2023-06-14, 11:09 AM - Word count:
"Shvartsvahld"
"Chvatsvold"
"Shva.... Sh... Close enough, Muunokhoi. The starting 'sh' is soft, though."
"Coach, you forget this isn't even my second language. If 'sh' is one sound, it should be written with one letter, not two."
"And your other languages don't have weird complicated shit?"
The tall nomad thought.
"Yes, I guess. You'd hate vowel harmony in Mongolian. And using two or three different alphabets in Japanese. But if you write Mongolian in Cyrillic like a normal modern person, the 'sh' sound is one letter."
Coach shrugged. "Media week isn't for a while anyway. You can always just mumble some guttural sounds and hope the person holding the microphone isn't tall enough to reach anywhere near your mouth."
Muunokhoi didn't answer. He was staring off across the training pitch.
"How are you settling in?"
"Chvartsvoldor" - the coach flinched at Muunokhoi's worsening German - "is like cold Accra. And maybe less concentrated rainy and dry seasons. I like the trees. I like the trees being part of the team look... the brand. But the Accra goat horns were also a good look."
"'Shva', Muunokhoi. 'Sh' not 'ch' - and you only put the 'er' on the end when it's an adjective. You and your goats. You're such a herder."
"You herd my feelings, coach. I make a pun. I must learn German puns."
"Please don't." Coach grimaced. "Does the herder in you like that people are calling us the 'Zebras' for our black-and-white stripes?"
"Zebras are a good name."
"'Is', not 'are'"
"It doesn't matter, I is not a zebra anyway. Keeper jersey has no stripes."
"What will you be, then, Muunokhoi?"
The nomad paused, looking off in the distance for inspiration. "They usually put me in green. If they are Zebras in front of me, I am the spruce behind them."
"Spruce in German is 'Fichte' - try that one."
"Feetch-tah."
"Fi[hiss]teh. You can't be the spruce if you can't say it, work with me, here!"
"How about pine, then?"
"Pine is 'Kiefer,' like the actor."
"Who?"
"Kiefer Sutherland."
"Was he German?"
"No."
"Not Mongolian, anyway." Muunokhoi gave a suspicious side-eye to the coach.
"Fine. Not Kiefer - he's Canadian by the way. You can also say 'die Tanne' or 'der Kien' if you prefer. They all mean 'pine.'"
"Feehhteh. Der Kien. Keefar. No, 'Kiefer' is fine. I am the Kiefer Keeper. I will be the mighty pine behind the zebras."
The coach rolled his eyes. At least Muunokhoi was an avid student of everything, even if he was an annoying one.
"Chvatsvold"
"Shva.... Sh... Close enough, Muunokhoi. The starting 'sh' is soft, though."
"Coach, you forget this isn't even my second language. If 'sh' is one sound, it should be written with one letter, not two."
"And your other languages don't have weird complicated shit?"
The tall nomad thought.
"Yes, I guess. You'd hate vowel harmony in Mongolian. And using two or three different alphabets in Japanese. But if you write Mongolian in Cyrillic like a normal modern person, the 'sh' sound is one letter."
Coach shrugged. "Media week isn't for a while anyway. You can always just mumble some guttural sounds and hope the person holding the microphone isn't tall enough to reach anywhere near your mouth."
Muunokhoi didn't answer. He was staring off across the training pitch.
"How are you settling in?"
"Chvartsvoldor" - the coach flinched at Muunokhoi's worsening German - "is like cold Accra. And maybe less concentrated rainy and dry seasons. I like the trees. I like the trees being part of the team look... the brand. But the Accra goat horns were also a good look."
"'Shva', Muunokhoi. 'Sh' not 'ch' - and you only put the 'er' on the end when it's an adjective. You and your goats. You're such a herder."
"You herd my feelings, coach. I make a pun. I must learn German puns."
"Please don't." Coach grimaced. "Does the herder in you like that people are calling us the 'Zebras' for our black-and-white stripes?"
"Zebras are a good name."
"'Is', not 'are'"
"It doesn't matter, I is not a zebra anyway. Keeper jersey has no stripes."
"What will you be, then, Muunokhoi?"
The nomad paused, looking off in the distance for inspiration. "They usually put me in green. If they are Zebras in front of me, I am the spruce behind them."
"Spruce in German is 'Fichte' - try that one."
"Feetch-tah."
"Fi[hiss]teh. You can't be the spruce if you can't say it, work with me, here!"
"How about pine, then?"
"Pine is 'Kiefer,' like the actor."
"Who?"
"Kiefer Sutherland."
"Was he German?"
"No."
"Not Mongolian, anyway." Muunokhoi gave a suspicious side-eye to the coach.
"Fine. Not Kiefer - he's Canadian by the way. You can also say 'die Tanne' or 'der Kien' if you prefer. They all mean 'pine.'"
"Feehhteh. Der Kien. Keefar. No, 'Kiefer' is fine. I am the Kiefer Keeper. I will be the mighty pine behind the zebras."
The coach rolled his eyes. At least Muunokhoi was an avid student of everything, even if he was an annoying one.
