Перевод с русского

[jetta-e]

Дорогой дневник фэндом!

Вопрос к народу, отлично владеющему английским - настолько, чтобы вам был доступен скилл перевода большого художественного текста с русского на английский.

Скажите, может ли кто-нибудь из вас захотеть перевести некоторые наши русскоязычные макси с русского на буржуйский? Забесплатно или за деньги, и какие именно, вопрос открытый; пока я только спрашиваю о такой принципиальной возможности, причём имея в виду не только свои собственные тексты, но и интересуюсь ради других авторов.
Вообще, у кого был опыт таких переводов в других фэндомах (про наш я вроде знаю), плиз, тоже расскажите.

***
Уже готово и выложено:
Cetus maleficarum by Kai Ender, перевод DarkLordEsti
Rescue mission by Awaiter ("Спасательная операция"), перевод MollyGrue, бетинг капибарка
Discovery by Larshire ("Открытие"), перевод тоже Larshire
Visions of the future by Awaiter ("Мечты о будущем"), перевод MollyGrue, бетинг zaichatina
A Heart’s Desire by jetta-e ("Заветное желание"), перевод MollyGrue, бетинг Larshire
Lace for Dono by Awaiter ("Кружево для Доно"), перевод Кицуне, бетинг Larshire
Playboy by jetta-e ("Гуляка"), перевод MollyGrue, бетинг zaichatina
Parade of Planets ("Парад планет" - коллективная работа), перевод Pilot Mayhew
***
И - господа опытные переводчики, кто поможет вычитать и отбетить текст? Очень-очень надо. Здесь, в комментах. Нашлись добрые люди!

запись создана: 05.07.2016 в 11:22

Comments

[Кицуне]

Что-нибудь не больше 2-3 страниц, для начала, если можно

[MollyGrue]

Кицуне, из моего опыта - читать, это как раз близко к самому главному. Но самое главное, все-таки попытаться.

[Awaiter]

MollyGrue, большое спасибо! Мне очень лестно и очень-очень приятно, что мой шутливый текст вызвал желание его переводить.
С удовольствием прочитала его по-английски и почти все поняла, что еще раз привело меня в восторг.
Язык я знаю плохо, насколько приемлемо писать про животное she, я не знаю. Но мне сдается, что Майлзу свойственно принимать близко к сердцу проблемы тех, о ком он заботится. И ему свойственно защищать и опекать. И он умеет смотреть на мир чужими глазами. И очеловечивание подопечного животного для него естественно. Думаю, что он и о Толстом Дурачке говорил he.
Так что я голосую за то, что бы в его репликах овца была она, she.

[larshire]

"Открытие" тоже в работе, если что, и хорошо уже так в работе

[jetta-e]

larshire, у, точно же, вписываю!

[MollyGrue]

Так что я голосую за то, что бы в его репликах овца была она, she.

Отлично. Так и сделаем. Слегка доработанный вариант уже готов, ждем финальных тапок

Хммм... а можно я тогда еще над "Мечтами о будущем" поиздеваюсь?

[Awaiter]

MollyGrue, я прям лопну от тщеславия. Еще как можно!
Неужто нравится? Я не кокетничаю, я склеротичка. Я свои тексты быстро забываю. Иногда читаю, удивляюсь, вот хорошо же написано! Ищу автора, бац, а это я.
Ну или вспоминаю в середине, что мое.
... А как приятно знать, что ещё кому-то нравится. Ах, спасибо!!

[MollyGrue]

Спасибо за разрешение. Не, лопаться не надо, лучше еще чего-нибудь написать...

Мой перевод - чисто любительский. Разве что, могу отвечать за подбор лексики и отсутствие откровенных ляпов, но наверняка есть куча деталей, о которых я просто не в курсе (особенно в плане синтаксиса, пунктуации и оформления текстов). Если вас качество устраивает, то это просто отлично. Прям щас лопну... не, пойду вычитывать черновик.

Мне как начинающему переводчику очень подходит ваш стиль, лексически и в плане построения предложения, - с одной стороны, интересно, с другой - не запредельно сложно. Одновременно, та же "Спасательная операция" и "Мечты о будущем" , на мой вкус, достаточно разноплановы.

Вопрос еще в том, куда кидать (полу)готовое, чтобы кто толковый мог посмотреть и кирпича дать помочь окончательно довести до ума... В этот тред под MORE?

[MollyGrue]

И да, мне действительно нравится ваше творчество ))

[MollyGrue]

Итак, не стесняемся, кидаем кирпичи и тапки. Переводчик не фиялочко, критику воспринимает, помощь приветствует

Title: Dreams of the future
Author: Awaiter



The snow fell, whirled and scudded from all angles imaginable, right as it should on typical Winterfair's Eve, and it grew darker and colder with the minute...

The wind blew from below, throwing lumps of snow up the mountain pass.

Freezing horses walked tardily, treading slower and slower, snorting and shaking their snow-covered manes. The riders have been on the road for several hours already, silent, tired and cold.

They took shelter for the night in a post office hut, built on the mountain trail before the war started. Within an hour the horses were fed and wiped dry, and the stove roared, and one could drink scalding-hot tea from a rumpled tin cup and shove canned rations closer to the burning logs.

“Piotr, today is the Winterfair's Eve, really. That's an occasion. Grave and inescapable, like an avalanche”.

“Since when do you require an “occasion”? You drink like a fish. As if you are not a Vor.”

“General, this night your Captain will turn cold in your cuddle, if he is sober. Don't you nag me like an old wife, let’s get warm and go to sleep, we are both dead on our feet.”

“Embrace, you mean? Yours? The Emperor's family suffered grief, and you let yourself joke on it... let's drink to the Emperor's health and to our victory and then baiushki.”

“No way! That would be two separate toasts. But first, - to Winterfair, to Barrayar, to Vor, to our family, - really, you are also part of it, so don't you make excuses, General Vorkosigan, - to the Heir's wedding, which will take the edge off the grief of Vorbarra family you just mentioned... And belt it down, like a trooper, on one-two, as we are on march.”

“What a blabbermouth you are! One won't believe that such horseshit may issue from the lips of the most cunning and most fortunate of my officers.”

“I will have time to settle down and learn smart talk and smart tricks. When I make a General, like you, we may come back to this discussion. Though, you still charge head on, like a wild boar.”

“We drink, or ruin the evening?”

Later, when the flask was dried empty, and the logs turned to embers, they lay, back to back, conserving the heat and relishing the feel of peace and security. Protected from enemy eyes and scanners, the snow-covered hut on the mountain pass, was, surely, the most secluded place on the planet.

“Piotr, on Winterfair's Eve one has to turn one's thoughts to all the best, well, to orphans and old hags, but... well... I feel no desire to. You, what about old hags? Mmm... Then, what about widows and orphans?”

“Ezar, I am married!”

“Well, don't want to gab on babas, let's blab on future. What does it have in store for both of us? Eventually, we will kick Cetas out, but the war will wage long enough to take the most of our lives. It will take the insurgents another fifteen years, at least, to realize they are not welcome... So, Piotr, we both will turn into good-for-nothing old farts by then. I will turn forty, hah! And just our children may lead normal life.”

“They would be lucky not to grow up orphaned... And we have yet to sire them, and one of us still has to get wed!
“Children? Son. An Heir. Well, Piotr, what sort of a man your son will grow into? Look, just the right topic for a Winterfair discourse! Piotr, tell me, what sort of a man you want your kiddy be?”

“Well... first, my son should be a man of honor, second, he should make a good soldier, - and I want him to surpass me in military affairs... Well, I want him to be happily married and have a decent heir himself... What are you giggling at?
“Piotr, you moron... Vor to par and a family man, ha-ha!”

“Well, I just don't want my son to become a binge drinker and a duelist, - demoted, scandalous type. Would you? A pervert, like Yuri, or like he has mutant kids, - ugh, Ezar?”

“Lord, no. I want my son to be happier than me. Have less blood on his hands, and that he wouldn't have to fight so much. That he would have no need to watch his every step and calculate the consequences of each and every one of his deeds. That he wouldn't have to sacrifice his soldiers and friends to the cause. Yes, I want my son to have a luxury to enjoy life, in style, and receive all the perks he is entitled to by his status. And reach higher than I did. What are you laughing at? A dandy? Why not? Yes, I think we can shape our future. At least, we should try. After all, me and you, we've molded right how our parents wanted us to. Right?”

[belana]

jetta-e, есть ссылка на оригинал текста? Не могу найти.
и на какую-нибудь из книг на английском...

[jetta-e]

belana, Dreams of the future уже подхватили бетить, твоя на очереди будет следующая, ок?

[jetta-e]

belana, Dreams of the future уже подхватили бетить, твоя на очереди будет следующая, ок?

[belana]

jetta-e, ок.

[MollyGrue]

belana, если вы видите ошибку, пожалуйста, скажите о ней. Их там есть, в количестве.

Чем больше голов приложить, тем лучше, в итоге выйдет, - кроме того, разбор может оказаться полезен кому-то еще.

[belana]

MollyGrue, вы сначала свистните,, когда первая бета закончит работать.
и оригинал все равно нужен.

[MollyGrue]

Готово.

Ссылка на оригинал: archiveofourown.org/works/7220314

Title: Visions of the future
Summary: On Winterfair’s Eve one has to recall all the good things in life. And hope for the best.
Author: Awaiter


The snow fell, whirled and scudded from all angles imaginable, right as it should on a typical Winterfair's Eve, and it grew darker and colder with every minute. The wind blew from below, throwing lumps of snow up the mountain pass. Freezing horses walked tardily, treading slower and slower, snorting and shaking their snow-covered manes. The riders have been on the road for several hours already, silent, tired and cold.

They took shelter for the night in a post office hut, built on the mountain trail before the war started. Within an hour the horses were fed and wiped dry, and the stove roared, and one could drink scalding-hot tea from a rumpled tin cup and shove canned rations closer to the burning logs.

“Piotr, today is the Winterfair's Eve, really. That's an occasion. Grave and inescapable, like an avalanche”.

“Since when do you require an “occasion”? You drink like a fish. As if you are not a Vor.”

“General, this night your Captain will turn cold in your cuddle, if he is sober. Don't you nag me like an old wife, let’s get warm and go to sleep, we are both dead on our feet.”

“Embrace, you mean? Yours? The Emperor's family suffered grief, and you let yourself joke on it... let's drink to the Emperor's health and to our victory and then go beddy-bye.”

“No way! That would be two separate toasts. But first, - to Winterfair, to Barrayar, to Vor, to our family, - really, you are also part of it, so don't you make excuses, General Vorkosigan, - to the Heir's wedding, which will take the edge off the grief of Vorbarra family you’ve just mentioned... And belt it down, like a trooper, on one-two, as we are on march.”

“What a blabbermouth you are! One won't believe that such horseshit may issue from the lips of the most cunning and most fortunate of my officers.”

“I will have time to settle down and learn smart talk and smart tricks. When I make a General, like you, we may come back to this discussion. Though, you still charge head on, like a wild boar.”

“We drink, or ruin the evening?”

Later, when the flask was dried empty, and the logs turned to embers, they lay, back to back, conserving the heat and relishing the feel of peace and security. Protected from enemy eyes and scanners, the snow-covered hut on the mountain pass, was, surely, the most secluded place on the planet.

“Piotr, on Winterfair's Eve one has to turn one's thoughts to all the best, well, to orphans and old ladies, but... well... I feel no desire to. You, what about old ladies? Mmm... Then, what about widows and orphans?”

“Ezar, I am married!”

“Well, as you don't want to gab about skirts, let's chat about future. What does it have in store for both of us? Eventually, we will kick Cetas out, but the war will wage long enough to take the most of our lives. It will take the insurgents another fifteen years, at least, to realize they are not welcome... So, Piotr, we both will turn into good-for-nothing old farts by then. I will turn forty, hah! And just our children may have a normal life.”

“They would be lucky not to grow up orphaned... And we have yet to sire them, and one of us still has to get wed!

“Children? A son. And Heir. Well, Piotr, what sort of a man your son will grow into? Look, just the right topic for a Winterfair discourse! Piotr, tell me, what sort of a man you’d want your kiddy to be?”

“Well... first, my son should be a man of honor, second, he should make a good soldier, - and I want him to surpass me in military affairs... Well, I want him to be happily married and have a decent heir himself... What are you giggling at?
“Piotr, you are disgustingly humdrum... Vor up to par and a family man, ha-ha!”

“Well, I just don't want my son to become a binge drinker and a duelist, - demoted, scandalous type. Would you? A pervert, like Yuri, or that he would have mutant kids, - huh, Ezar?”

“My, no. I want my son to be happier than me. To have less blood on his hands, and that he wouldn't have to fight so much. That he would have no need to watch his every step and calculate the consequences of each and every one of his deeds. That he wouldn't have to sacrifice his soldiers and friends to the cause. Yes, I want my son to have a luxury to enjoy life, in style, and receive all the perks he is entitled to by his status. And reach higher than I did. What are you laughing at? A dandy? Why not? Yes, I think we can shape our future. At least, we should try. After all, me and you, we've molded right how our parents wanted us to. Right?”

[Кицуне]

Фух, я наконец-то нашел время для перевода. По-моему, получилось ужасно, но надеюсь, коллективная бета поможет.

Кружево для Доно

Lace for Dono
Author: Awaiter
Summary: Vorrutyer house, built by architect Dono, the namesake of the present count, was an amazing place by itself. But most of all the young countess Olivia was intrigued by a locked room ...

Vorrutyer country house was awesome. Strange towers without entrances, stairs between floors bent under unimaginable angles, asymmetry in each part and an amazingly cozy residential area.

Most of all Olivia liked the mansion floor. The clatter of heels sounded interesting and different in each room. How did Dono-the-mad-architect created such an acoustic effect? Olivia intentionally passed through several suites and halls, bedrooms and living rooms, tapping the heels of her pointy shoes on the floor. Tap-tap-tap! THUMP! Rru-rru-rrum. And twenty-six more different sounds. Marvellous.

And the furniture in the guestrooms! Chest with horns, daringly bent at right angle, with drawers sliding back and forth absolutely inexplicably. And the hidden - what else can you call it? - bed right under the ceiling, where you only can get by climbing the stairs. And under the stairs there is a sloping podium, laden with flowers hiding three vintage globes of different size.

However, Dono chose their bedroom to be quiet, almost boring room. Light-coloured curtains, carved wooden furniture. Dono had promised his wife that they will not stay in the province for long, not more than a month. And he threw himself into the affairs of the county, leaving his young wife completely free to entertain herself in her own taste. Olivia was a little bored. She never took needlework seriously. Young countess certainly had various duties, but all of them were unutterably tedious and completely moss grown. She got up late, took a little walk in the park, and then spent hours wandering through the mansion looking at the interiors, leafing through old books in the library, studying family albums.

Her attention was drawn to permanently locked room in the residential part of the house. Olivia tried several times to find a key, but none fit. She admired feeling like Bluebeard's wife, and demanded her husband to explain.

Dono began to play up.

"Sweetheart, what’s with these gothic passions? Let me offer you a generous bribe for leaving this room alone. How about a trip to the lake tomorrow? And if you want to, we can call the lightflyer and rush to the capital to visit some decent restaurant?"

"No, my noble lord and master. Do not try to distract me from your surely terrible secret. Repent and confess! Or I'll take my nail polish removing liquid... are you trembling in fear? I shall wash your beard in it! In case it is dyed! What if it’s actually blue?"

"Olivia, you're scaring me badly! I deliberately nurtured this symbol of male power and strength. And you want to abuse it like an old-time savage woman!"

"Dono, show me immediately what is hidden in this room! Otherwise, I will think I don’t know what. Do you want it?"

The count sighed and agreed. Well, this is a good husband’s lot – to sigh and agree with his wife.

Behind the door there was nothing remarkable. No blood-soaked corpses, no skeletons in rusty chains. The room was a dressing room in which clothing and shoes were kept.

Olivia walked in, looking around, and sneezed a couple of times because of dust. She opened the closet door… and gasped, looking at the ceremonial dress of red and gold taffeta, with lace top and rich embroidery at the hem. Behind it there was another, and another, and another. Olivia counted more than ten, each one more beautiful and magnificent than another.

"God," breathed Olivia and looked at her husband, "is it all yours?"

"Yeah. There is a thing," the count smiled, trying not to be embarrassed. "Psychologists advised me to throw away all women's clothing so that it did not raise any memories of my former sexual identity. But I’ve never been in this house after ... I became a man. Probably we should burn it all."

"Never!" interrupted his wife. "I will not let you! It's a work of art! Can I try them on? And can I look through all the stuff? We should sort it, and then decide what to throw away and what still can be worn."

"And what to do with this?" - Dono gently ran his fingers over the ebony dresser and pulled the heavy top drawer. The underwear laid there in neat stacks, mostly brand new, still in packaging of fashion shops. "Oh, I remember, I loved ... Donna loved silk lace."

Olivia slipped her hands into this treasure chest. She took out every piece, admiring all of them. She looked at the decor, running a finger along the straps, clicking the buckles and feeling every underwire. Every detail was impeccable and delicious. Tears froze in her eyes.

"How could you hide it from me? Do you have any idea..?" Olivia was ready to cry.

"I do," said Dono in a low, deep voice. "More than I should."

He pulled white fishnet stockings decorated with pink bows out of the drawer.

"Want to try it? It’ll suit you."

"No, I want a corset. Does it really raise the breasts as it should?"

"This one is better than. It has, however, no bodice, but I definitely like it," Dono smiled, stroking the lace with his fingers. He put a white pair of stockings on a couch and added a garter belt with matching bows.

"What a splendid cream-colored bra, look, isn’t it beautiful? It's my size. It didn’t fit you, you had bigger breasts."

And then Olivia pulled from a drawer a transparent bag with a dozen of multi-colored panties. And they caused her a real delight.

"Close the door, I just have to try it on! Right now," she commanded, undoing the dress zipper. "And, please, do not just stand there, help me with the zipper on the back," she muttered, pulling the dress over her head.

Dono grinned, shut the door and put a low stool in front of his wife so that she could put her clothes that she was getting rid of fiercely.

A minute later Olivia has started fitting. Corset on the naked skin. Then black panties, topless. And the other way around, the pink bra and nothing more. And then it went to the sets. Black and red on Olivia looked exquisite with her blond hair and pink skin. As did all the rest.

Dono frankly enjoyed the fitting. He gasped and groaned, asked to turn around, walk, bend down. And to try something else. And then, when Olivia, wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown and declaring that she will not take it off for anything, got a bit tired, Dono broke down and hurriedly unbuttoned his pants.

Lace stockings were fitting his legs perfectly. The belt was only a decoration, its rubber bands stuck to his garters just for appearance. The hair on Dono’s legs grew weakly, they were few and not visible through the white lace. Dono went to the mirror and raised on his toes. Legs were long and touchingly beautiful. He bent his right leg, took the heel in his hand and slowly stretched the leg, helping with the hand.

"I used to be a good dancer," said count Dono to his wife.

Olivia watched her husband slowly laying off the lace with sliding movements of hands.

"Wait a minute. Do not take off. Let me kiss you," she said, her cheek pressed against him. "Tell me, if we make love in the afternoon and right here, not in the bedroom, and you will be wearing this underwear - would it be terribly obscene?"

[Awaiter]

Кицуне, спасибо!

[Кицуне]

Awaiter, да пока не за что, там еще бетить и бетить

[Кицуне]

Пожалуйста, гляньте еще кто-нибудь на предмет бетинга.

слегка побеченное Джеттой

Lace for Dono
Author: Awaiter
Summary: Vorrutyer House, built by Architect Dono, the namesake of the present Сount, was an amazing place by itself. But most of all the young Сountess Olivia was intrigued by a locked room ...

Vorrutyer country mansion was awesome. Strange towers without entrances, stairs between floors bent under unimaginable angles, asymmetry in each part and an amazingly cozy residential area.

Most of all Olivia liked the mansion floor. The clatter of heels sounded interesting and different in each room. How did Dono-the-Mad-Architect created such an acoustic effect? Olivia intentionally passed through several suites and halls, bedrooms and living rooms, tapping the heels of her pointy shoes on the floor. Tap-tap-tap! THUMP! Rru-rru-rrum. And twenty-six more different sounds. Marvellous.

And the furniture in the guestrooms! Chest with horns, daringly bent at right angle, with drawers sliding back and forth absolutely inexplicably. And the hidden - what else can you call it? - bed right under the ceiling, where you only can get by climbing the stairs. And under the stairs there is a sloping podium, laden with flowers hiding three vintage globes of different size.

However, Dono chose their bedroom to be quiet, almost boring room. Light-coloured curtains, carved wooden furniture. Dono had promised his wife that they will not stay in the District for long, not more than a month. And he threw himself into the affairs of the District, leaving his young wife completely free to entertain herself in her own taste. Olivia was a little bored. She never took needlework seriously. Young Countess certainly had various duties, but all of them were unutterably tedious and completely moss grown. She got up late, took a little walk in the park, and then spent hours wandering through the mansion looking at the interiors, leafing through old books in the library, studying family albums.

Her attention was drawn to permanently locked room in the residential part of the house. Olivia tried several times to find a key, but none fit. She admired feeling like Bluebeard's wife, and demanded her husband to explain.

Dono began to play up.

"Sweetheart, what’s with these gothic passions? Let me offer you a generous bribe for leaving this room alone. How about a trip to the lake tomorrow? And if you want to, we can call the lightflyer and rush to the capital to visit some decent restaurant?"

"No, my noble lord and master. Do not try to distract me from your surely terrible secret. Repent and confess! Or I'll take my nail polish removing liquid... are you trembling in fear? I shall wash your beard in it! In case it is dyed! What if it’s actually blue?"

"Olivia, you're scaring me badly! I deliberately nurtured this symbol of male power and strength. And you want to abuse it like an old-time savage woman!"

"Dono, show me immediately what is hidden in this room! Otherwise, I will think I don’t know what. Do you want it?"

The Count sighed and agreed. Well, this is a good husband’s lot – to sigh and agree with his wife.

Behind the door there was nothing remarkable. No blood-soaked corpses, no skeletons in rusty chains. The room was a wardrobe in which clothing and shoes were kept.

Olivia walked in, looking around, and sneezed a couple of times because of dust. She opened the closet door… and gasped, looking at the ceremonial dress of red and gold taffeta, with lace top and rich embroidery at the hem. Behind it there was another, and another, and another. Olivia counted more than ten, each one more beautiful and magnificent than another.

"God," breathed Olivia and looked at her husband, "is it all yours?"

"Yeah. There is a thing," the Сount smiled, trying not to be embarrassed. "Psychologists advised me to throw away all women's clothing so that it did not raise any memories of my former sexual identity. But I’ve never been in this house after ... I became male. Probably we should burn it all."

"Never!" his wife interrupted, "I will not let you! It's a work of art! Can I try them on? And can I look through all the stuff? We should sort it, and then decide what to throw away and what still can be worn."

"And what to do with this?" Dono gently ran his fingers over the ebony dresser and pulled the heavy top drawer. The underwear laid there in neat stacks, mostly brand new, still in packaging of fashion shops. "Oh, I remember, I loved ... Donna loved silk lace."

Olivia slipped her hands into this treasure chest. She took out every piece, admiring all of them. She looked at the decor, running a finger along the straps, clicking the buckles and feeling every underwire. Each detail was impeccable and delicious. Tears froze in her eyes.

"How could you hide it from me? Do you have any idea..?" Olivia was ready to cry.

"I do," Dono said in a low, deep voice. "More than I should."

He pulled white fishnet stockings decorated with pink bows out of the drawer.

"Want to try it? It’ll suit you."

"No, I want a corset. Does it really raise the breasts as it should?"

"This one is better than. It has, however, no bodice, but I definitely like it," Dono smiled, stroking the lace with his fingers. He put a white pair of stockings on a couch and added a garter belt with matching bows.

"What a splendid cream-colored bra, look, isn’t it beautiful? It's my size. It didn’t fit you, you had bigger breasts."

And then Olivia pulled from a drawer a transparent pack with a dozen of multi-colored panties. And they caused her a real delight.

"Close the door, I just have to try it on! Right now," she commanded undoing the dress zipper. "And, please, do not just stand there, help me with the zipper on the back," she muttered, pulling the dress over her head.

Dono grinned, shut the door and put a low stool in front of his wife so that she could put her clothes that she was getting rid of fiercely.

A minute later Olivia has started fitting. Corset on the naked skin. Then black panties, topless. And the other way around, the pink bra and nothing more. And then it went to the sets. Black and red on Olivia looked exquisite with her blond hair and pink skin. As did all the rest.

Dono frankly enjoyed the fitting. He gasped and groaned, asked to turn around, walk, bend down. And to try something else. And then, when Olivia, wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown and declaring that she will not take it off for anything, got a bit tired, Dono broke down and hurriedly unbuttoned his pants.

Lace stockings were fitting his legs perfectly. The belt was only a decoration, its rubber bands stuck to his garters just for appearance. The hair on Dono’s legs grew weakly, they were few and not visible through the white lace. Dono went to the mirror and raised on his toes. Legs were long and touchingly beautiful. He bent his right leg, took the heel in his hand and slowly stretched the leg, helping with the hand.

"I used to be a good dancer," Count Dono said to his wife.

Olivia watched her husband slowly laying off the lace with sliding movements of hands.

"Wait a minute. Do not take it off. Let me kiss you," she said, her cheek pressed against him. "Tell me, if we make love in the afternoon and right here, not in the bedroom, and you will be wearing this underwear - would it be terribly obscene?"

[larshire]

"Кружево" - понемногу делаю

[jetta-e]

larshire, спасибо, ждем

[larshire]

"Кружево" - понемногу делаю

[belana]

Кицуне, смотрю.
Architect Dono - architect Dono почетук "архитектор" стало титулом? или чем оно стало, чтобы писаться с заглавной?
But most of all the young Сountess Olivia was intrigued by a locked room ... - The young Сountess Olivia wasmost of all intrigued by a locked room, though... "but" не пишут в начале предложения.
Vorrutyer country mansion was awesome. Strange towers without entrances, stairs between floors bent under unimaginable angles, asymmetry in each part and an amazingly cozy residential area. - Vorrutyer country mansion was amazing: there were strange towers without entrances, stairs between floors bent under unimaginable angles, asymmetry in each part and an amazingly cozy residential area.
How did Dono-the-Mad-Architect created such an acoustic effect? - How did Dono the Mad Architect create such a curious acoustic effect?
Olivia intentionally passed through several suites and halls, bedrooms and living rooms, tapping the heels of her pointy shoes on the floor - Olivia walked through several suites and halls, bedrooms and living rooms for teh sole purpose of listening to the tap of her heels on the floor
Marvellous - It was marvellous
Chest with horns, daringly bent at right angle, with drawers sliding back and forth absolutely inexplicably - There was a chest with horns, pointing at your face, with drawers sliding open in the most unusual ways

[belana]

And the hidden - what else can you call it? - bed right under the ceiling, where you only can get by climbing the stairs - There was a hidden - for the lack of a better word - bed right under the ceiling, where one only can get by climbing the stairs
And under the stairs there is a sloping podium, laden with flowers hiding three vintage globes of different size - There was a sloping podium, laden with flowers hiding three antique globes of different sizes under that staircase. подлежащее и сказуемое должно быть всегда. Т.е., его может и не быть, но это уровень мастерства, мне, например, недоступный.
However, Dono chose their bedroom to be quiet - However, Dono chose a quiet, almost boring room as their bedroom: there were light-coloured curtains, carved wooden furniture
Dono had promised his wife that they will not stay in the District for long, not more than a month - Dono had promised his wife that they would not stay in the District for long, not more than a month
And he threw himself into the affairs of the District, leaving his young wife completely free to entertain herself in her own taste - And he buried himself in the affairs of the District, giving his young wife a carte blanche in amusing herself according to her tastes
unutterably tedious and completely moss grown. - utterly tedious and completely outdated
Olivia tried several times to find a key, - Olivia tried to find a key several times
She admired feeling like Bluebeard's wife, and demanded her husband to explain - She was delifgted to feel like Bluebeard's wife, and demanded an explanation from her husband

[larshire]

Architect Dono - architect Dono почетук "архитектор" стало титулом? или чем оно стало, чтобы писаться с заглавной?

через две строки вы, видимо, передумав, пишете

How did Dono-the-Mad-Architect created such an acoustic effect? - How did Dono the Mad Architect create such a curious acoustic effect?


Chest with horns, daringly bent at right angle, with drawers sliding back and forth absolutely inexplicably - There was a chest with horns, pointing at your face, with drawers sliding open in the most unusual ways

кто этот "you", к которому в тексте обращаются внезапно и один раз?

и так далее...

[belana]

larshire, Dono the Mad Architect - это прозвище, architect Dono - указание на профессию, не?
There was a chest with horns, pointing at your face, - ну пусть будет There was a chest with horns, pointing at strange angles

[jetta-e]

Я все-таки привыкла, что не только титулы, но прозвища, должности, профессии и звания пишутся с большой. А Доно-архитектор - это именно прозвище, производное от профессии.

[belana]

jetta-e, с заглавной пишутся профессии, приравниваемые к обращениям, доктор, например. Или предполагающие, что носитель этой профессии - единстаенный в данной группе, директор или тренер, например.
Архитектор, танцор, грузчик пишутся с маленькой.