"Why we here?" Vyacheslav asked as he walked into the tattoo parlor.
"We're tying up some loose ends," Manguele replied, not looking at him. "Hey, nice to meet you. Can you tattoo flames?" He asked the guy who looked like he owned the place (because he had a lot of tattoos).
"Uh, yes. Would be a bit strange if I couldn't." The man replied. "Where would you want it?"
"Oh, it's not for me." Manguele quickly clarified. "It's for this guy over here." He pointed at Khavarin. "He's got a tattoo on his chest which would look
much cooler if it were in flames." Khavarin didn't react because he couldn't understand the language the two men were talking to each other in. "It's, uh, a big Savojarna flag."
The man shrugged. "Sure. Sounds easy enough. You looked up my prices before coming, I take it?"
"Uh..." Manguele trailed off. "To be honest, this is a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision. I just asked our hotel's receptionist where we could get a quality tattoo."
"Oh, you're tourists? I charge tourists double." The man's face did not move an inch. He wasn't joking. "Your receptionist's right, by the way. You'll get the best possible tattoo here... but she did suggest the most expensive tattoo parlor in Tikariot City."
"Hmm..." The Farf rubbed his chin. "We're short on time, so I guess we'll have to make do." He turned towards Vyacheslav, then pointed towards the seat next to the man. "Vyach, sit there."
"What is happening?" The Savojar asked, monotone.
"You're starting against Græntfjall tomorrow." Manguele replied. Vyacheslav's face lit up. "But on the condition that you get a tattoo right now. So, sit, next to this lovely man. He'll prick you a lot and then the flag on your chest will be on fire. Not
literally literally, but quite literally."
"I, uh." Vyacheslav struggled to take in all of that information. By now, however, he'd learned that he had to go with the flow in these situations. Trying to fight it would only make it worse. "Ok."
The Savojar took off his shirt and sat down. Wordlessly, the man started his work. He was either good enough to get straight to tattooing or asshole enough to not care about the end product at all. The minutes flew by. For someone with such an intimidating frame, Vyacheslav's squeaks of pain were quite... high-pitched. The man struggled to muffle his laughter. Manguele laughed at his heart's content.
"So... any chance you take payment besides cash?"
"Credit? Sure."
"How about
publicity?"
"The last 'influencer' who tried to pull that off wound up in the hospital, just saying." The man sounded very irritated. "Cash or credit, whichever you prefer."
"No, wait, hear me out. I feel like my offer might genuinely interest you!"
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"Wait, Faragó!" The Szoirsian turned towards him, as did the fourth referee. "You've got to put this on first." He handed him a kraken mask.
Faragó looked down at the mask, clearly confused. "What for? This thing is pretty big. It will make me play worse." He eyed Manguele suspiciously. "Tell me this is not some weird fetish."
Manguele shook his head. "It is not. Græntfjallers fear krakens. If you wear a kraken mask, they'll mark you less often, which is exactly what we need to equalize."
"That's ridiculous."
"One of their players got eaten by a kraken recently." He explained while forcing Faragó to put the mask on. He then turned towards the pitch, looking for reactions. "See?" He pointed at Amanda Guttisdóttir, who was staring straight at rue Cazade. The fear in her eyes was palpable. "Trust me on this one."
Faragó shrugged. "Fine." He felt a tad ridiculous, but he was past the point of caring about his image. He was Faragó fucking rue Cazade, after all.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let him into the pitch with that mask." The fourth referee informed them. "It is against the rules."
Faragó began taking off his mask, but Manguele stopped him. "Worry not!" He exclaimed. "He picked up an injury recently, as I'm sure you know. The team's physician says he has to wear this mask to play."
The fourth referee squinted. "Aren't you the team's physician?"
"Yes. But, legally, you can do nothing about this." He bullshitted.
The fourth referee shrugged, then turned around. Gallegas crossed the ball into the stands half a minute later, and it was finally time for Faragó to come in. He'd have twenty minutes to turn things around.
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He wasn't entirely sure the gaffer's trick was working but... he wasn't entirely sure it
wasn't. He definitely felt like he wasn't being marked as heavily as usual. Besides, the looks of horror in their faces as he approached were a bit... ok, it was probably working to some degree. The mask was annoyingly hot and pretty heavy. The tentacles dangling from his head were
especially annoying. Still, he had to focus on the game: Sara Kristoffersdóttir's early screamer had them trailing. It was already, what, the eightieth minute? They had to do something and
fast.
The Græntfjallers clearly knew how to defend. They'd managed to reduce Farfadillis to just four shots on target over eighty minutes. At the cost of looking quite toothless in attack, sure, Kristoffersdóttir's goal notwithstanding, but they were playing their cards really well, if not perfectly. Score once, shut down shop. A bit risky of a strategy when facing Farfadillis, one of the few teams that generally knows how to break down defenses, but they were pulling it off nonetheless. Of course, with him on the pitch, things were about to get that much harder for the Rushmori team, he knew.
Marajis dribbled past Grímólfursson, then went for an overenthusiastic cross. With most players unevenly scattered after the recent corner kick, it wasn't an entirely unreasonable decision. A more confident player would've tried to make it further into opponent territory, though. The cross was promptly cleared away by Reynarsson. The ball fell straight to his feet. Calmly and deftly, he controlled it with one touch. He looked up, saw the fear in their eyes. He feigned going into the box, and the two players in front of him couldn't help but move
away. With the opening they left for him, there was no chance he wouldn't shoot. You'd have struggled to find a player better suited for scoring in such a situation than Faragó rue Cazade. The ball went straight to the bottom-left corner. The shot was too precise and too fast. They'd equalized.
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Bringing down the ball with his chest hurt. The tattoo was still too fresh. He winced, then brought the ball down. It was nothing short of a miracle: he wasn't exactly the most technical player. He was
certainly the least technical player in the squad. He passed the ball to Edmün. The Rulandese striker quickly turned around, leaving Jokulsson biting the dust. He went for a low shot, but Ernestisson expertly parried it away. Another corner kick. This was, what, their ninth corner kick in the last twenty minutes?
Gallegas would take it. He could pull off some great crosses and was horrible at being at the end of other people's crosses. However, the last eight corner kicks of his had been pretty subpar... maybe the fact that this was probably the last play of regular time would unsettle the Græntfjallers enough for Gallegas' potentially-not-that-great cross to nonetheless find someone in the box. Maybe him.
The Faroleran repositioned the ball twice. He talked to the referee, then tried to place it outside the corner arc. The referee reprimanded him. He repositioned the ball once again. A cheap way to try and make the opponents nervous. The referee blew the whistle. Emiliano ran up to the ball and, once again, went for your typical cross that doesn't look like it's aiming anywhere in particular besides, well, the box. The ball arced high. Vyacheslav moved towards it, maybe, possibly, but who knows, really, hopefully not VAR, fouling Vilbertsdóttir in the process. He jumped. Nobody was about to jump higher than him. He was one ninety-nine (about six feet seven, if you're
that kind of person) and more motivated than ever. With his momentum, the header would be impossible to stop... so long as he managed to get it on target. And manage he did. Ernestisson could only watch as the ball violently hit the crossbar and bounced in. A last-minute winner, surely. VAR-permitting.
Vyacheslav didn't care. For just this moment, he was the guy who'd scored a late winner in a World Cup knock-out match. He started running towards the nearest camera, his teammates following him. He took off his shirt and started violently shaking it. The camera focused on his tattoos. A burning Savojarna flag and the logo of the tattoo parlor right below it. VAR either did not check for a foul in the goal or did not think he'd fouled the defender. He'd won Farfadillis the game. He felt vindicated. Finally vindicated.
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Now back in print after a brief ten-year hiatus!Faragó rue Cazade and Vyacheslav Khavarin face potential two-game sanction over hate crimes These are uncertain hours for Lele Manguele's squad. One day after their nerve-wracking, diarrhea-inducing, heart-stopping, last-minute win against Græntfjall, the World Cup Committee has announced they'll be looking into "potential hate crimes perpetrated by Faragó rue Cazade and Vyacheslav Khavarin in the game between Farfadillis and Græntfjall." They were the two best players on the pitch yesterday, so the sanction could be a huge blow for Farfadillis' chances against Audioslavia (and any further opponents, if
la Vherderoja make it past them).
Faragó rue Cazade is being accused of hurting Græntfjaller sensitivities by wearing a kraken mask. It is being argued that what he did constituted a hate crime against all Græntfjallers, as their feelings towards krakens are very well known and generally understood to err on the extreme side of insane. rue Cazade is expected to wiggle out of the sanction on medical grounds, as the team's physician, Lele Manguele, demanded that he use the kraken mask because of a recent hamstring injury. It is rumored that this argument's success will be contingent on Manguele managing to falsify a medical license in time by the time the game against Audioslavia rolls around.
Vyacheslav Khavarin also faces a confusing situation. His case is much more clear-cut: you don't get much more hate-crimey than displaying another country's burning flag (tattooed on your chest, no less) in front of billions of people. Khavarin, too, is expected to avoid a sanction on the basis that he
is Savojar and, in fact, only holds Savojar nationality, as there is no such thing as being legally Farf anyway. In his case, the one obstacle in front of him is that Lele Manguele has apparently initiated the process of rescinding Khavarin's Savojar citizenship behind his back. So long as the process is not completed before the game against Audioslavia, Khavarin should be fine.
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