Okay, this is my first Beyblade story, and of course it's about the Majestics!! Dedicated to Tori (AzikaRue394) and Macy (Demolition-GIRL-33236), because they are amazing! XD
Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade and never will, unless fate smiles upon me. If that happens, I assure you, you will see a lot more of the Majestics.
A six year old Oliver sat on the bench, swinging his legs back and forth. That morning, his mother had explained what was going on. She had said that she and his father got into a disagreement about something, so they had to go and settle it.
Oliver still didn't understand why he had to come, or why they had to dress up and come to a big fancy building. Why couldn't they just talk together like they used to?
He looked up curiously as his mother's lawyer came over, but when he saw her sit down with official looking papers, he sighed in boredom and went back to staring at his hands.
It was times like this that really made him miss Enrique. The Italian boy had been his constant companion his whole life. Oliver didn't really understand why he couldn't have his best friend with him, but his mother had said this didn't really have anything to do with Enrique.
He sighed again. She had also said Oliver would be left out of the room as much as possible.
Ignoring the two women on his right, he looked around glumly. This was a very depressing place, he thought. The lights were dimmed for some reason and on the other side of the room were a lot more people—some of them looking more miserable than he was, but he supposed he was more bored than anything. The more he saw, the more he thought this place had nothing beautiful at all in it. Then he saw the window. It wasn't very big, but it was the only connection to the outside world.
Oliver tugged on his mother's sleeve.
"What is it honey?" She asked.
"May I go look out the window, I'm bored."
"Sure," she said, taking pity on the small boy.
Standing up, Olive made through all the sad people, trying to smile for their benefit.
When he arrived at his destination, he rested his small elbows on the window sill. It was still raining, he noticed, but he thought Paris was beautiful in any weather.
He stayed by the window for a long time, watching the people under umbrellas making their way through the drenched streets. He also looked at the buildings. Their designs amazed him, they were wonderfully artistic. This would be a lovely scene to paint...but he had brought nothing to pass the time.
"Oliver, I'm going into the conference room now." His mother had come up behind him. "Stay here and don't cause trouble."
"Okay." He answered half-heartedly, still absorbed in the outside world. Besides, he never caused trouble unless Enrique was around, what did she have to worry about?
An hour passed. This was taking longer than he thought it would.
He turned away from the window and examined the people in the room again. There were more of them now, and they all looked miserable. Some of them were whispering to each other, some were quiet, and a few were even crying.
How depressing. He preferred the rain.
He was about to turn back to the window, when his mother reappeared.
"Mommy, can we go home yet? I'm hungry."
"In a little Oli, they want to talk to you for a bit." came the tired response.
Then his mother picked him up and carried him down a brightly lit and very white corridor. There were more benches here, but they were smaller and obviously built for fewer people. His mother put him down by one of these benches, then crouched down so she was looking him in the eyes.
"Are you okay?" She sounded concerned and he wondered why/
"Yes."
His mother's attorney came out of the small conference room.
"You're going to come in here with me for a while, we're going to ask you some questions. Okay?"
Oliver nodded, still wanting to know why this couldn't be resolved by just his parents talking. That was how things used to be. But his parents had been fighting a lot lately, and he guessed this was part of the result of his dad moving out.
The more he thought about it, the more Oliver thought this whole thing was his fault. His parents had never fought so much before. But after that visit that visit to the hospital three years ago...let's just say things had gone down hill from there. Oliver didn't remember exactly everything that had happened, but he did know that that was the day they had found out he had diabetes. That's what they fought about, what would be best for him.
Yes, he thought, this was probably his fault. He'd had plenty of time to think about that.
He followed the woman into the small room and sat down in a chair that was a little too big for his small frame.
The room was small, as he figured it would be, and there were no windows. This was the worst part in Oliver's mind. No way of reminding him life was still going on outside.
There were two other people in the conference room. Another woman was there, along with a man who looked pretty official. One thought came to mind at this sight, this was not going to be fun.
Oliver swallowed as they closed the door. Everyone was smiling at him and it was making him uneasy.
The man was the first to speak. "Hello! What's your name?"
"Oliver." He answered skeptically. The man was being much too friendly and it only served to make him much more nervous than was necessary.
"How old are you Oliver?" the man asked with that meaningless smile on his face.
"I'm six years old."
"I see. And what school do you go to?"
Oliver was still very nervous and all these personal questions seemed unnecessary.
"I-I don't go to school, I have tutors who come to my house to teach me and Enrique." he didn't know why he had to tell these people this...what did they care what he did with his day?
"Oh," the man's eyebrows raised and the French boy noticed that he and the two women were taking notes on everything he told them. "Who is Enrique?"
"He's, er, my friend. He stays with us when his parents are away—which they are a lot." Oliver was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, why were they asking all these questions? He wondered once again. And why did it matter who Enrique was? This was meant to be about Oliver's parents, so why were he and his best friend brought into it?
The man was smiling at him again.
"The reason I'm asking all these questions is because I know absolutely nothing about you!" the smile grew into a toothy grin—which in truth only creeped Oliver out.
"I thought I'd get to know you a little better so you're more comfortable and you can talk to us freely." the man went on.
More comfortable. Yeah right. What was this all about anyway? It seemed as though that was the only thing he was capable of thinking at the time.
For the first time, the green-haired child noticed the man was doing all the talking so Oliver figured he must be in charge here.
The smiling creeper (as Oliver had come to think of him, Enrique was awfully fond of that word) addressed him again.
"Well Oliver, what's your daily schedule like?"
Another random question...Oliver looked confused for a second and then answered. "Umm...our first tutor usually gets to my house at nine...then the day ends at about three. Enri and I usually spend the rest of the day playing after that."
"Is it like that every day?"
Oliver had started to relax a little, for whatever reason, and answered this one in a slightly more friendly manner. He shook his head.
"On Friday, our last tutor leaves early—at twelve—and my mom usually takes us out somewhere. Or we stay at home and Enri and I do something together. Then on weekends, Enrique and I can do whatever we want on Sunday, but Saturday's we do to my dad's."
This time the other woman (who Oliver realized must be his father's attorney) smiled and spoke to him.
"And what is it you normally do with your father?"
The petite Frenchman swallowed again. He wasn't sure why, but this question had made him instantly nervous once more. Maybe it had been the way she said 'father'....
"Um..." he faltered yet again, "well, he takes us wherever we want—like the movies or a certain restaurant, or even the Louvre. Other times we just play together. He's the best dad ever." The last sentence had been said with complete seriousness.
The three adults recorded his every word.
"Okay, now what is it you like to do with your mother?" His father's lawyer asked him.
Oliver blinked. "Well, we, uh....like I said she takes us places. All around Paris—to the parks or an amusement park sometimes. We also spend a lot of time together, she's a stay-at-home mom." he was looking down; studying his hands for what felt like the billionth time. He was becoming more nervous than ever, and maybe a little scared too. Something told him this was more then just a regular argument between his parents.
Why didn't his mother ever tell him the whole truth?
His father's attorney and the other two wrote this down, then she spoke again.
"Did your parents used to fight a lot?"
Oliver nodded, tears forming in his eyes as he swallowed the lump in his throat. This was the question he never wanted to hear. He really didn't want the interrogation (that's what it felt like to the poor boy) to go in that direction.
The 'smiling creeper' took up the questioning once again. "Do you remember anything specific they fought about?"
With his head down, the three adults didn't see the first of the tears that had been threatening to fall escape and trail down his face. He remembered what the fights had been about but wasn't keen on sharing that almost every fight had been about him. So Oliver shook his head and another tear fell.
Surprisingly, no one noticed this either.
The man was still smiling in fact, as he asked yet another question. "Would you say things are more peaceful now that your dad has left?"
Oliver could tell they were trying to be nice about this, but the questions weren't helping. All they were doing was reminding the boy about all the fights his parents had had and how they were all about him, thus his fault.
He shook his head again and tried to bring himself under control. "No."
His father's lawyer seemed surprised by his answer. "No? Why not?"
Oliver sniffed, then spoke, "Because the problem's still there. I-I think it needs to be f-fixed before things can be alright again." His voice had quavered, giving him away. There were many more tears now and they were falling freely, though he was not crying completely yet.
This only seemed to confuse the woman more, and no one was smiling any more. "What is this problem if you don't mind my asking?"
His mother's attorney was doing her best to comfort the crying French boy, but at this Oliver's shoulders began to shake and he dropped his head into his hands. He was crying in earnest now and in his mind the same sentence was repeating itself 'It's me, I'm the problem and I can't fix it...'
The adults were all worried and by unspoken consent decided this should end now.
His mother's attorney picked Oliver up and carried hem out to where his mother was still waiting. As soon as she saw her son, a look of complete concern spread across her face.
The lawyer set the crying boy down and his mother instantly scooped him into her arms. "Oli, what's wrong?"
She received no answer of course. Then she turned back to her lawyer and asked, "Is it alright if we leave now?"
The other woman nodded and as Mrs. Boulanger hurried away with her son, she waved, promising to take care of everything.
On their way out, mother and son passed the window. Oliver was far too upset to look out, but if he had, he would've noticed it was raining even harder now.
As they climbed into the limo, Oliver's mother was trying to soothe him as much as she could. But Oliver was tired and upset and it wasn't much surprise when he fell asleep.
So, there it was. Tell me if you enjoyed it!
It's kinda hard to write about kids...which is what I'll be attempting to do throughout this entire story.