A/N: Neither I don't own beyblade, nor my co-writer.
Hello my dearest ladies and gentlemen! Allow me to introduce ourselves. It's me, Droplets of blue rain aka Misty and here's my co-writer, MasKaiHilFantic aka Machu.
A/N (2): Yikes, you did not see this coming, didn't ya? Well, maybe you did, whatever xD Misty was more than eager to find a partner in helping her with you a lovely fanfiction, so she came to me. And I was more than honored to help her. And when I found out the cause for the fanfiction, how could I have resisted? Besides, the day I'd deny her, it'll be the end…. Got your mood set? Good. Well I hope you enjoy this generous token of appreciation from the amazing and lovely Droplets of Blue Rain, and from that sucky reality-loving author MasKaiHilFantic :3 (hey wait, that's me). Have fun reading this and we'll see you on the other side of this tale.
So, here's a new fic in a new style. Yeah, this is my first collaborative fic. Guess what? Umm….June is one of my most favorite months. It's kinda full of birthdays and birthdays of my dearest and nearest, sweetest, *every optimistic superlative* people. Yup, I'm talking about you, my dear Indigo Jupiter. So, one of the loveliest ladies in our fanfiction community whom we all know as Indigo Jupiter aka Noni is going to be 22 in this June. This is a birthday gift to her from us. And I'm really honored that Machu has agreed to help me in this. Thank you so much, Machu!
OMG! I'm really a talkative girl! So let it…..riiiiiiiiiiiiip!
Warning: Bad languages, gore scenes.
As he sank his teeth in the last piece of grilled potato, he chewed it slowly, savoring every bit of the spud as a satisfied "yum" escaped from his pursed lips. And as expected from the typical boyish male, he let out a gentle burp of contentment. Then his eyes glanced at the plate of fried beans just begging him to get his hands on them.
His hunger hadn't gone yet. It was still scuffling in a corner of his stomach.
"What?" It teased the male, "I'm not going anywhere so easily. Simply put me in, my boy, you haven't pleased me yet.'
He smirked. He had a quality – a quality which would be able to satisfy anyone and everyone without too many efforts. But his appetite wasn't much suppressed by his superiority. Defiant as it was, it would often fight against his will. Yeah, always he had to lose in the final round.
Cleaning the plate of beans with his tongue, turning it into a glossing white piece of porcelain, he and his hunger assuaged, as another satisfied sigh escaped from his mouth. He glanced around the restaurant. It wasn't as the fancy restaurants of big cities. Having wooden roof, wooden walls and wooden floor, it was probably based off of those old Western salons that the city once particularly had homed. The walls were designed with oil and water-colored paintings of anonymous artists, colorful origami artworks and oil lamps which hung down from the roof served as embellishment in the modest salon. The flames in each lamp shivered gently along the rhythm of the fresh gush of blowing wind, acting like those blushing girls who were touched by their dream princes for the first time in their life. Nevertheless their hazy brightness dispersed gently within the twilight roaming in the room, creating a seraphic aura in the western espresso bar.
Although his hunger had already accepted its defeat, he wasn't ready to leave the enchanting environment so soon.
Fresh tobacco powder rested before him in a small saucer, and much to his convenience, there were small wads of paper near the tobacco. Innately, he placed a little bit of tobacco powder on one of the small pieces of paper and rolled it. In instance, old-school cigarette was ready.
'Hmm, if I start make cigars like these and sell them in the market,' he thought, admiring the masterpiece which he had made just then, 'I might be rich overnight.'
As he lighted the cigarette and smoked the addictive tobacco, his peripheral vision caught a mannish figure entering into the restaurant. The stranger kept staring at him for a few moments. All in a once, he went out and disappeared like the smog of his cigarette.
Smog of cigars vanishes but leaves its signs in the body of its client.
The blonde male witnessed the man disappearing, almost instantaneously but didn't pay any heed. Placing the burning cigar in his lips, he once again inhaled the intoxicating taste before exhaling the smoke through his mouth. His face instantly eased off, as if nothing which had just transpired perturbed him even slightly. To him, nothing had been as good as puffing self-made cigarettes in his life.
"This is called euphoria," He pondered, "This little cigarette brings a smile to my face every day."
Little cigarette, little things.
He didn't need too much to be happy. He wasn't from those who were served everything on a silver platter. Since his very childhood, he was a laborer. He gave his energy in cultivating the lands of crops, gardening, tending the domestic beasts and selling the dairy products in the market. He appreciated the little things in life, the gentle wind, the morning sun, the color and the essence of anew bloomed flowers, the rhythm of rain, the cheery persona of butterflies, the melodies of the sparrows and of course, his little self-made cigarette. He did not need any high social amenity to please himself. He was simple, free and loving the small pleasures for their purity.
He was a man of smile and happiness, and all he ever sought was happiness.
Spencer Petrov.
He could easily be recognized by his tall appearance, blond hair, muscular arms and wide shoulders, toned chest and abdomen, stoic expression in his face and last but not the least, his venerable skills of horse-riding and shooting.
But he was a stranger in the new city. Who the hell would know him here?
Yet man proposes and God disposes.
Another figure entered into the café. This time it looked feminine. As her eyes met his, they went widened like big tennis balls. Without glancing at anything, she approached him.
Standing by his side, she hissed almost inaudibly, "You're impossible, Spencer! Sitting here and eating like a pig! You know what the fuck is going on in the town? Everyone's desperate to finding you."
"Sorry Miss, I'm not from them about whom lovely ladies like you daydream," Spencer chuckled, "It's been hours since I entered into the city."
Her jaw dropped, her widened eyes went more enlarged.
'What the hell!' She glowered, 'Has he gone crazy? Are my eyes cheating me? Or what?"
She was about to speak something but her words got stuck at her tongue failing to come out as someone suddenly charged in like a wilder beast as though a fierce bull had taken its entry into its ring just then. His attitude was also like a reckless wild bison, panting and growling.
"Back off, Mathie!" He roared, pointing his revolver at Spencer, "Today I'll rip the bastard into pieces."
"No Aaron, don't…" The young lady pleaded but it was too late. His revolver sounded off.
"Bang!"
Unexpectedly, thunder sparkled in the body of the Russian. He stood up from his chair. In his sub-conscious sense, his body was tilted at a side and his hand slid into his pocket, ended up pulling out a revolver. Directing it towards his assaulter, he also pressed the trigger.
"Bang!"
All on a sudden, the invader named Aaron winced. His eyes widened in shock and pain. He tried to breathe but his lungs couldn't take in the air needed. The revolver fell on the floor from his grip. Bit by bit, he was completely lulled to his eternal sleep.
The only female in the spot witnessed the small disaster with her shocked eyes. Then suddenly, she grabbed the wrist of the Russian cowboy. Almost dragging him, she ran out of the restaurant, leaving the corpse of a human-faced bull behind them.
As a sudden stormy wind blew and extinguished the flames of those oil lamps, like extinguishing the flame of someone's life.
"Where are you taking me? Let go off my hand!"
Spencer protested as he was trying to free his hand from her grip. But at the same time, he couldn't do it. Perhaps he had enough physical strength to do it but he didn't have enough intestinal fortitude. Besides, his heart was motivating him, 'Go with her, listen to her once. You won't regret.'
"Relax, I won't do anything wrong with you, Mister," The pink-haired girl assured him, "Just come with me."
"Al…alright…" The Russian nodded and followed her trail as she left his hand, understanding the fact that he would listen to her words.
They ended up coming in a dark alley. It was completely silent. So much so that the silence resembled a mighty kingdom, where the darkness was the king and the quietness was the queen. Both ruled with a mighty hold. Maybe that was why the hazy beacons of light or faded frequencies of sound couldn't enter into the empire.
Paying no heed to the king and queen, they straight went into a building. It was also darkened, strangely with the shadows. They could hear faint sounds from outside, most of them were not clear; however they were able to make up some of the musings.
'Have you seen that man? Oh God! How energetic!'
'He can never be Boman, I'm telling you. Boman was never that energetic.'
'But he has the features of Boman.'
'God, aren't you understanding? If Boman was here, could he operate that revolver so reflexively? He's afraid of weapons.'
'Hmm….but Aaron was speaking…'
'Let the ox go to hell, he's dead now. I'm hundred plus hundred equals to two hundred percent sure that he's not Boman.'
'Maybe…'
The voices faded away as Spencer turned his gaze at his newest companion.
"Now we're safe…" The pinkette sighed of relief, "Nobody will come here. It's our sheriff's office."
"Hasn't it been a crime for us to enter here?" Spencer raised an eyebrow.
The lady chuckled, retorting, "No, I'm a part-time employee here."
"Oh, okay." Spencer nodded, "So, if you don't mind, can I know your name?"
"Mathilda. Everyone knows me as Mathilda Aster." That was her reply, "And your name….Spencer Boman?"
"No, not Boman." Spencer corrected, "My name is Spencer Petrov. I'm a newcomer in this town."
"Strange…..you just look like Spencer Boman…." Mathilda whispered, "That same shoulders, expression, the broad figure….."
She wondered, 'Where the hell is Boman then?'
"Why did that guy attack me? Do you know?" The tall Russian asked. His voice was thrilled as he could feel the excitement in his heart.
"Aaron." Mathilda rectified, "And his intention was never to attack you, Mr. Petrov," She stated, "Actually he wanted to kill Boman. Boman badmouthed Aaron while they were fighting once. Although it's just a mere excuse of the bull. He was an assistant of Barthez, the biggest gangster in this area."
"Barthez?" Spencer frowned, "But….why will he want to kill Boman?"
Heaving a sigh, Mathilda remained silent for a few seconds. Then she managed to open her mouth:
"It's a long story."
Long story? What's the story by the way? Who's Boman? And what's Barthez's intention? In order to know, keep your eyes in "The combatant".
Misty: Do read and review and pardon our errors as much as you can. I'm just a rookie (Not my co-writer although, when he touched this fic, he turned it into a golden one :P) Plus, it's my first experience to write a western-styled story. Be constructive about everything, take care!
Dear Noni, hope you'll like this. :'D
-Misty & Machu. ^O^ _^O^