[ONE-SHOT] Reaction

Abisak Avedisian/Giraile Arevig Asdvadzadour (tidak, urutannya tidak salah)

Peringatan untuk karangan ini, mengandung banyak kata kasar (walau sebagian besar adalah kata kasar dari beberapa abad yang lalu. Ada juga kata b**** yang sampai sekarangpun tetap kasar. Itu salahkan lirik lagu Cold Hard B**** karya band Jet. Jika yang tertarik pada makna beberapa istilah hinaan atau lagu ini, silakan hubungi saya.

Oh ya, walau tidak terjadi apa-apa, karya ini mungkin sedikit mensugesti sehingga Anda-Anda yang masih polos boleh menutup mata sebelum menutup tab karya ini. Oh ya, bagi yang tidak paham bahasa Inggris macam apa yang saya pakai, boleh bertanya makna kalimat yang rumit-rumitnya, kok (asal jangan minta diterjemahin semua).

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Reaction




"Abirad!" The familiar scream of a certain female general can be heard through the whole corridor, reaching the room where the called thought he might get some break. He groaned in frustration, placing his hand upon his forehead. "Well, bollocks. She didn't forget after all. I was hoping she'd come back later than Friday." What is it with Friday? It can be said that this certain man, Abisak Avedisian, didn't look forward to his weekly Armenian course, given free of charge by a certain woman he avoided at that moment.



His companion, a fellow janitor, couldn't hold in his small laughter. "Abisak, surely you still get... something out of your weekly--ehem-- 'lessons', don't you?"



"Something?" The brown-haired man of twenty-five snorted, placing his mop into a nearby drawer. "Nothing more than a sore back every single time I forget the pronunciation or meaning of an Armenian word, I assure you. She is too enthusiastic over returning me to my ancestral roots, my friend."



"That's not the 'something' I mean," his friend stressed, performing the same action. A few minutes ago, they had finished a round of mopping the corridor, and were about to enjoy a moment of rest in the storage room, accompanied by two glasses of tea and a conversation, as typical of simple Englishmen as they; that is, until one participant would be forced to stop whatever he was doing and begin his language course. Footsteps were heard tapping on the corridor floor, footsteps of the person this man was talking about. "I've always thought General Asdvadzadour would be a... promiscuous type."

Abisak could not help but let his eyes widen at this sentiment. He allowed a hoarse laugh to exit his mouth. Being promiscuous would mean enjoying casual... intimate relationships with many, something he cannot imagine Giraile Arevig Asdvadzadour do. "You could not be serious. I cannot think of any sane man who would let himself spend time with her more than the amount it takes for him to escape from her grasp."

"You would be a fine example."

"Alas," began he, who peeked out the wooden door, which creaked slightly at his gentle push. One hazel eye looked out, and sure enough, that barbarian of a woman was searching left and right for him, opening every door on her way. Surely, it would only be a matter of minutes before she reached him. "I have long since resigned to this unfortunate fate of mine. You know how unlucky I am."

"You could always report to Supervisor Wright if it bothers you."



"He has no control over generals."

"Is that so? I'm afraid you really have resigned to your fate, giving up just like that. I'm starting to think you enjoy being with this general."

Another hoarse laugh. "She is far from promiscuous, but I am also far from gaining enjoyment from this weekly torment." His friend raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the harsh comment. "I've always thought you would be the type to check. Why don't you?"

"With her? I don't think so--"

Suddenly, the only barrier between the room and the corridor was banged open by the exact person he feared. The dreaded Armenian woman gave a thin smile reminiscent to a snake. "Hello, Abirad." Abirad; he never knew what the name meant. It was simply a modification of his name which better suited his 'miserable' self, but the Armenian man with no knowledge of his ancestor's language would not know that. Abisak gulped, as he tried to give a smile back; one of complete fear of what would happen next to his physique. Then, he was on his own, as his friend from before decided to pretend not to notice anything happening, a clever strategy when close to having anything to do with that woman.

... Indeed, a clever strategy Abisak wished he could also use. His smile didn't falter, but his bravery was beginning to. "Hello, Miss Asdvadzadour."

It seemed that she was satisfied with the reply from the younger man. "You should be glad I'm back early, so you don't have to miss out on our lesson," Giraile cooed, coating her words in poisonous honey. She approached Abisak even closer, and by then their nose almost touched; an intimidation method she greatly favored. Her amber eyes stared sharply at her prey, her hand ready to grab at his collar were he to resist. "Come, then. My room."



Abisak gave a last glance at his workmate as Giraile dragged him by the end of his sleeve, creating an imaginary line across his throat, trying to signal that his end was near. His friend only managed to give him a sympathetic smile, before returning to blissful ignorance. 'Bloody fool,' cursed Abisak inwardly, as he allowed the woman to take him to her personal room, ready to face another not-so-short course in Armenian.

---

After pondering about it, the young janitor realised the logic behind his friend's presumption; he was often dragged most forcefully to the woman's personal room as if Giraile had no knowledge of the invisible barrier between men and the gentler sex (not that the word applied to this particular specimen of the gentler sex). He cringed at the thought that he might be viewed as a male hustler, called upon to fulfill the desires of Giraile, out of all people. For as long as he knew her, she didn't even seem to be the type to have such desires, especially for younger men as he. As far as he knew, she didn't even show interest in any man.

Did she?

"Miss Asdvadzad--"

"Giraile."

"Miss Giraile," he corrected, wondering whether he should let his curiosity get the better of him or not. Too late now, as the woman faced him with an impatient expression. He could only imagine how mad she would be if he ended up not saying anything. "Do you... ever let any other man enter your room, only accompanied by yourself?"

"No." Her quickness in answering can be interpreted in two ways: one, Giraile gave an honest answer, which explained why she answered without a second thought, or two, she didn't want to reveal the dark truth, which explained why she answered with haste. Abisak bit his lower lip, unsure of which he should believe in more. He did deny even the thought of Giraile being active in that area, but the more he thought, the more the young man doubted himself.

He was prepared to spend the rest of the journey to her room--which was, by then, only a few metres away, in silence, but she asked in return, "What makes you ask that?"

"Nothing," he answered in the same quickness, for the second reason, which made him continue to wonder about Giraile's own reason. He did not voice this out, as Giraile forcefully opened the door to her personal room; he already memorised the location he visited almost every week. King-sized bed on the left, a mahogany desk he knew she rarely used facing the same wall the door was implanted in, and crates of mysterious packages on the side. Judging by the aroma emitted, though, he could guess what they contained; only the best quality brandy Giraile would go for, shipped straight from the colony of South Africa. It was ridiculous how she fretted over small expenses, yet continued to spoil herself with fine alcohol; he sneered at the thought.

Giraile glared at him with an expression that gave away her annoyance at inunderstanding what he found so amusing. He noticed that her thin lips pouted in displease, as her hands rested upon her hip--which, despite the manly persona she put around the other staffs of Black Order, was quite womanly. He had to slap himself on the head, though the one he blamed for this unbelievable trail of thoughts would be his workmate, mentioning speculations on Giraile's promiscuity and such... 'Never knew you had such an active imagination, Abisak,' he mocked himself, as he tried to slap some sense into himself. Too immersed was he in his thoughts that he realised too late Giraile's face was close to his, and not in intimidation this time.

Unknown to this man who considered himself as English as any other man who spent his whole life in the country ruled by Queen Victoria, Giraile had a soft spot for anyone with the same ancestry as herself, the Ottoman territory of Armenia. Gasping for words, he did not move an inch when Giraile moved away and pulled something out of her crate, before approaching her desk's drawer. Placing the object she took from her stash--a bottle, obviously filled with fine, expensive brandy--on the furniture, she took out two drinking glasses from its drawer, before placing them beside the bottle.

Carefully, she poured the same small amount into the glasses, before she replaced the bottle into the crate with just as much care, bending down. Having trouble performing this act, she shook around a slight bit--



For the love of God, even though he was not sure he believed in that particular entity, snap out of this, Abisak! Out of all the people you can observe the attractiveness of, this one is the most taboo, and most unreasonable. What could possibly be attractive in a woman with stronger muscles than his own? The object of his thoughts came towards him, holding one glass of Commander brandy in each hand, and he still had the same flabbergasted look upon his face.

"Drink," she offered--more instructed, forcing the glass into shocked Abisak's right hand. He could not restrain his gape, as he pointed towards the glass, then to himself. "For you. Bastardly gullion," she added with a hiss, as her index finger jabbed at his chest, urging him to accept. The woman's pride would not stand for rejection; knowing this, Abisak hurriedly nodded and gulped down his share of brandy. Not to be offensive, but he never expected Giraile to be capable of doing any sort of charitable act.

"I see that you've started using profane words out of your native diction," he said straightforwardly. Abisak wondered whether his inhibition had lowered to the point that he would actually use sarcasm on this powerful general, but he did not feel drunk. He had no speech impediment so far, and he could actually think more clearly now that fear didn't obstruct him from doing so. The staff of the cleaning service blinked a few times at the brandy, starting to undertand Giraile's fascination with the stuff; it was good.

"And I see that you're in good enough condition to yap," she replied. Abisak smiled slightly; he knew that he wasn't one to hide his dislike of Giraile and her ways of forcing others to do as she wishes, but he wasn't one to say it straight out like so. He gulped down the rest of the golden liquid, to the last drop, as he saw the woman in front of him perform. "No more. I don't want you drunk." Of course, he was the student here. Abisak merely nodded submissively.



As usual, she began by taking out a pocket book she most likely stole or forcefully took from her general friend, Shreizag. Abisak began to wonder whether she had any interest in this man, and the other way around... doesn't seem so, as Shreizag Halverson probably had the same view as anyone else; this woman cannot be considered a woman. Though, as he hammered this into his head, he was focused on the length of the eyelashes framing Giraile's amber eyes. Her lips moved as she spoke in a language so close, yet so foreign to him, but he paid more attention to those than her words. It was strange how he began to open his eyes to these kind of trivial things. Bloody brandy.

"Missssss..." Hell, was he beginning to slur? He did not guess his alcohol tolerance would be so low. Truthfully, it was not so, as the only thing he was drunk in was an excuse to relieve his stress. "... Giraile. Are you in some sort of a relationship with General Halverson?"

She did not hesitate to give him a slap harder than any woman could ever give. Abisak flinched right before her hand made contact with his skin, which turned red after the impact, lessened by this reflex. It could've been worse, as Giraile is completely capable of optimally using her rock hard fist.



It wasn't the alcohol which drove him to approach her; not a typical behaviour from her prey, which astounded Giraile. Not very adaptable to unpredictable happenings, the general thought to have no fear fell back, supporting her body with her hands. She growled at the man facing her, not appreciating his strange sense of calmness, which, in turn, intimidated her. Her last resort was to let out a stream of insults fit for criminals of the nineteenth century. "Goddamn cheeky swagger. Watch who you get into a row with next time, mug, or else your number might be up." By that slang usage, she meant that she would personally take his life should he continue not to watch his mouth. Yet, this heartfelt insult did not affect Abisak, who began to hold a solemn expression.



"Rumour says, Miss, that you are of a promiscuous sort," he began, as he crawled closer towards the female general who froze in shock. In his clear mind, Abisak knew he wasn't drunk... but he sure was crazy. However, his curiosity got the better of him, and drunkenness was a perfect facade that Giraile would surely tolerate as a reason for his abnormality. "You're drunk," she hissed (as expected), while she scooted away from him. Abisak had to restrain his laugh, and his frustration; could he be so abnormal as to take pleasure in seeing Giraile's own unmanly behaviour? Should he actually continue?



He was already slapped, and he could handle it. How bad could the rest be? "Could this be?" he continued, deciding to heighten the ante of his game. "General Asdvadzadour is intimidated by one she treats like a slave." He gave a mock shake of the head. "Surely not."

When he looked straight at the older Armenian woman, the expression he received was not of an irritated sort, as he expected. In its stead was pure horror, not mere shock, as if coming from a young girl never approached by a man before--the beauty of it came from the origin, Giraile Asdvadzadour. She wasn't one Abisak expected to be able to have that kind of naivete. He didn't restrain a small smirk from showing. Could he actually be enjoying this more?



The only way to find out would be to continue. The woman was taller, and obviously stronger than him, yet it seemed like all her strength lied dormant in vain as he placed his right hand upon her left. Strange, here he was acting like a professional hustler when his experience in this sort of activity was close to none. He was seriously letting his curiosity get the better of himself, and perhaps that was the major contributor to his current enjoyment... other than seeing the intimidator intimidated.



What he would give to satiate his final curiosity. He had no idea he had been fascinated with this general more than in ways to avoid her, though that was due to his constant ignorance of his own question: why didn't he ever run away? Ignorance is bliss, after all, and as the distance between his lips and hers lessened, he began to ignore his own sane mind. If he had to be crazy, he might as well go all the way, right? He felt his eyelids begin to cover his hazel eyes, as his other hand sneaked behind the older woman's neck. Wow, he was turning into a Casanova at a drastic pace.



Abisak's breath quickened; he had not been shown any kind of resistance, which astounded him. Surely Giraile was not the promiscuous woman others thought her to be? What other reason would she have for inviting him to her room, offering him alcohol, and going along with his out-of-the-norm act? They both knew that this kind of of activity without the bond of marriage would be wrong. But it would just be a kiss. 'With her immoralities, wouldn't that be trivial?' He tilted his head slightly to the side, unable to figure out any other way to achieve his purpose, but something stopped him from progressing--a pang of guilt.



Guilt; a strange feeling to have towards a woman who held him hostage for too long. Abisak Avedisian began to observe the woman's tan face close-up. Her face was tense, and completely reddened; did she hold her breath? He moved his face away, and groggily returned his arm behind her neck to his side. With that arm, he scratched the back of his neck. He was the cause of the new (much more) uncomfortable atmosphere. That jab at his heart returned again. He slowly removed his hand atop hers, allowing more personal space for the Armenian woman.

"Were you... scared, Miss?" Soon, his expression of disbelief matched hers, as he came to a sudden realisation. He had just been a witness of an extraordinary event, when Giraile Asdvadzadour was actually scared of him, a man whom she could easily lift from the front of the collar. Spontaneously, he gently reached out his hand to comfort her--how? He had no idea how he managed to even perform that horrendous act from before, having no idea how far instinct could take a human being such as he. But he too, as a human being, had a conscience.

That act from the bottom of his heart was slapped aside by the woman, who stared at him with an expression of utmost disbelief... and he'd admit it honestly, earnestly, completely to himself this time, he hoped it was not of hatred. Was it because he feared the wrath of a particularly strong woman scorned? He gulped; what truly he feared was the appearance of a new, unfamiliar feeling.

He closed his eyes, ready to take whatever Giraile would launch towards him, but no act of violence came. Slowly, he opened his eyes only to let them rest upon the sight of Giraile trembling ever-so-slightly. That unfamiliar feeling returned, and lurked inside him, making him cringe. The man was perceptive enough to draw a conclusion after a few minutes of evaluation, but he had difficulty voicing it out to her, not when she was like that. "Miss. Miss Giraile, that had almost been your first, if I--"

"Out."



Before he could finish his sentimental sentence, he was forced to his legs and pushed towards the exit of the woman's room with no mercy. He tried to anchor himself to the room in any way he can, including creating friction between his shoe and the floor, but Giraile's force was too great, and too soon he was about to be forced out to the empty corridor, until he grabbed both sides of the door frame with all his might. Abisak looked back, "Miss, I--"

"Out!"



The door slammed shut. He groaned in frustration, severely feeling like a servant who had been kicked out by his mistress. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel, now that he could escape her grasp. This might only be a passing illness, a syndrome which needed to be cured. One could not hold sympathy for one's captor. He leaned on the wooden door, slowly sliding down until his backside hit the cold floor, unawarely mirroring the action of his captor.







"Bitch."

Maaak, lebih panjang dari dugaan saya... @__@

*baca*

Sudah lama tidak baca karangan berbahasa Inggris tulisan Chief, rasanya kualitasnya tetap terjaga Err, bagian awal ceritanya yang mengandung humor lebih menarik buat saya sih, ke bawahnya, karena serius jadi saya nggak bisa banyak komentar. Ternyata Abisak itu masokis ya.. *digebuk* Ck, dia dapat hak eksklusif buat masuk ke kamar Giraile [-(

... Terjemahin ke Bahasa Indonesia dong D: *dilempar jauh-jauh*

Quote :

Ternyata Abisak itu masokis ya..

I-Iya juga ya... *baru baca ulang* Sayang istilah Stockholm Syndrome belum ada, soalnya mungkin itu yang dialaminya. And, surpressed desire to dominate? *dilempar* Duhhh, saya malu kalau harus diterjemahin ke bahasa Indonesia, ketahuan deh gombalnya (??). Nanti deh~

abisak, abisak... ternyata kau berani juga... *ditampol*

tapi giraile juga sepertinya menerima (??) *dikulitin hidup2*

@ Xiao Ling: Masokis, mungkin? Merujuk ke komentar sebelumnya...

Bisa diinterpretasikan tergantung mood, kalau lagi dukung Abraile (?) sih dianggapnya Giraile menerima saja, tapi kalau lagi kembali ke OTP Haraile (???) sih karena dia sebenarna takut menghadapi hal macam itu sih *hmm, hmm*