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The latticework of the window hiding the light that beamed through the room to an extent—the room was too beautiful for such a draining manner. Egypt lies his back against the reclining chair, waiting for a response. He doesn't know if he'll get what's he's been etching to hear for awhile, a simple agreement from Soviet would've done the job for Egypt's ambitions. The year is 1973, war lies in the atmosphere more then it ever has in the hot gusts of the dusty wind that scratches against Egypt's face as he lies standing before Soviet. The wooden table that stretched along both ends of the conference room was burdened with scattered documents, preferably in Arabic—yet translated to Russian for the Soviet's apprehension.
Soviet stares at him quite jokingly, Egypt to him always seemed to want to start something, to boost himself up from the defeat prior to his history. To Soviet, It was really childish of Egypt to ever think that in his opinion, given his huge impression on others that surrounded him.
"I don't agree at all with this". Soviet's lips curve a little as his thick brows shoot up from his brown lashes, tampering with the Egyptian's temper.
"This isn't a joke" Egypt shouts at him then soothes himself shortly after his outburst. "You know—everyone else knows how much I've been begging to get my land back", screaming in a way almost. His eyes being glued to ground briefly. Soviet looks at the paper once more, his breath held as he reads mentally the boldened document. Soviet tilts his head at Egypt's burdening patience then slams the paper on the table. Egypt's posture got quite stiff when he noticed that, not daring to say a word in front of his supposed 'superior'.
"Egypt, do whatever you please. I don't care:". A warm unsettling smile tugged at Soviet's mouth after the response, uncomfortableness filled Egypt's body, nothing much was more embarrassing then disappointing such a man. The shorter man nods slowly at his sarcastic manner & hurls for Soviet to leave—as he proceeds to gather all of the documents—curtly slipping them into his file.
"Ok". Egypt response delayed a few minutes after Soviet's. He can hear the shoes of the other man click against the floor with a exit, slamming the door behind him.
It wasn't the first that time that Egypt had bothered anyone per se. Sometimes he just had enough of Soviet overall—whether it was his odd demeanor or better yet—just himself as a whole. It didn't really occur to Egypt that'd be the last time he was gonna see Soviet. Although he did acknowledge to Soviet how much he had disliked the advisors earlier in the banter. Possibly that could've been what flared up Soviet's boldened self? to be honest Egypt didn't want to question anymore of his internal thoughts either. It never got him anymore nor helped him with the misery his heart has been covered with from the prior war.
Visit me once a year,
For it's wrong to abandon people forever.
(Is this the promise that was supposed to be held for as long as you remember?).
Egypt finds himself once again aching with the constant pain of wanting to fight. It was going to burst out of him that'd he finally mark a day for the war. Syria also had his own plan—the two of them somewhat agreed on something for both of their sakes. Although Syria was skeptical of him, he ignored it for Egypt's own wellbeing.
Syria's hand grapples the pen in confusion, Egypt's hand helps him for a second. He tells him what he's been wanting to do—a brief overrun of the war plan. Syria's voice speaks with honesty.
"I wont go against your plan, it's very good overall. I'm just not fond of you" . Syria sighs, rubbing his forehead as his eyes are covered with blotches of black—occasionally seeing Egypt's stiff & bold posture. Egypt lights up a cigar, the smoke suffocating the both of them. He nods at Syria's disapproval, he's always been fond of Syria, at the same time he really hasn't for the past decade. His breath is held with curses & insults that he'd wish to enthrall upon the Levantine. He ignores it & breathes as his feet tap rapidly against the rug.
"No, you will be In this plan whether you savor it or not". Egypt shouts at Syria bothered & takes a lengthy drag, coughing disturbingly towards Syria. Syria looks to the ground for a moment before he collects himself.
"I don't like you but god willing you'll fix everything as you promised in the defeat prior". Syria says sternly. Egypt's fingers trail across the document—tickling his finger as he nods. He rolls his eyes as he overhears what Syria says, not taking any sliver of his words into consideration.
"It's not a big problem. It'll be fixed easily, you're stressing me when you talk—stop turning everything onto my end" . Egypt frantically stammers—jumbling his words. He can feel himself getting more tempered at that flat accusation that had no witness to it.
Egypt looks amongst the Arab states, he doesn't really know what to say anymore at that. He wants to tell them something—something that isn't a lie again. But his words always seem to be lies without him even trying. He bites his tongue before he proceeds to instill a false hope in them once again—a specialty that only its master could conquer. He can feel everything amongst his body wanting him not to say anything—the nation(s) that sat amongst his essence of thick cologne whispering & snickering about his afore mentioned false prophecies.
He breathes, then whistles. Subtly, everyone listens. It didn't take long for majority of the members to listen. Majority of them were good at such things—others not so much you could say. Saudi's thick rimmed glasses hold the reflection of Egypt's stillness, he asks Egypt a question.
"If you're so confident, why are you asking for my help?" . He laughs staring at Egypt, who didn't seem to like it at all.
"Be quiet". Egypt's monotone voice cut through Saudi's face like a slap did to the cheek.
He walks out into the streets of Cairo, his head pounding as he fends to wear his mind off of the impact. The hot dust breeze grazed, kissing his cheek whilst the sounds of the crowding population toyed with his mind, soothing him almost like a lullaby a way. It was quite peaceful when he walks without the weight of the jokes, the constant embarrassment that had corroded his mind from that day. His flares moving up & down against every strut he walked, quietly indicating the importance of him, he rolls his eyes as he meets with Libya. Another unpleasant encounter that he just so happened to run into.
"I can help you with anything you need Egypt". Libya smiled slightly concerned for his idol, for a second or two Egypt smiles with him—then shuts him down. He didn't anything from Libya but god how could he let them just get sad in front of him like this?
"I apologize. I don't need your help, I have enough already". He stares down at the backgammon board—his hand tracing the circle of the stones, as he sighs a bit awkwardly at the suggestion. Libya's eyes narrow.
"Let me do one thing for you in return". Libya insists. Egypt doesn't say anything more as he squeezes Libya's shoulder soothingly. He plays with their curls for a moment then gets up to leave, smoking a cigar as the air trails behind him.
He walks back to his home, each time he gets closer he can smell the cement & the gasoline slacking off in the atmosphere. He indulges in it for a minute or two before he arrives at his door. His house is very organized to say the least—no one considered visiting him then or now asides Libya & Syria at moments. Egypt lies against his bed, scuffling his picture-perfect hair before he sets off.
He asks himself lightly what he would've done if he was Libya. It passes through his mind quickly as he lets that thought be. The only thing that lied on his mind was the war plan—the war that he's been craving to engage in once again. To fight for him, for his pride that he indulges himself in.
Maybe this time he'll be on the winning side—tasting the glory of victory.