Analysis swap: Commonthroat

[lurker]

This is my attempt at Trailsend's Analysis swap game. Just for fun, I'll borrow Kesshin's "choose your own adventure" style of lore from this thread to give some context to the game.

Here is the thread for Commonthroat, and here is the thread for the Lonely Galaxy setting.

You may want to at least look over the phonology so the Commonthroat samples don't look like a bunch of names of 3rd party Amazon sellers.

---

You are a Linguistics student at Erickson College. It has been two years since First Contact, and a mass router trunk has been established between this sleepy little college town and Wayfarers' Haven. Barrels and barrels of monkey foxes have come to Earth, pairing up with your classmates as part of a cultural exchange program. You have volunteered to host one of these quadrupedal sophonts, and wait anxiously in front of the claustrophobic nightmare capsule that these space doggos insist is the only viable method of FTL travel.

You hear a hiss as the air within the sealed mass router is evacuated, preparing the way for the mass flow containing your soon to be roommate to pop into realspace. You mentally review what you were told at orientation.

"They should be proficient in English, but remember, they can't speak it due to how their vocal tract is shaped, although that won't stop some of the more enthusiastic ones from trying. They can synthesize human speech with a computer, but you'll be expected to learn Commonthroat through your interactions with your guest. You can chuck that Swadesh list out the window, too. Commonthroat lacks words for some pretty fundamental human concepts, especially regarding anatomy."

An ascending whine, just at the upper limit of human hearing, pulls you out of your thoughts. The hypercapacitor inside the mass router is absorbing the difference in momentum between the ingress router at Wayfarer's Haven and this egress router on Earth. A low thump tells you that a bubble of realspace has just been shunted out of the Underlay, filling the evacuated chamber inside the router with air, some luggage, and your new fuzzy roommate.

The hatch at the end of the router swings upward and a bed silently glides out of the bore. The first thing to emerge is a bundle of colored cloth, doubtless containing whatever impedimenta this sophont saw fit to bring. The first sign of your roommate are its two rear paws clinging desperately to the bag, as though the little bundle were the only thing keeping the poor monkey fox from falling to its death. "We call them quadrupeds," you muse to yourself, "but quadrumana would be more appropriate." The rest of its body comes into view as the bed glides to a stop. Its glossy fur, the hue of fecund loam, reminds you of your childhood dog.

"Their bone is not of your bone, their flesh is not of your flesh, but their souls are like unto your own." You recall this exerpt of their sacred scripture shown to you during your cultural orientation, and remind yourself that, however inhuman it may look, the being before you possesses a rational mind.

Its forepaws are draped over its chest, a keyer wrapped in its left paw and a white plastic bag clutched in its right. You barely have time to wonder what the plastic bag is for when your guest rolls off the bed and flops to the floor, unceremoniously voiding the contents of its stomach into what you now realize is a barf bag.

It looks up at you, an unreadable expression painting its vulpine countenance, blue liquid dripping from its black lips. Only much later, after learning the subtleties of yinrih body language, do you realize it's profoundly embarrassed.

The paw holding the keyer begins to twitch as the creature begins to enter text into the synthesizer. The jerking cadence and off-kilter intonation remind you of the G-Man from Half Life.

“Fast… Told me… to fast… now I know… long time… soil under my palms…” You take a moment, then realize that this is likely the first time in years that the creature has been in the gravity well of a planet. You tentatively offer your hand to help the yinrih to its feet. It takes your hand in its paw. You shudder as the callused paw pads scrape against your palm and its sharp ferrous claws dig into your wrist. As unpleasant as this tactile experience is, it does allow you to ascertain the gender of your guest. The three large pads across its palm tell you that your guest is a male.

Now it’s your turn to feel nauseous. Your valiant attempt to personify this creature has backfired. You tried thinking of him as a human, but that only cast you headlong into the uncanny valley. Entirely absent are the rugose ears, smooth skin, and liquid eyes of your fellow homo sapiens. In their place are mocha fur, a whiskery muzzle, and those terrifying empty eyes. You try to reorient yourself, recalling a similar story of First Contact from an old Sci-Fi novel. If you try to think of him like a man shaped like an animal, he becomes abominable. But if you look at him another way, as an animal with a rational soul, he suddenly becomes delightfully charming, like he walked straight out of a children’s book.

With your help, he manages to plant all four paws on the ground and shakily rise to a standing position. He looks up at you and flicks his ears back. You recall being told that this gesture is his way of shrugging. “Well,” he says via the synth, “Now that that’s over, I should introduce myself properly.” He rears up on his hind legs and thumps his left forepaw twice against his abdomen.

<L rLPqp BCqb sFsFqn!> He says in Commonthroat.

You can’t recall the appropriate response, and simply repeat the gesture against your own abdomen with your open left palm.

Your guest pants a few times, which is the vulpithicine way of laughing. Your minor blunder seems to have amused him. “We’ve both got a lot to learn,” he says as he coils his tail around his bag and lifts it onto his back. “How about we get going.”

The two of you emerge into the bright afternoon sun. You shield your eyes as they adjust from their time indoors. You look down at your guest. His eyes are scrunched closed and his ears are pinned back. He lets out a quiet hiss. “ouch,” he attempts to clarify his reaction via the synth. “I’ve never been so close to a star before. Gonna have to get used to that.”

A pleasant outdoor scene materializes before you as your eyes acclimate to the afternoon sunshine. The sidewalk before you divides a lush greensward in two. Trees dapple the ground with their shade. Cheerful cumulus clouds sail overhead across the azure firmament.

“OK, then,” he starts. “What say we dive right into this whole language thing. Just remember, I’m an asteroid miner, not a linguist. You can point to whatever and I can tell you what its called in Commonthroat, or you could just ask me to say something.”

You think for a moment. What do you want to say?

[thethief3]

What's your favourite colour?

[Trailsend]

How do you say:

1. What is that?

2. That is a rock.

3. That is not a rock.

[Visions1]

How was your trip?

[lurker]

What's your favourite colour?

<slnrGHMr>

He slaps the palm of his right rear paw against the grass.

[lurker]

How do you say:

1. What is that?

2. That is a rock.

3. That is not a rock.

1. <BD MLp?>

2. <sKGqp.>

3. <rnL sKGqp.>

[Arayaz]

"Hmmm," I say. "Could I say slnrGH to say 'that is green?' If so, could I say rnL slnrGH to mean 'that is not green?'"

[lurker]

How was your trip?

<HMLHG!>

He coils his tail around his ears, like a sire trying to shield his pup from foul language.

"You didn't learn that word from me," he jokes. "It's not the router itself, mind. I've hopped between colonies before. You don't feel a thing going from one zero-G environment to another, well, other than the tingling when the router does its thing. It's going from zero-G to a gravity well that's the problem. I suppose the other way around is just as bad."

This guy is talking about living permanently in space like it's nothing. "You know, only around six hundred humans have ever left our atmosphere," you say. "It's wild to think people live their whole lives on space stations."

"Well," he tosses his muzzle down to point at his forepaws planted on the ground, "If your hands had to double as your feet you'd probably want to live in microgravity too."

[lurker]

"Hmmm," I say. "Could I say slnrGH to say 'that is green?' If so, could I say rnL slnrGH to mean 'that is not green?'"

He pauses, assuming a canine sitting stance. He reaches up with a rear leg as a dog would to scratch its ear. He cocks his head to the side and tugs gently at his ear with his rear paw. You later learn this is a pensive posture.

"quadrumana indeed," you think to yourself.

"no, that doesn't sound right," he responds after a few seconds of thinking. "If I want to say 'that is green', I'd say <slnrp>." He tugs a few more times at his ear, as though trying to dredge up some language lesson from puppyhood. "It all depends on where the green thing is. If it's close to me, I'd say <slnrMr>. If it's closer to you, I'd say <slnrqN>, and if it's far away, I'd say <slnrp>."

[Arayaz]

"Hmmm," I say. "Could I say slnrGH to say 'that is green?' If so, could I say rnL slnrGH to mean 'that is not green?'"

He pauses, assuming a canine sitting stance. He reaches up with a rear leg as a dog would to scratch its ear. He cocks his head to the side and tugs gently at his ear with his rear paw. You later learn this is a pensive posture.

"quadrumana indeed," you think to yourself.

"no, that doesn't sound right," he responds after a few seconds of thinking. "If I want to say 'that is green', I'd say <slnrp>." He tugs a few more times at his ear, as though trying to dredge up some language lesson from puppyhood. "It all depends on where the green thing is. If it's close to me, I'd say <slnrMr>. If it's closer to you, I'd say <slnrqN>, and if it's far away, I'd say <slnrp>."

"Thank you. So ─" I pause, furrowing my brow in thought "─ if I wanted to say 'that rock is green,' could I say sKGqp slnrp?"

[lurker]

"Thank you. So ─" I pause, furrowing my brow in thought "─ if I wanted to say 'that rock is green,' could I say sKGqp slnrp?"

"You've almost got it. Sticking that grunt at the end makes the word sound more like a noun, so you wouldn't use it on <slnr>. It would be <sKGqp slnr.> You always have to think about where the object you're describing is. When I was learning English, it was hard not to stick a 'this' or a 'that' in front of every other word.

"If the rock is close to you, you'd say <sKGqMr slnr>. If the rock were closer to me, you'd say <skGqqN slnr>, and if it were far away from both of us, you'd say <sKGqp slnr>. If for whatever reason you wanted to say that you yourself were a a rock and happened to be green, that would be <sKGql slnr>, and if you wanted to say that I was a rock and happened to be green, you'd say <sKGqqn slnr>."

He begins excitedly prancing in place like a dog eagerly awaiting a bowl of food. "All those grammar lessons from puppyhood are actually paying off." he remarks, the monotonous drone of the synth clashing with his clearly joyful demeanor.

"Commonthroat doesn't have those little words..." he pauses to recall the correct term. "The ones that don't mean anything, they just take the place of another word. You know, like 'me' or 'they'."

"I think you mean pronouns," you suggest.

"yeah, those things. You have to give a word to yourself that actually means something, or you can just not say the word at all if you think the other person will get your meaning, especially if you're talking about something you yourself did. Honestly it's more common to just drop the word referring to yourself."

[Trailsend]

(Do I have my own synthesizer for pronouncing Commonthroat, like he has for pronouncing English?)

[lurker]

(Do I have my own synthesizer for pronouncing Commonthroat, like he has for pronouncing English?)

Yes.

[Trailsend]

I point at his synthesizer.

<BD MLp?>

[lurker]

I point at his synthesizer.

<BD MLp?>

<g rMLcdrMr>

He loosens the strap holding the keyer to his paw and hands the device to you to examine. It's somewhat small for a human hand, and looks somewhat like a bicycle handlebar. There are three rows of four keys running along the side, and two clusters of buttons situated on the ends, designed to be actuated by a yinrih's inner and outer thumbs.

Satisfied with your inspection, you hand the keyer back and he straps it back to his paw.

"It's much more than a synth," he clarifies in Englsih. "It's more like those glass data pads you humans carry with you." He gestures with his muzzle up to your pants pocket that holds your phone.

You reciprocate the favor by handing him your phone to examine. His claws click gently against the glass as he turns the device over in his paws. He appears to nuzzle the device, brushing his whiskers against the glass and rapidly sniffing at the phone's surface. They mentioned during orientation that yinrih rely more heavily on non visual sensory information than humans, though you do notice that he's also sliding reflective membranes over his eyes, scrutinizing the device under light spectra far outside the human visible range.

His curiosity sated, he returns the device.

[Trailsend]

I hold up my own synthesizer and point at it.

<g rMLcdrMr?>

I don't actually know how to inflect a statement like a question. If I were talking, I'd pitch my voice up at the end and hope that at least got my point across. I'll have to settle for...well, I'm not exactly equipped for this either, but I'll do my best.

I tilt my head to one side, and idly tug at an earlobe with my hand.

[lurker]

<g rMLcdrMr?>

He nods vigorously, trying to mimic human body language to get his point across. He points at your synth.

<g rMLcdrqN>

Then he gestures with his muzzle to his own keyer.

<g rMLcdrMr>

[Trailsend]

He nods vigorously, trying to mimic human body language to get his point across.

(Aww! Lookit us trying to use each other's body language! )

I hold up my synth.

<g rMLcdrMr...> "mmmmmm." As I hum, I pat my own chest and clutch the synth close to me.

Then I gesture at his synth with my chin.

<g rMLcdrqN...> "mmmmm." As I hum, I point my chin at him, and gently press his keyer to his body.

<BD MLp?> "mmmm..." I pat my own chest. "mmmm..." I hold my palm out towards him.

[lurker]

(Aww! Lookit us trying to use each other's body language! )

I hold up my synth.

<g rMLcdrMr...> "mmmmmm." As I hum, I pat my own chest and clutch the synth close to me.

Then I gesture at his synth with my chin.

<g rMLcdrqN...> "mmmmm." As I hum, I point my chin at him, and gently press his keyer to his body.

<BD MLp?> "mmmm..." I pat my own chest. "mmmm..." I hold my palm out towards him.

He shrinks back slightly at your touch, but nods in affirmation.

He lifts a paw, extends his writing claw, and points it at his chest.

<qgKql>

Then he extends his foreleg and levels his writing claw at you.

<qMqmqn>

Not wanting to offend you, he tries to explain his negative reaction to your touch.

"We're a little more particular about our personal space than humans are probably expecting. They told us you might try to stroke our fur. I think 'petting' is what they called it, yes? Something about social grooming and comfort hormones..." He flicks his ears back. "Maybe you miss having more hair. I saw pictures of your non sapient cousins. Looks like you used to have tails, too, and proper grasping feet. Anyway, just ask before you pop my personal bubble next time." He dips his head a few times in a "no hard feelings" gesture.


After a few moments thought, he rears up and beckons you to lean in closer, flicking his left ear slyly. “If you REALLY want to get your fill of this ‘petting’, I know of another colony in the confederacy trying to attract human customers by opening a tree dweller pup petting operation. Tree dwellers look just like us, but they aren’t sapient. Sure the adults would sooner eviscerate you as let you come close, but the pups are gluttons for affection.”


You mutter something about animal cruelty.


“Hay, it’s better than the tree dweller baiting ring they ran before First Contact. Wouldn’t surprise me if they try selling pups to humans, too. Your shorter lifespan means a tree dweller you buy as a pup stays a pup for a good 50 or so Earth years. So by the time it gets big and mean you’re already gone and he’s someone else’s problem.”

[lurker]

(Just to nudge the story along because I'm admittedly kind of invested)

You and your friend leave the cool shade of the trees and step onto a section of sidewalk baking under the Texas summer sun. He suddenly lets out a yelp of pain and leaps off the pavement onto the grass.

<Pqsfsf g rnqMr!>

You press your palm to the sidewalk, and it burns you almost instantly. It seems the scalding pavement has burned your guest's unshod paws. Unfortunately, it's also bur season, and he lands in a patch of stickers.

<rgJfdsfsf g rnqMr!>

He rolls onto his back on the sidewalk, his pelage shielding his skin from the scalding surface. You're treated to a strange sight as he uses his forepaws to pick the burs out of his rear paws, then uses his rear paws to pick the burs out of his tail. You see him wince each time he pinches a sticker between his inner thumb and outermost digit, then plucks the offending plant matter from his fur. He tentatively runs his rear paws down the length of his tail to make sure no stickers are left, then frantically clasps his forepaws together, just now realizing he dropped his keyer out of reach in the grass.

He looks at you pleadingly.