Classes are almost dooone! Just a few more exams, and then I'll have plenty of free time to write! Sorry for the grotesquely long wait. This chapter is horrendously short, as well, but my April Fool's joke was beginning to seem less and less facetious, so I needed to post something. Anywho, thanks for reading! SHQ


I've never actually bought into that "describe yourself in one word" crap. I mean, how could one possibly hope to encompass the complex wonder of life that is Tala Ivanov in one measly little word? But there's a first time for everything, and now is one of those times. What adjective, you ask, could possibly come close to describing me? Is it 'gorgeous'? Incredible? Kickass?

No. Right now, I am decidedly gadoid. As in:

gadoid
adj., n. - (fish) of the cod family

No, I haven't grown scales or gills (I don't blame you for jumping to that ridiculous conclusion, though, becasue Fate is an almighty bitch as of late), but judging from the way my mouth can't seem to stop this horrible cycle of gape, snap shut, and repeat- I'm a fish out of water.

Which is just not going to work.

The reason my proverbial panties are in such a twist is sitting at the other end of a grainy yellow conference table, one (eeeeeviiiiiillllll) violet eye staring curiously at me. The other (eeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllll) eye is hidden by a sweep of (tacky! and evil!) dark green hair, the rest of which is pulled up into a ponytail that I would punch a cancer child in the face for the privilege of yanking out of his effing skull.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you The Adversary.

//One year ago//

As Tala walked (away from a satisfying round of humiliating Rei in front of customers) to his car, a strange feeling struck him.

A sudden pain. Something breaking. Something damaged.

Frowning, he quickened his pace. If he could just make it back to his brand spankin' new Firebird, he'd feel fine! Just thinking about the sexy, sleek build of the vehicle, the flawless midnight paintjob, the deep purr of the engine… It was worth every hellish hour spent teaching those community ballet lessons after work.

He smirked as he turned the corner, car keys jingling in his hand-

-and promptly falling on the ground.

His… his baby.

His beautiful baby! The windshield and front windows were destroyed- there was glass everywhere- and the door, the goddamn door, it was crushed inwards, and oh, oh hell, the paint-! The slam of a car door shutting broke him out of his horrified trance.

A dull green van was quickly backing away, its front end newly plastered with dents and scrapes. At the wheel, he saw a short figure with violet, feline eyes and dark green hair glance anxiously his way before flooring it, speeding off down the street.

// End traumatizing experience flashback //

I don't like thinking about what I had to do to pay for the repairs. (Get your mind out of the gutter, I taught more community ballet lessons. I spent some quality bonding time with my good friend vodka afterwards, but I made it through.) But this- this- demon spawn before me…

...I really, really feel like putting that whole "Homicide is illegal, Tala" thing Bryan said to the test.

The bastard blinks at me and cocks his head to the side, squinting.

"Hey… you look kinda familiar. Do I owe you money?"

My jaw snaps shut once more before parting into a savage grimace.

"Do you owe me money?" I hiss. I stalk towards him, blind and deaf to the other cops. They can suck it. But this bastard…

"Do you know," I whisper, "How much window replacements and body repairs for a Firebird- a 1998 Pontiac Trans Ams, okay, with a custom fucking paintjob -costs? Do you? Do you know?"

The Adversary just smirks.

My nails dig into my palms, hands shaking with the urge to open up a can of whoop-ass the likes of which would make Chuck Norris himself cry like a little bitch. This bastard is so lucky he's handcuffed, because otherwise I'd rip off his evil little hands and stuff him down his throat until he-

-wait. Handcuffs?

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" I sneer. "Got caught busting up someone else's treasured possessions?"

"This is Tala Ivanov?" he scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "Geez, Garland, you coulda warned me I was gonna be stuck bailing out Satan."

…He wants to be bitch-slapped.

My body is apparently two steps ahead of me, because suddenly my hand is in the air, pulled back, ready pop forward and kiss this jackass goodnight, but someone catches it. Someone with strong, sexy hands.

Damnit, Bryan! Not! Fair!

"Tala," he warns, voice laced with an undertone of I-Don't-Know-Or-Agree-With-What's-Going-On, But-Just-Go-With-It-Like-A-Good-Love-Slave, "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this."

"Bryan," I mollify, the very picture of calm as long as you ignore my hand poised in pre-smiting position #15, "This asshole pulled a little something I like to call hit and run. On my Firebird. Since he never paid any cash for the repairs," I explain, eyes shooting enough fire at The Adversary to burn Hell itself (I'm pleased to note the uneasy frown beginning to drag at the little douchebag's mouth), "He can pay for my pain and suffering… with some pain and suffering of his own. Don't you agree?"

"Tala."

His voice drips with a not-so-subtle undertone of You-Think-Your-Pimp-Hand-Is-Strong? We'll-See-Whose-Is-Stronger-If-You-Keep-This-Up.

With a long suffering sigh, I let my arm drop, glaring vaguely behind me before fixing The Adversary with the sort of glare I usually reserve for mimes, tax-collectors, and people who sodomize jokes by demanding explanations.

For the first time, I notice how quiet the room has gotten.

"So," announces Bryan, moving to stand beside me. He stares coolly down at The Adversary, but you don't have to be an expert Bryan-watcher (like yours truly) to tell he's sort of pissed enough to destroy a petting zoo with his bare hands. And by sort of, I mean completely. "Who wants to explain what the hell Kevin Ki is doing here?"

oOo

"So let me get this straight. You're making a petty criminal-"

"Active informant," pipes the hell spawn.

"Petty criminal," I continue, "Set this whole thing up?"

"No." Garland, seated next to said hell spawn, is all cool calm cockiness. I flash him a half-hearted glare before scowling back down at the table. You can only give someone the Evil Eye so much before the thought of anything less than an Evil Foot Up Their Ass begins to grate on your nerves. "We set it up," continues Jolly Holly. "But he will be a necessary factor."

"But he doesn't have to be," I point out. Bryan shifts beside me, clearly agitated, but I ignore him. "I mean, this is sort of how I pictured it: I meet Jimme somewhere, wearing a cleverly concealed wire, he tries to take the cash, and BAM! You guys swoop in. Short and sweet. What's wrong with that?"

My undeniable logic is met with a snort, courtesy of The Little Demon That Could.

"Are you a complete dumbass?" he sneers. "Even a complete retard would check for wires. And even if it's 'cleverly concealed', you're forgetting that Jimme's paranoid as hell. According to my sources, he's gotten his hands on at least three different ways to disable wires."

I consider myself a logical person, and- God help us all –he's actually making sense. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"Oh?" I inquire, stuffing more disdain into that one syllable than Wolborg can stuff woodland creatures into his mouth. Which is, quite frankly, an ass ton. "Then what do you suggest we do to collect evidence? Transmit what he's saying through fucking telepathy?"

"Your best bet as far as getting evidence," he continues, as if I hadn't spoken (He will pay dearly for that), "Is a basic recording device. Battery operated, nothing fancy. Calling for backup… well, just leave that to me."

I blink. And then I laugh, the kind of laugh any Disney villain would be proud of.

"Silly me," I chuckle. "I must have heard you wrong. It sounds like you just implied I'll have to trust you. With my life."

"Look, asswipe," he growls, proverbial hackles rising, giving him the impression of a furious Chihuahua. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be! I don't like you and I didn't ask for this, so get over your fucking car and get over yourself so I can get this over with!"

"Why the hell should I trust you?" I hiss.

He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, arms crossed as much as his handcuffs will allow.

"Let me put it this way," he mutters. "There's a lovely electronic accessory clamped around my ankle right now. If I help your sorry ass, I get to take it off without jail time. So, yeah- you're not screwing this up for me."

I grit my teeth and prepare to growl out a few choice words…

…but then Thriller starts to blare from my pocket.

Don't ask me why Rei gets Thriller as a ringtone. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that I have a few more bones to pick with this bastard, but I can't really do that while my phone is ringing, and I can feel everybody staring at me and damnit Rei is in for the bitch fit of the century when I answer this phone!

Still glaring at The Adversary, I fish the phone from my pocket and flip it open, silencing Micheal Jackson's voice right at 'You try to scream...'

"What?" I snap.

There is no immediate response. Just a soft, hoarse sound, like panting… the hell? I frown, anger rushing out of me with the speed of air from a violently stabbed balloon. Desperately shoving all thoughts of violent stabbing out of my mind, I try again for an answer, voice deepening just a little with… stress (not panic- panic is for pussies).

"Rei? Rei?" I hear that soft, hoarse sound again and clutch the phone a little tighter. "Rei," I hiss, "You better let me hear that beautiful voice of yours before I hunt you down and throttle it out of you!"

"…T-tala?" Rei whispers. He sounds like he's had eight out of his nine lives scared out of him. "Don't be so loud, okay?"

I officially Do Not Like where this is going.

"Why?"

"I… I came home, and my stuff is everywhere and, I mean-" He pauses, taking a shuddery breath. "Tala, somebody broke in."

"What?!"

"Not so loud," he hisses savagely.

Oh God. Was it Jimme? Is it Jimme? Shit. Shitshitshit. I should've gotten the hell out of town when he pulled that knife on me. Now he's after Rei? Shit. Shit. Shit. While I'm having my quiet little meltdown, Rei has one of his own. His words are flying at twice the speed of swine flu.

"I think maybe someone's here," he whispers. "I mean, at first I thought maybe Drigger had just gone weird or sick or something and knocked over stuff, because the door was locked and everything, but then I got to the kitchen and there was food from the fridge everywhere and just a bunch of other stuff and then I heard something but I was too far from the door to get out so I went to the closet and now I'm in here and I don't know what to do-"

"Shut up."

He shuts up.

Okay. No more melting down. I can deal with this. I'm Tala freakin' Ivanov, and I can deal with this. Every cop (and the mini-crook) in this suffocatingly ugly room is staring at me, but that's okay, because I'm a BAMF, and I can deal with this.

So you know what, Fate? Suck it.

"Breathe," I order.

He breathes.

"Now, this is the important part: Do not freak out on me."

"I'm not-"

"Before we delve into your bout of denial, I'm going to work on getting you some help. Do not freak out. Do not hang up. I'm on my way, okay?"

Ignoring the jackasses around me, I turn to Bryan. Judging from the look on his face, I think he has a pretty good idea of what's going on. Still, I open my mouth and prepare to give him one of my infamous Tala Commands 'N' Explanations™ (which consist mainly of Move your ass and Because I said so, bitch). But he interrupts me before I get so much as an 'M' out.

"What are you waiting for?"

Under the table, he gives my leg a quick squeeze. My brain shuts down for a second or two. It's hard to do anything but watch as he pushes his chair back and stands, drawing himself up to his full height… but I, being so hardcore, manage to clamber out of my chair, too.

"Kinomiya!" he barks, eyes glinting like shards of steel, "Mizuhara! Organize two teams! Let every active unit in the area know we might need backup! What the hell are you sitting around for?" he snarls. "MOVE YOUR ASSES!"

The room erupts into a flurry of movement, everyone racing for the door, tripping over themselves to do what Bryan orders.

…have I mentioned I'm in love with this guy?

Reviews are so, so encouraging. Feedback is the ramen this story needs to grow strong and fulfill its dream of becoming the next Hokage! I mean... yeah. See, this is what I get for posting at one in the morning. Review, and we shall see what the heck is up with Rei and... well, what random fact do you wanna know about Tala? I'll work it in somehow. May the force be with you! SHQ