This is my first fic. Please, be kind. That is all I ask.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Beyblade. Although I really wish I owned Kai and Tala.
Tala Ivanov was not having a good day. Looking at it from all angles, it would be correct to conclude that he was having an absolutely horrible day. In fact, if you asked him, he'd tell you that he'd been having a series of horrible days, all in a row. And he would be perfectly legitimate in saying so.
The eighteen year old stood in the side of the room, eyes closed, with a calm, almost serene expression on his face. He was perfectly still, even to the tips of his blood red hair. One would almost think he was meditating. Until that is, you looked at his hands. What was wrong with his hands, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Quite the oppsosite. In fact, his hands were very elegant. The skin was pale and translucent, like he'd never gotten any sun. His fingers were long and slender, almost abnormally so. But you'll have to take my word for it, since you can't actually see them. And why not? That would be on account of his hands being currently clenched tightly into fists.
Tala Ivanov, blader extraordinaire, the feared and enigmatic leader of the Demolition boys was mentally cursing all the Gods he knew (and some he didn't) with remarkable fervour. After exhausting his admittedly vast range of swear words, he thought back to the day, two months ago, when it all began. The day for which, ironically, he'd been waiting for with no small amount of zeal.
TWO MONTHS AGO
It had been a perfectly normal day in Russia. It had been snowing, and icy gusts of wind tore through the city. People in warm coats shivered in the wintry weather. The weak sunlight illuminated the frigid landscape. In short, a perfectly normal day. Until that is, Tala opened the morning paper and read the headlines. "The State finally starting proceedings against Voltaire Hiwatari" it proclaimed in large, black letters.
He blinked, thinking he'd read it wrong. But it was quite real. He read the article with growing incredulity. It had been two years since the Demolition boys' loss to the Bladebreakers in the finals in Russia. Two years since Voltaire Hiwatari and Boris Balkov had been taken into custody. By all rights, the two hated personages should have been rotting in jail from the day they'd been arrested. But the legal system regretfully did not work that way. The police had assured them that it might at most take a few weeks before the case was taken up in court. No one thought to contradict this statement. After all, trying (and failing) to take over the world must surely have dire consequences.
But nobody had taken into consideration the vast amounts of wealth that was at the disposal of Voltaire Hiwatari. He had thrown Boris to the dogs, since there was no further use for him. Boris had been given the lethal injection a mere month after his arrest, a sentence which the D-boys had unanimously concluded was too lenient for him. Lord Hiwatari, on the other hand, had at his disposal a battery of defense lawyers who had filed appeal after appeal, claiming that Voltaire had known nothing that was going on in Balkov Abbey.
His defense team had done an admirable job in delaying the trial as much as possible, but finally Voltaire was going to have to face justice. Cerulean eyes had glinted as a shiver of anticipation ran through the redhead at the thought.
The State's case against Voltaire Hiwatari rested not so much on evidence, as on the testimonies of witnesses namely, the Demolition boys and Kai Hiwatari, Voltaire's grandson. Out of the five, only Bryan, Kai and Tala were legal adults. Since Boris had messed with Bryan's head a little too much, the prosecution was wary of using him as a witness. That only left Tala and Kai. And so it came to pass that the case against Voltaire Hiwatari hinged on the testimonies of two teenagers. Consequently, in the last month, the two teens found themsleves in an overly stuffy courtroom, giving statements and being cross-examined by dozens of balding lawyers almost every weekday, who kept trying to prove their every sentence wrong.
Kai however, had an easier time of it. Upon turning 18, he had inherited a lot of money left to him by his parents. Once Voltaire was sentenced (which there was absolutely no doubt that he would be), he would become one of the richest people in the world. While this had absolutely no bearing on the situation Kai was in now, it certainly made life a lot more simpler. Tala, on the other hand had no living relatives and thus, had to work in order to eat. Which meant having a full-time job. Which was quite difficult, considering the fact that nowadays he spent most of his time in court, staring at Voltaire's ugly mug.
Now this situation alone would be enough for a normal person to start tearing his hair out in frustration. However, Tala was not a normal person. He had been trained to ignore his feelings, to rise above them. He kept a tight hold on his emotions when he found out about his dwindling savings, telling himself that it was only for a few more days. He kept an iron grip on his feelings when he found out, after searching for weekend jobs, that there were still large sections of the population who still had a healthy fear of the Demolition boys. While this wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, it was not a great advantage while searching for prospective employers.
The weekend had gotten off to a bad start with Tala waking up late and finding out that there was no coffee in the house. Tala, in the past two years of freedom had become quite addicted to it, to the point that even Bryan was apprehensive of approaching a de-caffeinated Tala in the morning. He'd then thrown on some clothes, meaning to buy it from the store downstairs only to find that he was flat out broke. There was nothing else for him to do but go to the bank which, thankfully, was only a five minutes walk from his flat.
He was standing in line, pensively pondering the injustices of life, when his reverie was broken by people shouting. He raised his head tiredly and glanced around. The usual people standing in lines, the security guards and people in masks. Sighing, he was about to go back to his earlier thoughts when his brain actually processed what he saw. He frowned. That couldn't be right.
He raised his head again and looked around. Yes. His eyes had not deceived him. The ice-blue irises narrowed as he took in what he was actually seeing. Three, no four men clothed all in black and wearing masks. Carrying guns. Semi-automatics, by the look of them.
The bank was being robbed.
Reviews will be very much appreciated. Extremely appreciated!
I am extremely nervous at first foray into fanfiction... See the small blue button? Press it. Go on. ... 'Kay, I'll stop bothering you then.