As he sat on the chair in a corner of the lavish hotel room, his entire universe seemed to be standing still. Nothing seemed real to him, all that had happened, so many changes all at the same time and he had no idea how to handle it all.
His eyes straied over the room, and he realised that he had been sitting there for about an hour without really taking in his suroundings. He marveled at the luxury of the hotel, it must be one of the most expensive in town. He wouldn't know, of course. Having grown up at the Abbey, he'd never really seen anything luxurious before, except perhaps Voltaire's cars and Boris's office. But that couldn't compare to the glamour of the place he was in now. It was a sitting-room with pale cream walls and wide french windows that almost reached the high cealing. The furniture was a darker cream, soft and comfortable. He had unconsciously picked the stiffest chair in the room, far away from the windows. His sitting position was also quite uncomfortable, with his back straight and his hands limp in his lap. Realising this, he tried to relax the slightly cramped muscles in his back, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. As he ran his eyes over the bookcases on one of the walls, he caught sight of the door that lead to the bedroom. He froze, chastising himself for having, atleast momentarely, forgotten why he was there.
The full impact of the position he was in had not yet dawned on the captain of the Demolition Boys. Sure, his team was the most powerfull in Russia, and they had been world champions for a few years now, but never had they claimed their victory in this manner. Their wins had been celebrated by the capturing of the defeated's bitbeasts. That rather unusual method had not been well-seen by the rest of the bladers, but who could say something against it? They had, afterall, been the world champions. But that was not the case anymore, and now they had to submit to their defeaters.
The boy closed his eyes and tried to clear his toughts. He could not afford to think about himself, not even now. After the loss in the championship, Boris and Voltaire had been immediately arrested for, among many others, child abuse. That left his team with no place to go, since none of them had parents or any relatives that they knew of. He had to find a way for them to support themselves. The first and most tempting solution was of course stealing their way trough life, but he soon realised that was not an option. As much as the training in the abbey had enhanced their abilities, that sort of a living would surely end them up in prison at one point or another. Then again the same training had enabled each of them to have at least one skill that they could surely use now to pull them trough. He himself spoke several languages to perfection, and he was a pro in hacking. But noone would give them important jobs, he knew this. It didn't matter how highly qualified each of them was, they were still children, and there would have to pass a pretty long time before everyone forgot the events at the finals. And ordinary jobs? No, that was definetly not an option. There was no way he could see any of them in a chelner's uniform…
He raised his hand and ran it trough his red hair, closing his eyes in tought. He would have to come up with a solution for it. Mr Dickenson had offered them his help that day, while he had been getting the boys hotel rooms. The BBA would be taking care of them, the old man had said. The redhead resented the tought of being dependent of someone once again, but Mr Dickenson could perhaps get him a job as a translator or something like that. Perhaps Spencer could get a part-time job as well. He couldn't imagine Bryan having to deal with meeting so many new people, as a job would imply, and Ian was just 15 so he had no chance of getting employed. He would have to see to it that they have a place to stay, but Mr D had said he would take care of that as well. The captain had no choice but to leave it up to him, since he knew that Russia was not a friendly place for vagabonds.
Suddently he could hear soft footsteps down the hall outside. The silence had been unbroken ever since he had first stepped in to the room… He had no choice now but to admit to himself what was going on. They had lost a match to a team and now they had to submit to the winner's rules. He shuddered invardly, having forgotten trough strict training how to do so on the outside. His mind went to the captain of the new world champions, the strange teen that had just recently been on his own team. A pale face framed by pale blue hair flashed in his toughts. Voltaire Hiwatari's own grandson, the blader who could control Black Dranzer. Fully conscious of the changes in a person's behaviour the dark blade caused, the russian wondered just how the young Hiwatari would act towards him, now that he was freed from his grandfather's influence. All he could think of was the smirk he had seen on the teen's face as he watched his teammates celebrating their victory.
The redhead snapped out of his toughts as the footsteps stoped outside the door. He could not afford to be caught offguard, especially not by this person who would have the opportunity to get dangerously deep under his skin. His soft breaths got even lighter, everything went in slowmotion as the door opened without a sound. In stepped the person that he'd been thinking about. Looking around slightly confused at first, the other blader turned his eyes towards him and, upon noticing his presence, turned his whole body in his direction. All thoughts left the russian captain as he was fixed by the intense scarlet eyes. The other's gaze was neither hard nor cold, just filled with a calm acceptance and some other unidentifyable feeling. His lips opened and, with a deep and soft voice that seemed to fill the large, silent chamber, he wispered one word only: "Tala".
