Draga Mea [Moldova/public]

Dimitrie thought his big lie would end after he left dinner with his family so long ago-- but it was getting worse, and he wasn't even involved with it anymore.

Why, oh why, did he say he worked for the mayor? Couldn't he have picked something to be less proud of? Well, obviously not as low as his current profession (thought in his mind, it was a good place to be)... but... maybe teacher? ....No, no one would believe that. And there was no use, now. He had realized this grim fact and went straight to the closest bar to drown the already setting in self-disappointment.

She had started to send him letters through his go-between father, and he wrote back as well as he could to each. But guilt got the better of him, and he couldn't bring himself to respond to her latest update. He stared at the letter, as if the words would suddenly change to "I understand, I love you" before his eyes. They continued to read as follows, in quaint cursive:

Draga Mea--

Is Mami. Are you well? Not still like such stick? You always enjoy food as a baby. You are grow out of food eating like growing out of hugging Mami? Bah. No such thing for both. This is English, can you tell or not? A mayor assistant here does not speak romanian, right? So i will not write it, as to you becoming more premium with english. Not so premium with writing it myself. But I learn, keep write me too.

Skinny whore woman from the other carnival lives with us, today. If you stop eating, you do not want to become her!

Okay, my baby. We give you kisses, me and Mili. Vă rugăm să-mi scrieţi!

--Mami

.....Dammit. How long was he supposed to have to play this game. She would find out soon enough. He just hoped he didn't see her enough for the truth to come out too soon.

Danylo sat at the counter of the bar, scowling down at his glass of whiskey. He was so tired. All week he had playing messenger boy for his son and wife, all because the Moldovan was too afraid to confront his mother again in person. And the man didn't mind it at first; He saw no problem in going back and forth, it gave him something to do. But now the boy had stopped answering and Nicoleta was having an absolute fit.
'What if he's hurt? or dead! You know, Americans see us badly. They call us gypsies! They think he's a thief! He's in jail- Oh Danylo, We don't have the money to get him out- My baby! My poor baby!' No matter how much the Cuman had tried to curb her fears, the Romanian went on and on about all the horrible things she assumed happened. It wasn't until he agreed to go on a manhunt for him that she actually stopped fretting.

He knew agreeing to send the letters had been a bad idea.

Danylo took another swig of the bitter drink and glanced around, his free hand rubbing the headache from his sun-burnt forehead. That's when he spot him. Of course he'd be here of all places. There was little to no surprise in the Cuman's expression.

He stood up, hat clutched tightly in his hands, and wandered over to his son. The scowl he previously wore seemed to soften yet the deep displeasure was still obvious.

"Boy, why haven't ya...ehhh...talked back to Nicoleta yet? She's got me lookin' for ya like a.." He tried to find the right English expression. "..A crazy chicken!"

He should have known his father would be in a place like this. The pair were too alike for such a strained relationship. Neither of them seemed to notice.

Crumpling up the letter and sliding it into his pocket, he remarked casually (as he was a bit drunk) "Chickens don't really... search for things, Danylo-- especially if they're crazy." He suspected he meant "like a chicken with its head cut off" but he wasn't going to bother.

He hadn't answered the letter in a few weeks. His mother must have suspected the worst. "I'm thinking of what to lie about this time." He laughed unhappily, wincing as he swallowed more of the drink. "'Mami, I'm getting married-- she's beautiful and rich but lives far away, you won't ever see me again but I'm happy'? How's that?"

The idea had crossed his mind to have Vesna play the role of his wife when he next met his mother (she had all of the baby-bearing qualities her mother would look for) but he wasn't sure her mind would hold up for it. It was a last resort.... but these were dire straits.

"Ah. Well..."
He frowned and took the stool next to his son, resting his elbow on the counter top.

"And when she wants to meet this..ehmm..fake girl? And to go? Ya know, she loves the weddings." Another thing he had always listened to Nicoleta go on about-Marriage. She had high hopes for Crina but she was pulled into prostitution and was considered past the 'marrying age'. And Claudiu, from what he last heard, was far too busy with his studies in Paris to even consider a family. Then there was Emiliana who was much too young. (Not that Danylo was planning on allowing a man to seek his little girl's hand once she become of age anyway.)

This left Dimitrie.

"Why can't ya just tell her the truth? She would sleep easy with that. Like a baby." She would be very angry at first though. They both knew that though.

"I do have a girl for that-- she's too nice to even suspect she was a whore." And the wedding? "I'll say we eloped." At least she would be less mad at that than at him being a pimp. Mad none the less, but less so.

Not by much.

He frowned, that boyish plea of help reaching his father through his eyes. He loved his mother, and lied because of it. But he would hurt her with the truth. Not only her, but the family as well. How would they react to realizing the money he sent from 'the mayor' was actually filthily gotten? "What am I supposed to tell her, then? You tell me." Far more than he was afraid to anger her he was afraid to lose her love. His job paid well, but was soaked in disgrace. Not to mention all the dangerous drugs he did on the side-- she would surely suspect his thinness was from something other than lack of food when she learned of his career. "Why can't I just keep pretending that all of this," he made a wide gesture to indicate the whole environment. "ended up being good for us?" The family was in shambles and he had ruined it even more. You could be anything you wanted in this place right? So why couldn't he say he was something he wasn't if he wanted?

"Because it isn't, look what it's doin to ya. Tell her, ya don't have problem tellin it to me..." Sometimes he had wished Dimitrie lied to him, or he at least didn't stumble upon his secret. He wanted to remain blissfully ignorant to his son's new lifestyle instead of worry constantly day and night.

Danylo drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "Go tell her. Today. I go with ya for..ehh..support." His eyes flickered up to meet his son's gaze. "If ya don't, I will." It was something cruel to threaten seeing as it would only destroy Nicoleta more, but he believed it was the only way to 'motivate' him.

(This post is crap sorry..xD I didn't sleep at all..)

He rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his glass with a sad grimace. Of course he had no problem telling his father, there was no hiding it. And he was a man, after all, which made it a touch easier to explain the benefits. He knew his mother wouldn't be so lenient.

Today? Well... he was drunk enough, he might as well. It was the easiest way to take her anger, really. And he most definitely did not want to let his father explain it himself. No, Dimitrie was an expert at spinning things his way (but it wouldn't make the anger much less) and he didn't need his father throwing in whatever other debauchery he was doing on the side.

He grabbed his jacket off of another chair and left money on the bar. "....Okay. Lets go."

((fff it don't even mattah B) ))

Danylo placed his hat back on and planted a firm hand on Dimitrie's shoulder, half guiding and half making sure he wouldn't run off at last minute. He would have much preferred if he was sober, so not to seem so cowardly (he was one to talk), but it was probably the only way for his son to spill the beans.

They strolled along the flat, dusty land, lights from the ragtag campsite could just barely be made out in the distance. The sky was a mixture of oranges and pinks and purples- the only thing Danylo really enjoyed about this country. He gazed up in silence as they walked.

"It's funny," He finally murmured, wanting to ease the tension. "Nico and I brought everyone here to eh....make a good life. Nicer than home. But everything is ugly." He turned his head to spit on the ground. "Buildings? ugly. Lake? ugly. Women? Ehh...Not bad." He gave a toothy grin and laughed. "The only ehh...sight for..hurt eyes..is the sky. So colorful and pretty, don't ya think? I don't remember anything like it at home...."

The farther and farther they walked, the queasier he began to feel. Maybe alcohol wasn't the best choice. He wanted to just tell his father to stop talking, but it really did calm him. A child never got too old to feel secure with his parent. ....but maybe not all the time.

He wasn't even listening to the words, though he did hear them. He did have a better life, theoretically. He had money, nice clothes, and women... Just the way he went about getting all that that didn't seem exactly 'better'.

"she... She's going to disown me, isn't she?" he tried to pretend he wanted to be completely independent but coming from a place that relied heavily, the thought of never seeing his mother again was horrifying.