AN: This is a story by Kylie! Not Danni! Or Kylie and Danni! Just Kylie, although this is Danni's idea.... Kylie's too dense to think of ideas herself -_-* ANYWHOO, hope you enjoy this humble little V/H romance I'm trying too cook up.... Again, trying to be original here ^_^;; Please review!!
-Kylie
White Oryllia
Chapter One.
Reddish brown eyes alive with a certain flicker of glee and cockiness, Van Fanel kept his weight on the balls of his feet, his opponent stumbling and retaliating from being thrown. The opponent, a young man named Jordan Mast, raised his arm, Van dodging to the side instinctively. Wrapping one hand around the back of his opponent's unpleasantly sweaty neck, Van braced it so that his opponent couldn't pull his head away. Taking the heel of his hand and applying pressure up under Jordan's nose; slightly crooked from being broken in a previous match, he pushed the boy's head back and down to the ground, stepping forward triumphantly, adding his body weight to the attack.
A man with jungle green eyes, hidden by dark shades, sat in the spectator area, a small stack of worn newspapers in his hands, the dark grey ink screaming recent head lines from the year.
"VAN FANEL wins RUBY GARDENS COMPETETION"
"Winner of YUDANSHU INTERNATIONAL MATCH: VAN FANEL"
"He floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee; Jujitsu fighter VAN FANEL."
"Jujitsu fighter VAN FANEL to freestyle against Hapkido fighter DRYDEN FASAA"
"Victory to VAN FANEL at the 100th ANNUAL WHITE DRAGON MEETING"
Cocking his head to the left slightly, the elderly man surveyed intently as Van bowed to his opponent, then to the mat referee, a small thin layer of perspiration evident as a lop sided smile spread across his features. Jordan did the same, his left eye swelling up slightly, cinnamon brown hair in disarray.
The crowd erupted in applause, smiling fondly at Van, murmuring that it was a good match. A crowd of young teenage girls screamed loudly as Van undid the square knot of his belt, and flinging the red strip at them, they all pushed and shoved as it sailed through the air into a lucky girl's hands. Jordan walked humbly out of the arena, fingering his white belt as only his coach seemed to notice him leave.
The elderly man frowned slightly at this, resting his chin in his hand as Van walked away carelessly, his posture proud.
I guess he's not the one, the man sighed, folding up his newspapers, slightly disappointed. Strength, pride, but too much arrogance.
A little girl, her black hair in two little pig tails, fair skin rosy, ran to the fighter suddenly, parting the crowd, tugging on a leg of Van's white cotton pants eagerly. Turning in confusion, Van looked around, then down and smiled at the little child.
The elderly man squinted as he watched the child hand her doll to Van along with a permanent marker, and squatting down, Van smiled as he signed the dolls leg. Handing the doll back, the man noticed Van mouthing a few words to the girl, the little girl glowing with a sort of bubbly happiness.
"What's your doll's name?" Van asked kindly, smiling at the large brown eyes of the girl.
"Vanessa," the girl chirped, and Van let out a laugh, despite himself. The girl had pronounced the 'Van' in Vanessa like his name instead of like the car.
"That's a pretty name, and a pretty doll," Van smiled, "Just like the pretty girl in front of me."
The girl blushed madly, her little frame covered in baby fat resembling a strawberry now.
"The kids at school say I'm ugly," the girl confided sadly, her voice slightly hoarse at the word ugly, and Van leaned back slightly in shock, nearly losing balance that he had on the balls of his feet.
"Why would they say that?" Van asked gently, "I think you're very pretty, and when you grow up some prince will come and sweep you off your feet."
"Really?" the girl asked hesitantly, toying with the end of her pigtail, looking with apprehensive trust at the Jujitsu fighter.
"Really," Van nodded, "And if they bug you too much you can always take the palm of your hand and--" he began with enthusiasm.
"Van," came a warning female voice, and Van stood up sheepishly as his coach, Millerna Aston stood patiently behind him, her arms folded expectantly.
"Uh, anyways," Van continued sheepishly, "Thanks for coming to the match," he coughed stiffly, the small girl looking up at him, slightly taken a back as her arm was moved up and down vigorously in a hand shake. As he walked away, a wry expression on Millerna's face, it was echoed by an man standing with the spectators.
Maybe he is the one.
* * *
"Roses are red, and violets are blue, honey is sweet but not as sweet as you," the boom box blared, "Dum de da de dum, dum de da de dum, dum de da de dum, come pick my roses," came the caterwauling of some pop singer.
"This is cruel and unusual punishment," Van muttered as he ran on the tread mill, his running shoes thudding against the moving belt.
"That thing can go as a 2000 Chevy Tahoe," Millerna warned impishly as she flipped through a magazine, bottle of spring water at her feet.
"But pop," Van groaned inwardly, "Why? WHY?"
"Did you say something, Van?" Millerna asked sweetly, her violet eyes flickering dangerously. Wincing, and gulping, Van shook his head nonchalantly, a sheepish smile on his lips.
Bopping her head and tapping her foot in time with the vibrant beat of the song, a small beeper went off.
"Twenty five minutes left, you're halfway done," Millerna called out, and Van nodded, his sleeveless t-shirt sticking to his sweat covered back.
The cool, calm white atmosphere of the gym didn't reflect the anger and frustration often taken out in it.
Years of training, however, were evident under Van's tanned skin, lean toned muscles one of the driving forces behind his skill. Mental strength, however, had been Van's best comrade all his years. Shutting his eyes, and leaning slightly on the arms of the tread mill, Van exhaled as his body went into autopilot.
Definitely his best comrade.
"Mom," a small boy with raven black hair mumbled as he crouched down to inspect a white blossom, "What's this?"
"That's a flower," Keiko Fanel stated, brushing a strand of blue black hair out of her face.
"I know it's a flower, mother," Van giggled, "But what kind?"
"I forget the name," Keiko softened, "But I remember my grandmother once told me it's a symbol for hope and inner strength."
"It's soft," Van murmured as he fingered the delicate petals, and Keiko crouched down beside him.
"It can be our flower," she whispered, and Van smiled as Keiko plucked one of the blossoms and put it in his small baby fat laden hands.
"Here, mother, you need one too," Van smiled, and plucking a flower, he gingerly went on his tippy toes, and tucked it behind his mother's ear.
"Thank you, Van," she replied grimly, and picking her son up, they continued to stroll through the public gardens, Van not noticing the pale looks Keiko and her husband exchanged.
Looking up, Van noticed Millerna writing in her planner, chewing on the end of her pencil, violet eyes flickering in a frown.
"Doesn't that taste bad?" Van teased lightly, regarding the pink rubber eraser now covered in spit and bite marks.
"You shut up," Millerna half snapped half grinned, and whirling the yellow pencil in between her long slender fingers, a habit that greatly annoyed Van, she stared intently at the open page. "I have something interesting to tell you," she said finally, after Van was practically glaring at her to say something.
"What?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of interest and impatience.
"After you're done running I'll tell you," Millerna grinned, "So in 15 minutes. 15 long, slow, tiresome minutes," she taunted, and Van took a heavy breath and threw her a look that could kill.
"Why not now?" he demanded, and Millerna shook her head delicately.
"Later, Mr. Fanel," she cackled, and getting up, and taking her books with her, she went past the crystal beads hanging from string on the doorway, the gentle clinging irritating Van further then his current state.
* * *
"Can you tell me now?" Van asked, clad in baggy black basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt, white towel slung around his shoulders.
"I can," Millerna nodded, and crossing her legs, she nibbled on her pencil eraser again, "You've been extended an invitation."
"You don't say," Van replied sarcastically, "Madonna hasn't invited me to her birthday party finally now has she?"
"You are to fight against Allen Schezar, who holds a Caeli title," Millerna continued, ignoring Van, "Defeat him, first of all you have the honor of beating a Caeli, you also get a fabulous prize. The fight will be broadcasted internationally. So are you interested?" Millerna asked, looking up.
"Hell yes," Van grinned as he could fear the adrenaline start to run through him. "Why don't I have a Caeli title?" Van added, out of curiosity as he jabbed at the air, anticipating his training.
"You're not old enough to compete in that league," Millerna smirked, "But if you beat Schezar, one of the best, screw a Caeli title, you'll be one of the most respected fighters in Jujitsu."
Millerna's violet eyes softened as she saw that look of sheer determination cross Van's face as he tensed the muscles in his arms, doing one of the first Katas she had taught him. That sort of insane drive he had hadn't changed since she first met him.
"You have no technique," Millerna called out, after watching a youth punch away mercilessly at the black punching bag. The youth looked up, startled, his maroon eyes flashing after registering the comment.
"Go away," he said bitterly, red rimming his eyes. He had obviously been crying before.
"How old are you?" she asked, cocking her head to the left, "Ten?"
"Nine," Van corrected, and he sat down on the mat, defeated.
"Technically, you aren't allowed in here," Millerna said obnoxiously, "Eighteen and older only."
"You don't look eighteen," Van said suspiciously, "You look… Maybe… Twelve."
"Thirteen," Millerna snapped, slightly offended, "I'm the daughter of the owner of this place, so I'd shut your trap if I were you."
The youth merely gave her an emotionless look, then rested his chin on his knees.
"How'd you manage to infiltrate this place, anyways?" she asked, walking over to him and sitting across him.
"I just sort of ran in," he shrugged.
"My name's Millerna," she offered, extending her hand.
"Van," he replied, their hands locking in a solid handshake.
The two had become eventual friends, Van occasionally making those 'You can't do that because you're a girl', and Millerna constantly shaking her head and going 'Men'. Sometimes, Millerna's father, Grava Aston, would watch the two amuse them selves in the training arena, each obviously possessing a skill waiting to be shone. But Van was different, Millerna's father had noted. He had this sort of fire in him that Millerna did not, a sort of drive that could be taken far if guided. It was then that he decided to guide that boy; or rather, allow the two to train together to eventually become a successful coach and fighter combination. The Goddess and the Dragon.