not inviting you to join them in roasting them for being a dumbass. word to the wise.

en avoir plein/ras le cul (de [qqch]): be sick and tired (of [sth]), be fed up (with [sth]), have had it up to here (with [sth]). french truly is a beautiful language.

saving the best for last (but also, it just came last in the alphabet): et mon cul, c'est du poulet ?: yeah, right!, my ass! literally "and my ass, it's [made of] chicken?" i assume i don't have to explain why this brings me such joy.

next up…51 pages of Ds! (which i actually finished reading long ago and am now in the E's but shhhhh)

[apoptoses]

7 for the fic asks!

(Fic Asks)

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I really like the home I gave Armand and Daniel at the end of Blood Sanation. The messy livingroom full of stuff they're exploring and deconstructing, the craft room in the spare bedroom, the kitchen being full of dishes and food smells. It's how I imagined their homes in NYC in the 70s and 80s except better because they're settled there, they're reliving that period in a happier way.

I'm so super proud of something @birdblacksocialclub picked up on and mentioned to me the other day, and that's the way I write Armand as a non-native English speaker. It's a very conscious choice of mine.

I lived speaking a second language 80% of my day for years and I think if someone has never done that it's hard to imagine what effect it has on your speech and your grammar and your word order in your sentences. There's some things where no matter how proficient in the language you become you still have that certain affect (like Armand always using the old fashioned 'perhaps'), or where your new language messes with your grammar when you switch to your native language.

There's a lot times I have Armand pause and Daniel assumes he's pestering him, but in my mind Armand was thinking in French or old Venetian Italian or old Rus, translating it to English and trying to figure out how to express what he felt to Daniel. Some stuff just doesn't translate and you have to think about your words. You get hung up on idioms or word choice or slang. And he's extremely proficient in English when he and Daniel meet but that doesn't mean speaking it is effortless, or that he didn't learn it from older literature and isn't totally familiar with modern slang.

So it's always on my mind when I write his dialogue and I'm proud someone noticed :)

[loudlooks]

Day 30 - Charlie Brown

A/N: Tiva, follow-up of day 29. Remembered the original goal of this challenge and ended up just going with it and adding more of an ending, it is what it is.

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of fall

Prompt: Charlie Brown

Word count: 944

At the knock on his front door, he turned, about to loudly state that the door was open, only to find Ziva nonchalantly walking in already. "Usually people wait a moment between knocking and entering."

Ziva shrugged, and walked over to where he was standing in the kitchen. "You invited me, and your door was unlocked." She tilted her head slightly. "It smells really good here, Italian?"

"I made us pizza."

Ziva raised an eyebrow.

He grinned sheepishly. "I made someone make us a pizza in exchange for money, it's practically the same thing when you think about it."

Ziva stared at him for a moment. "Tony, why did you invite me over?"

He licked his lips, and swallowed hard, this whole thing had seemed a lot easier and risk free around lunchtime. "To watch a good movie, while enjoying good food and good company." He poured two glasses of wine, managing not to spill anything under Ziva's scrutiny.

"A Snoopy cartoon?"

He locked eyes with her, realizing she had looked up the movie. "And Charlie Brown." He cleared his throat, wondering how much she knew about the story line. "It's a seasonal thing, holidays ..." He picked up both glasses and offered her one.

Ziva ignored the offer. "When are you going to tell me about your breakthrough?"

His stomach clenched, and he twisted his neck uncomfortably. Downing half a glass of wine, he regretted foolishly following his gut earlier in the day. Or had it been his heart?

He returned the glasses to the counter. "After the movie, the pizza, and at least one bottle of wine."

Ziva scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You are braver than this, Tony, just spit it out "

Tony frowned, unsure if she suspected his ulterior motive, or if she was simply tired and impatient.

Ziva looked at him in confusion. "Did I get that idiom wrong?"

He let out a half chuckle. "No, no, you got that right." He averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at her while trying to find the right words. And the courage.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "It's not that easy, Ziva."

"It can be,” she said tightly.

He locked eyes with her, the hopefulness in her eyes both confused and strengthened him. "It's complicated," he said in a gravelly voice, the potential of losing his best friend weighing heavy on his heart.

Her eyes seemed to dim as she glanced downwards for a moment. With a self-conscious smile she met his gaze again. "Because I am complicated."

A jolt of confusion, closely followed by panic ran through his mind. He grabbed hold of her right hand, and caressed her cheek with his other. "No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "It's because I'm terrified of losing you." He dropped her hand so he could cup her face with both hands. "I have had to live without seeing you every day, Ziva, without the prospect of ever seeing you again." Letting out a scoff, he added, "And we weren't even..." He blinked slowly and swallowed hard. Lowering his forehead to hers, he quietly said, "I don't want to go through that again."

Ziva placed the palms of her hands on his chest, calming his frantic heart. "You won't."

He pulled back to meet her eyes. "You don't know that."

She bit her bottom lip, then smiled softly. "We agreed to be more open with each other."

Tony nodded.

"And we do not have to rush into anything, we can slowly get used to being around each other 24/7, take things one day at a time."

He took a deep breath, briefly focusing on her hands above his fluttering heart. "You realize you're going to have to start telling me things, right?"

Her fingers lightly grasped at his shirt as she took a deep breath. "I know."

"Even if you think they might hurt me." He raised an eyebrow. "Or endanger me."

Ziva nodded. "I am trying."

Tony sighed, and gently kissed her forehead. “I know.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, and her arms wrapped around him easily as she seemed to sink into him.

“Do we have to watch the cartoon?” she said against his chest a few moments later.

He chuckled. “No, you kind of skipped over the lead up I needed and went straight to the happy ending.”

Ziva loosened her hold on him just enough to meet his eyes. “Charlie Brown gets the girl?”

He smiled softly. “Yeah, imagine that.”

Her tongue darted out briefly, and she bit her bottom lip. “So, what do you want to do now?”

“The pizza’s getting cold.”

“It can be reheated.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Sounds to me like you know exactly what we should be doing.”

Ziva grinned widely and pulled his head down, kissing him slowly until he was breathless.

He resisted the need to continue exploring her with his mouth, his hand caressed her cheek and neck on its own volition. “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

“We can make out slowly,” she said in a throaty voice, eyes sparkling.

“Can you?” He licked his lips, still tasting her on them, and nudged her nose with his. “I vividly remember you trying to eat me alive a few months after we first met.“

Ziva pulled back slightly to look at him with hooded eyes full of desire and glee. “That was not real.”

“Felt real to me,” he said huskily against her mouth, as he pulled her hips flush against his, sending a tingle down every nerve ending.

“Oh,” Ziva breathed, claiming his mouth once more. “I vividly remember that.”

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tagging @hopeless-nostalgiac, @mrsmungus, @indestinatus, @happygirl-0408