Chapter 22! Hello all! And yes! I have officially relocated for the summer, so this is Sholay, sending greetings from Boston. Hiya! (I was in Montréal for awhile too, where I had practically no access to the internet, which explains this late update…)
AHH!! (Screams loudly, jumping up and down) IT'S BEEN A YEAR! AN ENTIRE YEAR! WHOOOHOO! Let's celebrate an entire YEAR of this fanfiction's existence. With 342 reviews, 12395 hits, 52 favorites and 47 story alerts this story has far surpassed ANYTHING I had EVER envisioned for it. Thank you ALL! As a special, one-year present to you all, I made this chapter extra-super long, the longest chapter THUS FAR! AND! I have an announcement to make! See the end of the chapter of details!! Oh and thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who's followed this story since its conception and all who've jumped in somewhere in between. You are all wonderful, amazing, lovely people! Thank you!
Special Thanks to Canyx who kindly offered to make a FanartFor this fic! AND! She finished in record time! Thanks so much Canyx, you're picture is incredibly awesome! Everyone should check out this amazing art, you can find it at: http: / / canyx. deviantart. com/art/Dynasty-of-the-Sun-84476065 … (without the spaces) If that doesn't work, go to my profile page, where you'll find the link to my deviantart page. If you click on that, you'll find Canyx's work in my favourites. You'll be missing out if you don't!
Disclaimer: (sigh) You know, when they said you had to do these at the beginning of every chapter I don't think they realized how utterly crushing it is for the author. Do you know how permanently traumatizing it can be to have to continuously disclaim, over and over, the one object of your fascination? It's terrible, terrible I tell you! (runs out of the room dramatically)
Enjoy!
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Sooryavansham: The Dynasty of the Sun
Sholay
After the world championships in Russia, Kai just wanted to vanish. Then one day, inevitably, Kai is drawn back and ensnared in an intricate web of magic and legends; wrought by forsaken history and controlled by none other than Voltaire.
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"Of course "behaviourism" works. So does torture."
—W. H. Auden (1907-1973)
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Chapter 22: Tolerance
Hilary was, by nature and by choice, a logical human being. She enjoyed routine— had perfected the skill of planning to an art form. Everything had a time and place, from her study schedule to her social life; from the time she took to make her hair to the route she took to school (which varied on certain days depending on her estimates of traffic and weather conditions).
Everything Hilary did had an ulterior purpose. Her chosen extracurriculars—on one side: dance, taekwondo and soccer; and on the other: math team, piano class and debate club—gave her the greatest diversity of skills—both solo and team-oriented, to show her dedication as well as her ability to work in groups—while also providing the added benefit of self-defence training and mental growth.
Even her friends were selectively picked. When she hung out with girls, they were always just as goal-oriented and driven as she was, they did not gossip and chatter about inane things such as make-up or boys, instead they talked about organizing volunteer programs to help the unfortunate or challenged each other to find the most efficient path toward their ideal job.
Hilary knew hers. She was proud to tell people that she hoped to one day become a world credited gynaecologist. It got the most interesting reactions from people. Most children her age had not even chosen an area of study yet, let alone narrowed down their focus to such a specific—and unconventional occupation. But Hilary was focused. And she was serious. She volunteered four hours a week at the hospital, and was currently in the top 5 percentile of her class.
Hilary had a plan, and her plans never failed. She would finish grade school with top marks, take the SATs and hopefully get admitted into a good university in the United States. From there she would attend medical school in either Harvard or Johns Hopkins where she would study to become a women's doctor. Hilary had very strong views on the necessity of strong, independent women in the field of medicine, and how gynaecology in particular has long been stunted due to stupid male insecurities and inhibitions on women's rights, and how; even today, women are forced to undergo dangerous and unhealthy illegal procedures for abortion that should not-…
But really, that was another discussion altogether.
The point was that Hilary had purpose and vision. She knew exactly where she was going in life and how she was going to get there. She was going to make a significant difference in the world, and that, above all, made her happy, really. Really.
… It did!
Hilary groaned and leaned back in her seat, passing a hand over her eyes. It was this dratted trip! It was messing with her mind in ways she hadn't expected. Though she was loathed to say it, Hilary had to admit that she was very unused to dealing with people outside of her set periphery. People like Tyson, she avoided like the plague; and senseless sports like Beyblade, she was more likely to make fun of than actively participate in.
Dratted math! Hilary dropped her head down and buried it in her hands. If only she had spent more time studying those stupid trigonometric identities, she wouldn't have gotten that 70—her lowest mark ever, the look her parents had given her still made her want to sink into the ground—in her midterm, dropping her A average in the class down to a B… If only she'd managed just a few marks higher, she wouldn't be here right now, tutoring Tyson, Tyson of all people, and getting all these confusing thoughts she was having now…
See, the thing was, Hilary was slowly, very slowly, beginning to—God forbid!—enjoy herself.
It was inconceivable!
She knew that what these people did—choosing to pursue their athletic dreams in complete disregard to their education—was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. It was one of the complete truths that she'd carried over since early childhood. Athletes were transient, famous for only their one shot at the gold then doomed to spend the rest of their lives in helpless ignominy, living mediocre lives in the attic's of their aging parent's house, unable to support themselves, let alone their family.
She knew Tyson's goal was to become some world famous Beyblader or something, and it vexed her. A job like that had no substance! Sure, maybe he'd make it big, live the high life for a few years or so, but what happened when he got older? When he wasn't so good with his spinning top anymore; or maybe, this silly fad would run its course and Tyson would find himself the lone star in a sport no one played anymore.
What happened then?
Tyson would be left with no education, no training, no fallback, nothing.
How could he not see that?!
It infuriated Hilary to no end how thick some of these athletes were.
…And yet… And yet…
…And yet, Hilary had never experienced such satisfaction as when she'd seen the look on Tyson's face after she'd stuck gum in his hair. She had never experienced such accepting, open people as when she'd met Rei and Max. And she'd never realized girls could co-exist together without actively competing… Until she'd met Mariah and Emily. Never before had she just let go and laughed, without wondering in the back of her mind if she would have to hide parts of her personality from these people around her, whether they would scorn her if she were too corny, too sarcastic, or not smart enough. With these people she lived and experienced life in a way she had never done before. It was exhilarating, enthralling. Like some intoxicating drink she'd tasted the poisoned apple and could never return now to her normal life of isolation and simplicity.
And it baffled her how Tyson—a boy she used to look down on, someone she thought would get nowhere in life— would know such amazing people, have such an enriching and fulfilling life. All without any apparent effort on his part.
Hilary was jealous. It was spiteful and juvenile and Hilary knew that. But she didn't care.
Why was it that slacker people like Tyson always got everything in life, while she could work like a dog her whole life and feel like she has nothing?
She had no friends, no people who would have her back no matter what she did, no one who actually cared about her, her life and her problems and with whom she shared everything. She wondered if the fault was in her. She could not blame her parents in good conscience, because she knew well that they were good people, everything they did was so that she would have a good life.
Why should she want friends and relations anyway? She would have a future, a good one, which is probably more than anyone here could hope for.
She did not care. She did not!
She did not need people like Rei and Max, who listened to her problems, no matter silly, and worried for her, giving her sensible advice. She did not need Mariah and Emily, with whom she could gossip harmlessly and laugh over nonsense. She definitely did not need Tyson! And she did not need…
She didn't need…
A pair of blood red eyes flashed before her closed eyes, causing a cold, not thoroughly unpleasant, tingle to run down her back and arms before settling in her heart like a foreign object. Her breath caught involuntarily, and against her clammy palms she felt her cheeks flush.
Now, there is something to be said about Hilary Tatibana. She is a straightforward, logical, serious girl who is very focused on her schoolwork and grades.
She does not stand for pointless activity and certainly she's never had a boy-crazed conversation in her life.
And definitely, definitely, Hilary Tatibana does not believe in love at first sight.
Love was something that grew over time. It takes time and effort to flourish and grow into something beautiful. Hilary believed in friendship, which would eventually turn into love. Lust and infatuation were not things she took stock in since they were fleeting and baseless. With these thoughts in mind, Hilary could officially say that she'd never had a crush on a boy. Sure, she could appreciate good looks… Rei and Tala were definitely not lacking in that area, and she could understand brains—Kenny was unparalleled here—and sensitivity—Max's area for sure. But pure, uncontrollable, falling head-over-heels stuff that one reads about in trashy romance novels… No, she did not believe in that.
Hilary did not believe in love at first sight, and she had never had a crush on a boy—certainly not on one she didn't even know!
The image of blood red eyes flashed in her vision again and this time she got a glimpse of pale, powerful features and messy gray-blue hair.
Suddenly her thoughts had strayed completely, and she no longer remembered what she'd been thinking about before.
She had known Kai Hiwatari the moment he'd walked into the room.
From the moment Tyson and Max mentioned him, Hilary had been instantly curious—really, anyone who didn't get along with Tyson was in her good books. Then when she'd learned about his past history, she had discovered his interesting character. She had passed over some of the less desirable things said about him—from Tyson they were meaningless anyway, and besides weren't there two sides to every story? The things Hilary focused on were the facts. Kai was a leader, he was self-sufficient, he had coached and managed a team at the age of 14. He could live alone in a foreign country at the age of 15. These were facts, and they were impressive facts.
Hilary had already been predisposed toward his character. She liked how he sounded: strong, independent, intelligent, just the kind of person she could respect. There was of course, the small fault that he was a Beyblader… but hey, no one was perfect.
Hilary had wondered if she would recognize Kai on sight. Probably not, she'd thought, as the thought was a little fantastical. But as she continued to hear more and more about him, Hilary had to admit that her eagerness to meet him grew as well. She feared that she was expecting too much from him, that he, like many, many things in the past, would fall short of her expectations.
But then, she had seen him.
Her first impression had been of annoyance: who was this person, arriving late and interrupting an important meeting was highly rude behaviour, and she did not approve. But then Mr. Dickenson had halted, mid-sentence, for the arrival of this unknown. And everyone had stopped to wait. It was at that moment that Hilary realized that it wasn't this person who was arriving late, rather it was the meeting which was waiting for him to arrive.
What kind of a person had such power?
When Kai entered the room, there was no hesitancy about his step. No self-consciousness common to those who had done something wrong. No, Kai's stride was long and purposeful, his feet moving with a lightness that surprised Hilary. Kai's very body exuded confidence and power. There was a way which he held his shoulders that suggested authority and his pin straight posture was something Hilary herself couldn't pull-off. The very doors to the room had parted with ease before his graceful form and Hilary herself remembered how awkward and heavy the thick wooden doors had seemed to her, as she had haltingly and embarrassingly shoved against them just enough to allow her frame.
His clothes themselves were nothing remarkable—simple jeans and sleeveless shirt. But on him they were unreasonable attractive: revealing in a way that wasn't showy, his strong, lean frame. He was lithe, like a tiger or cheetah, with—obvious but not obscene—muscles that rolled powerfully beneath his clothes as he moved. A pure white scarf was tied around his neck—with ends picking up the moving air he himself generated as he walked and fluttering dramatically behind him. It occurred to Hilary that the very though of tying a scarf in this manner would have appeared ridiculous to her in another circumstance, except here. Except on him.
And then, Hilary had seen his face.
Hilary supposed that it was to Kai Hiwatari's credit that his body was so… fascinating… that she hadn't even thought to look at his face before then. But once she had, she couldn't draw her eyes away.
Kai had the face of a noble: fine and pale, with high cheekbones and long angular nose. His thin, sculpted eyebrows were pulled down in a perpetual frown—which, in her wise opinion, did not take away from his look at all—and thin, pale lips were set into a grim, serious line.
And his eyes! Shimmering red, like the darkest depths of the purest red diamond… Unbelievable; there were no words to describe his eyes, nor was there any way Hilary could explain how her heart and breath had stopped completely when his piercing gaze had passed over her. The barest of miniscule glances in her direction and she'd lost her breath. What would happen if, when, he actually talked to her?
There was something about the intensity of Kai's features that had sent a tingle down Hilary's spine. He was focused and powerful in a 'take-no-nonsense' type of way that Hilary couldn't help but be drawn to.
His hair was set in a messy disarray of spikes which, astonishingly, worked perfectly with his look. Hilary had no idea if that dual-shaded light blue-dark blue hair colour was his natural hair… But somehow Kai did not strike Hilary as the type of boy who would be into things like hair colour. But then again, he did have those blue triangles painted… or was it a tattooed?... on his face. Personally, Hilary didn't much approve of tattooing, and when she'd first seen the four triangles slashed across his face, she had been instantly dismayed. What a terrible way to ruin such a handsome face… But really, it was only a physical flaw… and besides, the marks did accentuate the contours of his cheeks rather nicely… so it wasn't all that bad…
Oh, and when Kai had spoken…
His voice, low and soft with a sweet dulcet intonation, like rolling honey, had a commanding tone that immediately grabbed the attention of the listener. He had the natural skill of not having to raise his voice to get the attention of a room, and he never misspoke—every word deliberate and well thought out. Hilary knew from personal experience that developing such patience and self-awareness, not to mention control, took time, effort and a great deal of objectiveness of the self.
Listening to him talk, Hilary was quietly impressed at the lack of obvious accent on his English words. She had then remembered how Kai had been the Captain of the Japanese team, meaning he had to speak Japanese with some fluency as well. More than that, if he had really spent the year in Russia, he would know Russian too. It spoke wonders to the intelligence of a person if they could speak multiple languages.
Control, patience… confidence, intelligence… power… and not to mention the good looks to wrap up the entire package…
Hilary was not one to indulge in infatuation.
But she was a teenage girl, and still couldn't help but secretly remember her dreams of the knight in shinning armour that would one day come and sweep her off her feet.
Hilary closed her eyes, and behind her eyelids danced the figure of a young man with a dulcet voice and keen, red eyes…
';.;' … On the other side of the room…
"But Reeeeeiiii we have to find out what he's hiding from us!"
"Tyson," the older boy sighed. "Look, what do you think is going to happen if we crowd Kai and demand he gives us answers?"
"We'll find out why he left us and spent the year in Russia… without even telling us! He made us worry for nothing! And what WAS that he was doing in that room: bowing to Voltaire! I shouldn't have let you hold me back then, and I'm not gonna let you do it now, so let me go!" The incensed boy raged, trying to push past Rei.
"No, Tyson" Rei rolled his eyes and grabbed Tyson's shoulder, spinning him around in a single, swift motion. "We'll alienate him, make him shut down. You know he hardly ever opens up; he's only done it once or twice, and that was when he was off guard and alone with us. If you confront him now—in front of everyone—he'll only get angry. We won't get any answers and he'll block us out completely. It took us a year of trying before he even gave us an inch. That was a year ago. Now all that progress is probably gone after everything that's happened. He spent the year alone, Tyson, in Russia, do you get that? Russia! We're lucky that Boris didn't find him and lock him back up in that damnable Abbey 'cause who knows what would've happened then! Kai had no money to come back and we didn't even think twice before leaving him. What kind of an impression do you think that left on him?" The guilt shone clear in Rei's amber eyes and resulting shame flickered in Tyson's own dejected gaze. But Rei wasn't done. "Your recklessness now could cost us everything; and with this tournament approaching do you really want him, as a captain or even a friend, acting as bad as—or worse—than he did two years ago?"
"…No" Tyson growled, tugging his arm free from Rei's restraining hand. He glared at Kai's brooding figure in the corner. "But how do we know he'll stick around long enough for us to get some answers? He might just go off and disappear again, and then your little 'ring-around-the-rosy' woulda been pointless, 'cause he'd be gone, and then we really WON'T know anything… Ever!"
"Rei's right Tyson." Max said softly, also watching the faraway figure of his former Captain, except his eyes were sad. "We can't make a big deal out of this here. I mean, we completely forgot about him for a year…—"
"We did not…!" Tyson protested, but so softly his voice was barely heard and Max continued without pausing.
"—we owe him at least the chance to explain himself when he wants…"
"But what if he NEVER tells us?" Tyson shot back, spreading his hands for emphasis.
"If he doesn't, then, well…" Max picked at the fingerless gloves on his own hands thoughtfully for a second before raising his head confidently. "We'll have to deal with it… We'll just make sure that it doesn't happen again." Max answered, sounding very sure of himself.
"Huhn…" Rei made a non-committal sound in response, shooting a narrow look at Max. He didn't agree with Max, he did want an explanation from Kai; it just didn't have to be right now. Rei knew that Max didn't have any problems with letting bygones be bygones, but to Rei, bygones were never gone; they stuck around like bloodsucking leeches: breaking friendships and letting hate and anger fester and rot. It had happened many times in Rei's life already, he did not want it to happen again. "Well, we'll see what happens. And anyway, we know that Kai pretty much isn't going anywhere, for now, at least."
"How?" Tyson challenged.
"Have you ever known Kai to run away from anything at all Bey-ish?" Rei asked, raising one long dark eyebrow, but when Tyson immediately began to answer he instantly added "And not come back?"
Tyson was silent, Max smiled and Rei nodded.
"Ok, fine." Tyson, sucking in a cheek, relented. He turned to stare at Kai. "But the second this thing is over, all bets are off."
Max looked like he was going to protest, but Rei, noticing something, quickly intervened.
"Hey, now what is he doing?"
Max and Tyson both turned to look, and watched as Boris, dark and imposing, stealthily glided over to the spot where their Captain was standing. Kai, still deep in thought, didn't seem to have noticed Boris' nearing proximity. Tyson clenched his fists.
"Whatever it is, it's no good, come on!"
And the three boys hurried off toward Kai, ignoring the questioning calls from a certain bespectacled, mousy haired boy.
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Lunch is taking too long.
I let my eyes slip to the side where they rest on a lone metal door near me.
'The exit is right there, a mere two steps would—'
A cold, hard hand seizes me by the upper arm.
I jerk away, but the thick hand tightens, grip into a bruising grip, short, ragged nails digging into my arms, and yanks me back. I stumble, the cold rush of realized danger gripping me, my teeth clench.
'Who? What?'
Completely taken off guard, my instincts take over. In a swift, unthinking motion, I swing around—penknife poised to attack—eyes flying up to meet those of my assailant—
"II Foolish boy, put that thing away. Come with me. Now. II"
I freeze, instinct failing before that familiar oily voice: thick and viscous, like fat dripping off a stuck pig.
Boris.
A light flashes before my eyes, I blink, shake my head, look down. What is going on?
';.;' Flash ';.;'
I shiver. I can't even feel the freezing metal in my hands, they are so numb. The tip drops, involuntarily, my hands give a nervous twitch and a loud explosion rings through the air. I jump. My aim is off. I tremble.
Large, hard hands wrap around mine and I feel a breath of hot air on my ear. I shiver, despite the cold.
"You hold it like this." The voice whispers in my ear, the hands tighten, pulling mine upward, holding them steady. My breathing shallows as another body presses flush against my back, a pair of arms overlaying my own, pushing my own arms into my sides. I feel trapped, caged. "You don't want to let them get away, do you?"
This time it's his hands that make me pull the trigger. I try to brace myself, but the explosion is too loud, too sudden. I jump again, my weight falling completely on him for a split second before I jolt away. His low chuckle resonates through my mind and heart.
Dreading the result, I drag my eyes up to look at the target. My breath fails me and I stare.
A hole is ripped through the target, spearing it dead centre.
But I'm trembling worse than before
';.;' Flash ';.;'
Vaguely, I feel someone trying to pull free the metal thing in my hand. 'No…' I shake my head, tightening my hold. 'I can't let go… I must hold it, hold it straight, or—'
';.;' Flash ';.;'
I look upwards into his fluid, vulpine eyes.
"My Firebird. You have done well today."
I look down.
"You did something none of those other weaklings could. You showed true power, you should be proud." A cold, hard hand touches my chin, urging it gently back up to meet those grey eyes. "You know I only choose the best to stay with me in my room, don't you?"
I swallow, but nod as best as I can with his hand holding me. I don't use my voice. I don't trust it.
"To be the best you must learn from those who are better than you. Then you will gain power, and you desire power, don't you?"
I nod, again.
"I can teach you," He stands tall, and like a holy priest reading the scriptures, he spreads his arms wide. "This Abbey teaches tolerance, we teach honesty, generosity and the sacrifice of the self…" Here his voice dips low, and he looks down at me with a frightening, intense look. "For the collective." He brings a hand up and cups my cheek. "With these things, you can truly being to understand the worth of strength, the weight of power. Only once you've humbled yourself, stripped away these petty layers." He makes a small motion at my shoulders, as though brushing off excess dirt. The tips of his fingers linger at the edge of one shoulder, then graze lightly over my upper arm. A sharp, unexplainable shiver tingles over my spine. Even through the coarse fabric of my uniform, I'm acutely aware of the coldness of his hand, and goosebumps form in the wake of his touch. "One you've rid yourself of your foolish rebelliousness, your selfish arrogance… Once you are bare, and pure… only then can you begin to build the foundations on which will form the basis of your future, your life."
"Yes, Director." There is a tone of wonder in my voice. As sudden as a light bulb turning on, I understand. All this time, I've been fighting it, fighting him, this place, everything. I thought it was wrong, I thought my own personal ideals, my view, was the correct one. The only one.
But for all my fighting, I have only gotten beaten down. For my so called strength, I have received scorn, not the respect I believed I'd earned.
No one else fought the Abbey like me. I thought they were all crazy, all fools…
And yet…
Who is the one unhappy?
Who is the one confused, when everything seems so clear?
Who fears the very shadows he walks in, paranoid because he is alone, a veritable rabbit in a world of hungry wolves?
Who fights so hard everyday, and gets nowhere?
Everyone else seems content… Everyone else is happy here in the Abbey…
Only I—… Just me… Only me…
How could everyone else be wrong, and I the only one right?
What if… What if I am the one who is wrong…?
He looks at me with an almost soft expression, and I feel an unfamiliar sensation growing in my chest. Filling it.
He puts his hand on my head and runs his fingers through my hair. His nails scratch lightly over my scalp and without thinking, I lean into the touch, my eyes falling halfway closed. It almost tickles, but not quite, the sensation causes another tingle to run down my spine, but this one is oddly pleasant. It feels so good, to be touched in a way that doesn't hurt… to be looked at in something that is not anger.
I look up at him. He still has that expression on his face, it's almost a smile. His hand does not feel cold, not anymore. His eyes are liquid silver, glistening in the light.
"Come with me." His voice is soft, like his eyes. Slowly, he draws his hand away, mid stroke, from my hair. I have to physically bite my lip to stop myself from protesting out loud. Even still, my head instinctively rises up a little with his hand. His lips quirk a little at the corner, but he says nothing. I was never so grateful for his silence.
He turns then, placing one hand on the doorknob.
He goes in.
There is barely a moment's hesitation before I follow.
';.;' Flash ';.;'
Hands, holding my arms, yanking me forward, pulling my arms behind my back. 'Do I… want? No… no… Not this…' I struggle and something hits me over the head. Thoughts blur, I slump forward, the hands return, moving to my neck, taking my scarf off…
';.;' Flash ';.;'
"YOU STUPID, IGNORANT, INGRATE! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY ME!?"
I fall to my knees as the long, metal pole hits me over the back. My hands are on my head, clutching my skull protectively. I can't stifle the cry that escapes me.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
I gasp and my hands fly to my mouth, I hear a clang as the pole is thrown aside. I spin around, scared, eyes wide.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" He grabs me, pulls me into the air by the front of my shirt, shakes me. I stifle a sob, but shake my head back and forth, still covering my mouth.
"SCREAMING?! CRYING?! YOU'RE A DISGRACE! YOU'RE STUPID! WEAK! FOOL! NOT WORTHY OF THE DIRT ON MY SHOES!" He throws me aside and I hit the wall hard. I scrunch up my eyes…no tears, no tears… please.
"YOU THINK THIS IS POWER?" He gestures at me and I shake my head again. "POWER is SUCCESS, POWER is STRENGTH, POWER is SUBLIME! You are NONE of these! You are PATHETIC! MINDLESS! WEAK! You are NOTHING! You can't even take the punishment you deserve." His voice lowers drastically at the end, heavy with disgust… disappointment; and I bite my lip hard, screwing up my eyes and turning my face away in shame.
I can't help it, I can't breath, my back hurts, I'm scared… another sob, louder, escapes me.
"YOU THINK THIS IS FEAR? YOU THINK THIS IS PAIN?" Once again he grabs me, pulling me bodily into the air and holding me dangling right before his eyes. I stop breathing completely as he stares straight at me, his eyes scouring holes through me.
"Let me show you what true pain is!"
';.;' Flash ';.;'
A sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth… Then my eyes open.
Blurry shapes, halos of light. I blink, then blink again.
Red… carpet… the ground? That can't be right; somehow I remember the floor being wood…
"II So, Sleeping Beauty is awake? How nice for you to grace us with your consciousness, my dear Phoenix. II"
My head snaps up. Eyes narrowed, for some reason I'm finding it hard to focus, I raise a hand to rub my eyes—
—Only to realize that I can't move my arms.
"Boris." I growl.
The man before me laughs: low and cruel, the sound grates over my spine.
"II Took you long enough, boy. Look around; see what you've missed while you were daydreaming. II" He says in his oily, churlish, southern accented Russian.
Biting back my retort, I decide that it would be smarter to heed his suggestion. I look around, trying to be as unobvious as I can—I do not need him being smug on top of everything else.
I am in the conference room; alone, with Boris and his two lackeys. How I got there is an alarming blank in my mind… but I can't—I cannot—think about that now. The two guards have tied my hands behind my back—again I do not remember this happening… My knife is gone, my scarf and armguards too have disappeared. Unease settles like a heavy pit in my stomach… I do not like this, what do they want? They cannot be doing this, not here, not with everyone else is in the other room…
I tug one my arms, testing, then step lightly ahead and pull my upper body forward and sharply down. Surprised, one of the guards is pulled forward and nearly flips over my shoulder, but then the second guard comes out of nowhere and punches me hard in the stomach.
The breath rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh, I curl instinctively, but the guards yank me back up, causing my stomach muscles to forcefully unclench rather unpleasantly. The first guard, whom I had nearly thrown, mutters something crude then slaps me over the back of my head. Long bangs are thrown across my face and I let them hang, obscuring my eyes while I mentally yell at myself.
'Idiot. This is your own fault. How could you let them take advantage of you like this?'
I try to recall what had happened, when Boris first grabbed my arm. What happened? How? Again, my mind is drawing blanks, except that the alarm has passed and now displeased acrimony is setting in.
'I remember seeing a flash of light, then those strange hallucinations…'
I feel my eyes narrow.
'This is absurd. Utter foolishness; I will find out what is causing this. It is unacceptable that I loose—even for a second—awareness of—'
"II Well, as amusing as it is to watch you make a fool out of yourself, we have business to attend to. II" I look back up, only to see Boris slipping on a pair of metal plated, leather gloves. I stare. No, he can't possibly be doing what I think he's doing…
"Boris." I put as much emphasis in my tone as I can without yelling. "What is all this?" I speak deliberately in English, to emphasize where we currently are. "What are you do— mph" Suddenly a ball of material is shoved between my teeth. Before I can spit it out, another cloth is pulled over my mouth. I toss my head angrily, making it hard for the guard behind me to tie the knot. I feel my head connect with something hard. A badly stifled cry of pain accompanies a wet cracking sound behind me; I must have broken his nose. Good. 'How dare they muzzle me like some common animal?' But then someone grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head viciously backward.
I stiffen, my exposed neck straining in the uncomfortable position. My scalp, still stinging from the recent encounter with the guard's nasal bone, burns as my hair is non-too-gently ripped out by its roots. I grit my teeth, scowling as the cloth is pulled tight around my cheeks; a knot is tied at the base of my skull.
I growl, anger has replaced all unease now. Tensing the muscles in my shoulders I fix Boris with the worst glare I can manage and for a second I am sure he falters. But then that infuriating, smarmy smirk is back.
"II Now, now, my beautiful Phoenix, we can't have you making a racket; imagine what people would say. II
'I AM NOT YOURS!' Every last shred of control is lost as I attempt to scream these words at him. Only a muffled shout escapes the gag and in frustration I lunge forward, nearly breaking out of the guards' grasp. They manage to pull me back though and after a few hard punches I'm nearly double in their hold, gasping through the gag.
It was worth it though, to see, just for a second, that look of stark fear flash across his disgusting, sallow face.
"II You shouldn't have done that, boy. II" Boris is trying to regain his composure, tugging at his gloves as though to assure himself of his power over me. He looks furious.
'Good. Now he knows how I feel.'
"II I was going to go easy on you, considering how long it's been since we've last had this pleasure. But you, boy, just ruined that. II" Something in his tone, something implied, something unsaid, causes a tingle of uncertainty to run through me. I become still.
"II Memory or not, you couldn't have forgotten... Not this. II" His hand snaps out and grabs my chin. I freeze, the familiarity of this gesture too raw. He pulls my head up so that my eyes meet his own dusty grey ones. Something within them makes me try to recoil, but his grip tightens. I look away. He leans closer; I can feel his breath on my skin. "II Yes, you do remember, don't you? My touch; this feeling. You remember well, I can see it in your eyes. You like this. II" I feel the rough leather of gloved thumb scratching over my cheek, leaving trails of crawling skin in its wake. I force myself not to react. "II I can make it feel good when you've pleased me… But you've been a bad boy; yes… a very bad boy, my Firebird. II"
'No… NO.'
'NO!'
Panic consumes me.
With strength born of desperation, I twist my head free of Boris' hand and tear away from the guards holding me.
I stumble at first, but when a hand comes out of nowhere, clawing at my back, I force myself to move. A guard throws himself at me but I leap to the side and run.
I am nearly there; the door is right before me. Hands tied, I have no idea how I will open it—short of running straight into it and hoping to God someone will hear me…
But in my panicked flight I neglect to see the stool obscuring the way in front of me.
My foot catches on unrelenting wood and with a muffled gasp, I fall—ankle rolling violently, tumbling, head over heels—to the ground. The stool is thrown to the side, crashing loudly against the wall.
Immediately, I try to rise to my feet, but the guards are upon me before I can even think. One brings his foot down on the back of my neck, driving my head into the ground as he tries to suffocate me with the carpet. Thinking quickly, I scissor my legs, managing to catch one of his feet and sweep it out from underneath him. The guard falls heavily, shaking the floor with his immense bulk.
Not wanting to give the second guard the same advantage over me, I quickly roll onto my back. The first guard is a few feet away, slowly pushing himself to his feet. His hood has fallen away, revealing a thick, face: sunken eyes and thin lips slashing a hard line across his, stony features and dark hair shaved close to his head in a buzz cut. The second guard looks momentarily stupefied, watching his buddy with a vacant, idiotic look on his face. His hood, too, is gone, revealing a weak, unremarkable face with watery blue eyes and faded blond hair.
I move fast, taking Blue Eyes' distraction to my advantage, throwing my feet back over my shoulder, I back-roll to me feet. My hands have not been idle this whole time, and by now I've managed to work enough slack into my ropes to uncross my wrists and work at the knots with my fingers. It is the work of mere seconds before the ropes fall away uselessly from my hands. The gag immediately follows, the rag around my mouth fluttering to the ground as I spit out the sodden material in my mouth, my lip curling with profound repugnance.
'You would think they would have learned how to tie their knots better by now.'
I stand tall then. And, with the same, disgusted look on my face, regard the foul men before me over one shoulder. Boris looks infuriated. Buzz Cut is slowly picking himself off the floor, he looks murderous. And Blue Eyes, still looks annoyingly vacant while he rubs the back of one hand across his face, smearing the blood running from what is definitely a broken nose.
For a moment we just stand there, me on one side, them on the other, like some cheap, classic gangster movie at its climax.
My eyes move past them, and land on the door right behind Boris' back. It had been my misfortune and bad strategy that put them between me and the only exit to the room.
There is only one thing to do, then. I frown, eyebrows drawing downward into an intense look as I focus only on them, everything else fades away. With slow, deliberate movements, I shift my weight to my right foot and, dragging the toe of my shoe across the plush carpet, pull my left foot back in a shallow arc until my feet are approximately shoulder-width apart. My knees bend. I raise my head but pull my hands up only halfway, leaving them uncurled, mockingly relaxed.
'Well, come at me, then.'
¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤
"Hil-ary-y-y!! Oh, HIL-ary-y-y! Earth to zombie girl! Come in zombie girl!"
Hilary suddenly became aware of a sharp, annoying sound near her ear. Blinking back into focus she was taken aback by seeing a hand snapping its fingers only centimetres from her nose.
"Hey!" Hilary instinctively recoiled and fell back against the couch. A chorus of laughter followed her action and Hilary looked up to see Mariah and Emily standing above her. Mariah pulled her hand away from Hilary's face. "Hey-y-y" She said again, but this time played along, sticking her lower lip out and crossing her arms in a mock-sulk.
"Alright, alright, no more making fun of little miss spacey here, got that Em? I don't know why you're always teasing her so much." Mariah sent a sly grin at Emily.
"Oh yes, of course, whatever was I thinking?" Emily put a hand to her forehead dramatically and fell onto the couch next to Hilary, acting her part even though everyone knew Mariah was the one teasing Hilary. "I don't know what got into me; one should never make fun of a girl with a crush after all." Here she elbowed a spluttering Hilary in the side a few times before grinning at Mariah. "Could turn dangerous."
"I—I! I do NOT have a crush!" Hilary cried, though the rising heat in her cheeks staunchly told otherwise.
"Su-u-ure you don't. And you haven't been sitting here for the past half an hour staring dreamily off into space." Mariah rolled her eyes.
"I don't have a crush." Hilary groused, sinking further into the seat. "I don't know what gave you that idea."
"Well, maybe it was because when you weren't staring at nothing you had your eyes fixed on a certain hot, red-eyed Russian." Emily drawled with a wide grin.
"WHAT?!" Hilary sat upright, her eyes wide. "No! No!" She waved her arms wildly. "It's not like that at all I don't—"
"C'mon Hil, everyone saw how you were practically drooling over Hiwatari when he walked into the room." Mariah waved one hand, looking away as though it were obvious.
Hilary looked between the two girls with an expression akin to a mouse cornered. It wasn't fair; they were ganging up on her! "I didn't…" Her denials sounded weak even to her ears. "It didn't… I didn't look that bad, did I?"
"Think about it this way, you looked as bad as Mariah here does when Rei gives her one of his cocky, lopsided smirks." Emily laughed, and Hilary flushed harder. That was pretty bad.
Mariah didn't look so amused. "Well, I doubt you acted any better when you first saw Hiwatari."
Emily smiled. "Yes, but that was different. The first time I got a good look at him was when I saw him save Max in the facility. And that was damn impressive, if I do say so myself."
"Save Max?" Hilary questioned.
"Yup." Emily nodded. "There was this huge glass door that was going to fall right on top of Max, when whoosh! Kai just jumps out of nowhere and tackles Max out of the way, just in time. Probably saved his life."
"Wow…" Hilary, in spite of herself, was impressed, and it came through in her voice. Emily and Mariah exchanged wide grins.
"Wow, Emily, this poor girl has got one major case of Kai-pox"
"Kai-pox?" Hilary asked sarcastically, scrunching up her nose.
"Oh don't worry; we've both gone through it."
"No—I mean okay—but…Kai-pox?!" Hilary felt the need to reiterate the point here.
Emily sighed, a look of vague annoyance crossing her features. "I know, it's so unscientific, but Mariah insisted."
"Wha-a-at? I think it's cute." Mariah smirked, flashing one pointed canine. "It's better than Kai-osis or Hiwatari-itis, isn't it?"
Emily lowered her eyelids half way and regarded Mariah over her half-moon glasses in exasperation. "The purpose of comparison is to establish a level of variance. You can't take a bunch of bad ideas and rank them, it's redundant."
"Well gee, Mrs. Smarty-pants, if you're so witty why don't you come up with something better?" Mariah returned Emily's look with one of her own.
Emily's pursed lips were all the answer Mariah needed for her question.
"But wait, wait a minute. Don't you…" Hilary looked at Mariah, confusedly. "Don't you… like… Rei?" The word 'like' seemed odd and unusual on her lips, she hoped the other girls didn't notice her hesitation. She felt so silly, talking about 'boys' like a love-crazy girl. Yet Emily and Mariah made it look so easy.
"Oh, of course!" Mariah looked at Hilary like she'd just asked if the sky was blue. "Of course I like Rei. He's sweet, handsome, smart, everything I could ever want in a guy… But, you know, that doesn't mean I can't… appreciate the finer qualities in other boys… And my, does that Hiwatari have a damn sexy body!" Mariah grinned predatorily and Hilary gasped.
"Mariah!" Hilary admonished. "Don't say that?"
"Well don't you agree?" Emily asked, looking at Hilary. "I mean, you couldn't ask for a better body. And albeit the whole 'traitor' thing was a turnoff, but you gotta admit… even just a little, that that bad boy attitude is quite attractive."
"I…well, I…" Hilary was once again at a loss for words as both girls watched her.
"C'mon, admit it!" Mariah coaxed.
"Okay, okay! Fine, he's hot, ok? You happy now?" Hilary caved and blurted out the admission. Oddly enough it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. It even made her feel good to say it and she smiled a little.
"There we go! Finally! Now we're getting somewhere! Acceptance is the first step!" Mariah exclaimed.
"The first step to what?" Emily challenged.
"To getting him to notice her! Now, I admit, Kai is a stuck up snob, but Hilary here seem to be a smart, independent girl here. No way would she let him walk all over her like some love-sick fan-girl. Hiwatari needs to learn some good humility after all; and there's nothing better to burst his ego bubble than a girl… Now, Hilary here seems to know absolutely nothing about boys—"
Hilary protested but her voice was completely unheard as Mariah continued.
"—so I propose we team up to give her some pointers!"
Emily didn't look convinced. "Hmm… I don't know. Kai's a bit… much for a first experience isn't he?"
"Excuse me?! How do you know I've never been out with a boy?" Hilary spluttered.
"Because you just said so, dear, now let the big girls talk." Mariah said without even looking at Hilary.
"Oie! I don't like to be ignored!"
"Mariah, I just don't know. Setting someone up is fine… But setting someone up with Kai Hiwatari?" Emily was still unconvinced.
"It'll be like the ultimate challenge!" Mariah clasped her hand together, looking positively gleeful.
"Hey, now what exactly is wrong with Kai anyway?" Hilary, annoyed felt the need to interrupt these girls who'd suddenly and without even asking, thrust themselves into her personal life. How would they know who is good for her or not? "Kai seems like an intelligent, responsible person. It might just be shy, or introverted. There's nothing wrong with that."
Emily stared at Hilary as though she'd never seen her before. "Wow, you do have it bad don't you?"
"Hey!"
"Speaking of Mr. Heartthrob, where is he?" Mariah craned her neck over the back of the couch to look around. "I haven't seen him since the beginning of lunch."
Emily sent a cursory look around the room. "I don't see him."
Hilary then joined the search. "Where do you think he went? I didn't know we were allowed to leave… he might have just gone to the washroom or something."
"Ohh… worried are we?" Mariah asked coyly.
"Am not!" Hilary answered hotly.
"Whatever." Mariah dropped down into the couch and leaned close. "Now tell me, what did you notice first about him? Was it the eyes or his biceps?"
"Mariah!"
"Oooh, maybe it was his cute butt!"
"MARIAH!"
';.;' … On another side of the room
Mr. Tate placed his cup directly on the wooden table, not paying much heed to the saucer laying just a foot away. Expensive china, pfft, he hated all that uptight, high-collared stuff. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could just see Voltaire's own forsaken cup on a nearby rosewood side-table. Mr. Tate resisted the urge to turn up his nose in disdain. He knew Voltaire's type: proud, arrogant—the elder man had probably had the expensive china brought in himself… because he was too good to drink from a normal cup. Alex could clearly see that the cup was still placed exactly in the centre of the saucer, and that the slightest amount of tea was still lingering at the bottom. Alex raised an eyebrow at that. Odd, usually someone as meticulous as Voltaire would not forget such a simple courtesy as finishing everything on your plate. Then, something stirred in the back of his mind, and Mr. Tate recalled what he'd read from a Russian guidebook he'd picked up in the airport. A section on etiquette. Of course, Voltaire had forgotten nothing. It was customary to leave a little of your food on your plate to show appreciation of the ample hospitality received. Hiwatari of course, took this to the extreme by passing the etiquette over to his drink as well. Shooting a narrow glace at his own cup, Mr. Tate shot out a hand and grabbed the cup around its downing the last dregs of its contents before placing it back on the table with a little more force than necessary.
"A little on the grumpy side, are we, kiddo?" came an amused voice from Alex's left.
With a groan, Mr. Tate relaxed back into his armchair. He rubbed a calloused hand over his eyes then dragged it down roughly over the rest of his face. He eyed the man seated next to him with some disgruntlement. Mr. Granger just laughed, and looked back, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
Alex's gaze went back to the cup and he thought about what he just did. It was petty, and pointlessly spiteful to take out his aggressions in this way. This anger, it was so damn old. He really shouldn't be bothered by this kind of thing anymore… But that conversation with Ms. Foster, and Voltaire's horribly aggravating personality, it just brought back so many memories…
…Alex's fists clenched as he thought of exactly how much Voltaire's attitude got on his nerves. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch: an annoying, irritating, blasted tick that made his teeth gnash, and his eyes twitch, and his hands tingle with the urge to punch the superior, smug look right off the bastard's face.
…But this was irrational, and wrong. This was here and now. And Voltaire Hiwatari was not Alex Tate's father, nor would he ever be, no matter the similarities.
…'No matter the similarities'. Alex repeated in his head, just for good measure. He looked down at his cup. This was here, this was now. He was no longer the impulsive youth from his past. He was a grown man, mature, responsible and completely in control of his own life, and himself. He did not need to act out with silly rebelliousness against the things he did not approve of. It was childish, and he'd grown beyond that.
Having resolved this issue in his head, he relaxed into his seat. Looking once more to his left, he saw Mr. Granger stretched luxuriously on a loveseat. His usual, gaudy Hawaiian style t-shirt clashed jarringly against the imperial maroon of the couch. The man was undeniably odd, and more than a little eccentric, but even still, the two had somehow managed to form a comfortable friendship and more and more, Mr. Tate found himself in the older man's company, whether it was to discuss important issues or to vent his frustrations.
This time, he just wanted some idle conversation.
"So Mr. Granger," Alex began. "Tell me, why did you decide to come all this way to Russia anyway?"
The elder man 'Hmm'ed very importantly before closing his eyes and leaning his head back. For a few seconds he said nothing, finally he opened his eyes and looked into Alex's mildly amused gaze.
"First of all," Ryu said. "Call me Bob."
Mr. Tate's eyebrows rose. "Bob? Why? Is that your real name?"
"No." The other man said simply, closing his eyes again. He didn't seem to be inclined to explain anymore and Alex could help but chuckle.
"Ok… Bob." Alex snorted.
Mr. Granger leaned forward then with a sudden motion and looked straight at Alex. "Cool. I'm just here to keep the old eyeball on my main man, Tyson. Gotta keep the 411 on those little dudes 24/7 or who knows where they'll go off! Besides, I ain't got much steam left in these old bones, and you know what they say: 'gotta use 'em before ya loose 'em!"
"Come on now Mr. Granger. You've got more energy than many twenty year olds I know." Alex scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
There was a mysterious twinkle in Ryu's eyes but the older man said nothing about it. "Anyways, dude, chill. I've gotta check the little dude." And with a single, explosive motion, Mr. Granger slapped his hands on his knees and rose to his feet.
Alex watched with morbid fascination as Ryu proceeded to stealthily creep up on an unsuspecting Tyson—who was engrossed in conversation with Rei and Max—all the while unfolding his long wooden sword as he went. The dark-haired chef looked on long enough to see the strange old man bop his grandson on the head. Chaos thusly ensued and Alex, shaking his head bemusedly, rose from his chair.
Not too far away he noticed Judy talking to Deidre Foster and decided to head in their direction. On the way, He passed Hilary and two other girls—Mariah and Emily, chatting on the sofa.
"Honestly, being on a team of all boys is so exasperating!" Emily cried.
"I know! Empty food wrappers and dirty socks everywhere! Uh!" Mariah exclaimed back. "Of course, it also has it upsides, which I'm sure Hilary will agree with. Right Hilary?" Mariah gave a scary grin and poked Hilary in the side. The poor girl looked so embarrassed; her face was as red as a tomato.
Vaguely, Mr. Tate wondered if the teen had a crush on one of the Bladebreakers… But who? Max?... Somehow Mr. Tate didn't think so; Hilary didn't act very oddly around his son. Kenny? Probably not. Maybe Rei? That was a possibility… Or maybe it was Tyson. Suddenly, Mr. Tate grinned. Tyson! That must be it! He remembered back in his youth, boys always picked on the girls they liked, and Hilary and Tyson already bickered like an old, married couple. Alex chuckled. Hilary and Tyson, what a funny pairing that would be! Somehow though, it did seem like a good idea. They were complete opposites, and if there was someone who could organize Tyson and make him focus, it was Hilary. And Tyson would probably do just as good of a job of getting that girl to loosen up, and show her some of the world. Mr. Tate thought that it would be interesting to see how things worked out between them. 'Young love' what a bizarre thing it was.
As Mr. Tate pulled away from the girls, he closed in on his ex-wife and her friend talking to each other. Soon he as close enough to hear snippets of their conversation:
"So, the titanium base fits well with the overall structure." Judy had her 'thinking' face on and was studying some papers in Deidre
"Yes, as you can see here, I'm got the print-out of the function modelling rotation with respect to concentration of titanium per square millimetre in the base. Here there is a ten point increase in the location of the zero in its derivative."
"That's fantastic." Judy said.
"But look. It only happens if the blade is at a forty-five degree angle with respect to its attack bar."
"Oh dear." Judy deflated. In consternation, she gnawed gently on the nail of one thumb. Alex watched this manifestation of an old habit in fascination. He had once thought that particular trait of hers endearing. "That could be a problem."
"But, what if you restrict the attack angle to forty-three point seven percent? Couldn't we then optimize the relationship?"
Mr. Tate, very much intimidated by their technical talk, was in the process of making the very important decision of figuring the opportunity cost of approaching the women when he was unexpectedly saved from making the decision. A dulled 'thud' sounded from somewhere to Alex's left and he spun his head in that direction. His eyes rested on the heavy mahogany wood of the conference room door. The sound had come from within. That was strange; Mr. Tate didn't know anyone else was in the room.
Swiftly, Mr. Tate sent a look around the room to see if anyone else had heard the noise, it didn't seem as though anyone had: Max and his friends were still talking animatedly to Tyson's grandfather, and everyone else was absorbed within their own conversations.
Mr. Tate wondered briefly if he'd imagined the noise, and pondered asking Mr. Dickenson about it. However, upon spotting the older man, Alex was surprised to see him approaching Voltaire, a look of obdurate decisiveness on his rotund features. Intrigued, he moved toward them.
"Mr. Hiwatari." Mr. Dickenson drew himself up to his full height self-importantly. "I hope that nothing is going on behind those doors to cause me to regret my decision." He said sternly.
Silence strained the air for a few moments as Voltaire slowly turned his head to gaze at the closed door of the conference room. Alex tried to glimpse his expression, but the man's face was turned away from him.
"Oh… I am sure that it is nothing." Voltaire's response came low and smooth from his lips in a pretentious drawl as he turned his head back to look Mr. Dickenson straight in the eye. Stanley looked uncomfortable under the full force of Hiwatari's eyes, but Alex was more disconcerted by the strange smile on the man's face. "You see," Voltaire continued. "My Grandson is unfortunately quite clumsy sometimes, most especially when he is nervous; and Director Boris does tend to have that effect on his students."
Alex's eyebrows rose. Kai hadn't struck him as particularly clumsy, but what was he doing in the conference room anyway.
"Ahem," Mr. Dickenson coughed into a large gloved fist. "Might I remind you, Mr. Hiwatari, that Kai is no longer an acolyte of Balkov Abbey." But Voltaire didn't deign to answer; that same, discomforting smile remaining on his face. "Might I also add that, for as long as I've known him, young Kai has always acted with admirable grace and competence fro his age—" Mr. Dickenson made to continue but was cut off by Voltaire raising his hand silently. Mr. Dickenson closed his mouth, but his disgruntlement shone clearly in his eyes as he tugged fitfully at the end of his moustache.
"Please, Stanley" Voltaire said. "Having raised the boy, I imagine I know him better than someone whose interest in him was merely perfunctory." Mr. Dickenson coloured slightly with indignation, hot red rising in his round cheeks, but he said nothing. "Now, if you would excuse me, I have some important business to take care of, and lunch has nearly run its course." And with a look of cold satisfaction on his face, Voltaire turned away and strode briskly away from the two men without so much as an acknowledgment of Mr. Tate's presence.
Alex watched the man glide away, his dark eyebrows furrowing together into a frown. "What's going on?" He asked the chairman.
Mr. Dickenson sighed, and was about to respond when a loud voice interrupted him.
"MR. D! MR.D! WE HAFTA TELL YOU SOMETHING!"
Alex turned in surprise to see Max and Tyson running toward him and Stanley. Rei was following at a slower, but still urgent pace, and behind them sauntered Mr. Granger, who sent Alex an amused glance as he moved to stand next to him. Tyson, the one who'd yelled, looked up at Mr Dickenson with wide eyes.
"Mr. D! We saw Boris walking over to Kai a little while ago and went to stop him, but Boris was too fast! He just grabbed Kai by the arm and hauled him away!"
"Yeah! And Kai barely even did anything. He sort of jerked around—I think he was holding something—but then Boris said something to him and Kai went all still…" Max sounded worried.
"It was strange…" Rei mused quietly. "Kai is usually practically impossible to sneak up on, but he seemed pretty out of it just then. If any of us had surprised him like that we'd be lucky to just walk away with a black eye."
"Or a concussion." Tyson muttered.
Alex sent an inquiring look at Mr. Granger, wondering if this was all true. Ryu merely raised his shoulders in a slow shrug.
Mr. Dickenson gave another long suffering sigh and the kids quietened down to listen to him. "I am afraid that Boris was well within his rights to take young Kai into the conference room."
"What?! What do you mean, he can't—"
"Please, Tyson, just listen a moment. Mr. Hiwatari requested the use of the room during lunch for a private discussion with his grandson…"
Rei looked surprised. "And you let him?"
"He is the host of this meeting. Technically he doesn't nee to go through me to have uses of the rooms he himself is in charge of. He informed me of his decision as an act of courtesy."
"Mr. Dickenson, surely you wouldn't fall for such an obvious ploy." Mr. Tate put in.
"It wasn't so much an act of 'falling for it' more than it was that I had no choice. If Mr. Hiwatari wants to have a private discussion with his grandson, I am in no position to deny it to him. At least, not here, in Russia."
"But what if they do something to Kai?" Max said, disquieted.
"You at least have cameras in there, right?" Rei asked.
"No cameras, no surveillance. Mr. Hiwatari has a right to his privacy."
"You don't mean to say you let Kai go in that room, alone, with those two madmen?" Alex was appalled.
"As well as Mr. Hiwatari's own two personal bodyguards." Stanley added quietly.
"Mr. D!" Tyson exploded. "How could you? Kai trusted you, coming here when he knew his grandfather would be here. And you just tossed him to the dogs?! I can't believe you! Who knows what they're dong to him in there!!"
"Tyson, calm yourself." Mr. Granger warned, and his grandson backed off, snapping his mouth shut with an angry click.
Mr. Dickenson leaned on his cane and looked away. "At the very least, Tyson, m'boy you can take comfort in the knowledge that, in spite of their faults, Mr. Balkov and Mr. Hiwatari are very smart men. They would never do anything potentially incriminating in such a public place.
Alex looked at his son, who was watching the closed wood doors with a torn expression on his face and couldn't help the cold remark that found its way out of his mouth.
"I hope you're right."
';.;' … On yet another side of the room
"II I'm worried about him. II"
"II Why? II"
"II He's my brother, Bryan. II"
"II No he isn't. He is Hiwatari's spoiled Grandson. He is the Director's favourite. II"
"II You don't understand— II"
"II He left us to rot in the Abbey. What else is there to understand, Tala? II"
"…"
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With a hoarse cry, Buzz Cut charges toward me, Blue Eyes following close behind. At the very last second, shift my weight to my right foot and dodge: bringing my left foot swinging behind my right and turning nearly sideways. I watch as Buzz Cut flies by, his hands—clawing at my neck—missing by mere inches, his face slowly changing from pug-like smugness, to befuddlement. tilting my head back over my right shoulder I narrow my eyes and snap my hand out, catching Blue Eyes' fist just before he punches me in the nose.
Blue Eyes looks shocked and before he can recover, I shift my grip to enclose his wrist, where I brutally shove my thumb and fifth finger into the area around his radial bone. Blue Eyes yelps in pain and curls forward instinctively; his hand spasms open involuntarily.
I feel something shift behind me and a quick glance confirms that Buzz Cut has recovered and his winding up for his second shot. Shifting my grip again on Blue Eyes, I step forward and spin around to his back, bringing his hand with me. Blue Eyes gasps as I forcefully dig his elbow into his back. My hand is spayed across the back of his: thumb on the knuckle of his smallest finger, the rest of my fingers curling into his APB muscle, and I wrench his hand around and pull back.
Blue Eyes arches back at the unexpected pain, and his head shoots up, right in time to meet Buzz Cut's flying fist.
As soon as Buzz Cut connects, I drop Blue Eyes, who collapses to the ground clutching at his rapidly swelling eye.
Buzz cut stares for a moment, stunned, at his fallen partner before his head comes up, eyes promising painful retribution. Not much caring for his semantics, I figure to finish him off quickly and aim an instep kick at the weak point right below his ribcage. Faster than I had anticipated, Buzz Cut throws his forearm out, blocking the kick then latchs his hand over my shin and calf.
Thinking quickly, I complete the rotation and—using my incapacitated leg as leverage—throw myself, spinning, into the air. My free foot snaps up in a hook kick aimed at the man's head and he has no time to guard before my heel connects solidly with his temple.
Buzz Cut growls inarticulately and drops my leg. Leverage gone, I am forced to plant my hands into the ground and flip my feet forward over my body. They land smoothly and I come up. Unfortunately, this move put my back to the guards for just a second—long enough for Blue Eyes to jump back up and grab me from behind.
Without even thinking, my elbow jerks back straight into the man's solar plexus, felling him immediately. I bite back the odd rush of satisfaction I feel at that move and staunchly ignore the quiet voice telling me that—had my armguards been on—it would have been easy to divert the hit… easy to have severed the femoral artery with the tip of my metal guard, killing the man in mere moments.
With a quiet sigh, I launch a quick chop to the side of the man's neck, under the ear and near the carotid artery, with the side of one hand. The guard's blue eyes flash briefly at me before rolling back into his head, his body gives and he crumples to the floor, unconscious. Blood bubbles at the man's nostrils; he's been hit there twice now. With the tip of my shoe I nudge his head to the side, the blood alters course from traveling back into his airway to dribbling off to the side, onto the red carpet floor.
"II Little bitch. II"
I look up at the raspy voice and regard Buzz Cut silently. The hefty man is heaving himself to his feet, hand to his temple where a dark purple bruise has formed. I raise one eyebrow in mild annoyance—that hit should've knocked him unconscious, instead it just seems to have knocked him off balance. The man must have a thick skull to accompany his meaty frame.
"IIYou killed Alojz. II" The man rasps, still staggering to right himself.
"He is unconscious." I say dispassionately. Buzz Cut scowls hatefully. It does not seem like he understood me.
"II You killed him. Now I'm going to kill you! II" The man snarls and leaps in my direction. I crouch in preparation.
"II Enough! II"
The loud call halts Buzz Cut literally mid step and hesitates barely a second before snapping to attention. I spare the man one last wary glance before looking up with narrowed eyes at Boris. His eye are shining. He looks pleased. Why does he look pleased?
"II Stand down, Orlov. II" Boris demands, sending the guard a sharp look. Not looking very happy, Orlov nonetheless saluts off a quick 'Yes, Sir!' before taking a step back like an obedient dog. "IIAnd go wake up Ciernik. II" Orlov snaps off another salute before moving to kneel down next to Blue Eyes—or Alojz Ciernik.
"II As for you… II" My eyes slide back to Boris as his attention shifts to me. "II I think you've had quite enough fun, Kai II" again with that irritating glimmer in his foul eyes. Why is he so happy?
Then, Boris slides one gloved hand into his cloak and my senses immediately start sending alarms. I move forward, in a fruitless effort to stay his hand, but he is already raising the object into sight.
An ominous, metallic click! echoes through the suddenly too quiet room. I freeze.
"II Now Kai, why don't you be a good boy and get down on your knees? II"
Boris' maniacal grin is triumphant as he raises the barrel of the gun to my eyes.
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End Chapter Twenty-Two…
… To Be Continued
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I think that's a cliffhanger… what do you guys think? XD Now! Before you go off on me, let me just remind you that it's in the opinion of ALEX TATE that his father and Voltaire are similar… this does not mean that Alex's father was ever into the whole 'world domination' thing or that he is even really that similar to Voltaire… This is just was ALEX thinks… whether this is true or not… is another matter altogether XD
WolfRain: Hiya! Thank you for review! I'm sorry that it took so long for this chapter to come out! I was in Montréal for a few weeks where I was more or less internet deprived and had no time to type up this chapter. I made it extra-long though, I hope you liked!
anon822: Heya, thankies for the review! Wow, you really remembered why Izhevsk was an important point (you're one of the few that did XD)! That make me happy. And yeah, I've worked extra hard to make Voltaire as original as possible. Making him act evil is easy… but making him act evil with finesse… now that's a little harder ;P Anyway, hope you liked the chapter (and Voltaire! More of him in the next chapter!).
Irishpotatoes: Hello again! I know, I'm trying to make the character more 'realistic' and, while that involves a little creative manoeuvring, I'm doing my best to keep them as close as possible to their original characters. As for the plot (Plot? What plot? (puts hand over eyebrows and stares into the distance) I don't see any reasonable plot in view XD) … Well, lets just say that it IS there… just extremely well hidden among subplots and characterizations (seriously, it's taking forever for me to establish different aspects of my characters… there are just so many!). I have to admit though, I'm kind of enjoying the challenge and as long as you continue to like it, I won't worry too much about over-complications :D. I'm glad that you think this story has a low-predictability level, I've read lots of Beyblade fics, so I know what some of the clichés are. And while you may see a manifested cliché here and there, I'm attempting to make this story as original as possible. As for character deaths… hmmm… I'm not going to say anything (though the end of this chapter probably didn't help any, did it? XD).
Lady-Darkstreak: (Wide grin) Thank you! I'm glad you liked it so far and I hope you liked this latest chapter (it took long enough to write! LOL).
Once again! Please check out Canyx's wonderful fanart for this fic! You'll find it at http: / / canyx. deviantart. com/art/Dynasty-of-the-Sun-84476065 (without the spaces). If that doesn't work, go to my profile page, click on the link to my DeviantArt page and you'll find the picture under my favourites. Thanks!
Also thank you everyone who reviewed! Thanks to bladz-liska, Raykou-kun, Yuliya, The Demon Puppeteer (you changed your penname, didn't you? ;P), terracannon876, Black zodiac (over and over! I loved every one of your reviews!), wolf's lament, BloodRedViolet, WolfRain, phoenix-falling, FlamingIce94, grimnessreaper, Canyx, Miako6, lady KCassandra, d1bontemp, anon822, kissedbykai, vlissan, geko-blackjack, fawks136, Nordwind, Irishpotatoes and Lady-Darkstreak! There are SO MANY of you! Every time I look at the reviews for this story I can't stop grinning, you're all amazing!
Adio!
Sholay
MY ANNOUNCEMENT!! To celebrate this story passing the 300 review mark, as well as its one year birthday (Sooryavansham is a year old! I'm so proud!!) I've started a new fanfiction. This story is a crossover between Naruto and Beyblade called 'Sharingan Eyes'. You'll find the link on my profile. Please read and review!! Note that THIS NEW STORY IS A TEST and its future depends on YOUR response. So tell me your thoughts! Thank you!