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hetalia2008-11-13 07:47 pm
genderblender.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2008-11-13 07:47 pm
Entry tags:
[Fanfic] Turkiye/Egypt
Title: Cooperation
Characters: Turkiye, Egypt
Rating: PG, probably.
Summary: Turkiye and Egypt and their ‘friendship’ – of sorts.
“In April 16th of 2008, Egypt and Turkey signed a memorandum of understanding to improve and further military relations and cooperation between the two countries. Turkey and Egypt are among the leading countries of both the Middle East and Mediterranean regions, and are often said to be key in middle-east peace.”
The memorandum occurred with the nations quietly standing over the shoulders of their military representatives, General Yasar Buyukanit, and Marshal Mohammed Hussein Tantawi, as they spoke in the language of the Middle East. There were a few moments of disagreements, and what could have been the start of an argument, but the two leading countries of both the Middle East and the Mediterranean eventually came to an agreement to improve and further military relations and cooperation, deciding that it would be best for the both of them, and that there would be little disadvantage to such an arrangement. Occasionally, the nations’ eyes would meet, as they made an attempt to break way from the serious discussion. If there was one thing Gupta knew, it was Sadiq’s eyes, but to see him standing there, mask long since discarded as the years wore away at the traditions of yesteryears, it was difficult to imagine that this was the same man who had once overthrown a dynasty and built the city of Cairo.
Perhaps he had been too engrossed in his own thoughts, his mind crowded with millennia worth of memories that he hardly noticed the military representatives had parted - General Buyukanit to meet with the president, and Marshal Tantawi to issue a statement - leaving the two nations in the silence of the stuffy, dim room.
Gupta remained as still as ever, his military dress impeccably neat, each fold perfectly creased with not a button out of place. Across from him, Sadiq was shifting, obviously uncomfortable in his own modern dress, a great deal different from the robes he wore during his time as a slave soldier. Without the mask covering his features, his feelings were far too easy to read. The muscles in his lips twitched before he would reach up to scratch at the corner of his mouth; his brow would furrow before he would swipe a hand across his face to catch the sweat; his nose would wrinkle before he would sneeze.
As the moments ticked by, Sadiq grew more restless, the look in his eyes almost wild with impatience, and his bottom lip quivered in anticipation, as if awaiting some huge finale. Finally, he spoke – his voice booming in the small room.
“You’re as quiet as ever!” he sneered.
The words elicited little response from the other nation, dark eyes merely sliding shut, as if to acknowledge the statement. There were far too many centuries between them, and despite it all, Gupta had managed to remain as silent as possible through them all. It was how he managed to maintain his own culture, to continue to be himself through years of being conquered and invaded and occupied – over and over. In fact it became far too strange for him to even offer a smile. Sometimes he wondered what could make him happy during these modern days.
Suddenly Sadiq was at his side, sliding an arm over the Egyptian’s slim shoulders. There was a stiff feeling to the touch, a forced camaraderie. “We just signed an agreement - a MEMORANDUM! COOPERATION! My cutlass is your cutlass!” Then he paused, as if reconsidering his statement. “Well... you can borrow it-- ONLY IF I’M WATCHING – AND ONLY IF I USED IT FIRST.”
With the voice, so loud in his ear, Gupta could not help but cringe, one shoulder slowly rising up as if to fight the ringing he heard. And this simple reaction seemed enough for the Turk.
“HA!” And Sadiq laughed loudly as he decided to take advantage of this new cooperation. “You better share with me too! How about treating me to a little shisha? You’ve always been good for it!”
Gupta hardly had a moment to respond, to tilt his head in a nod, or shake it curtly in refusal before he was being dragged, the Turk’s arm about his neck, out from the small room into the heat of his country.
Cairo smelled of smoke, the air was laden with smog and heat, the sounds of car horns echoed relentlessly in the clogged street, which chorused with the yelling of Arabic as robed men hawked their wares at tourists who babbled in Japanese and fanned themselves with newspaper print brochures. Occasionally the smell of smoke would be disrupted by the smell of incense, warm spices, or fresh roasted lamb and the noise would dissipate into the silence of prayer and the laughter of children running barefoot on the hot ground as they searched for ways to quench their thirst.
Gupta could not suppress the surprise he felt as Sadiq toted him through the city with a sort of expertise that could only have been reserved for someone like himself. Though, perhaps, as he was dumped unceremoniously in front of a back alley café, his surprise didn’t show quite as much as he though it did as Sadiq commented, “It’s always that same face with you.”
A few pounds later, and a hookah was sitting upon the ground between them, and a pot of spiced tea rested on the table beside them. Gupta pulled the hose towards him, bringing it to his lips for a little indulgence, though the expression on his face remained as unchanging as ever.
“It seems,” Sadiq suddenly commented, smoke billowing from his lips, leaving the air between them smelling of peaches and tobacco, “the older you get, the less you talk.”
Gupta did not retort, though he thought to himself, the older Sadiq got, the softer he became. Instead he continued to puff quietly upon his hose, his mouth opening occasionally to release a series of circles that lingered in the air for only a few moments before disappearing in puff of wind. But, perhaps, there was truth in the Turk’s words; after all, Gupta prided himself in his silence.
Sadiq frowned at the lack of response, his face so expressive despite having hid behind a mask for so many years. “Dammit, you’re boring – no one would listen to what you have to say anyway.”
An d perhaps, those words caused Gupta’s lips to twinge in the slightest hint of an expression, for he remembered a time, before he become one of the two most powerful modern nations in the Middle East and Mediterranean, he used to stand in the streets desperate to hawk his wares – usually vases and other earthen pottery. Oh how he went on for days about how those pots could made dreams come true… and Sadiq had been the only one patient enough to stand there and listen to it all; every tall tale, every lie, and every empty promise. In fact, Sadiq had been there by his side through most of his life.
But that was then, and this was now. Time had a way of changing things.
Gupta remained silent, lip wrapped around the plastic mouth piece of his hose, as smoke billowed about him.
Sadiq let out a sigh that rattled in his throat from age and too many cigarettes, as he leaned all the way back in his chair, throwing his feet onto the table with a loud thump that threatened to knock over the delicate tea cups. “You… YOU…! I don’t know why I put up with you! Yer always making that same face! And ya never say anythin’!” With each word, his accent grew more and more exaggerated, evidence of his temper and exasperation. “I ain’t never seen y’SMILE in all these years!”
And this was true, Gupta could not deny that, and he slowly lowered the hose from his mouth, the expression on his face as lifeless as ever. He was quiet for a moment longer, watching the way the muscles in Sadiq’s face would twitch impatiently. Finally he spoke, his voice soft from years of not being used. “That’s true.”
“Ah… Ah…! AH…! AHAHA!” and suddenly Sadiq was laughing, throwing his head back in huge chortles, mouth open so wide Gupta could see the molars in the back of his mouth. “Listen t’ya! FINALLY talkin’!” he gasped amidst his laughter, his hand pounding on the table.
Gupta pursed his lips together and returned to being silent, staring at Sadiq with a strong look of disapproval.
And Sadiq grew quiet upon seeing the look, almost instantly deciding it would be inappropriate – or possibly deadly – to keep on laughing. He puffed on the hose to bide the silence. The two nations frowned at each other, as if reliving their youth when Sadiq first claimed Egypt for the Ottoman Empire.
Finally, with a puff of smoke, Sadiq spoke in a softer, quieter voice that seemed out of character for him, perhaps it was a fault of his age. “It’s kind of nice hearin’ ya’ talk again. Don’t know why ya insist on being so quiet all the time.”
“I don’t kno—“
“Especially around me!” Sadiq continued, cutting off Gupta’s barely audible response. “I mean… you and me? We’re the powers of the Middle East AND Mediterranean – that’s doubly powerful! That’s why we gotta STICK TOGETHER… ya know?”
Gupta was beginning to get the feeling he was being scolded.
“Plus… You’re the only one who really /understands/ me,” Sadiq added with a frown, as if admitting to that was enough to kill him. His face twisted, perhaps in regret as he received very little response from the Egyptian across from him. He grunted and crossed and uncrossed his legs; he thumped them down hard on the table, knocking over the tea cups and sending clouds of dirt and sand into the air as they were knocked free from the tracks in his boots.
Gupta fumbled, reaching out to mop up the spilt tea with his keffiyeh, and as he felt the wind through his short hair, he suddenly felt exposed. Exposed beyond simply removing the scarf from his head, but in that he felt the corners of his lips twitch in a way he spent so many years resisting. The action was almost painful, a chorus of muscles that rarely worked together in such a way. He was smiling, it was certainly an awkward looking smile, but it was a real smile.
It took a moment for Sadiq to notice, as he continued to make a fuss, but when he did, his actions stilled. There was a moment as he stared, possibly in disbelief, at Gupta, and then he was laughing. “Stop it! Ya look like a damn fool! Smiling! It didn’t suit you at all! AHAHA—like some sort of monkey!” And then there was a pause, as if Sadiq was reconsidering his laughter, and he watched as the elusive smile threatened to disappear before adding, “But it’s nice. Ya should smile more often then maybe you’d get used to it.”
And then it was gone, and Gupta’s cheeks hurt.
“You know what I think?” Sadiq asked, with the hint of a smirk.
Gupta tilted his head, peering at him, brow furrowed. In honesty, he didn’t like the way that smirk looked, but curiosity was a terrible weakness of his. “What?”
“I think this is a start of a beautiful new relationship.”
END
A/N: I admit it. This was the first Hetalia fic I’d written – and even more so, the first I’ve managed to finish. The prose ended up a lot more purple than I had intended, but I really wanted to explore the way Kitayume opted to make Egypt a silent, unsmiling nation, which is a sharp contrast from the other two Mediterranean nations, as Greece and Turkey have both been written as varying degrees of excitable and expressive… Well, that being said--- I hope you enjoyed it. <3
Characters: Turkiye, Egypt
Rating: PG, probably.
Summary: Turkiye and Egypt and their ‘friendship’ – of sorts.
“In April 16th of 2008, Egypt and Turkey signed a memorandum of understanding to improve and further military relations and cooperation between the two countries. Turkey and Egypt are among the leading countries of both the Middle East and Mediterranean regions, and are often said to be key in middle-east peace.”
The memorandum occurred with the nations quietly standing over the shoulders of their military representatives, General Yasar Buyukanit, and Marshal Mohammed Hussein Tantawi, as they spoke in the language of the Middle East. There were a few moments of disagreements, and what could have been the start of an argument, but the two leading countries of both the Middle East and the Mediterranean eventually came to an agreement to improve and further military relations and cooperation, deciding that it would be best for the both of them, and that there would be little disadvantage to such an arrangement. Occasionally, the nations’ eyes would meet, as they made an attempt to break way from the serious discussion. If there was one thing Gupta knew, it was Sadiq’s eyes, but to see him standing there, mask long since discarded as the years wore away at the traditions of yesteryears, it was difficult to imagine that this was the same man who had once overthrown a dynasty and built the city of Cairo.
Perhaps he had been too engrossed in his own thoughts, his mind crowded with millennia worth of memories that he hardly noticed the military representatives had parted - General Buyukanit to meet with the president, and Marshal Tantawi to issue a statement - leaving the two nations in the silence of the stuffy, dim room.
Gupta remained as still as ever, his military dress impeccably neat, each fold perfectly creased with not a button out of place. Across from him, Sadiq was shifting, obviously uncomfortable in his own modern dress, a great deal different from the robes he wore during his time as a slave soldier. Without the mask covering his features, his feelings were far too easy to read. The muscles in his lips twitched before he would reach up to scratch at the corner of his mouth; his brow would furrow before he would swipe a hand across his face to catch the sweat; his nose would wrinkle before he would sneeze.
As the moments ticked by, Sadiq grew more restless, the look in his eyes almost wild with impatience, and his bottom lip quivered in anticipation, as if awaiting some huge finale. Finally, he spoke – his voice booming in the small room.
“You’re as quiet as ever!” he sneered.
The words elicited little response from the other nation, dark eyes merely sliding shut, as if to acknowledge the statement. There were far too many centuries between them, and despite it all, Gupta had managed to remain as silent as possible through them all. It was how he managed to maintain his own culture, to continue to be himself through years of being conquered and invaded and occupied – over and over. In fact it became far too strange for him to even offer a smile. Sometimes he wondered what could make him happy during these modern days.
Suddenly Sadiq was at his side, sliding an arm over the Egyptian’s slim shoulders. There was a stiff feeling to the touch, a forced camaraderie. “We just signed an agreement - a MEMORANDUM! COOPERATION! My cutlass is your cutlass!” Then he paused, as if reconsidering his statement. “Well... you can borrow it-- ONLY IF I’M WATCHING – AND ONLY IF I USED IT FIRST.”
With the voice, so loud in his ear, Gupta could not help but cringe, one shoulder slowly rising up as if to fight the ringing he heard. And this simple reaction seemed enough for the Turk.
“HA!” And Sadiq laughed loudly as he decided to take advantage of this new cooperation. “You better share with me too! How about treating me to a little shisha? You’ve always been good for it!”
Gupta hardly had a moment to respond, to tilt his head in a nod, or shake it curtly in refusal before he was being dragged, the Turk’s arm about his neck, out from the small room into the heat of his country.
Cairo smelled of smoke, the air was laden with smog and heat, the sounds of car horns echoed relentlessly in the clogged street, which chorused with the yelling of Arabic as robed men hawked their wares at tourists who babbled in Japanese and fanned themselves with newspaper print brochures. Occasionally the smell of smoke would be disrupted by the smell of incense, warm spices, or fresh roasted lamb and the noise would dissipate into the silence of prayer and the laughter of children running barefoot on the hot ground as they searched for ways to quench their thirst.
Gupta could not suppress the surprise he felt as Sadiq toted him through the city with a sort of expertise that could only have been reserved for someone like himself. Though, perhaps, as he was dumped unceremoniously in front of a back alley café, his surprise didn’t show quite as much as he though it did as Sadiq commented, “It’s always that same face with you.”
A few pounds later, and a hookah was sitting upon the ground between them, and a pot of spiced tea rested on the table beside them. Gupta pulled the hose towards him, bringing it to his lips for a little indulgence, though the expression on his face remained as unchanging as ever.
“It seems,” Sadiq suddenly commented, smoke billowing from his lips, leaving the air between them smelling of peaches and tobacco, “the older you get, the less you talk.”
Gupta did not retort, though he thought to himself, the older Sadiq got, the softer he became. Instead he continued to puff quietly upon his hose, his mouth opening occasionally to release a series of circles that lingered in the air for only a few moments before disappearing in puff of wind. But, perhaps, there was truth in the Turk’s words; after all, Gupta prided himself in his silence.
Sadiq frowned at the lack of response, his face so expressive despite having hid behind a mask for so many years. “Dammit, you’re boring – no one would listen to what you have to say anyway.”
An d perhaps, those words caused Gupta’s lips to twinge in the slightest hint of an expression, for he remembered a time, before he become one of the two most powerful modern nations in the Middle East and Mediterranean, he used to stand in the streets desperate to hawk his wares – usually vases and other earthen pottery. Oh how he went on for days about how those pots could made dreams come true… and Sadiq had been the only one patient enough to stand there and listen to it all; every tall tale, every lie, and every empty promise. In fact, Sadiq had been there by his side through most of his life.
But that was then, and this was now. Time had a way of changing things.
Gupta remained silent, lip wrapped around the plastic mouth piece of his hose, as smoke billowed about him.
Sadiq let out a sigh that rattled in his throat from age and too many cigarettes, as he leaned all the way back in his chair, throwing his feet onto the table with a loud thump that threatened to knock over the delicate tea cups. “You… YOU…! I don’t know why I put up with you! Yer always making that same face! And ya never say anythin’!” With each word, his accent grew more and more exaggerated, evidence of his temper and exasperation. “I ain’t never seen y’SMILE in all these years!”
And this was true, Gupta could not deny that, and he slowly lowered the hose from his mouth, the expression on his face as lifeless as ever. He was quiet for a moment longer, watching the way the muscles in Sadiq’s face would twitch impatiently. Finally he spoke, his voice soft from years of not being used. “That’s true.”
“Ah… Ah…! AH…! AHAHA!” and suddenly Sadiq was laughing, throwing his head back in huge chortles, mouth open so wide Gupta could see the molars in the back of his mouth. “Listen t’ya! FINALLY talkin’!” he gasped amidst his laughter, his hand pounding on the table.
Gupta pursed his lips together and returned to being silent, staring at Sadiq with a strong look of disapproval.
And Sadiq grew quiet upon seeing the look, almost instantly deciding it would be inappropriate – or possibly deadly – to keep on laughing. He puffed on the hose to bide the silence. The two nations frowned at each other, as if reliving their youth when Sadiq first claimed Egypt for the Ottoman Empire.
Finally, with a puff of smoke, Sadiq spoke in a softer, quieter voice that seemed out of character for him, perhaps it was a fault of his age. “It’s kind of nice hearin’ ya’ talk again. Don’t know why ya insist on being so quiet all the time.”
“I don’t kno—“
“Especially around me!” Sadiq continued, cutting off Gupta’s barely audible response. “I mean… you and me? We’re the powers of the Middle East AND Mediterranean – that’s doubly powerful! That’s why we gotta STICK TOGETHER… ya know?”
Gupta was beginning to get the feeling he was being scolded.
“Plus… You’re the only one who really /understands/ me,” Sadiq added with a frown, as if admitting to that was enough to kill him. His face twisted, perhaps in regret as he received very little response from the Egyptian across from him. He grunted and crossed and uncrossed his legs; he thumped them down hard on the table, knocking over the tea cups and sending clouds of dirt and sand into the air as they were knocked free from the tracks in his boots.
Gupta fumbled, reaching out to mop up the spilt tea with his keffiyeh, and as he felt the wind through his short hair, he suddenly felt exposed. Exposed beyond simply removing the scarf from his head, but in that he felt the corners of his lips twitch in a way he spent so many years resisting. The action was almost painful, a chorus of muscles that rarely worked together in such a way. He was smiling, it was certainly an awkward looking smile, but it was a real smile.
It took a moment for Sadiq to notice, as he continued to make a fuss, but when he did, his actions stilled. There was a moment as he stared, possibly in disbelief, at Gupta, and then he was laughing. “Stop it! Ya look like a damn fool! Smiling! It didn’t suit you at all! AHAHA—like some sort of monkey!” And then there was a pause, as if Sadiq was reconsidering his laughter, and he watched as the elusive smile threatened to disappear before adding, “But it’s nice. Ya should smile more often then maybe you’d get used to it.”
And then it was gone, and Gupta’s cheeks hurt.
“You know what I think?” Sadiq asked, with the hint of a smirk.
Gupta tilted his head, peering at him, brow furrowed. In honesty, he didn’t like the way that smirk looked, but curiosity was a terrible weakness of his. “What?”
“I think this is a start of a beautiful new relationship.”
END
A/N: I admit it. This was the first Hetalia fic I’d written – and even more so, the first I’ve managed to finish. The prose ended up a lot more purple than I had intended, but I really wanted to explore the way Kitayume opted to make Egypt a silent, unsmiling nation, which is a sharp contrast from the other two Mediterranean nations, as Greece and Turkey have both been written as varying degrees of excitable and expressive… Well, that being said--- I hope you enjoyed it. <3
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