So, here I am. S'been a while, eh? Well, I've been busy moving (Into town, yay!) and stuff, and just haven't had the time to write. I've wanted to but…Yeah. I'm also almost done the next chapter of my other Knight Rider story, too, so look for it soon. I hope. :) Until then…Well, there's this, which just popped into my head from God-knows-where this evening. Is short. Is mostly dialogue, partly because I want to work on storytelling without a buttload of narrative…although, granted, this isn't much of a "story."

And before anyone asks, I have NO idea what Michael wants Kitt to do. That wasn't the important thing, so…You fill in the blank. :) And beware of Monty Python references, too. Like, say, the title of this little thing. ;)


The Knights Who Say No
(Or: In Which Kitt Is Linguistic And Michael Is Insistent)

"No," Kitt protested, vehemently.

"Yes," Michael countered, just as vehemently.

"No," Kitt repeated, a little more vehemently.

"I dare ya," Michael challenged, changing tactics.

Kitt paused, thinking for half a second, which was almost an eternity for him.

"No," he finally decided.

"I double dare ya," Michael shot back, upping the ante.

"No," Kitt maintained, decisively.

"I double-dog dare you," Michael persisted.

"How many ways do you want me to say 'no,' Michael?" Kitt wearily asked in response.

Michael pondered that question for a moment before answering, "I dunno. How many languages are you up to now?"

"Including the archaic ones, all of the dialects, and all of the highly localized Native American ones?"

"Yeah," Michael answered simply.

"You don't want to know," Kitt replied. "We could be here for a month. At least."

Michael grinned at that and announced, "Hey, I'm game if you are, pal."

"I'm not," Kitt answered. "And if you really are game, then you must be terribly bored."

"Out of my skull," Michael confirmed with a deeply emphatic nod. "Y'see, that's why I want you to—"

"No," Kitt interrupted.

"But—"

"Non," Kitt interrupted again, switching to French.

"Aw, c'mon!" Michael wheedled.

"Nein," Kitt responded, switching again, this time to German.

"Just once? I swear, I'll never ask again. Ever."

Kitt pulled out the Portuguese and answered, "Não."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Michael vowed.

"Nee," Kitt answered in Dutch.

"Please?" Michael distinctly wheedled.

"Nej," Kitt Swedishly replied.

"For me?" Michael further wheedled.

"Oh, please," Kitt wearily replied. "You'd be better off asking me to do it for anyone but you. So…Nyet."

"Russian is mean," Michael petulantly informed Kitt. "And so are you."

"Thank you," Kitt airily replied. "And still, la."

"What? La?" Michael echoed, puzzled. "As in, do re mi fa so?"

"'La' as in various Middle Eastern languages both modern and archaic, including modern Arabic," Kitt wearily answered. "And it's more like 'luh' than 'la," anyway."

Michael sighed at that and at the whole conversation in general, frustrated. And then he decided that it was time to get his way, and to do so by the surest means possible.

"If you don't do it," he threatened Kitt, "I'm gonna starting singing in that slightly off-key way that you hate down to the very depths of your soul. And then I'm gonna keep singing that way until you say yes. In whatever language you choose."

"You wouldn't," Kitt answered after a brief pause, sounding uncertain for the first time since the exchange had begun.

Michael laughed humorlessly at that and shot back, "Oh, believe me. You can bet your shiny little decklid that I would."

Kitt lapsed into thoughtful consideration again, this time for a whole three-quarters of a second. And then he bit the bullet and answered, "No." And then he added, "Oxi, nehin, chigau, hakuna, kach, hindi, kao, daabi, ez, ni—"

"As in 'The Knights Who Say Ni?" Michael interrupted, grinning.

"As in, Biloxi. Native American," Kitt replied before unperturbedly continuing, "Không, lo, mai, uimh, tiada, yok, nem, doodah—"

"Doodah?" Michael echoed incredulously. "Aw, now you're just making stuff up."

"I am not!" Kitt primly protested.

"You so are!"

"I so am not," Kitt assured Michael.

"So what language was that, then, huh?" Michael asked. "'Cuz I don't believe you."

"Navajo," Kitt serenely answered. "And if you don't believe me, then park me in the nearest library parking lot and go look it up."

"Well," Michael answered reasonably, "since we've gotta be about three hundred miles from the nearest library–"

"352.3 miles, actually," Kitt helpfully interrupted.

"—352.3 miles from the nearest library," Michael smoothly continued, taking the interruption in stride, "I guess I'm just gonna have to be believe you. For now."

"Yes, you are," Kitt smugly put in.

"But," Michael gleefully added, "thanks to you, I know just what song I'm gonna sing over and over for the next…oh…five hours or so. And it's all your fault, pal. All your fault."

And with that, Michael launched into the first of many rousing but slightly off-key iterations of "Zip-a-dee-doo-dah," determined to break Kitt's will. Kitt was equally determined that he would never, under any circumstances, break. Not without off-lining forever first, at least. And only time – and about four hundred miles – would determine who would emerge victorious…


Place your bets!

And yes, the Navajo word for "no" is, indeed, "doodah." Well, OK, it's actually spelled "dooda" but is pronounced as most people would pronounce "doodah." Call it artistic license, to make the word better connect, visually, with the song. And for those who might be interested, the (mostly) unidentified words for "no" above are from:

In the first set: Greek, Hindi, Japanese, Swahili, Ute, Tagalog, Maori, Twi (Like Swahili, an African language, this one from Ghana), Basque, and, as advertised, Biloxi, a dead Native American language that is now, sadly, mostly lost. As opposed to the very alive Ute language.

In the second set: Vietnamese, Hebrew, Thai, Irish Gaelic, Malay, Turkish, Hungarian, and, also as advertised, Navajo.

No, I don't know all of the languages used. For the most part, I looked up the word for "no," although I did know quite a few of them already. Like, for instance, Navajo…but that's only because I have a few Navajo who are family to me, though not by blood. I do love languages, though, and I guess that's sort of where this thing came from. Maybe. Or maybe it was the drugs that did it. ;) Who knows?