Hey guys, this is a translation of SoleilBreton's 'Dernière Volonté', which can be found by googling SoleilBreton Dernière Volonté and selecting it on ao3 or FFnet, so go read one of those if you speak French!
It's a really great fic so I hope you guys enjoy it!
Also, many thanks to my beta/housemate/best-friend FrankiIsObsessed (on ao3) for checking that the translation makes sense in English and that I haven't like tried to use French grammar in English or something.
I'm pretending this counts as revision for my French-English translation exam haha.
I'm not a professional translator, I'm still studying translation, so this won't be perfect, but I'm going to try my hardest to make this as good a translation as possible.
There is some smut and some other warnings quite a few chapters later on, but I will always give warnings for smut etc., rest assured!
25/05/2019
Soleil Breton's original and translated a/n:
Hello everyone!
I'm back again with a new fic, originating from a prompt by (the one, the only!) Obviously Enough. It reads as follows:
Loki, an ordinary trader, is harassed by a ghost with a questionable sense of humour who insists that Loki goes to visit his widow to tell her that he regrets leaving her alone, discovers the identity of the ghost's murderer, leaves to rob the police station because of that, puts the murderer in prison, changes job to take up studying the arts again, and is finally happy without the ghost around.
At the start, I was thinking I'd do a short one-shot. Ahahaha. Ah. I'm such an idealist!
Equally, I told myself that this wouldn't be slash. I fought so hard against frostiron, but it refused to let me go. This will therefore be frostiron with a lot of lemons in it (but not immediately, we need to wait for the plot to get started).
And, like I did with 'Ténacité' [another one of SoleilBreton's fics], I've changed some of the prompt's details to make it more interesting.
Chapter One
He had just had the worst day of his life. Okay, no, maybe not the absolute worst day of his life. But definitely his worst day at work. Spending his day attempting to reassure investors and prevent a substantial fall in share prices was not his definition of a good day at work.
Consequently, he was understandably irritable and vindictive. He had shouted at his secretary twice and had dealt badly with his PA. To make things worse, he was almost certain he'd made her cry, though she could still tell him that the tears because of the circumstances, that they were due to sadness rather than stress.
It was almost eight o'clock at night, and he was still in his office, preparing for the emergency meetings that would take place the next day. A tab open on his computer showed him each article that related to the morning's catastrophe. Other tabs displayed the day's stock exchange and the inevitable plummeting of Stark Industries' shares, still more assessed lost assets and wasted capital. And it was up to him to compile everything for the next day, while everyone else went home. He was handling it though. He had volunteered for this.
Stark Industries was one of the biggest multinational corporations in the world. Perhaps the biggest, though that depended on the time of year. It was neck and neck with Wal-Mart and the State Grid Corporation of China, each of them specialising in a different area. Wal-Mart was wholesale, SGCC was energy distribution and Stark Industries was cutting-edge technology for just about everything. With turnovers of hundreds of billions of dollars, the smallest disruption in the stock exchange could have disastrous consequences for sales, revenue and jobs. He would not be surprised if the board of directors, in front of whom he was going to make tomorrow's presentation, decided on social plans (read: severance schemes) for around the globe.
Social plans. As if there was anything social about closing a factory and laying off thousands of workers. He left himself a reminder to start doing a report into potentially weaker, and therefore disposable, facilities.
It has to be said that Loki was ambitious. Though he had started off as a mere execution trader in a soulless open-plan office, he had swiftly risen through the ranks. And when he said swiftly, well, he was only 26 years old and Head of Financial Analysis. He had known how to take advantage of company members' setbacks and of each fault, to advance, to leave the open-plan office in which he'd never belonged.
He had big aspirations, he was extremely intelligent, and he understood the human psyche better than anyone else. This was what was making him someone more and more indispensable to Stark Industries. This morning's catastrophe could only benefit him, at least in the short term. Perhaps he could become vice-president? After all a place would be freed up before long. He wanted to fill that place. To have his own office just below the top floor. To have power. It was his driving force.
It was quarter past ten at night. He yawned. His intercom beeped. His order of Chinese food would be a change from Thai, or pizzas. Delivery guys weren't allowed to come this far into the building so a security guard brought the takeout up to him.
He decided to give himself a break. Eating whilst working was not really a good idea, and in any case he wanted coffee. So he left his office. Some of his colleagues were still there, but they wouldn't be for much longer.
On his way to the break room he passed an huge chart that showed the hierarchy of CEO, presidents, vice presidents and directors of the New York headquarters, the faces of each gloriously displayed next to their titles. The photo of Howard Stark had yet to be taken down, but a black strip had been added to its right corner during the day.
A car accident. It was ridiculously stupid, horribly banal for a man who had built his name and his fortune off of his own eccentricities. Some people had already asked if his son, Anthony, would take up his father's torch, but Loki already knew the answer to that. Anthony Stark was not made to be the CEO of a multinational corporation. While he did overwhelm the R and D department with more or less dazzling ideas (the Starkphone and the Starkpad had been nothing less than strokes of genius, and his desire to launch himself into the clean energy sector had given the company a real boost several years earlier), but Howard Stark's son was better known for being a jet-setter, gambler, playboy, and the worst manager in the world.
The Board of Directors was never going to want this man to become the head of Stark Industries, even if he did own 51 percent of the business.
No, the future CEO of Stark Industries was definitely going to be the president of SI-Europe, the oldest of Stark's associates, Obadiah Stane. This man was a cross between a shark, a fox and a snake. Next to Stane, Loki was a small fry, hardly worth any notice. They weren't even close to playing in the same court.
He entered the large break room. With a sizeable fridge-freezer, coffee-makers that never ran out, cupboards that were regularly filled with biscuits rich in sugars, armchairs, tables, and an enormous television that was always turned on to a 24 hour news channel, it was the nicest room on the floor. He set a coffee machine going, sat down on one of the comfortable leather armchairs and began to eat. He allowed himself a short laugh, remembering his brother trying in vain to eat with chopsticks, his large, clumsy hands unsuited for the task.
His break only lasted until his coffee was ready. He tipped the boiling liquid into a large thermos with his name on it, closed it, binned the greasy paper napkins that he had left on the table, then returned to his office. His mind was racing, looking for perspectives that he hadn't already implemented for his report the next day.
Upon entering the shadowy room he just managed not to jump when he made out a silhouette.
"Can I help you?" he asked, turning on the light.
But he couldn't say anything else. The man in front of Loki's desk was floating, literally, some inches from the ground. And he was translucent. The figure turned to face him, and despite the fact that he could see the wall opposite him through the man's face, Loki recognised him without difficulty.
"Are you Loki Borson?" Howard Stark demanded, or at least the translucent, floating figure that looked exactly like Howard Stark did.
Loki remained with his mouth open for several seconds before nodding his head, definitely not trusting his vocal chords.
"Good. I need your help."
SoleilBreton's original a/n: It's very short, I know, but I promise the next chapters will be longer
Tell me what you thought of it. Yes, you there, behind your screen. I see you :)
My a/n: I can't see you because I'm not quite as creepy as Soleil, but please do tell me what you thought, whether about plot or writing style or if you enjoyed it etc. translating something takes a lot of effort so I'd be pretty grateful.
Next up: Howard tries to convince Loki to help him
Loki refuses and tries to pretend he doesn't exist
Given that I'm pretending this is revision for my translation exam and I've already translated the next one and a half chapters, the next chapter should be up over the next few days.