Log of the Week: Week of 15 Aug 05 - 22 Aug 05

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Log of the Week: Week of 15 Aug 05 - 22 Aug 05

Postby CptStaceyTemplar » Mon Aug 29, 2005 8:04 pm

Ensign Vahe for Sunspots Part II 

Congratulations Vahe and excellent log!



    Voshkie Demirchian, seventeen years old, was sitting in her room in perfect isolation.  Her friend was buzzing unimportantly on the phone, and she was making some tactless answers.  Voshkie was not listening to her friend at all, because she was very glad her cousin Vahe had chosen to spend the day in the city and not attempting conversation with her.  She assumed that her greasy father had followed him out, no doubt in some lame attempt to win Vahe over and set him up as future patriarch of the Demirchian’s little political empire.  Didn’t Armenia know, like the rest of the Federation already knew, that women were equally capable of leading families, not to mention being much more shrewd politicians?
    Whatever.  They were both out of her hair, and she didn’t care for politics anyway.  The pair of them were irritating together, one trying to being the father to his nephew that he’d never been to his own daughters, the other stupidly friendly and awkward at all of it.  If Vahe would just be in her father’s face about it and spurn him, then she wouldn’t have to put up with Vahe at all, and her little world would carry on with a great deal more stability.
    No sooner had her father’s knuckles just laid upon her door than she snapped an irritable, “What!”  As she turned back to the phone, she recovered her faculties with a pleasant laugh:  “I have to go.  Yeah, uh-huh, tomorrow night.  Bye.”  She hung up the phone, huffed irritably, took her time getting to the door, only to yank it open impatiently once she was there.
    “Hello, pumpkin,” Ibram smiled.
    Voshkie looked sullenly up at him, huffed again, and flopped down on her bed to watch him upside-down.  His tacky attire was somewhat less visually offensive when he was upside-down.
    “Yes, you’re right, I’m here because I need something,” Ibram said as he ran his fingers awkwardly through his thinning gray-flecked hair.
    “Something to do with Vahe?”
    “Mm-hm.”  He sat down on the bed beside her.
    “Will it get him out of here, daddy?”  Unable to totally overpower her girlish affection, she resigned herself to resting a hand on top of his.  Her position was making the blood rush to her head, and suddenly she wanted the conversation over more quickly.
    “Yes, it will, pumpkin.”  He smoothed his hands over his knees as he chewed over his next words.  “Now I’m willing to put up with your little get-together tomorrow night only because it puts some important people in Vahe’s way, and every party and every gathering is good for the poor boy.  But I need you to do something for me.”
    “Mm?”
    “At this party, get him high, get him drunk… do something that his mother wouldn’t like.”  He grinned.  “I’m sure you’ll have such means at your disposal.”  He conveniently forgot to mention that if all went according to plan, Vahe would leave shortly, but he’d soon come back and for much longer.
    “Whatever, daddy.”  Voshkie gave him a lopsided smile and turned upright to snatch up the phone again.  Ibram knew she would do as she was told, in spite of all her teenage defiance and angst.  He knew that Vahe would get high, he trusted that he would try it again, and he was pretty certain that when Vahe sought to escape his parents’ overbearing influences, he would look to his extended family.

*    *    *

    The party at the Demirchians’ house was very loud; so loud that Uncle Ibram felt the need to call his friend with the authorities to make sure this party wouldn’t be broken up.  The thumping of the bass was so powerful that Vahe couldn’t worry too much about anything.  While the beer went around, however, Vahe was too busy dancing, enchanted by the company of a Slavic girl whose father was a diplomat here in Yerevan.  Everybody was a fine mess:  drunk and seeking out likewise lager-flavored lips on the couches; stoned and slumped harmlessly off to the sides of the party giggling stupidly at everything; sweaty from the energetic dancing; or high off of more potent drugs, dancing more wildly, and sweating more profusely than everybody else.  The environment was wonderfully decadent, and the people were happy to have someone as friendly as Vahe, however socially unknown, there with them.
    “I’m tired!” shouted Nijole, though still smiling as she stopped in the middle of the dance floor.  “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”  Vahe nodded eagerly, and she winked as she took his hand and half-led, half-dragged him through the bustling crowd, away from the deafening speakers, past a gaggle of stoners who laughed as they excitedly hailed the pair, and right into Voshkie.  They both blinked, Vahe aware of his cousin’s distaste for him, and Nijole having scented it at the beginning of the party, surprised to see her before them and smiling.
    “You two having a good time?”
    Nijole and Vahe grinned at each other.
    “You’re missing out on something big!  Come on, I’ll show you.”
    Voshkie led them into a small parlor where someone’s crumpled cardigan was discarded on the couch – one could only guess where its owner and her co-conspirator had gone off to.  On a low table in the center of the room sat an enormous and delicate instrument, the likes of which Vahe had only seen in books and movies, and the smell coming from it was something more potent than marijuana.  Vahe failed to see how he was missing out, as there was only one guy there, this gathering’s “wizard,” no doubt.
    As Voshkie disappeared, Vahe shook his head and made to leave, but Nijole, being a more adventurous and mischievious sort, was willing to try anything and have someone good-looking come along for the ride.  She squeezed Vahe’s hand and smiled adorably up at him and said, “Come on.  It’ll be fun.”
    Vahe grinned at the girl, looked at the instrument before them, and supposed it couldn’t hurt to try.
CptStaceyTemplar
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