Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Sooryavansham: The Dynasty of the Sun ❯ Out of the Frying Pan ( Chapter 2 )
We've seen what Tyson and Max have to say about the reunion, but what about Kai?
Anime/Manga: Beyblade Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Mystery / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.28.2007 | Updated On: 06.28.2007 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 375 | Status: Work In Progress
"But screw your courage to the sticking place
And we'll not fail." - Shakespeare, Macbeth, I, vii.
Chapter 2: Out of the Frying Pan
I hold the letter in my hand, staring at it in shock. How the thing managed to find me was a question worthy of asking; however, I have not yet grasped the reality of the contents of the letter, so the thought has not yet registered in my mind.
Having gone to retrieve the mail from the communal center, like every other day, the letter had caught my eye from within the pile and for a frozen moment I had stared at it with disconcerting disbelief. Doing the first thing that came to mind, I had stuffed it in my pocket—away from prying eyes—and had taken the first opportunity I could to dash up to my room and examine it.
And here I am now.
I reread the letter again slowly. It is addressed to the ‘Bladebreakers’- a name I have not heard in a very long time.
The letter starts off with frivolous pleasantries such as greetings, well-wishes and concerns over how the last year has treated us… I had assumed that the aforementioned ‘us’ included Tyson, Max, Rei, perhaps even Kenny, and myself.
The second paragraph is what caught my eye.
An invitation to a reunion party in Russia, the top five teams of the World Championships are being invited. Mentally, I catalog the teams: the White Tigers and the All-Starz definitely, the Majestics, obviously the Bladebreakers and… the Demolition Boys?
I pause on that thought for a second. Having spent the majority of the last year working in Izhevsk, I have constantly been fairly close to Moskva. I could never work in Moskva itself because… well… the memories were just too much too soon to tolerate. At any rate, I was still near that place; but despite even this I had not seen, nor heard of, any of the Demolition Boys. I had spent many nights wondering if…
No. Sharply, I snap my head to the side, as though to dislodge the thought. With a small shove, I rise up from my dilapidated cot, ignoring its sigh of relief as my weight leaves its surface. I walk the two steps to the opposite end of my room, stepping lightly as the wooden floorboards creak dangerously beneath my feet and stop in front of a small hole cut in the stone wall, covered barely by a thin maroon cloth. This hole serves as my window. I brush the cloth to the side.
Placing both arms on the hard cold edge of the window, I lean forward into the chilly winter night. My gaze, as always, has an almost magnetic tendency towards the stars, and I let it rest there for a moment, wistfully, as though my goal rests within the stars, twinkling; unreachable.
The moment soon flees as my eyes fall to the horizon. I can practically see the sinister darkness exuding from that place a mere few hundred miles away.
The Abbey. Home of the blackest secrets hidden by mankind. It caused such painful memories for me. Such horrid things happened there that by the time I finally left the place my mind and life were reduced to the mangled mess that I am only now beginning to repair. For me, all that remains of that place is bad memories: visions that come to me in the darkest hours of the night; mere nightmares that plague my hours of sleep. There are some for whom these nightmares are reality.
I sigh and lean into the dirty windowsill, head bent. I had tried to avoid the truth; had tried to force myself to believe that they were nothing to me. I had almost succeeded as well. Somehow though, I never manage to turn myself completely cold against them. I proved it when I held back in that final match against Spencer, and I’m proving it now as I slump over the windowsill, head bowed in submission to my rising emotions.
Shameful, I think, cynicism causing the corners of my lips to pull upwards into a smirk. Imagine what Voltaire would say if he sees you like this. Imagine what he would DO.
Pushing away the disturbing thoughts, I lower my eyes to the paper once again. I knew—no, I know—the Demolition Boys extremely well. They are too stubborn to die, especially at the hands of a sociopathic megalomaniac like Boris. I would like to say that I know that they escaped the Abbey, but I am not that foolish. However—I frown slightly at the paper—I do know that if Tala, Bryan, Spencer and Ian do not make an appearance at this reunion then many eyebrows will raise and fingers will most likely point to Balkov Abbey, Boris himself and, inevitably, back to Voltaire. Boris has to force them to go, if only just to keep the Abbey in business. The boys would appear there, probably not in the best of conditions, but they would be alive, at the very least. Besides, it would be nice to see them again, that is, of course, assuming that I attend.
“Che.” I let out a deep breath and turn away from the window. With a flick of my wrist the letter spins through the air and slides neatly onto the sole desk in the room. I then, for a lack of a chair in the room, collapse back onto the cot tiredly. After a few second of silence, I lean forward into a sitting position and rub my temples. A year ago I had tried to escape all of this, and now… it is all too soon. There are too many memories. The Abbey, Voltaire, The Demolition Boys, and the Bladebreakers, the first to show me friendship apart from Dranzer…
No, I must be mistaken; they would be the last ones to ever even consider being friends with me, of all people. After all, who would ever want to be friends with the emotionless, cold, arrogant, saucy, selfish, insolent, malevolent, icy ‘sour puss’ captain?
A warm feeling in my side pocket makes me look up. I gaze down the side of my pants, noticing the soft red glow emanating from it as I do. I reach in my pocket, already knowing what is going on, and slowly draw out a small circular disk.
“Hi, Dranzer,” I speak softly to her.
Then, almost as though triggered by my voice, the light brightens and expands, enveloping the chip along with my hand and most of my arm. I can fell the chip getting hot, but I do not bother letting go. Fire soothes me, and nothing short of the most extreme heat can burn me.
As I watch the bit chip, it slowly gains in radiance until I am almost forced to look away. Then, she emerges from her bit with a melodious call that for one second, for one single second, fills me. And I am warm.
The light dies down and eventually disappears. My phoenix remains in her true form as a magnificent red and golden splashed, eagle-sized bird perched imperiously on my knee, all the while managing to eye me with concern without spoiling her countenance. I feel my lips loosen at the corners as I return my concerned friend's stare with a gentle look.
"There is nothing wrong," I stress quietly. "Don't worry."
Of course, not being one prone to listening, she merely seems to narrow her eyes at me. I exhale through my nose and look away.
"What? Would you patronize me now?"
She utters a sweet cooing sound and rubs her face against my cheek. Unable to stay petulant in face of such…cuteness, I find myself stroking her feathers absently. Looking down at her, her eyes are saccharine sweet as she leans into my touch, knowing full I will concede to her unasked question.
I lean downwards towards her. "You" and I ruffle her feathers, enjoying her annoyed squawk, "and your mothering will be the end of me, you know that?" As though in agreement, she nods and makes a knowing sound.
"First though," and I look at her seriously. "I just want to make sure that you aren't still mad at me for making you pull back against Spencer. You understand now why I did it don't you?" I must have asked her half a dozen times, yet it seems as though I still need that reassurance, it is slightly pathetic, really.
Dranzer chirps at me in an understanding manner, and nips at my finger in an indignant way that seems to say: "of course I understand! Who do you think I am?"
My smile becomes almost tangible and I say simply that I am glad. "I don't know what I would do if you left me" I add truthfully. "You are my friend," My only friend. She coos again and I understand without needing to exchange words that she is saying that she would never leave. I appreciate the sentiment; I honestly do, but somehow—
I snap out of my thoughts and sober immediately when Dranzer hopes onto the table and picks at the letter with her beak. "That," I all but spit at the piece of paper, "is the coin that brought my house of cards crashing down." Contempt and self-reproach are heavy on my words and for a second I pause, half-expecting Dranzer to make another condescending sound. When nothing comes, I look down at her and she merely gazes back at me, completely compliant and accepting. I know that she is listening, she always does. For that, I am grateful. She has always been patient with me, even when I was taken with that obsession for her other half, Black Dranzer...
I feel a peck on my fingers and pull myself out of my reverie, sighing tiredly as I do so. I glance slightly at Dranzer in my peripheral vision—she is perched lightly next to me on my cot—before turning my attention back to the letter on the table. A stoic expression—more from enduring habit than anything else—rests on my face. After a moment’s hesitation, I continue:
"This letter is an invitation to a reunion party in Moskva" Moscow. "I am not quite sure why I got one, I mean, who would want me, of all people, at a party? To be completely honest, I am as far as one can get from social and it is not as though I left anyone on good terms: I betrayed my team, stole their bitbeasts, betrayed my enemy, betrayed my family, almost betrayed my team again, lost my championship match and dropped off the face of the planet. Yea, I’m sure they're simply dying to see me again..."
‘...It would simply be a shame if they all ended up in the hospital with PSTD when I don’t show up…’
Dranzer makes a small noise before falling silent once again.
"Yes," I say, knowing intuitively what she is implying. "I know that it was a lot more complex that that, but that is how they all saw it. To all of them, the Majestics, the All Stars, the White Tigers and especially the Bladebreakers; to all of them, I am a traitor. I think I may have actually betrayed every single person there at least once. The only people who know anything at all are the Demolition Boys and even they know nothing." I pause for a second and let the anger wash through me. With closed eyes I concentrate on my slightly erratic heartbeat, as I had learned to do years ago. A few seconds pass, my breathing regulates and I am stoic once more.
"Anyway," I say at length, opening expressionless eyes slowly. "That was why I was so... disconcerted earlier." I turn my gaze on Dranzer, almost challenging her to find fault in my show of emotion. She simply nods as though in complete and nonjudgmental understanding.
There is nothing more to say, so I reach over and lift the letter from my desk. I spend some time just staring at it then let out a low sound in pure frustration at the world and its vices. Letting the paper slide through my fingers, I fall back on my cot, narrowly missing striking my head on the wall.
I hold my hands over my head and stare at them. Dranzer sidles up next to me and settles down against my arm.
"I can't do it Dranzer." I say to my hands and clench them tightly and shiver. My voice is calm and steady in spite of my posture. The result of many years of training, I suppose.
I feel warmth coming from something near me and turn my head.
"Dranzer," my voice is a whisper.
My phoenix, in all her altruistic glory is sitting, eyes lidded, on my cot, radiating a pure warmth that seems to beat with my own heartbeat. For a moment, the world is at peace.
There is no heater in the room. Consequentially, heat is somewhat difficult to come by, especially in the middle of winter when my cot (naked-exempting the worn army blanket covering the emaciated mattress) and heaviest piece of clothing (an overlarge, unflattering black trench coat) fail to do their jobs adequately.
But right now I can't even feel the chill which has infested my body for so long. Muscles I am not even aware were aching are eased and I can feel myself relaxing; I imagine that, should I let myself go, I could fall asleep. That, of course would not be appropriate for the moment, so instead I rise up a bit, lying back on my elbows. As I watch Dranzer and the golden light she is emitting I wonder how she is able to do this. She has never done it before, that fact causes a twinge of suspicion to rise in me until it is washed away by her light. She isn't even in her battle form, creating a soul-fire like this must cost her immeasurable energy...
As though in response to my thoughts, I suddenly feel the warmth around me recede. I snap my head around and reach out just in time to catch the exhausted fire bird, adjusting my position on the bed accordingly, ignoring the near physical weight of my returning problems dropping like a curtain around my shoulders.
"Dranzer," I say softly. "For me?" I got a tired chirp in reply.
"Not worth it." I state bluntly and get a peck on the arm from Dranzer in response. "Never mind then," I say slowly, changing the topic, knowing I will not get anywhere on the other one. "But I guess...I guess then, you want to know why I am rather averse to this whole notion?" I do not need to look at her to know she is giving her accession. Instead I find myself staring pensively at a small spider picking its way up the wall opposite myself.
"The invitation is for the top five Beyblading teams, their managers and one adult accompaniment. Gran—Voltaire will be there." I say bluntly, not having the will to be ambiguous. Dranzer makes a disgusted sound near me. "Boris will be there too." Now I can practically feel her feathers bristle. I am not done yet though.
"There is another reason as well," I say as I stand, placing Dranzer on the cot as gently as I can. "When-if I go there, then everyone will be expecting something I can no longer give them." I cross my arms and turn away from Dranzer. "Everyone will be expecting the cold image of their strong, confident, lofty Captain of the Bladebreakers."
I turn and scowl. "No one will be expecting..." I grab at the pin attached to my shirt and yank it off violently. I hold the metal rectangle before my eyes and spit out the words written on it scornfully: "'Kolya Zarakovich Tretyakov', humble waiter and servant at Huo's Restaurant. Everyone will be expecting the conceited grandson of a billionaire. What will happen when they find out that I am nothing?" Dranzer gives a noise of protest, but I am too far gone to stop my rant.
"Well it’s true isn't it?" I spin around to face her, my voice only slightly louder than norm. However, just this change: a slight raise in tone and words contracted with crude informality—it is enough to show how unsettled I am.
Yet another outburst of emotion for me; how pathetic.
I don't dwell on it much however, as the adrenaline is still running in my blood and I feel a much needed relief from the pressure on my chest at finally being able to speak my mind.
"I mean, I've completely failed at everything I’ve ever valued. I’m no longer of any importance to anyone, not even Boris. All I have left are these." I brush a hand against my blue-stained cheeks. Outwardly I show nothing, though I feel strangely as if I have fallen into a deep void, inky darkness choking me. "Even these are meaningless tattoos on my face. If anything they have become a symbol of weakness, not strength.
What would the world say now, eh Dranzer? What would the world say now if they saw their mighty Blue Fourth?" I ask, not any louder than a normal speaking voice and my face still holding that carefully expressionless look.
"What would they, all of them, say if they saw me, me, the one they dubbed indomitable, living like a dog in an alley?" I gesture at my small, closet-like room which consists of only the table and army bed. There is not even a small light or candle in the room; the only source of light coming from a small square shaped hole in the thick cement wall. It serves as both a window and an air vent in the room: circulating air in the summer and effectively freezing it in the winter. On a corner of the bed, in a small, neat pile are all my clothes, consisting of a pair of threadbare sweatpants and sweater—my sleeping clothes. Beside them lies one lone pair of baggy black cargo jeans—so worn they are grey in areas—and one very old sleeveless black shirt. A white scarf—which has been in my possession for many years now—is carefully folded and tucked safely near the wall. A black trench coat lies sprawled across the cot acting as a source of extra warmth when the stiff army blanket fails to be adequate. Finally, a beaten duffel bag, one that has seen more than its fair share of dirty puddles, lays crumpled next to the bed, empty.
These are my only material possessions, everything else was destroyed—I was lucky that I had managed to salvage the duffel. To add to them were the clothes on my back—a navy blue shirt, crisp black pants with black socks and shiny black shoes to match: my uniform for work—the pin in my hand and, of course, Dranzer. The phoenix, though, is not to be considered a possession of mine. She is more analogous to a partner, or my 'best friend'; if the point is more easily understood by phrasing it that manner.
All in all, I do not own very much. The year has been... hard; and finding work even harder. It did not help that I refused to accept any financial aid of any sorts. But nothing would have been possible without Dranzer.
The anger leaves me as I gaze back at my phoenix lying quietly on the bed against the pillow resting on the wall, just as I left her. She stares at me with allusive amber and golden flecked eyes: A silent strength.
I huff a little. "I am not afraid."
She just keeps looking and I turn away.
"Alright, Dranzer." I agree finally. "I will go to this little congregation,” I flick a finger idly in her direction. “If only just because you want me to." Bending slightly, I itch her in the curve of her neck, just as she prefers. She chirrups and leans into my touch, twisting her head to offer more of her neck to me. "After all, you deserve a partner who has the courage to face his darkest fears, even if they are old memories, right?"
She doesn't respond, too occupied with the scritching, but when my hand wanes she makes a disgruntled sound and rubs her head further into my palm. I take it for granted that she agrees. I brush her feathers back the wrong way and she shakes her head like a wet pup, I find myself smirking.
I will go, for the both of us.
I walk to the spider on the wall and, for lack of tissue paper, scoop it up in my hand. Quickly, I place my other hand over it, creating a small enclosed area so that the spider cannot escape.
"See Dranzer," I say thoughtfully, aware of the spider curling fearfully in the center of my palm. "This is how I feel right now. There is a cage around me made up of darkness, memories and nightmares. From this cage I have not yet freed myself. I have kept myself inside of it, trying to hide in a corner, hoping it would just... go away." I walk up to the window and set my cupped hands on the sill.
"Perhaps it is time to see if the cage will open a different way." I separate my hands and watch, intrigued, as the spider races away from the surrogate cage and into the greater world.
I turn back to my lovely cot and find Dranzer back in her bit form, completely spent from her efforts. I lie on the bed and curl up under the blanket and trench coat ensemble, only sparing a moment to throw off my shirt so that it would not get wrinkled; I couldn't be made to care about changing the pants right now.
"It's about time that I return to the land of the living."
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TBC
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And now of course, it’s time for reviewer comments!
isthatnecessary: Hey! Very good, I’m impressed. Although, personally I think you should ask Gabbar. More exciting.
kavbj: Hi again! I’m so glad you like chappie 1, I was worried that since I mostly only wrote about Kai in the summary people would be expecting me to write only about Kai, but though Kai is most certainly the main character, the other characters will also have their own say. Oh, and by the by, certainly it’s not as though we torture our favorite characters, more like we allow them to experience situations of greater difficulty so they can grow past their debilitating hamartia and achieve greater levels of humanity. That, and we love watching Kai exact despicable revenge (grins evilly). The title has been identified and accurately labeled as Hindi, a big congrats goes to isthatnecessary for that one! I suppose that’s the end of that questionnaire, maybe I’ll come up with another one later.