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Переводчики и ин.языки

Поиск клиентов для переводчиков, лингвистов, преподавателей осложнен спецификой профессии. Мы предлагаем не тратить время зря, а лишь периодически просматривать отобранные запросы от тех, кому могут понадобиться ваши знания, навыки и услуги. Подпишитесь на всегда свежую информацию!

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Здесь показаны примеры поиска клиентов недельной давности.

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11 июня 16:09

Туапсе

It's been a while since we last heard from the woman we all know as Nessa. Or… *knew,* would probably be more appropriate. Going forward, be sure to take this account with a grain of salt, if you’ll pardon the pun. It *might* be accurate, or it might not be. This story could have come from her. Or it could have come from… a *less reputable* source using her mouth to spin his own yarn. We’ll let you be the judge. The initial phone call to start this little horror show off was a treat in and of itself: “There have been crows using my brand new car as their personal toilet!” Whatever happened to, ‘Hi, how are you?’ Nessa gaped for a moment, eyebrows sinking towards the bridge of her nose. “Uhh–” Before she could finish that thought, the caller continued. “They just showed up one day… well, one *night,* and they won't go away. Chat told me to make loud noises to scare them off, but they won't *leave*!” She heard Victor’s chair squeak, an audible indicator that he was leaning back in his seat to squint out the door at her. Nessa tried to speak again. “Okay–” But the client's tirade continued. “And the Department of Wildlife won't do anything! They keep saying that the birds are difficult to remove, even with scarecrows. Which I don't understand. The entire purpose of a scarecrow is to scare crows. You know?” “Hold on–” Nessa tried to cut in. “So when can you come out?” “Wait, slow down,” Nessa urged her, holding a hand up as if the client were right in front of her. “Before we can do anything, I’m going to need some more information.” The client sounded confused. “What do you mean?” “Are these ordinary crows?” Nessa asked quickly before the caller could speak more. “Or do their shadows move without them?” “I… I don't know. Does that matter?” “Yes,” Nessa said patiently. “We aren't licensed to contend with regular crows. But if they’re behaving strangely, then that's something we can help with.” “How would I know that?” “Are the crows outside, now?’ “I told you, they're always outside,” the client said as if *Nessa* was the problem in this conversation. Nessa took a deep breath to keep herself from saying something she’d regret before she replied, “Can you please take a look and tell me what you see?” There was some rustling in the background, then the caller asked, “What am I looking for?” Victor held a hand up at Nessa in a shrug, silently asking her what was up. She could only shake her head while wearing a pained expression. Instantly, he understood, mouth forming an irritated line as his palm dropped back down onto the arm of his chair. “If these crows aren't normal, their shadows might be flying while the birds are sitting, or vice versa,” Nessa explained. “Their calls might sound weird as well. Like they're beckoning you.” She hoped this wasn't what she thought it was. If so, she doubted there was much she could do for this client. That also begged the question of what the mechanic would want with someone like this. What did she do to get his attention? “Oh my God.” Nessa's blood ran cold at the fright in the client's voice. “*How is this possible*?” This time, when Nessa sighed, it reflected her resignation. She spoke slowly and gently in an attempt to keep the client calm. “Okay. I’m going to need you to do *everything* I tell you to do.” “Wait! You're coming, right?” “Yes,” Nessa assured her. “I *will* be there. But while you're waiting for me to arrive, there are some preventative measures you can take that’ll help.” “Preventative measures for *what*?” “In case the crows try to get in.” Then in an effort to keep from scaring the client more, she quickly added. “If they made a mess of your car, they’ll probably do the same to your carpet.” “What's *really* going on?” the caller pushed. “Why do they sound like this? Why are they calling to me–” “Where are you?” Nessa interrupted. “Oh! Right…” The client gave her address, then kept going. “But *seriously*, what's happening?” “I’ll explain more when I get there, I promise, but for now, I just need you to trust me. Do you have salt in the house?” “Yes!” “Okay. Sprinkle enough along your doors and windows so that it makes a solid white line with no breaks.” “What? Why?” “I know it sounds strange, but *please*. Just trust me.” Nessa was practically begging at this point. No. She was begging. There was some hesitation, but then the client finally stammered, “But you–” “I’ll be there in about…” she checked the ETA on her GPS. “About fifteen minutes. In the meantime, don't answer the door unless it's for me. Again, I know this is confusing and scary, but I’m trying to help you, alright?” Another beat of silence filled only by the client's frightened breathing. Then she uttered, “Alright.” She'd wanted to say so much more. To warn the client to cover her ears in case the mechanic’s music enchanted her. That running from him or his hunting party would make her their sport. But it had been difficult enough to convince the client to apply the salt. Of course, that was assuming she actually listened to Nessa. And if the crows were there, death wouldn't be far behind. Nessa had to hurry. She was surprised not to hear him. And his silence was even more worrisome. Since taking her name, the mechanic’s voice would occasionally ghost upon her ear as if he was behind her. Whispering to her. Examining thoughts in her head like a mortician performing an autopsy. Nothing could keep him out now. Not hagstones. Not avoiding his gaze. He could simply dig through her mind when he pleased. The isolation of it spawned a hole in Nessa's chest that grew wider each time her coworkers, mother, or Deirdre tried to offer her some semblance of comfort. *We’ll figure this out*, they said. *We’ll help you*, they said. But her name was gone, and nothing could get that back. The mechanic’s laughter would follow her into her grave. Simply put, things have been rough for Nessa this past year. Yet, he still couldn't control her as he did others. That was one blessing. His name and that old deal she made what felt like a lifetime ago still protected her in some ways. Nothing he could do would break it. And it enraged him to no end. She could feel it. Whenever that mental scalpel dragged across her gray matter, exposing her shames, guilts, and regrets, the hatred behind it was breathtaking. It is because of this she often wondered which of them would go mad first. The sight of the crows covering the house didn't hold the same threat as it used to. The *sluagh* had no interest in one whose soul they couldn't take. Nessa was practically invisible to them as she approached the front door. A quick glance at the car told her the client hadn't been exaggerating about the mosaic of bird droppings covering her fancy-looking vehicle. It wasn't a model Nessa recognized, but she knew that the more insufferable residents in the nice area a few towns over sported them. They were sleek, shining machines. Worth more than her life as they blinded her with their LED lights. She rang the bell. No answer. That made Nessa uneasy. She tried again, knocking on the door as she called, “Hello? I’m with Orion Pest Control. We spoke over the phone.” The deadbolt clicked. Nessa held her breath as the door swung open, terrified that familiar smile would be waiting for her, along with a mocking whisper in her ear. Likely taunting her for being too late. Instead, she was face-to-face with a young woman. Dark-haired. Freckles. Slender. Her eyes were bright with alarm, not bearing the empty glaze indicative of those who’ve been enthralled by the mechanic’s music. Good. She wasn't too late. Once the crows saw the client, they took flight. Nessa wasted no time hurrying inside the house – despite the client's complaints – while avoiding stepping on the salt line along the threshold. “What are you doing?” the client demanded, then jabbed her finger in the direction of the nearest window. “The crows are out *there*!” “The crows are the least of your worries,” Nessa said quickly as she peeked around a sage-colored curtain, looking for any trace of the mechanic. “Do you have anything you can use to cover your ears?” So far, no sign of him. But that didn't mean they were safe. And it was always possible that Briar could be the one to appear. Though, the latter would likely announce his presence long before making a move; we all know he's as subtle as a disco ball. Thorns would've been covering the property, by now. He also probably would've knocked on the door announcing he was selling Girl Scout cookies or some other tomfoolery. The client was scowling, but still wild-eyed with nerves. “Why would I need to cover my ears? What's going *on*?!” Nessa tried to think of how to phrase her next words, but found herself coming up short. Nothing seemed like the perfect explanation to placate the client. Regardless, she made an effort anyway. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but those crows serve something terrible. And their master is on his way. He uses music to control you. Covering your ears will help protect you.” The snicker in Nessa's ear made her heart sink: *“Now, that’s just rude!”* Knowing the client wouldn't hear it, she didn't react. *“You spillin’ all my secrets?”* The mechanic’s playful tone only exacerbated her dread. *“You know that sayin’ ‘bout snitches gettin’ stitches.”* Wouldn't be the first time he'd made good on a threat like that. However, she was past being afraid of the needle. After a few pinches, it was over. And he always did a clean enough job that they didn't take long to heal once she removed them. *Oh no, not again*, she thought blandly, knowing it would irritate him. Sure enough, the sensation of an icepick driving into her frontal lobe prefaced his response. A minor admonishment. Nessa did not even flinch, even as black spots appeared in her right eye. The aura would go away after a while. It always did. Even so, he still sounded as if he was taking this as a joke. *“Ya know, truth be told, I been gettin’ tired o’ stitchin’ Tic Tac Toe into your stomach.”* Allowing herself to fe...

12 июня 03:47

Германия, Nessa; Испания, Salt

12 июня 03:52

Таиланд, Нонтхабури

13 июня 12:14

Юрьев-Польский

13 июня 15:18

13 июня 18:26

Испания, Аликанте; Испания, Бенидорм

13 июня 11:11

Салават

14 июня 05:52

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