Nice Day For A Slightly Off-Colour Wedding [Open to Balkans]

[Deleted]

son, you've got a  way to fall. 'Doctor Iliev', they'd said, 'You should come to our daughter's wedding', they'd said, 'Oh, and you should bring your wife as well!', they'd said. If it was some kind of village tradition to invite the local doctor to a wedding of two people he'd never even met, well, that was that. But Mr and Mrs Lumani, so it turned out, were Marko's uncle's-cousin's-husband's-cousin's-wife's-cousin's-parents, and so there daughter, Teresa, was his uncle's-cousin's-husband's-cousin's... ...Nevermind. It had never even occurred to him before that fateful day when somehow they both turned up on his front doorstep (whilst he was in the middle of working from home, mind you) that he'd had relatives from Albania. All they knew of him was that he was Veselin Iliev's son; they hadn't even bothered checking whether he was actually still considered a part of the Iliev family (not that Marko had brought the topic up with them, opening that can of worms might've caused more harm than good), nor had they bothered even asking where the ring on his finger was if they were so convinced he had a wife. They'd probably made the assumption based on his occupation, for one, and perhaps the state of his living room, as well. He didn't spend a lot of time in it, meaning it didn't need to be cleaned, meaning... Well, it looked as if he had someone to clean it for him. Marko wasn't a particularly untidy person to begin with; his home was probably kept a lot neater than those belonging to a lot of single young men, though the instinct to clean was indeed just something that came with his job. Anyway, he'd offered his... Relatives... Tea and over that they'd invited him to their daughter's wedding. Which he was now stood at. Alone. Without a wife, funnily enough. God, who were these people? He'd thought at a wedding in which the entire Balkan population of London was probably attending, he'd be able to find a familiar face or two. Not that currently being lodged in the middle of the entire crowd of guests was an easy way to look for anyone he knew. It would take some time yet, he figured, before everyone was seated and the ceremony could begin, judging by how many people were actually there... Good thing the venue itself was big enough. A place that size must've cost Teresa or her parents a hell of a lot to hire out... Or, perhaps her fiance had been the one to cough up the cash... Come to think of it, Marko had no idea who that guy was. His invitation on paper had said his name was Tom... No surname, no other indication to his identity, just 'Tom'. Well, whoever he was, he had to be the owner of pretty deep pockets, what with this room at least twice, perhaps thrice the size of an Olympic swimming pool, with a large glass dome as its ceiling... And this was just for the ceremony itself? He had to wonder if the reception was going to be any bigger. “Ah, sorry...” He muttered off-hand, accidentally having elbowed the person behind him. He hoped they'd be able to hear him; he couldn't exactly turn around to face them in such a position, either. balkans tagged 547 words the thread's open to every single balkan, so i hope you all join in! notes

made by cube of gs

[Deleted]

I'M THE hero of the story, don't need to be saved If Zoran was being completely honest, he had no idea how the hell he ended up at this wedding. Well, how he received the invitation at least. He was pretty sure he was drunk at the time he was given one; considering he found it tucked away in his underpants like money would be if he was a stripper when he woke up hungover the next morning in some stranger's bedroom. He couldn't remember much from the previous night except he managed to get himself impressively wasted and most definitely laid with some... He thought it was guy. Maybe. Well, it could've been a girl too. He hadn't really bothered to check, having just tugged on all his clothes and let himself out of the room, but oh well. Actually, now that he thought about it, maybe the invitation had belonged to whoever the person in the room was. But then again, it was in his underwear. That's a pretty good reason for him to go, he justified to himself. Plus, it was a wedding, meaning free food and alcohol. So fuck yeah, of course he was going. When arrived at the address of the wedding in the best suit he could find in the deepest pit of his closet for the occasion (which was cheap but hey, he found it in a sale and it looked pretty damn good so whatever), he couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment. The place was huge. Whoever this wedding was for -- Tim and Teresi or something like that, he reminded himself -- they definitely had a shitload of money. Zoran considered trying to get them to fund him for more of his experiments, but eh, he might as well try to figure out who they were first. Inside, it was packed, overcrowded, and there was no room to breathe. It seemed like half of London was here, he noted in awe. Well, that meant the chances of anyone actually recognizing him and realizing he probably shouldn't be there were relatively low, and he was certainly okay with that. All of a sudden, Zoran was elbowed in the chest and he winced. It didn't hurt that much, but it was enough to stir a physical reaction out of him and he was going to start complaining about how there were too many people here – "Ah, sorry...” That voice was ridiculously familiar, even in gigantic crowd where the words were barely audible in the excited uproar. A shiteating grin stretched across his face and he leaned forward until he was next to the man who had just so gracefully elbowed him's ear to whisper sultrily. "Marko, is that you~?"

words 452 tags marko bby notes no homo

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son, you've got a  way to fall. Oh hell, as luck would have it, his leg was starting to seize up. With no way to lift it and wiggle his ankle about in such a tight spot (lest he kick the guy in front of him in addition to having elbowed the guy behind him just now), he had to grit his teeth and bear the discomfort. He didn't really want to have to apologise twice over and cause a scene or look like an idiot or anything. “Marko, is that you~?” Urgh, the guy behind him was breathing down his ear... Wait... The guy behind him was breathing down his ear? He frowned, slowly coming to the realisation that the voice was rather familiar. Even from the back and wearing a suit, he could be recognised? “Zoran?” He asked, attempting to turn his head over his shoulder. It certainly sounded like Zoran, and – well – there was that presence about the Serb that Marko could feel... It was one that he didn't really like having his back turned to, lest he do something even more stupid than breathing in his ear. “The hell're you doing here?” The question was genuine, if a little redundant. It was obvious why any of them were there. He furrowed his brow a bit, lowering his voice. It was awkward, having to talk with his neck twisted like that. “I mean, I didn't know you knew Teresa.” Technically, Marko didn't know her either, but he was a distant relative... Twice removed... Thrice removed... Whatever... Wait. “You're not her cousin too, are ya?” That would've been a pretty big coincidence, although he was fairly sure Teresa had plenty of 'cousins' in the world (which would have been a very broad use of the word; he was pretty sure the half-Kosovan guy that worked at the Polish Delicatessen was about as related to Teresa as he himself was). zoran/balkans tagged 316 words - notes

made by cube of gs

[Deleted]

It really was a small world sometimes. As she was grocery shopping the other week she happened to bump into a girl in the store. After numerous apologies on her part the poor woman suddenly asked her name. It turned out it was Teresa, who's cousin dated her sister Violeta. (Which wasn't much of a surprise, Violeta had dated half the Balkan peninsula) Teresa and her went to gymnastics camp for 3 years together though in Bulgaria when they were younger, but Vesna had forgotten most of her fellow campers' names and faces by now.

Anyways, Teresa was getting married and of course Vesna needed to come. They were friends after all. She was not aware of this but agreed anyways since Teresa was such a nice girl. And she barreled the poor woman over in the store. They chatted up in the store and they got along pretty well, promising to meet for coffee sometime after the wedding. Of course Teresa had to go and uttered the dreaded words Vesna never wanted to hear, 'Bring your husband to the wedding!'. Fuck.

Of course she had no fancy clothes for a wedding. Maggie, the nice Scottish girl, offered Vesna one of her dresses since they were around the same size. A short strapless chiffon dress, in a nice green colour, as Maggie described it. It wrapped and hugged her curves. It was nice, but Vesna had 3 inches on Maggie so the dress came to mid thigh and seemed a bit short to her. Maggie assured her it looked fine, Vesna should dress a little sexy after all. She was nice enough to do her hair and make up too and wow, she never knew she could look so nice before. Maybe she should curl her hair more often. Then she might actually get a boyfriend.

Once she got there she was so overwhelmed by all the people. Did Teresa invite everyone in Eastern Europe? Who the hell were any of these people? All these people and she recognized no one. They were all sort of milling about, was she supposed to go sit down? When she sat down the dress became even shorter! Quickly she sat back up and decided to go find where everyone was getting those glasses of alcohol from. With a deep sigh, Vesna began the task of trying to get through the crowd without killing herself, apologizing every 3 seconds when she bumped into someone.

When times are hard we’ll smile and say we’re not afraid of anything

LAIKA OF BTN!

[Nicoleta]

The smell of spice lingered in the air amongst the red and orange assortment of roses. Young and old, rich or poor, people chatted amongst each other, making the room resound with accented intones and cheerful chortling. There was a lot to enthuse about, especially in the fact that the whole decor appeared to be gilded in gold. The splendor of the ceremony was one of its kind by the common perspective, but Nicoleta was used to this sort of gimmick. It was nothing more than a rich man showcasing his wealth. She had no qualms about his stylistic choices, for Tom was able to pick out one of her favorite red wine. Spotting a man in a tailored white on black suit, she flashed a smile at a passing sommelier and gingerly plucked a cup of wine cup from the silver platter. The serpentine neck was positioned between her ring and middle finger, and the concave of the glass was caged by her claw-like black nails.

"Mersi," she thanked as she turned away. She moved the cup to her lips for a drink, and the the faint taste of clove and light sweetness washed over her tongue. That first sip was marked by a hint of maroon stain near the rim.

As much as she loved wine and great food, she had never liked sitting through weddings of any sort. Just something about making a vow to God about eternal love sickeningly made her swoon and feel pleasantly disgusted at the same time. The idea of eternal love pressed on all of the wrong practical buttons, but at the same time, it made her wonder about it too. In spite of the bride though, Nicoleta was pretty certain that the marriage wasn't going to last very long. She was hoping that it'd end soon. Wishing people happiness wasn't her favorite thing to do.

Frankly, she did not expect to come to a wedding she knew little about. Nicoleta didn't know much about the bride other than the fact that she was Albanian, her sex appeal hadn't improved, and she was somehow affiliated with all of the damn Balkans in the United Kingdom. In actuality, it was the groom that she was familiar with, perhaps a little too well for an immaculate occasion as this. 'Tom' was the name he wanted to be called on that day, yet she knew him by other names, ones that she had once or several times breathed against the folds of the bedsheets. Though he hadn't been the best looking (and still wasn't), he was filthy rich (undoubtedly,  he still was). 

Funny how the two were now becoming married after all those years of backstage infidelity. In fact, Nicoleta had only known Tom because used to want to get away from Teresa. She presumed that he had no shame at all.

A shallow stupid man and a plain and pretentious woman, she thought as she smiled airly at some passing glances from interested beaus, a fitting couple.

Nicoleta strode over to the refreshments table, and her appearance was hardly unnoticed. She donned a deep satin lace black and red dress with a heartshaped bust, teasing onlookers with a view of cleavage, and a tight fit down to the promiscuous thigh slit, where the rest of the gown elegantly folded and turned as it pleased. Her appearance for the evening was complete with a light up-do and small black headpiece. In short, she put way too much fucking time in gussying herself up for this stupid event that had nothing to do with her.

A sudden bump caused flicks of wine to lap over the rim, dripping down to hands. Nothing was ruined or stained, but it had never taken much to piss off the Romanian.

Irritated, she narrowed her eyes and turned to the perpetrator.

"This isn't the best place to shove people around," she chided, "Give me a napkin."

[Astrit Zupan]

Astrit had an existential problem. More specifically, he had a problem with the fact that he had no idea how the happy couple whose wedding he was currently at knew he even existed. Teresa was his father's fifth cousin or something like that; they were "related" only in the most technical sense, and had never so much as met. How she or whoever had sent out the invitations for her had tracked him down, and why they had bothered to invite some orphan whose very existence had cut him off from his extended family, was entirely beyond him.

Arriving home from school to find the invitation waiting in his mailbox had been quite a surprise. An unexpected invitation to the wedding of a hitherto-unknown and apparently quite wealthy relative? It was almost creepy, in the way that only a situation straight out of a hackneyed hundred-year-old dime novel can be. He half-expected that he would find himself in the middle of some bizarre "PLOT TWIST!" moment. Still, he had shown up, because hey--free food.

Clearly, he was far from the only one to make it, though he had no idea of anyone else's motives. The enormous glass-domed room was packed with people, and Astrit had no clue who most of them were. He had some guesses, of course, but few of them went beyond things like his supposition that the man standing on the raised platform at the very front was probably either the groom or the officiant.

Nervously, the boy tugged at the collar of his polo shirt (the nicest he owned; made of a worn-soft material that had faded slightly from its original dark green, it was clean but the cuffs and seams showed signs of fraying; luckily, it was also extremely comfortable) and looked around at what he could see that wasn't blocked off by the fact that everyone seemed to be much taller than him. He had never been to a wedding before, and wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. Maybe sitting down? It was really hard to tell; there were just so many people going everywhere.

Someone bumped into him, and a familiar female voice hastily apologized. Astrit turned around and saw the familiar face of his neighbor Vesna. She had obviously dressed way up for the occasion. He blinked in surprise, but before he could get his wits together in order to greet her, a woman in black and red whom he didn't recognize did so rather less amicably.

It wasn't that the strange, stunningly beautiful woman was rude, exactly; she was just coldly commanding, the sort of person who clearly knew exactly what she wanted and expected it to be done. Vesna had obviously run into her the same way she had run into Astrit, and this woman considered this an insult. Astrit felt an unexpected pang of envy. He had always wanted that kind of confidence, but it was still so obvious that the most he could do was fake it.

There were two options, when presented with a situation like this. He could be cowed and watch in awe, or he could fake it some more until it became real.

He stepped forward and looked straight at the strange woman. "You can get one yourself."

[Deleted]

Was she in the middle of the crowd or was she near the end? Vesna couldn't see the other side and it was starting to make her feel very overwhelmed. Being closed in and surrounded was not something she enjoyed, and panic started to slowly gnaw in the pit of her stomach. Some people were starting to get annoyed by her trying to get through but what was she supposed to do!? Suddenly someone stepped back and elbow her hard in the side which caused her to bump into the woman behind her a bit roughly. Of course she went to apologize, she was the one at fault.

Shit, she sounded angry. And the look she was giving Vesna was not a pleasant one at all either. It wasn't like she got it on her dress and Vesna didn't have a purse on her with napkins in it so what did she do? Quickly she looked around for some but no one seemed to have any. Oh well, she'd just have to apologize and go on her way, maybe bring the woman another drink if she ever got to the other side.

Just as she went to apologize properly who would show up but her adorable little red headed neighbour, Astrit. How did he know Teresa? Wait, that didn't matter right now. He was standing up for her. It made her chest feel very tight, filled with pride and love for the young man. How courageous and sweet of him. However, this wasn't a fight but just a slight mishap, although she really did appreciate the thought behind it.

With a bright smile, she put a hand on top of his head. She had to think quick, to protect him from trouble. “Sorry, this is my son. Although it wasn't exactly polite-” Vesna shot him a look, “He is right. I'm sorry but I don't have napkins. I don't even know where I would get any. I'm truly sorry for bumping into you but it's very tight in here.” She then turned her attention to Astrit, smiling down at him to show she wasn't angry with him. “Lets get you something to drink, da?”

When times are hard we’ll smile and say we’re not afraid of anything

LAIKA OF BTN!

[Nicoleta]

If there was anything she hated, it was a hero, a self-proclaimed hero. That essence of naivete and righteousness was distilled into the person of a young boy. He, of all people, dared to stand in her shadow. Nicoleta stood, towering over the child in her stilettos, with her expression unchanging towards his courageous one. Those two little eyes of his looked at her, statuesque and unwavering with some kind of mustered strength beneath her skin. It made her want to punch out the sockets to see what was really underneath.

Nicoleta's ire told no lies. Her own eyes told the story. For a moment, it was a frigid hazel, sharp and menacing as the unknown in the dark. She studied him for a second longer, and once she realized something, she lifted her chin with a more relaxed, amused countenance. Her sudden smile told all the lies.

A little boy, playing the role of a big, big man. A little boy, so tiny and insignificant, had found it himself to stand for what was right. But all in all, despite the heroics, he was nothing more... than a mere boy. There were fissures underneath that complexion, she recognized. His act look simply wallpaper plastered over cracked and broken walls; one punch and he'd shatter, one tear would reveal the weak foundation that trembled beneath that skin. The question was, should she? Perhaps, she should let him suffer, embarrassed in front of the person he was trying to protect. Then again, she didn't want to do it.

It was no doubt that Nicoleta had preyed on the weak. Easy game, however, was just easy game. Moreover, she could not place her finger on this child, but she was somewhere in between liking him and despising him. Why, in no one's wildest dreams, would they ever realize that Nicoleta saw a little bit of herself in him too.

Before she could speak, she was interrupted by the other woman, who attempted to cover the child's blotch with good nature. It was her son, the woman admitted. Nicoleta made it obvious that she did not buy their antics, though she could discern that they somehow knew each other well. Strangers don't do this to other strangers.

The apologies were spewed and the excuses were given. It was even worse that the woman acknowledged the child's remark. Her sunny attitude made her want to strangle the stupid smile off her lips. Even more so, the notion that they were trying to get away with only an apology made her annoyance hard to contain. It was a chain reaction of no-good things happening right after the other.

Airily, she turned to the brunette, "You don't know how to apologize. It should be 'sorry, what can I do for you?'." She sighed, feigning disappointment. Oh, this was an old, high school thing. Nicoleta walked closer to the woman with the wine cup now held in the other hand.

"Pretty dress," she began as she examined the folds of the dress. Then she looked away, and by some wicked power or impulse, her arm jerked to the side. "Oops."

It was only a gentle tip of the wine glass, but the spill bled conspicuously enough into the woman's chiffon emerald dress, for shame!

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Nicoleta gasped, "What can I do--yes, I should get you a napkin."

With a wayward glance to the side, she pretend to diligently scan the area. "Looks like there is no napkin nearby. Don't worry hun, it looked cheap on you anyway. It wont make a difference and no one will notice."

With a fleeting mocking grin of delight, she brushed by the woman and her child to mind her own business. It was always 'get in' and 'get out', with her. Walking away from a potential explosion was always her favorite sort of thing to do. However she stopped, and with one pivot of the heel, she turned to the boy. Something about his presence made him easily forgotten.

"Keep staring, kid. Maybe if you keep pretending, you might be good enough to fool people. For now, you just look a bit pathetic, don't you think?" 

Her eyes lowered, and with another turn, she walked away.

[Astrit Zupan]

Astrit knew it was a risky move to stand up to the scary woman like that. He was pretty sure you didn't get that sort of confidence out of nowhere--it took something to back it up. Something that could be very dangerous, in fact.

Still, he judged his choice was the right one. It couldn't go too badly for him, could it? Not in the middle of a fancy crowd like this. There were too many people who could see if things went bad. Just within his field of vision were four people he didn't recognize, someone he identified as another neighbour from the housing complex where he lived, and a guy who worked at the Polish delicatessen.

A cautioning hand on his head brought the boy's train of thought up short. It seemed that Vesna felt it necessary to protect him. When she claimed him as her son, his first reaction was one of quiet startlement. Was it even plausible for him to be her son? He was only about ten years younger than her--an age difference small enough that even the physical possibility was on the scale of "just barely." And he didn't necessarily look all that much like her, either. Still, some people did look older or younger than they really were, and he was pretty sure that he himself looked younger than his actual age because of his hunger-slowed growth.

Processing all that meant that he barely registered the gentle scolding Vesna gave him (yes, he knew he wasn't being all that polite), but he didn't miss the skepticism on the angry woman's face. She didn't believe they were related? Well, Astrit would act as if they were, just to spite her.

"Let's get you something to drink, da?" his "mother" suggested, and it sounded like a good excuse to get out of there, as well as a good idea in its own right.

"Da, Majka," Astrit agreed quickly. The words came almost automatically. He barely remembered his real mother, who had died when he was very little, but he and his sister had spoken in her native language when they talked about her. He had thus found out, entirely by accident when they had had such a conversation in the street once, that many of the words they used made perfect sense in a lot of other languages as well--including the one Vesna sometimes lapsed into. "Yes" and "mother" were exactly the same in quite a number.

He would have just walked off then, but the scary woman wasn't done.

"You don't know how to apologize," she told Vesna. "It should be 'sorry, what can I do for you?'"

Astrit sensed that there was something wrong, and though he was still intimidated, the edge had come off of his fear enough that he found himself growing genuinely angry. What right did whoever-she-was think she had, to order people around like that? He definitely didn't trust this woman.

Clearly, his distrust was justified: this was proven when the woman appeared to be complimenting Vesna's dress, and then made a huge production out of spilling her wine on it.

"Don't worry, hun, it looked cheap on you anyway. It won't make a difference and no one will notice."

Aggravatingly, she then walked away. Astrit's fists clenched, and he was about to yell at her when she turned around and addressed him as well.

"Keep staring, kid. Maybe if you keep pretending, you might be good enough to fool people. For now, you just look a bit pathetic, don't you think?"

The wind fell out of his sails. Pathetic. That was the last thing he wanted to be. Shamefacedly, he turned back to Vesna and suggested, "How about we go find some napkins... and something to drink?

[Deleted]

There were a number of mysteries in the world that continued to bug the hell out of Heracles whenever he thought of them. What the hell is the point of Stonehenge? What caused the disappearance of the United States' Cahokian cultures? Which came first, the Sphinx or Egypt, and why is the head so goddamn tiny? Among these grand questions was the one Herc was currently asking himself, which went something along the lines of, "Why am I even here?"

Never much one for weddings from very personal experience, it was a miracle Heracles even managed to force himself to show up. From the looks of things, the bride and groom invited damn near half the city for some reason or another, many of whom spoke a language to each other that definitely wasn't English. He was expecting that, though. After all, the blushing bride was an Albanian woman he'd met in passing, and a Saudi man he didn't know at all. Which brings things now to the purpose of Herc's arrival, which must have been to humor the young man Heracles often found himself tutoring in his Methods course.

The student, as Heracles would later discover, was the nephew of Teresa, her being the bride. Thus, simply by the vaguest association with her family Heracles was eligible for an invitation to her wedding - a very common practice among various cultures in the Balkans. Fitting.

He expected he knew less than 99.99% of the guests, and this was proved by the fact the only friend he could fine was merely an acquaintance off the street, a young woman he'd met who seemed to share both her love of history with him and also her phone number. There was also the aforementioned student running around, but Heracles had yet to actually see him.

He was very much tempted to leave fashionably early, having an assload of papers to grade through and not enough patience to waste time at a wedding he really had no business attending.

[Deleted]

Anyone else would have noticed the changing attitude in the other woman and anticipated the fall out. Not Vesna of course, because her mind was already gone from the interaction and to taking care of Astrit. Goodness, was he here all by himself? This was a Balkan wedding and Vesna had been to enough of these to know what kind of things happened at them. It was not a place for children to be by themselves. And Astrit was so cute and innocent, something bad would definitely happen.

Perhaps she should have been more concerned with herself though. She barely registered what the woman was saying and then the front of her dress was soaking wet. Fuck, of course it had to be red wine on a dress that she didn't own. Rage nearly boiled to the surface and Vesna sucked in a deep breath to remain calm. Losing her temper in front of a child was not something she would do. Under her breath she mumbled every curse word she knew in her native tongue, breathing deeply to calm herself down. The need to throw something at the back of her head as she walked away was strong, but Vesna forced herself to calm down.

No, she would not give this woman the reaction she was looking for. The hell with her. “I think napkins are a good idea, Astrit.” Vesna smiled at him, to show him she was alright. Well, the dress was probably a little too far gone for napkins. Hopefully Maggie wouldn't be too upset with her. “Are you okay though? Don't listen to her, that was very brave, what you did. Bravery comes from what you do, regardless of how you feel inside.” He tried to protect her, and did a fine job of standing up to that woman. Did she even deserve the title of mother though? She didn't really shield him as much as she wanted. How low of a person did you have to be to take petty shots at a kid? Without even realizing it, her hand went back up to his head to ruffle his hair in a comforting manner.

“A drink.. da, lets go get one.” Anything to shift his attention to something else. The look on his face was easy to read, even for her. Poor kid, he really did his best and she was so proud of him, although a little sad since it meant he was growing up and wouldn't be a kid she needed to look after for very long. “You did good, bonbonče.” She ruffled his hair with affection again. This crowd was something else though. “Here, take my hand. I don't want to lose you.”

When times are hard we’ll smile and say we’re not afraid of anything

LAIKA OF BTN!

[Deleted]

I'M THE hero of the story, don't need to be saved Aha, it was Marko! What were the chances he'd stumble upon the Bulgarian in this huge crowd? Probably a billion to one, really. It looked like his luck was pretty damn good right now. Of course, he was going to see how far he could push it. Zoran couldn't help but smirk, and moved impossibly closer to invade the man's personal space. People were shoving and pushing behind him anyways; he was just making more room for them. "Yeah, that'd be me!" He crowed the words, absolutely delighted. The roar of all the people talking at once in the room was deafening, but Zoran didn't mind. It gave him -- although flimsy (then again, all his excuses were flimsy) -- excuse to be so physically close to Marko so he could "hear him". It was starting to feel a bit crowded to the point where he might be feeling a little claustrophobic, but he didn't mind that for now. "Teresa?" Zoran repeated, confused -- and then he remembered and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, right! That was her name." The words sunk in, and he blinked before erupting into loud guffaws. "Wait a second, you're her cousin? That explains it, then!" It suddenly made sense why so many goddamn people were in this room, then. He bet a lot of them were ridiculously rich, and Zoran pondered the possibility of him finding a sponsor in this whole mess. There was certainly at least a little bit of a chance. He tucked the idea away for safe keeping. He had other priorities right now. "I don't think I am. But I couldn't say, really. We're probaby all related in the end, pff." Zoran waved his hand dismissively even though Marko wouldn't be able to see it unless he was an owl and could turn his head around one hundred and eighty degrees, and then proceeded to lean on his shoulder thoughtfully. "I got an invite, so I showed up. Can't say I know either of these two, but hey! Free food and booze, so why not, right?"

words 346 tags marko notes i'm so sorry i'm late and yeah i'm sorry

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son, you've got a  way to fall. Well, that certainly was a relief. Marko didn't want to suddenly turn out to be related to Zoran, no matter how distantly along the family tree, that was for sure. “Huh, really? But if ya don't know either of 'em... Then who invited you?” Then again, maybe he could answer that question, himself. Marko didn't know either of them, but it had been Teresa's parents that had invited him... Had they done the same, with Zoran? He was about to ask why, but his question got cut off when he received a hard, sharp elbow to the ribs from one of the people in front. He winced, and grunted, but grit his teeth, lest he attempt to do or say something automatically in retaliation – he wasn't even completely sure whose elbow that had been. “This's ridiculous...” He grumbled, beneath his breath. Any claustrophobe would have fainted by now, in such a tight spot. He glanced from side to side, mostly ignoring the fact that Zoran's head was currently on his shoulder. “See any openin's? Think I'll suffocate if I spend any longer in here.” He said, wryly; he was just joking though, it was uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn't like he was going to keel over any time soon. As for openings, he couldn't find any himself, although, there was one surefire method of getting out of there that didn't involve having to squeeze in and out of the crowds in the usual manner. It boiled down to whether he wanted to risk anyone he knew catching him doing it... Sans Zoran, because firstly, he didn't really care as far as he was concerned, and secondly, he figured that if Marko himself was getting out of there, he might as well pull him out of there along with him. Another elbow to the ribs from the same offender as before made the decision for him. “Urgh. Never mind. I know a way.” With another cautious glance left and right, he shuffled downwards to his knees. zoran/balkans tagged 336 words ((yes, he's gonna do that thing kids do at weddings and crawl through people's legs)) notes

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Andrei still wasn’t entirely sure how he became lost in a wedding that (at least) half the population of London had attended. He hadn’t known the bride, or the groom, or anyone in there. If anything, he had just been kind enough to say yes when one of his classmates -some girl he had partnered with for a project- invited him to her cousin’s wedding.

Apparently it was a weird thing for girls to show unaccompanied when the invitation said +1.

The boy wasn’t too bothered, as all he had to do was put up with a nice suit (the kind that makes you look like a proper guy, even if the shoes were starting to hurt his toes), nod and smile politely when he was talked to, and then enjoy the day drinking high end booze as his pseudo-friend showed him off as a contestant for her heart.

It hadn’t been particularly demanding until then, but at some point, in the crowd, his make believe girlfriend had disappeared.

And so Andrei roamed aimlessly, not even concerned enough to actually look for the girl, all too sure she would find him if he was needed. He was trying to find the walls of the damned place, so he could lean back and try to look cool. That, or getting another drink. Or maybe two drinks, and he’d pretend he had taken it for the girl. Andrei grinned. Maybe the best part of the wedding was that no one he knew was around, so he didn’t really need to behave.

Andrei took a few steps backwards, pretending to look for his companion. It was tricky, being in such tight crowd, but he hadn’t expect to trip on something heavy and soft, only to land on his butt. “What the—” But he couldn’t finish, as the spilled champagne was making through the expensive tux and chilling his skin. “Damn it!”

Upon closer inspection, Andrei noticed it had been a person he tripped on. “What the hell are you doing?”

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I'M THE hero of the story, don't need to be saved Zoran didn't really understand why Marko was so hung up on why Zoran was there; or more specifically, who had invited him. It didn't matter to Zoran, so why would it matter to Marko? It didn't make much sense, but he didn't bother worrying about it – he had better things to do with his time. ”I have no clue, but I'm here already. Besides, I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to,” Zoran said, wincing as his foot was stepped on. He wanted to tell people to watch where they're going, but he couldn't in this situation – he could hardly even breathe, let alone even tell who had just stomped on him. ”Me too, sheesh. I can't even hear myself think – ...Hey, where're you going?” Zoran watched, half-curious and half-amused, as Marko got on his knees. Was he really going to try to crawl underneath people's legs? Even he thought Marko was above that – ha, above. ”You know, somebody's probably going to trip on you.” He was tempted to make another joke out loud how Marko was going to be crawling around on the ground on his hands and knees, but before he could, something absolutely priceless (and predicted) happened. A guy carrying a glass of what looked like champagne tripped over the kneeling Marko and went flying onto the ground, effectively spilling the liquid all over the victim's tuxedo. It was probably stained for good – Zoran tried to contain his laughter by shoving his fist in his mouth, but muffled giggles were still audible. It was taking all his willpower not to just collapse on the ground to laugh while rolling around clutching his stomach. He desperately wish he had had a camera to record that -- or at least a photographic memory. Some people were starting to stare, and Zoran tried to get a hold of himself, but it was harder than he had anticipated it would be. That's what you get for getting on the floor when it's so goddamn crowded. But it wouldn't do any good if Zoran remained in his place, snickering to himself. The guy who'd been tripped looked pretty pissed – he was young, probably early twenties, and damn, he looked pretty cute too – but he might as well help the guy up. He held out his hand to the man where he was sprawled, still attempting to cease his laughing, ”A...Are you, pffft, okay?”

words 405 tags marko/andrei notes if i was zoran i would seriously be rolling around on the ground laughing my guts out

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