Tags: Rockstar AU, Alternate Universe - Heated Rivalry (TV) Fusion, Twisted Ankle, Autistic Shane Hollander, First Meetings, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, One Shot, Smoking, No Beta, Not AI, Anti AI, Do Not Feed to AI
Summary:
“Pass me a lighter, will you?” Shane leans into Ilya's space. Ilya catches the scent of Shane’s cologne. Something cinnamon and vanilla. “I know you have one. I’ve seen you smoke.”
“Please would be nice,” Ilya grunts back, but obliges anyway, pulling a red lighter with a small Russian flag sticker on it from his baggy jeans pocket. He stole it from his father.
Shane scoffs at the striped flag on the lighter. He lights his cigarette then passes it back to Ilya. Their fingers brush, then Ilya shoves the lighter back into his pocket along with his own hand.
Ilya shoves past Shane as he waits in the wings of the stage.
“Break leg.” Ilya laughs, tilting his head back, not looking at Shane as he saunters into the darkness away from the stage lights.
He is surely wishing this on him, for real, Shane thinks.
He steps on the stage and takes a sharp breath in.
-
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rosanov are in rival bands in the International Battle of the Bands. Both have the chance of winning a thousand dollars and bragging rights for the rest of the year. They both won in the past two years, first Ilya with his love song turned hardcore ballad in Russian, then Shane with his silky voice that made the crowd swoon.
This was their tie breaker, the ultimate test to see who was the real rock star of the century.
Shane Hollander and his band is on first. His performance is breathtaking. Lights and pyrotechnics light up and give him a halo, almost making him seem like a rock star angel. His double denim suits his Canadian rockstar persona well.
A problem, a glitch in the system, or maybe a sleeping tech guy, causes smoke to shoot up in Shane’s face and makes him lose his balance.
This causes Shane Hollander to trip and fall, right into the audience.
Ilya stands there frozen.
“Гавно”(Shit) Ilya blabbers offstage behind the curtains.
Ilya sprints onto the stage, hopping into the pit and makes a b-line directly to Hollander, hovering over him.
“You are surely fine, ok?” Ilya whimpers.
“I’m fine, don't worry about me.” Shane hobbles up and brushes himself off, limping out the back of the theatre. The audience watches the doors close with stunned silence.
Ilya freezes, not sure what to do now.
Once the hype of the crowd dies down, everyone starts turning towards the stage, ready for the next performer. Actually, getting ready for him. For Ilya to perform with his band. He lingers in the crowd until he decides that his rival's wellbeing matters more than the stupid thousand dollars and the stupid tie-breaker, so he jogs towards the back exit.
Ilya pushes the doors open hastily, and Shane takes a step back, clearly not expecting Ilya Rozanov of all people to be on the other side of the thick fire doors.
Ilya hesitates. Surely Shane is fine. He feels kind of stupid checking in on him without really speaking, but he can't muster the words from his throat right now. The words just didn't come in English that easily with the mess of stunning wet brown eyes and chocolate brown hair staring back at him.
After settling back against the wall in the silence, Shane reaches for a cigarette and a lighter in his jean jacket pocket. He wipes his eyes, flicking at the lighter a few times, failing to light the cigarette. After a few tries, he reaches a hand out to Ilya.
“Pass me a lighter, will you?” Shane leans into Ilya's space. Ilya catches the scent of Shane’s cologne. Something cinnamon and vanilla. “I know you have one. I’ve seen you smoke.”
“Please would be nice,” Ilya grunts back, but obliges anyway, pulling a red lighter with a small Russian flag sticker on it from his baggy jeans pocket. He stole it from his father.
Shane scoffs at the striped flag on the lighter. He lights his cigarette then passes it back to Ilya. Their fingers brush, then Ilya shoves the lighter back into his pocket along with his own hand.
Ignoring him, Shane quickly remembers where he is. “Aren't you supposed to be on next? What happened to you?”
“You matter more,” Is all Ilya says.
Shane can't look at Ilya. What does he mean by that? Surely his rival doesn’t mean that. He is surely being sarcastic. Of course he is.
“Well, why don't you get back on out there? They're surely missing you.” Shane pushes at Ilya's jacket, his fingers digging into the thick brown leather.
“No. Can you not hear me? You matter more,” Ilya pushes him back lightly. He pauses. Calculating his next words. If he can’t say it clearly, maybe he can say it simply: to make it easier for himself.
“You Ok?” Ilya asks, not budging.
Shane takes a step back. Oh. He actually means it. He interpreted this all wrong. Does Ilya Rozanov… care about Shane? Does he care that he hurt himself?
“It’s probably just a twisted ankle. Nothing to worry about.” Shane forces a laugh out, brushing his hands on his jeans, the cigarette ash falling off into a puddle.
“Let me see.” Ilya blurts out. He gets down on his knees before Shane objects. Shane blushes at the way that Ilya is inspecting his ankle, pulling up the baggy jeans from the bottom and lightly gripping his ankle. Shane doesn't mind though. Now knowing that Ilya Rosanov doesn’t at least hate his guts makes him fine with this. Even though it is still quite odd.
What is this guy's motive? Shane thinks.
He blushes a deeper red when Ilya stares up at him, still on his knees, as he locks eyes with Shane. Ilya’s eyes reflect the grey sky above him. Those blue eyes.
“Help me up.” Ilya grunts. “I have hurt myself on way here too. Maybe I sprain ankle trying to get here to make sure you are ok.”
Shane swiftly takes Ilya’s hands and helps him to his feet.
They pause, holding each other's hands as their cigarettes touch, burning the embers bright.
Shane clears his throat, releasing his hands from Ilya's and bounces on his feet. “I’m fine, Ok? Please just go back and do the show. They’re waiting for you.”
“You sure you ok?” Ilya asks.
“Yes, I promise.” Shane smiles at Ilya.
Ilya grins back, quickly. Fast enough that if Shane wasn’t looking, he wouldn't have seen it. As soon as it was there, it was gone.
“Ok.” Ilya’s eyes linger on Shane. He watches him shift back and forth.
Ilya inspects Shane. His dark brown hair and sparkling eyes, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks, his dark wash jean jacket over a loose band tee. His ripped, baggy jeans. Ilya wants to remember him, to take a picture in his mind. He wasn't sure why, yet. But he knew he wanted to for now. Shane Hollander almost seemed... cute right now.
“Ok,” Shane can't help but giggle, wondering why Ilya was staring so long.
Ilya takes a sharp turn on his heel and fades behind the darkness of the theater doors.
And then the bass starts up, and Shane can hear the blasting Russian rock booming through the walls, making them shake.
“Rock on, Rozanov.” Shane whispers, chuckling to himself.
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In TOS there was a lot of promise on fleshing out the Vulcan culture. You get phrases in Vulcan before you ever get any phrases in Klingon. Which makes it interesting that moving forward, you learn much more about the Klingon language.
As a language lover I'd be interested to know what the body of the Vulcan language would have looked like, had it been more officially explored. You know it would be filled with dichotomy, due to the ancient and ritualistic roots of the language versus the need for utmost logic, which would influence both grammatical structure and the writing system(s).
From what I've seen, the writing leans far more on the "ancient tradition" end of things. It's beautiful, yet it is lacking in terms of practicality.
I like to imagine that they would have multiple modes of writing- the loopy cursive writing for religious and cultural / ceremonial practices, and maybe a more standardized and phonetic script for daily use (likely to also be vertical and cursive, but can be written horizontally as well). Also I'm not sure how phonetic it is to begin with so I'm just making shit up here.
Well I know one thing for sure, they have at least 2 scripts, based on the writing seen on Spock's robes vs other scenarios (perhaps Old Vulcan or Ceremonial Vulcan).
Another fun thing I like to imagine is that perhaps Vulcan follows a root based system like Hebrew or Arabic. For example in the male names, the most common denominator is S----K or S--R--K.
SpocK, SaReK, SuRaK
Women, it is the letter T.
T'Pring, T'Pau
Both genders use the consonant P.
sPock, t'Pring
So, those consonants could be based on a certain shared notion, whereas the vowels change the nuance of the translation.
Arabic (Modern Standard) example, paying attention to the consonants:
KeTeBe = writing
KiTaaB = book
MeKTaB = desk
MeKTaBe = library
(sorry for the weak transliterations, it makes more sense looking at it in Arabic, you'll see the commonality in the consonants):
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Thinking about surprise tickles, not even trying to be silly or teasy, honestly not even thinking about it
When all of a sudden you're attacked! No time to try and prepare or hold back your laughter, your giggles erupting out of you as you're taken by surprise
Someone tickling you just because they want to and you're soooo very sensitive~
