Experts of an Art: Chapter One (Oh Sweet Jesus Not Again)

Oh fuck, now let me tell you- unless you hate yourself (a lot), you have absolutely no reason to read the entire first volume Newbie's of an Art. For those who are still keen on starting on such an endeavor you are all sick, sick fucks. Allow me to put this into perspective… I started that story when I was twelve and boy does it show.

Those crossing over from Newbie's of an Art- Ready to DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN?! I'm not even sure if I'm ready for this, but hell! It's worth one sickening shot.

Let's get this teen ridden angst Beyblade gong show on a roll! Can you smell the day-old-hooker scent of pure excitement?!

Calgary, Canada

I wiped the blood from my nose, the putrid metal taste leeching its way down my throat. "What do you bloody want?" I spat into the shadows. The dark figure before me shook with an ominous chuckle, before it lunged at my throat. My body crashed into the wall with such a great force I was barely able to breathe. "What… the hell?" I coughed, blood was coming from every orifice of my body- or at least it felt like it, I am a woman after all.

"I want you dead," a raspy voice said from the figure that was currently making it very hard for me to breathe. I laughed… fuck.

"I figured that much, you tossed me the toaster while I was in the bathtub. It seems like every day you try to kill me, all I want to know is, why?" I was trying to stall, but on top of that I was beginning to get curious and rather annoyed.

The grip tightened around my throat, as the cloaked figure leaned forward. I could feel the static electricity between us, "You took everything from me."

I wretched under this hold, my body was starting to go numb… no way would I be able to stay conscious for longer than another minute.

Slipping into darkness, my vision was blurring when I heard a familiar voice, "Steph! Just continue to go unconscious! You're doing a great job!"

I tilted my head to see Shannon. The psychopath to the rescue, I wasn't sure what Shannon was planning to do; considering her general inability to interact normally with people, or to be an aid in any situation let alone a dire one at that.

My world went black. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I felt the grip loosen from my neck, which I was grateful for. I fell to the floor, and heard the undeniable scream of the stalker assassin. I felt a warm hand grip my forearm and help me stand; my world was going back into color.

"How ya' doing?" asked Eve cheerily, her black hair pulled away from her cream face. I took note of a few minor cuts; obviously Eve and Shannon had run into their equally creepy assassins as well.

"Fine," I felt my neck tenderly, it felt raw from the rough grasp. I began to take in my surroundings, my room was seriously messed up and just after I had cleaned it. That's Murphy's Law for you. My carpet was blood stained and there was Shannon riding my stalker piggy back style and generally just horsing around. It was the most pathetic wrestling I had ever seen, but it was somewhat entertaining to watch.

My stalker would try to smack Shannon off my ramming into my dresser; Shannon would then bit the Stalker in the neck and go tumbling into my closet. A few moments later she would come tumbling out my closet and try to steam roller my almost assassin. Then all named moves stopped and it just gave way to rolling on the ground with the occasion grunt, curse, kick, scratch, etc.

Eve and I were too busy watching this spectacle to really give a hand, it ended abruptly when Shannon was smacked into my door and got a door knob in the gut. My assassin jumped out of the window and blatantly disappeared.

Shannon was withering on the ground, as Eve helped me 'pick up' my room. After that we all sat on the floor.

"This has got to stop," Eve said airily.

"No kidding," I retorted as I treated my bloody nose.

"I really don't want to fill out another police report guys," Shannon added, her golden brown haired sticking to her cheeks with dried blood.

"Hey Steph- Honey, I'm home!" My mother said happily as she opened my door to say her standard greeting when she came home from work. Then she saw my room. "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD! WHAT THE F WERE YOU DOING IN HERE?!AAAAAAAHHHHHHH GOD!"

Police Station: Withholding/Questioning Cell #2

The tape was slowly lolling around in one continuous circle, the soft hum was nerve racking in this instant. A small silver microphone was strategically placed in front of me. I was fixated on the table, becoming more and more aware of the intimidating presence just a few feet before me.

"Uh, Miss Shannon, continue please? Don't worry about the recording set, just tell me what has been exactly going on," coaxed the specialist.

I sighed, "Alright, ask me the questions."

He cleared his throat, "okay, I have here on file that in the past month you've been attacked approximately 38 times?"

"That's correct."

"And who could you think of would want to attack you, Shannon?"

I though for a moment- no one, aside from possibly Boris- but no one else should have been able to remember, "Nobody, no one I can think of would want me dead, or perhaps I'm just a terrible judge of character."

"Hmmm, alright, and have you ever seen these attackers- their faces?"

I shook my head, "no, they always wear the same black cloak and mask."

He read his files for a few minutes, then all of a sudden burst out laughing, "Oh, those boys at the office…"

"Hmmm?"

He wiped the tears from his eyes, "oh, allow me to explain, it's quite silly actually. The boys at the office are always playing little jokes on me. They put in your file that your attacker's weapon most frequently used were, 'beyblades'," another instantaneous fit of laughter.

I smiled and waited for him to quiet down a bit, the heaved a sigh, checked the microphone then another sigh. I looked at him straight in the eye and said, "My attacker's favorite weapon is the Beyblade." They were going to throw me away; I could feel the tension in the room. His cloud of disbelief could have suffocated a small marmite.

Awkward laughter, "you mean those plastic spinning dradles? How could those do any damage?"

I shook my head, I know how stupid I was going to sound but it was the truth, "sure, play Beyblades are made with plastic but some serious bladers prefer to use metal, and with the right launch…well—" I pushed up my hoody sleeve to reveal deep scabbed gashes in my skin.

Same Police Station: Withholding/Questioning Cell #1

"Oh dear, I can't believe how long this has been going on without it being brought to a higher authority's attention," a kind lady with glasses said to herself in shock. "I am so sorry dear, I'll contact someone to put you girls into some kind of protection program, at least until we get this all figured out."

I smiled weakly, it had been on long day, yet my 'questioner' continued to ramble while sifting through her files. "Beyblades? I have never heard of that weapon before, it must be specialized."

"They're not popular in Canada," I quipped in.

"Hmmm? Oh yes, this seems to be a very special situation. We'll have to act fast— oh dearie, you must be exhausted. I think we're finished; I'm afraid you and your friends will have to stick around for a while still until you find an appropriate action to take. You can go visit them if you like."

"Thank you very much," I responded gratefully before taking my leave. I found Steph in the waiting room with a large grin on her face. I walked over to her and sat down beside her, "why are you so peppy, Steph?"

"Oh Eve, you look like hell—oh? I'm watching Shannon being questioned."

"Why is that so entertaining?" I questioned.

In response Steph just motioned to the hallway to our right.

"Let me go you sick bastards!" Shannon screamed while clutching onto the door frame for dear life. Two guards were trying to pry her into the hall, but she was just raving like a lunatic. Two more guards were coming to help out, only they had their hands precariously close to their night sticks.

"Quickly officers! We must transport this poor girl to the Asylum! She has clearly gone insane! Suicidal even! She has been traumatized and now thinks that a crappy animated television show is reality!" A stout man was yelling while flinging around his clipboard dramatically from a safe distance.

If Shannon were a Pokemon card, she would really, really suck. She would have zero defense points, and only one cool attack: Ape-shit mood.

Which she was currently activating; limbs were flying everywhere followed by animal grunts and odd noises from the dog pile of Shannon and four burly officers.

I shook my head, "you know we're going to have to sort all of this out."

"Give it a minute," Steph said, an evil grin on her face.

END

I thought that was a particularly nice place to end it, even though I have yet to actually introduce the characters to Beyblade yet; this seems to be a wee' bit of a tradition. How else can you kick off a crappy fanfiction? The best way is to not even make it seem like a fanfiction until Chapter Two! HA!

In all seriousness, I was planning to introduce a plot that actually involves the Beyblade cast. However, I was just going with the flow and thought that this was a cheeky place to end it without it being way too long.

Because let's face it lazy bones! No one wants to read an extremely long first chapter, because you don't know if the stories interesting yet!

And thus a new Era begins… God have mercy on our souls…

Over and out.