The Artist And The Atheist

| 2 | OBNOXIOUS |

بسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
In The Name Of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

"I can't believe we are wandering in Mombasa, aimlessly, without a guide, practically abandoned by our bodyguards," Ivan says in a melancholic voice that could spike the hearts of those who hear it, except for his companions.

"Thanks for your obnoxious reminder, Ivan. I can't acknowledge the distressful situation we could've been in now if you had failed to remind us of our current dismay." Kyle, with a sickly sweet smile, says sarcastically.

"Ah," The brown-haired man sighs and puts his fist to his heart. "That is because I am the life of this band, mi corazón."

(my heart)

A few seconds tick by, and the companions walk with sullen faces and alert senses.

Ivan sighs again, this time louder. "Bajo este vasto cielo, un hombre sorprendentemente guapo, un hombre gruñón junto con dos mujeres se bañan en el calor punzante del sol durante aproximadamente una hora." He clicks his tongue, "How cruel."

(under this vast sky, one strikingly handsome man, one grumpy ass man along with two beautiful women are bathing in the prickling heat of the sun for about an hour)

"Shut your Spanish mouth, Ivan!" Agitated, Kyle barks.

"Again, how cruel."

The charcoal-haired man yanks him by his collar with a clenched jaw, jerking him to himself until they face to face.

"Stop it, you two!" Wafa scolds, throwing a stern glare at them.

The warm wind lightly blows as they pass the under the dangling cables. A grey cloud of exhaustion roams over their heads, and the pebbles produce crunching sounds from under their shoes. Cars are parked on one side, some on the cemented bricks and some on the muddy floor, accompanied by houses on both sides.

"Perhaps we should blend in with the locals," Ivan suggests as another local eyes them up and down while walking.

The saxe-colored-eyed man holds the brown-eyed man's arm and pulls his sleeve up. "You look like a sheet of white paper. Do you think you can blend in with the crowd?"

"Maybe we should put mud on our faces and hands!" Sofia, Wafa's personal secretory chirps.

"Sorry, peeps! I am allergic to dust. My face can't handle it, and I am not willing to end up as a swollen tomato by the end of this alley." The brown-haired girl says, raising both her hands.

The tired group walks for a few minutes in complete silence, not saying a single syllable after it, but halts when they see the alley they are walking in, divided into two small alleys. Their crystal-like eyes widen in shock and stress.

"I swear, I will punch that bastard's face if I make out alive," Ivan mutters, shaking his head with a gritted jaw.

"Oh, wait!" Wafa cries out. "Look at the blue rickshaw over there." She points out in the left alley, then turns her attention to the Spanish man, "Ivan, do you remember we passed the blue rickshaw where you were checking yourself in the side mirror before we got lost."

"Umm," He squints his eyes, rubbing his jaw, "I don't think that it's the same one, Waffle."

"No, no! It's the same one. I remember it!" She exclaims, jumping.

Clutching her secretary's arm, Wafa dashes to the other alley, and with no choice at hand, the boys follow her trail.

As they keep on walking, taking another turn, the alley gets smaller and smaller, with little to no parked cars. They expected to see open roads with familiar vehicles, along with some of Velvet's crew members, but the ease marring their faces, even for a few minutes, diminishes into fretfulness.