Chapter 12 - Anger management
A/N- just a few notes before we begin; 1) I'm sorry for the late update, I had writers block in this fic and then my area of became fucked up because of my stupid piece of fucked up scrap of metal I call a computer; 2) I'm sorry if anything in this fic doesn't follow the anime. Since I watch the dubbed version, all I know is the fact that Robert and Johnny turn up, telling Tyson that they had been forced out of the tournament by Barthez Battalion's dirty tricks. That's all I know. So, I'm taking this fic my way, thank you very much.
"So what was it you wanted to talk to us about?"
"I'm not saying until those two get here; I'm not repeating myself for them."
"Come on, Robert! They won't be here until the next millennia! Just tell me and I can tell them."
Robert looked at the stubborn boy opposite him. They glared at each other.
"My, my, fighting already, are we?" Asked a voice, followed by tutting.
"Shut it, Giancarlo." Johnny muttered, breaking the gaze he had with the German to glare at Enrique.
Oliver, meanwhile, sat down next to Robert. "So, what was it you wanted to speak to us about?"
"The World Championships." Robert said simply.
Enrique came and sat down on one of the cushy armchairs. "But that isn't until… ages!"
"Nice accuracy…" Johnny muttered.
"Yes, but there seems to be another team wanting to represent Europe in the Worlds." Robert explained. "A team by the name of Barthez Battalion. Not sure where exactly they're from, but they're pretty tough."
"'Pretty tough' won't beat us, though." Johnny smirked. "These guys are probably just amateurs."
"Actually no." Oliver interjected, catching everyone's attention.
"How'd you know?" Enrique asked.
"I've heard from many people…" The French boy shrugged. "But correction, Johnny; 'These guys and girl are probably just amateurs'. And they're quite good."
"Girl? They have a girl on their team?" Enrique grinned, earning a hurt look from Oliver, though he didn't catch it.
"So what about this team? Do we have to battle them or something?" Johnny asked.
"Correct." Robert nodded.
"So, training?"
"Correct again, Johnny. Luckily, this hotel has a private gym, so we can train without any distractions."
"Fine. If you want to train without distractions, then you better keep those two," he jerked his thumb at Enrique and Oliver, "away from each other; or put some blindfolds on them at least."
"That's it!"
"Uh," Oliver stuttered, sweatdrops forming on his and Robert's heads as they watched the Scottish and Italian boys wrestle, "does that class as a distraction?"
"Indeed it does."
The Majestics had managed to get some good training in, though. Johnny had toned down on his tauntings of Oliver and Enrique's relationship; Enrique had an inkling it was down to Robert, though, and not the near tournament.
Oliver had thankfully been allowed to compete; the permission given by his father. Though his dear old father's words echoed still in his head…
"Oliver my boy, beyblading isn't going to get you a million Euros in one day; running a globally-known restaurant will. But since that attack on our mansion, it isn't safe for you here, so you can go. But when you're finished at the tournament, you come straight back and you're going to be partly owning this establishment. And that means if you're knocked out of the tournament, you come back. If you win, you come back after the world championship. If you're disqualified, you come back straight away. I don't care about this stupid sport with spinning tops, Oliver. I care about the restaurant; your mother would want you to take over."
Ah yes. His mother would want it. His father often used this line on the French teen when the elder Polanski wanted Oliver to do something, since Oliver had never known his mother; she had died in childbirth… during his birth. He had only heard what she had been like from Pierre and only knew what she looked like from photographs.
Even he had to admit that he was just like his mother and not much like his father; green hair as light as summer fields, lilac eyes so sparkling they were like gems, petit frame, love of art and all things beautiful, graceful in everything they did and… the desire to be free.
He knew that this was his mother's most wanted thing; to be free. Not to run a restaurant.
He didn't like to think of these things usually. It brought up raw and powerful anger and hatred against his father because he used her as an excuse…
But as he thought of these things, he was sitting on a cushy armchair in the locker room, only half listening to the large TV that was mounted on the wall. His teammates were in there too, them being the ones watching the news report and commenting once in a while. This locker room was in the large stadium in London.
"Hey Oli? Are you awake?"
Oliver opened one lilac eye to stare at the blonde. "Nah…" He muttered sarcastically.
"Sorry." Enrique pouted. "You okay? Nervous?"
"No." And he resumed his original pose; eyes closed, arms folded across his chest and one leg resting one the other.
"You know, it's okay to be nervous." Enrique continued. The French boy could feel Robert and Johnny looking at him now.
"I'm not nervous, Enrique."
"You sure? Cos I mean, you're acting like you're nervous and scared, but it's okay, cos-"
That did it.
"I'm not nervous, okay? Nor scared!" Oliver snapped, standing sharply, his lilac orbs turning an almost deep purple in rage. "Just leave me alone, okay? And stop pestering me!"
He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked quickly but moodily down the hallway of the stadium. When he was sure there was quite a long distance between him and the locker room, he stopped; also making sure that the hallway was abandoned.
He leant against the wall and slid down, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes still darker than they usually were. He sighed and shut them.
He shouldn't have snapped at Enrique; he was only helping. But the anger with his father had taken over him… that's why he didn't like to think about his parents…
No, he loved to think about his mother. Whenever he had spare time to himself, he would think about her… try to imagine what she was like before he was born… what it would be like if she hadn't died…
But it wasn't that type of thing that when he thought of her, he cried; he'd only cried once in the past… must've been at least a good couple of years (and Robert just had to find him, didn't he?).
But… He sighed once more…
"Hey, mister? Are you okay?" Asked a girl.
He looked up, surprised, to see a girl with pale, bubblegum-pink hair, with goggles on her head. She wore green shorts, a yellow t-shirt with a short, white and orange waistcoat over the top; deep blue, long gloves and over the knee socks with white and black boots added to her outfit. She smiled, her pink eyes sparkling.
"You okay?" She repeated in a girlish voice.
He smiled reassuringly and nodded, stretching out one leg. "Yeah… just thinking…"
She came and sat next to him. "About what?" She slapped her hands over he mouth; Oliver looked at her oddly. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Ignore me. I'm so nosey."
Oliver laughed. "I don't mind. It would be nice to talk to someone apart from my team for once."
"Your team?"
"Yeah."
"Wait… green hair… lilac eyes… boyish, French looks… you're Oliver aren't you? From the Majestics?" Oliver nodded. "Ah… I'm Mathilda."
Oliver smiled. "I know who you are, don't worry." He sighed. "But I guess it isn't that good us talking if we're on opposing teams."
"I suppose, but I doesn't matter." Mathilda shrugged. "Hey, no offence, but I heard all you Majestics are snobbish and way too proud; you're an alright guy."
"That's what most people think; that we've got sticks shoved up our behinds." Oliver said with a chuckle and shake of his head. "But we're not like that. If you knew us that well, you'd know that. We're just like all teens; we have girlfriend problems ('Yeah right,' he thought, 'more like boyfriend problems'), have silly bickerings… we just have a little bit more money at our disposal than others…"
Mathilda giggled, but it was cut off by the calling of her name.
"Mathilda." They both looked down the hallway to see a tanned blonde teen, glaring at them. "The matches are about to start. Get over here now!"
"There you are Oli!" Oliver looked down the opposite end to his own team there. He held up a hand to keep them silent. He stood up. "I guess you're her teammate." He said to the blonde teen.
"What if I am?" The boy replied calmly.
"If you are, then that's no way to treat one of your teammates is it?" Oliver said coolly. "Let alone a female."
"I think I'll decide who I treat well and badly, thank you."
Oliver shrugged and held his palms up defensively. "I'm not telling you how to treat people, kid. All I'm doing is advising you."
"Well, I don't need your advice. Let alone from the enemy." The blonde snapped back. Mathilda hurried to his side. "I know all about the crap you preach; friendship, teamwork, support from others. And let me tell you this; it don't work. None of it. And all this stuff about honour." He snorted. "You wouldn't have to do that if you were actually good at beyblading that you never lost."
Oliver shook his head sadly and turned away from the blonde and Mathilda.
"Don't you turn your back on me!"
Oliver stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder. "I think I have a say on who I turn my back on and who I don't, thank you very much."
There was a whiz of a blade and a, "Lookout Oliver!" from Johnny. Oliver turned just in time to see a yellow beyblade fly past him; it slashed his forearm, though it was a small cut, only trickling one drop of blood. He clasped a hand over the small wound and glared at the blonde boy; though he somehow knew it wasn't his blade.
A dark skinned boy with dreadlocks walked into view, standing behind Mathilda, and then a grey haired, slim boy after that. A man with greasy, dark purple hair followed after that.
"Now, now Aaron, is that a good impression?" Though the smirk gave away the fact that he had ordered whoever Aaron was to attack Oliver; it turned out to be the chubby, dark skinned boy, because he called the yellow beyblade back to his hand. His expression suddenly turned serious. "Come on, boys. Let's get to the arena."
The Majestics watched the other team leave, Mathilda sparing an apologising smile at Oliver, before running after her team.
Enrique ran up to Oliver. "Oli? Are you okay?"
Oliver sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay." He turned to his blonde teammate and wrapped his arms around his torso, burying his face in his neck. "Sorry," He apologised, "for shouting at you. I didn't mean it."
"Nah, it's okay, Oli." Enrique said with a chuckle, hugging back. "You've got a lot on your mind at the moment."
"Indeed you do." Robert said, also standing next to the two; Johnny as well. "Do you think you're fit to battle, Oliver?"
Oliver moved away from Enrique and looked Robert in the eye. "Yes, I'm sure. But now I have more reason to fight them. No one fights unfairly while I'm around; especially when they're fighting me."
A/N- Ya, go Oli! Go Oli! Go Oli! You tell 'em! Sorry for the late update. I have that stupid and weird bug back in my area of why won't it go away! I killed you less than two days ago/Smushes bug once more but it won't die/ Goddamnit!
Anywho, review!