Goggle-Face
Well-known member
- Joined
- May 31, 2008
- Messages
- 2,174
- Reaction score
- 11
Vjecko had lost the pen he was spinning, the writing instrument rolling away from him, down the meeting table in an awkward fashion, when the Slovenian tapped him on the shoulder say Rayaan wanted him.
Oh boy, his face lit up at the way his brother worded his sentence.
“It’s… it’s not the way you think it is, brat…” the blond shakily laughs, “It’s… um, just a request…”
Vjecko knows that. He knows Janez meant, how Rayaan wasn’t sending him a romantic proposal in any way. But his mind wanted to think otherwise.
“Where is he where is he~?” He stumbles over his words, standing up from his seat immediately.
The Slovenian points over to the left, almost looking ashamed at playing messenger boy to this, and Vjecko runs in the direction Janez pointed. He felt thankful he had chosen a clean, new uniform, this one not even two months old. He wants to look perfect for Rayaan, doesn’t he?
He comes to a stop, skidding to a halt on his heel. He looks straight at the Lebanese with hungry, lustful eyes, Rayaan keeping calm and just giving him a pleased and friendly smile back. This man was easy to scare -- startle was what Vjecko used, but scare was what one should really use -- but recently he could keep such a straight face, not let his voice break and show any fear for his stalker. Vjecko had to change that.
“Bonjour, Vjecko.” Rayaan says, smiling at his once dear friend. The two were once as close as friends could be without being any more, but that decided to change when Vjecko demanded to be on his own from the Yugoslavian union. Saying the man snapped is the easiest way you can put it, and Rayaan clearly regretted giving Vjecko attention and care when Milo tortured him. But, of course, Rayaan ‘forgave’ him. If by forgive, you could mean “Gave up trying to fix the Croat, and just went back to running from him”.
“Hello, Rayaan.” says Vjecko.
“I need a favour.” It’s not like the Arabic man to sound somewhat desperate, the gentleman-like nature breaking and Rayaan becoming blunt; the pleading noise in his words was even less characteristic. If he was allowed -- well, if it wasn’t illegal, dang ‘laws’ put down by Francis… -- he’d be holding Rayaan by now, asking what’s wrong in a tender way. Not in a restrained, held back fashion.
“With what?”
“Faridah,” Oh, that’s the girl’s name. Vjecko tried to forget her name, that young lady always reminded him of Rayaan, but just by the fact they were siblings. Rayaan wasn’t as quiet as her, or as blunt, or somewhat stuck-up. Right now, she looked annoyed to be standing by her brother, her hair brushed almost perfectly, hanging from the right side. Faridah was clearly scared.
“Has she been fighting with someone?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Rayaan looks at Faridah. “Sister, why don’t you tell Vjecko why we need to talk to him?”
Faridah looked at Rayaan, with a stare asking, ‘Must we do this?’ The Palestinian looked down at her feet. “I need to pick out a dress for Alya’s wedding to Cyrus.”
“And?”
“I refuse to wear the dresses Rayaan has picked out for me.”
“And?”
Faridah grimaces at her next words. “I-- we -- were wondering if you could ask Tatjana to sit me down and help me design a dress.”
Rayaan looks visibly pleased that Faridah had finally shut her mouth. “I know it is sudden, and that I could ask Tatjana myself, but she is not here, but I know asking Milo would anger you…”
Vjecko wants to jump him. He wants to lavish Rayaan with love, he wants to kiss him senseless, but he has some sense of control. If he didn’t, he’d be dead by now, but not just Milo but also Francis.
The wall behind Rayaan has a large picture on it, and Vjecko can see his reflection in the glass. He’s a broken man from what he was before, his eyes big and glassy to the point of insanity, showing no sense of true control behind those eyes. His hands, at his side, were snapped and bent in strange ways, from the injuries and sprains he had received from Milo, Francis and his own accidents. He’s boney, it’s seen in his hands and around his neck. This, he thinks, is perfectly fine. For once, he thinks he’s won. Nothing is wrong with him. He is fine, just stressed, it’ll all be better later.
The pathetic man turns to the refined Lebanese. “Sure,” he says, smiling in the most non-threatening way he can. “I’ll ask her.”
His entire face lit up, smiling like a child promised a treat. “Oh, Vjecko, thank you so much, you don’t know how much this means to me…” Means to him? He just doesn’t want Alya to scream at him, to laugh at him, to pick on him, to say “Rayaan, you are a moron, you can’t even make your dear sister properly dressed for my special day! What kind of big brother are you?”
“It’ll be fine,” Vjecko assures, “Now, there’s no need to worry, why don’t you relax and wait until Alya needs something else?”
Rayaan stalls -- has he forgotten what ‘relax’ meant? “Oh, of course I will.” He lies. All three of them know he’s going back to Francis, to leave Vjecko wishing he could own Rayaan.
Vjecko watches as Rayaan has to shove Faridah forward, the girl clearly not wanting to be going forward, trying to stop herself, digging her heels into the carpet.
Rayaan gives Faridah a few sharp words in Arabic, then turns and leaves. He shudders when a few feet away, proud to be away from Vjecko while still in one piece. Vjecko is the only one who gets to see Rayaan like this; a victory.
“So? Are you going to bring me to your sister or what?” Faridah squeaks, staring at the Croat.
He gives the girls a dark smile, which makes Faridah even more terrified. This man isn‘t stable, how could Rayaan leave her with him? She glances away, ignoring the dark smile.
And he leads her away -- god, she looks so much like Rayaan, Vjecko can’t stand it -- and then he begins to feel sorry for her. Not just with that spat going along in her home country, but because her brother has chosen Francis as a ‘role model’ for her. Look at what the Frenchman did to her -- Vjecko didn’t blame history at all for this, for her shy nature. No, if Rayaan was with him, Faridah would be happy, she would laugh again, she would have lots of fun. She would only be stressed when political matters caused it, never when Alya or any other sibling added drama to her life. She’d be more well kept, too.
With a stalker like him, Rayaan’s siblings weren’t going to stand a chance.
----
Translations:
brat - Slovenian for 'brother'. I kid you not.
Bonjour - French for 'hello'.
Notes:
She would only be stressed when political matters caused it - The matters between Israel and Palestine are severe. I'd like to not go over it on TamaTalk, for someone may get offended. In a nutshell, think of it like how I said Croatia and Serbia are, they don't like eachother at all.
Broken fingers, boney - Croatians after the Yugoslavian Wars. Bosnians and Croatians were malnourished during their independance wars.
Oh boy, his face lit up at the way his brother worded his sentence.
“It’s… it’s not the way you think it is, brat…” the blond shakily laughs, “It’s… um, just a request…”
Vjecko knows that. He knows Janez meant, how Rayaan wasn’t sending him a romantic proposal in any way. But his mind wanted to think otherwise.
“Where is he where is he~?” He stumbles over his words, standing up from his seat immediately.
The Slovenian points over to the left, almost looking ashamed at playing messenger boy to this, and Vjecko runs in the direction Janez pointed. He felt thankful he had chosen a clean, new uniform, this one not even two months old. He wants to look perfect for Rayaan, doesn’t he?
He comes to a stop, skidding to a halt on his heel. He looks straight at the Lebanese with hungry, lustful eyes, Rayaan keeping calm and just giving him a pleased and friendly smile back. This man was easy to scare -- startle was what Vjecko used, but scare was what one should really use -- but recently he could keep such a straight face, not let his voice break and show any fear for his stalker. Vjecko had to change that.
“Bonjour, Vjecko.” Rayaan says, smiling at his once dear friend. The two were once as close as friends could be without being any more, but that decided to change when Vjecko demanded to be on his own from the Yugoslavian union. Saying the man snapped is the easiest way you can put it, and Rayaan clearly regretted giving Vjecko attention and care when Milo tortured him. But, of course, Rayaan ‘forgave’ him. If by forgive, you could mean “Gave up trying to fix the Croat, and just went back to running from him”.
“Hello, Rayaan.” says Vjecko.
“I need a favour.” It’s not like the Arabic man to sound somewhat desperate, the gentleman-like nature breaking and Rayaan becoming blunt; the pleading noise in his words was even less characteristic. If he was allowed -- well, if it wasn’t illegal, dang ‘laws’ put down by Francis… -- he’d be holding Rayaan by now, asking what’s wrong in a tender way. Not in a restrained, held back fashion.
“With what?”
“Faridah,” Oh, that’s the girl’s name. Vjecko tried to forget her name, that young lady always reminded him of Rayaan, but just by the fact they were siblings. Rayaan wasn’t as quiet as her, or as blunt, or somewhat stuck-up. Right now, she looked annoyed to be standing by her brother, her hair brushed almost perfectly, hanging from the right side. Faridah was clearly scared.
“Has she been fighting with someone?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Rayaan looks at Faridah. “Sister, why don’t you tell Vjecko why we need to talk to him?”
Faridah looked at Rayaan, with a stare asking, ‘Must we do this?’ The Palestinian looked down at her feet. “I need to pick out a dress for Alya’s wedding to Cyrus.”
“And?”
“I refuse to wear the dresses Rayaan has picked out for me.”
“And?”
Faridah grimaces at her next words. “I-- we -- were wondering if you could ask Tatjana to sit me down and help me design a dress.”
Rayaan looks visibly pleased that Faridah had finally shut her mouth. “I know it is sudden, and that I could ask Tatjana myself, but she is not here, but I know asking Milo would anger you…”
Vjecko wants to jump him. He wants to lavish Rayaan with love, he wants to kiss him senseless, but he has some sense of control. If he didn’t, he’d be dead by now, but not just Milo but also Francis.
The wall behind Rayaan has a large picture on it, and Vjecko can see his reflection in the glass. He’s a broken man from what he was before, his eyes big and glassy to the point of insanity, showing no sense of true control behind those eyes. His hands, at his side, were snapped and bent in strange ways, from the injuries and sprains he had received from Milo, Francis and his own accidents. He’s boney, it’s seen in his hands and around his neck. This, he thinks, is perfectly fine. For once, he thinks he’s won. Nothing is wrong with him. He is fine, just stressed, it’ll all be better later.
The pathetic man turns to the refined Lebanese. “Sure,” he says, smiling in the most non-threatening way he can. “I’ll ask her.”
His entire face lit up, smiling like a child promised a treat. “Oh, Vjecko, thank you so much, you don’t know how much this means to me…” Means to him? He just doesn’t want Alya to scream at him, to laugh at him, to pick on him, to say “Rayaan, you are a moron, you can’t even make your dear sister properly dressed for my special day! What kind of big brother are you?”
“It’ll be fine,” Vjecko assures, “Now, there’s no need to worry, why don’t you relax and wait until Alya needs something else?”
Rayaan stalls -- has he forgotten what ‘relax’ meant? “Oh, of course I will.” He lies. All three of them know he’s going back to Francis, to leave Vjecko wishing he could own Rayaan.
Vjecko watches as Rayaan has to shove Faridah forward, the girl clearly not wanting to be going forward, trying to stop herself, digging her heels into the carpet.
Rayaan gives Faridah a few sharp words in Arabic, then turns and leaves. He shudders when a few feet away, proud to be away from Vjecko while still in one piece. Vjecko is the only one who gets to see Rayaan like this; a victory.
“So? Are you going to bring me to your sister or what?” Faridah squeaks, staring at the Croat.
He gives the girls a dark smile, which makes Faridah even more terrified. This man isn‘t stable, how could Rayaan leave her with him? She glances away, ignoring the dark smile.
And he leads her away -- god, she looks so much like Rayaan, Vjecko can’t stand it -- and then he begins to feel sorry for her. Not just with that spat going along in her home country, but because her brother has chosen Francis as a ‘role model’ for her. Look at what the Frenchman did to her -- Vjecko didn’t blame history at all for this, for her shy nature. No, if Rayaan was with him, Faridah would be happy, she would laugh again, she would have lots of fun. She would only be stressed when political matters caused it, never when Alya or any other sibling added drama to her life. She’d be more well kept, too.
With a stalker like him, Rayaan’s siblings weren’t going to stand a chance.
----
Translations:
brat - Slovenian for 'brother'. I kid you not.
Bonjour - French for 'hello'.
Notes:
She would only be stressed when political matters caused it - The matters between Israel and Palestine are severe. I'd like to not go over it on TamaTalk, for someone may get offended. In a nutshell, think of it like how I said Croatia and Serbia are, they don't like eachother at all.
Broken fingers, boney - Croatians after the Yugoslavian Wars. Bosnians and Croatians were malnourished during their independance wars.
