How to be Successful or Kiss Ass (Qatar and Football Team/ Open)

Busy, busy, busy, Qasim could imagine the click of his mother's tongue as she would scold her son for being so busy. Busy with silly things like making money or gaining influence. None of which the Bedouin traditionally devoted themselves to. And none of which his mother understood. And that is why it was convenient that his mother was not here right now. There was always something Qasim was to be doing, and this game didn't necessarily fit into his schedule, but Qasim forced it there. The football was kicked across the field, shifting from player to player. The team was warming up now. His hands grasped the pen tightly, as he watched his team play. Yes, it was his team. He was student manager, and he could even consider himself owner of the team - because it was he that bought them all the new equipment.

He took pride in that. The school newspaper was his main source of power. He took it to new heights. He harnessed the audience, and he delivered what was desired - in exchange for being given what he desired. Much to the headmaster's dismay, Qasim could, and would easily say that every aspect of this school had his finger in it.

Now the football team needed to be successful. Qasim stood and watched, and he was even given the power to judge. He wrote something down. This was important stuff, football was important to the school - and the headmaster better recognize that. Though he had come to school with little experience in the game, he forced himself to become a quick expert, and by the time of his 3rd year - he was qualified to be student manager.

To Qasim's surprise, the headmaster was out and about. The Qatari rushed to his side.

"Mr. Black, have you seen how the team is improving? And did you notice their new uniforms? They're very nice, aren't they?" As someone who did not speak a lot, he sure did speak to the headmaster a lot. But - if you are small and unimportant, success first comes through kissing ass.

Anthony sighed a bit, class was out now, so he could finally have a smoke outside. He didn't really like smoking in the staff room, despite the ease of it-- it wasn't really fare on the other teachers that didn't smoke to have to enter the room and be greeted by the smell of smoke as well as the smoke you could actually see in the air.

And at least this way he didn't have to worry about the possibility of those two sharks that liked to hang around outside the staff room to wait for him to come out and bothering him about god knows what. At least this way they wouldn't know where he was for a little while.

His hand dove into his pocket, fishing around for the box of cigarettes in his pocket, not noticing the other approaching him until it was far too late.

"Mr. Black,"

Bollocks.

His grip released on the cigarette packet in his pocket, turning to face the Qatari, only half listening to what he was saying, only catching it was about the football team.

"Yes, very good, Qasim," he muttered, looking over at the mismatched heights of the students on the pitch before looking back to the pest, "Qasim is this important, I'm a little busy at the moment."


Over on the pitch the Dutchman scowled, kicking the ball up to catch it with his hands and staring at the small man as he rushed over to the headmaster. After a moment he turned back to the rest of the team, particularly the ones who'd been there the previous years.

"Since when do we have a student manager?" Jan asked bluntly, staring down at the rest of them. Personally, he didn't think they needed one and he was being fairly extravagant with all this new stuff which they didn't overly need yet-- given how he'd just ran over to the teacher like that, probably a teacher's pet kind of guy.

"He was that weird kid that used to sit in the stalls every game that kept making notes, remember?" Asked the only Northern Italian yet to laugh at someone's misfortune, somewhat patronizing in tone as he'd narrowly missed out in being the team captain to the Dutchman, "Not a very good captain if you can't even remember that guy," He huffed childishly making a face at the taller teen.

Jan just stared back for a few moments in response, finding it painfully obvious he was bitter about it and launching the ball at his chest with enough force to wind the Italian, making his stumble back a little.

"Get over it." He said bluntly, turning his attention back to the rest of the team. Giuliano's pride would probably recover from this after a few weeks or so of practice.

Qasim, who smiled less than he spoke - stared at the headmaster. His dark eyes - sharp and hawkish, seemed so totally removed of desire or contentment. He did not hear what he wanted to hear. His lips pierced together, as he stared out to the soccer field. His arms crossed over each other tightly, before a final finger stood to tap against his pressed shirt sleeve.

"Sir, you know my family. I'm aware that our oil money is largely because of the business and development that you have provided to us. However, I am taking it upon myself to show you just how well your investment has grown - just how great the return will be. I am more mature than my older siblings." His sharp eyes faced the Britt once again. "You are familiar with them, as they are past members of this school. I am more clever than them. And please watch this football team play, because they will be great. Have you seen the recent newspaper? Has it ever been so successful? No. And I - not my brothers have made it that way."

Alliances were always shifting, always changing. Qasim lived in an unstable though plentiful wealth. He knew that first hand. And it had become his mission to procure the headmaster on to his - not his brother's sides, were any familial upheavals to occur. It was hard being younger - being littler. But it was not hard if you had connections, ambitions, cleverness and ulterior motives.

"It is rude of me to cut to the chase so quickly, I apologize, sir." He pulled two cigarettes from his pocket - a lighter was added, and they became lit. He offered one to the headmaster. "But my success through bringing this football team to prosperity should show my strength in character and my potential." He took a breath of the cigarette, that he did not really need to stay calm.

The conversation may have seemed off to Anthony, but it was always something on Qasim's mind. It was the trouble of being a relative of royalty. It was the trouble of being obscenely wealthy. And it was the trouble of being the youngest and most ambitious.

"I'm aware of what you have offered my family. If the situation comes up - between my family members, you will find that I am the best choice of investment. If you utilize this, your return will be great."

This was not about the football team, that was obvious enough.

(LMAO IDK WHY I THOUGHT SOMEONE ELSE WAS COMMENTING---)