+ Mr. D discovers how hard it is to try and keep a bunch of rowdy teenagers under control in the new tournament.
+ Warnings: Alcohol, implied sex, rather mild yaoi... yeah. No details though, so it's still a T as far as I'm concerned.
+ Disclaimer: I own it not.
+ A little bird (well, Facebook) tells me that it was Beyblade's tenth anniversary last week. Lawks a mercy. Has it really been that long? So, here is a sort of celebratory oneshot.
Teenagers
Mr. Dickenson wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. He was already beginning to regret holding another tournament, and he'd only made the decision an hour ago. He had contacted all of the world class Beybladers, and had asked them if they would like for another tournament to be held. They had said yes, as long as there were after-parties following each match, with plenty of alcohol and music.
Mr. Dickenson had forgotten that the Beybladers weren't really kids anymore... they were beastly teenagers whose minds were on pretty much anything but Beyblading. They wanted to party, they wanted to drink, they wanted to destroy things, and they wanted to be lazy and do nothing at all. But worst of all, they all seemed to want to have sex with each other.
The Beyblading bigwig had only noticed it in the past couple of weeks or so. Every time he saw Tyson, the teenager was always moaning about wanting to "bang" Hilary, Mariah, Emily, Mathilda, and generally every girl that he laid eyes on. Mr. Dickenson closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh. He was definitely, definitely going to regret this...
The qualifying matches for the tournament came and went quickly. The usual suspects got through, along with a few random Beybladers that no one had heard of before. But although Mr. Dickenson hated to admit it, he knew that they'd all be knocked out in the early stages of the tournament by the more famous and, quite frankly, better Beybladers. Oh, sure, these new kids all had potential, but with all the more experienced Beybladers in the tournament, these newbies wouldn't stand a chance.
Before he knew it, Mr. Dickenson was officially opening the tournament, and introducing all of the teams. DJ commented on how stressed Mr. Dickenson looked, but he just laughed it off. Until he was cornered in a corridor by Tyson, anyway.
"Yo! Mr. D!"
"Tyson, my boy! I'm in a bit of a hurry, so you'll have to be quick," Mr. Dickenson lied. He didn't want to get into an in-depth conversation with Tyson about all the girls he was going to pick up at the after-parties.
"It's okay, Mr. D. I just wanted to know if the deal with the after-parties and the alcohol and everything was still on?" Tyson said, grinning broadly at the old man.
"Of course, lad! That was the deal we had, and you know me. I keep to my deals," Mr. Dickenson replied. He really wanted to get away from Tyson before this conversation could go any further.
"Awesome! I'll leave you, then, and go and tell everyone the parties are ONNNN!" Tyson shouted. "See you later, Mr. D!"
Mr. Dickenson watched as Tyson ran back up the corridor, and away from him. He breathed a sigh of relief, before making his way outside, and getting into the car that was waiting for him. The driver set off for the direction of the BBA building, and Mr. Dickenson's office. A shiver went down Mr. Dickenson's spine. He really did fear that this tournament would finish him off, and if things turned out the way he thought they were going to, then this tournament would definitely be the last.
The first match came even quicker than the qualifiers did. Or so it seemed. The first official match of the tournament was between one of the newbie teams, and the BBA Revolutions. Mr. Dickenson was twiddling his thumbs nervously. Not because he feared the outcome of the match, or that someone would potentially get hurt. No, he was worried about the first after-party of the tournament, and what was going to happen in it.
Why had he agreed to let the Beybladers have a party after every match? He should've just drawn the line and said they were allowed one party, after the final match. But as usual, he had let the 'bladers twist his arm too far, and he had given in too easily.
Barely half an hour passed before the BBA Revolutions had won both of their battles, earning tremendous applause from the crowd, and a few insults from the opposing team. Mr. Dickenson made his way down to the Beydish to congratulation BBA Revolution on their win, and give commiserations to the team that had just lost. The man had barely shaken the rookies' hands before Tyson was in his face.
"So, Mr. D! Lead us to the alcohol!"
Mr. Dickenson let out a groan that no one could hear above the cheers of the crowd, and he beckoned for Tyson, Kenny, Hilary and Daichi to follow him. They did so, waving at their fans as they went. The old-timer led them let them through the corridors to one of the largest conference rooms in the building.
The teenagers pushed past Mr. Dickenson, and opened the door. Inside the room already were a large number of Beybladers, including the PPB All Stars, White Tiger X, the Blitzkrieg Boys, and the Battalions, who had dropped Barthez from their name a long time ago.
"Aww, man! You guys all started drinking without us!" Tyson whined, and practically dive-bombed into the table on which was a fine selection of alcoholic beverages for the 'bladers to enjoy.
"Tyson, you better save a beer for me!" Daichi yelled, bombing in after Tyson.
"No way, monkey boy! You're too young to drink! You can have a nice Coca Cola!" Tyson replied tauntingly.
The whole room laughed at Daichi, whose face had contorted into a tremendous pout, before pumping up the music, starting a food fight (which Mr. Dickenson thought the Blitzkrieg Boys might win, since Spencer was launching whole jellies at people), and downing the alcohol one cup after another.
Mr. Dickenson decided to leave the teenagers to it, and closed the door before walking up to his office. He'd leave them for a few hours, and come back to check on them later. He didn't want to witness such a raucous party.
There was a tap at Mr. Dickenson's office door not an hour later.
"Come in!" called Mr. Dickenson. He dreaded to think what this was going to be about.
"Sir," a BBA worker entered Mr. Dickenson's office, "the party that the Beybladers are having has... gotten a bit out of hand."
"How so?" Mr. Dickenson's worst fears were confirmed. This was not a good idea. He should not have given in to this.
"Well, sir... things are being smashed, Kenny's been sick in a corner. Twice. And I'm sure I saw a couple fornicating on a table, sir."
Mr. Dickenson put his head into his hands. He took a few steady breaths before getting up from his desk, and walking out of his office without another word to the BBA worker, who just stared.
The noise of the party could be heard from the floor above it, and it steadily got louder and louder as Mr. Dickenson got closer to the room it was being held in. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he saw when he reach the room, though.
Michael of the PPB All Stars was lay face-down in the doorway of the room, laughing to himself, completely pissed as a fart. There was jelly and other food plastered to the wall of the corridor opposite the door of the conference room. As Mr. Dickenson stepped over the threshold and into the room (carefully avoiding stepping on Michael), his jaw dropped further, if that was even possible.
The music was so loud that Mr. Dickenson couldn't hear himself think. The girls were all dancing on some of the tables, and clearly took items of clothing off in time to the music. Tyson was wearing a bra on his head, and was wolf-whistling at Hilary. And was that Kai and... Tala pressed against each other in the corner of the room?
There was no sign of fornication anywhere. Not until a used condom was thrown across the room, and promptly landed on Mr. Dickenson's head, anyway. He quickly pulled it off of his chrome dome, and dropped it onto the floor, before striding over to the sound system, and pulling the plug out of the wall. Everyone went quiet, and stared at him. Or at the wall behind him. It was hard to tell when they were all swaying so much.
Mr. Dickenson could not remember the last time he was this angry. He was so angry, he couldn't speak, and his face was as red as a tomato. Somehow, he managed to find the will to utter four words.
"The tournament is off."
Tyson fell over. From shock or too much alcohol, who knows. All Mr. Dickenson knew is that he never wanted to hold another tournament with these animals ever again.
+ A/N: I am in no way promoting underage drinking. We will assume that all the 'bladers are over 18 now.
Yeah. Teenagers can be absolute animals. Mr. Dickenson now knows this.
And yes. I've changed my penname. Again. One day, I will find one that I stick with.