Chapter 29

Hey! 'M back ^_^

Oh and! Thankies to Yuliya, my go-to expert on Russia who's always willing to answer my bizarre questions ^.^

Disclaimer: Yeah. Right… Beyblade does not belong to me (grins); prolly a good thing too, or else there'd be WAY too much mental trauma floating around for a kid's show XD

KEY: II …(italics)… II — denotes a change in language

----- II…(bold)… II — denotes a second change in language

----- ¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤,¸¸¸,¤ø¤ — denotes a change in point of view

Enjoy!

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Sooryavansham: The Dynasty of the Sun

Sholay

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"The world used to be a bigger place."

"The world's still the same. There's just... less in it."

-Captains Barbossa and Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean)

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Chapter 29: Here's to the Night

Hilary was thirsty.

Now that in itself wasn't a big deal. With a flick of her fingers, the beige pot lights over the kitchenette came on with a dull buzz. Hilary ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair, looking around herself with something resembling awe. It was unbelievable that just two days ago she had been in Japan, rising out of her own bed in her own house, completely unwitting of the surreal twist her life was about to take. A week ago, she'd never placed a foot outside of Japan and this… This had been unexpected to say the least.

'And wow… Russia… What a place to start…'

Truthfully, Hilary had always thought that once she left Japan she would travel to America. To go to University or Medical School or some such academic endeavour.

'Although this isn't all that bad… It gives me a taste of the culture at least…' Didn't it?

At least her parents had agreed to let her come.

Her room at the Hotel Alfa Izmailovo was spacious and modern, complete with pure white leather couches and glass tables. It was pretty standard, as far as hotel rooms went, but here and there were a dozen little nuances that constantly reminded Hilary that she wasn't home: she just couldn't get over how the ceiling sloped asymmetrically toward one corner of the room; and she had spent a number of minutes staring at the stuccoed wall behind her bed, even going so far as to sweep the pads of her fingers over the uneven ridges. The pattern in the floor carpet lacked the rhythm and calmness of Japanese themes and the fake potted plants bore chains of fake purple and yellow flowers quite unlike the delicate pink blossoms she was used to.

It was scary and fascinating all at the same time. And she wasn't even paying a dime for the experience. Wasn't that something?

It made her giggle, thinking that people she didn't even know were paying hard money for her to teach Tyson arithmetic.

Speaking of her tutoring job—Hilary took a glass from the cupboard, filled it, and walked over to a long window with gauzy curtains—she had gotten almost nothing accomplished today, what's with that all day meeting about politics and bay-blades. Tyson was still as ignorant and dim as before. Starting tomorrow she would have to set up a strict regime: serious tutoring lessons for at least four hours a day—longer, if Tyson daydreamed or had particular difficulty with a certain topic. It wouldn't do for the boy to return to Japan and fail his makeup exam. His wasn't the only grade at stake here.

Smiling at the resolution she'd reached, Hilary cleared her mind and gazed out on the beautiful scenery before her. Russia was so different from Japan. Sure, it snowed in Tokyo, but never this much and never this long. It had been snowing since early morning: endless flakes tumbling from the air, swirling gently in the wind to accumulate on the ground.

The atmosphere was also very different. The buildings, the people… she couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but it was different here. The buildings were more… western maybe? More strict? It was amazing how Moscow and Tokyo seemed to have such different historical roots. Tokyo had shrines and elegant, five-tier pagodas. Russia had fancy turrets, figures and swirls sculpted into the walls and high, arching ceilings. In Tokyo, the city was always alive and bustling, with lights, people and noise, even at night. Here, everyone always seemed to have places to go, places to be, and street activity dropped down to nearly zero at night. And there was always that underlying sense of danger. Checking in, the hotel had supplied her with a full set of keys: one for the main door, one for the elevator and at least two more for her apartment itself. Just getting into her room had taken an embarrassing amount of time.

The Russian people seemed to be pretty serious; it was something she could relate to.

Just then, as she let her eyes lower idly, she caught sight of something white flashing by the window. Accompanying it was a dull clanging of metal on metal. Starting, Hilary nearly dropped her glass, catching it at the last second and sliding it onto the desk as she back-pedalled.

Not letting her eyes leave the window—and feeling her heart clench with apprehension—she reached blindly on the table for the first hard object she could lay her had on. Fingers curling around the object, she brought it up in front of herself defensively.

Her math book.

Stepping cautiously toward the window, she heard again the metal clanking. This time, there was a long screech as though someone had let a folded ladder slide downward on squeaky hinges.

Hilary narrowed one eye, mystified. Was someone climbing down the fire escape?

Curiosity overwhelming discretion, Hilary stepped forward and opened the lock on the window with one hand, math book clutched defensively in the other. Wire mesh covered the window, but Hilary pressed in as close as could to the netting, gazing downward.

There was a flimsy landing directly below her window and there, just moving down out of her line of vision, was a flaring scarf and a familiar mop of pale blue-grey hair.

'Kai?'

Hilary hesitated for only a moment before making her decision. Any longer and he'd be gone. She tossed her book onto the table and grabbed her coat and purse. Fishing her keys out of her bag, she hopped on one foot as she yanked on one boot then the other, stooping only long enough to yank the zipper up over her sweatpants.

Unlocking and re-locking the door took too long, but luckily the elevator was available as soon as she hit the button. Riding downward, she tossed her heavy coat around her shoulders and slipped on a pair of gloves she'd tugged from her pockets. Flicking her hair out from under the coat collar, she held the strands back as she tugged her hood securely over her head.

She knew it was a bad idea. She knew it was stupid to go running outside, alone, at night, in a strange country. All these things, she knew them, but somehow they didn't properly register as she exited the elevator and flew past the front desk and shoved open the brass-rimmed door.

The cold was a shock on her face and she stopped short, wrapping her hands around her nose and squinting out into the gloom.

There, heading out the hotel gates was a broad-shouldered figure with a long scarf.

"KAI!" Hilary called. She cupped her hands around her mouth. "KAI!!" But it was useless. The wind blew away and dispersed her voice as soon as it left her mouth. Running forward, she reached the gates quick enough to see Kai turn a corner somewhere down the dark road.

"Urgh…" Hilary shuffled around on her feet, rubbed some warmth into her arms, glanced left, then right, and burst off down the street, ignoring the hotel employee manning the gate, who was yelling something incomprehensible at her.

What was Kai thinking? Running off all by himself like that? He could get hurt or something… Hilary didn't know the guy all that well, but that wouldn't stop her from finding him and shaking some sense into the teen before dragging him back to the hotel.

Turning the same corner as Kai, she spotted him at a crosswalk, turning right. He was fast, but Hilary was pretty confident she could catch up if she ran. Feet kicking up clumps of snow in her wake, she reached the crosswalk and made the right turn only a few moments after Kai. She skidded to a halt.

The road was long and straight. Frozen patches of asphalt gleamed wetly under the streetlights, reflecting sparse amounts of light onto a path utterly devoid of life as far as the eye could see.

Kai was nowhere to be seen.

"KAI!" She bellowed out the name one last time before slapping a hand over her own mouth. Calling attention to herself while she was alone in the middle of a dark, empty street was not something she wanted to do.

Cursing her luck, Hilary knew she couldn't go any further without putting herself in danger. Reluctantly, she turned to go back, hoping that Kai hadn't gotten dragged into one of the dirty alleys and was currently getting mugged or worse.

The snow was so much prettier outside. It fell like floating, fuzzy stars and white lamps cast foggy, ghostly images that swirled in the air. But Hilary noted the silence. The lifelessness of the road. Pulling her coat closer, she quickened her stride.

Hilary had walked only a few steps before her ear picked up heavy footfalls behind her.

Glancing back and seeing only a hefty leather jacket and shrouded face, Hilary turned her head forward and began walking faster.

The footsteps behind her sped up to match her pace and Hilary broke out into a run.

She didn't know what happened. Normally, she considered herself to be a pretty fast sprinter, but one second the guy was behind her and the next a hand had grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her unexpectedly into some dark space between the buildings.

Gasping, horror and fear clogging her throat, Hilary's boots skidded on the mud and muck that slimed the ground. She slipped, falling hard against a hard chest that rumbled with an amused chuckle. She couldn't see who'd grabbed her, her hood had fallen and her hair was blowing into her eyes. Lashing out blindly with her purse, Hilary let out a loud scream—and was immediately muffled when the person wrenched her arm behind her back and placed a hand over her mouth.

Hilary did the first thing that came to mind. She bit that hand and stomped down on the foot of the person holding her.

There was a cry of pain, a curse, and the person let her go. Hilary immediately ran, swerving when some other figure rose from the shadows and grabbed at her arm. She was so close to the hotel, all she had to do was get out of this alley—

A hand latched onto her flying hair and Hilary cried out as she was brutally pulled backwards by the head.

Mercifully, the hand let go and Hilary staggered, rubbing her head and trying to put the stinging pain out of her mind. Then, with dread that made her legs quake, Hilary drew her eyes upward.

Three, no four men, all with at least a foot on her height, had her trapped on either side. The same, identical leering grin stretched all their faces as they slowly closed in on her. One of them spoke something in Russian, maybe asking a question, but she didn't understand a word of it.

"Stay… Stay back!" Hilary clenched her hands into fists and forced some courage into her voice. Mentally, she tried not to berate herself for idiotically running off alone; instead she tried to focus on a way to get herself out of there.

"Ahh… English, eh?" The man on her left—with an unshaven jaw and slick blond hair—said, his thick accent making the word come out more like 'Ayngleesh'. "Pretty, English girl; want to play?"

Hilary recoiled away from the man's outstretched hand, but there was a wall behind her and she had nowhere left to go.

Just then, her fingers, clutching tightly at her purse, curled around something round and hard. With a jolt, Hilary remembered the can of spray she had in there. It wasn't pepper spray—rather, it was a tiny canister of shining spray. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing: she'd thought maybe her hair would need some touching up during the meeting—certainly she hadn't anticipated anything like this. Now she found herself thanking that flash of vanity.

Hilary's mind worked furiously as she cringed against the wall, eyeing the men before her with a narrow gaze, her eyes flitting from one sneering face to the next. They had spread out around her: one to her left, one right in front and two on her right. At the moment, they seemed content on teasing her: one man would make a sly comment to his fellow, then jump out at her with a loud exclamation. Every time she would yelp and flinch away, making them laugh.

She had to plan this just right. She could blind one man, take off while he was distracted… But there was no way she'd be able to out run all four of them for long.

Maybe… if she could… attract some attention?

Mustering all the strength she had, Hilary gathered her breath and did the only thing she could. She screamed.

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It had been a calculated decision to leap out the bedroom window. Max's father would have caused a disturbance had I decided to force my way through him. This way, I would make my escape efficiently and without the added labour of a tiresome argument.

Stealing two spare facecloths from the cupboards, I pull open the window as far as it will go before reaching up and detaching the bug net.

I pause there, hands gripping the windowsill, and look back. There is a bed in the corner of the room; I consider it, with its with its dull green covers perfectly turned down over the mattress. Stepping away from the window, I spare a moment to tug out one of the corners of the duvet and fold it over the bed, exposing the white sheets underneath. Not wasting another moment with the distraction, I move back to the window and stick my head out into the cold, night air.

There is a small landing directly below me. It looks pitifully flimsy, with its pencil thin guardrail and warped black metal, but I take the chance and drop downward.

I land with a muffled thump, sinking to my knees in the mound of snow. Not expecting the snow to be that deep, my balance tips to the right and I nearly fall face first into the snow. Catching myself on the railing, I am hardly surprised when the thing creaks ominously under my weight. The jerky motion knocks over a dead potted plant perched to my left, its contents spilling over the blanket of snow.

Sighing, glad I did not just get snow and soil all over my shirt and scarf, I blame my mistake on the decreased physical training I have done recently. Making a quiet resolution to move back into my old regime, I trudge closer to the guardrail and look over the edge. As I expected, there is a ladder folded up the side. I touch the cold rail gingerly and pull out the pin holding the ladder in place. It slides down with an unfortunately noisy screech.

I vault easily over the railing and twist myself around to grab onto the rusted ladder rungs. Making use of the towels I had snatched earlier, I wrap my hands securely with the material then grip the sides of the frozen ladder. Rather than climb down, I shift my feet to the outer edges and let gravity do the work: descending in a swift slide.

At some point I think I hear a voice calling my name, but seeing nothing above and around me, I brush it off.

The ladder ends, ceding to another landing at a set of staircases, which I quickly take, trying to ignore the way the snow was seeping into my sneakers and soaking the bottom half of my jeans. Oddly, upon reaching the bottom of the staircase I find that the fire escape simply—ends. And I am still five storeys up. It seems that there had once been a ladder attached to the railing, but the hinges had rusted and it has fallen apart. No one had thought to replace it.

One eyebrow rises.

'Goodness forbid this place actually caught fire…'

There is a door behind me but it has no handle. Considering the smooth metal surface, I think briefly of breaking it down, or perhaps melting the lock with Dranzer. The thought is quickly dismissed—with my luck I would probably set off an alarm.

So instead, I turn my attention downward.

Clearing a patch of the landing by kicking the snow unceremoniously over the edge, I kneel on the metal grating then unwind the towels from my hands and stick them in my back pocket. Touching my hand to the frozen rods under my feet, I scowl as frost bites hungrily at my fingertips. I spare the hand one impatient shake before reaching back out and grabbing the very edge of the landing. Forcibly ignoring the cold, I draw my feet over the side, passing smoothly under the guard railing and free falling until my grip on the landing catches and I hang there by one hand.

The wind snaps my scarf out behind me and I quickly reach upward, fingers lacing through the grating and curling as I hang in mid-air, snapping my heels together to control the swing of my legs. Blinking snowflakes out of my eyes, I quickly spot my next move: the wall of the building has thin, decorative ledge which I can barely reach with my toes.

There is a second, similar ledge, just level with my nose, and I eye it cagily. Stomach feeling unnaturally tight, I take a deep breath and let go of the grating with one hand, fingers clawing into the thin ledge. Then, acting quickly, I let go with the other hand and scramble to pull myself flat to the wall before I fall backward. Nonexistent fingernails dig into the wall and my toes strain to hold my weight on the slippery perch.

My teeth grit together as muscles I have not worked for a year strain to keep me stabilized.

Then, when my chest is flat to the wall and my nerves have stopped liquefying my muscles, I let out the breath I am holding.

'Very good. Now, next step…'

I look down. The ground is not all that far away. Maybe three storeys. If I could get just a little further down I could probably jump the distance…

I begin sidling my way around the building: one foot slithering out along the ledge, followed by a wary hand, then my chest and shoulders—all the while staying flush with the cement wall. The process is painfully slow but I successfully manoeuvre around one corner, then arrive at a second that bends inward. Anchoring my back and side against the walls, I slide my back downward, grasping at the ledge with my fingers.

My feet slip and with a gasp that chokes off in my throat, I feel myself plummet downward.

Reaching blindly, the tips of my fingers catch on something and I slam right into the wall, shoving the breath from my lungs in a whoosh.

Adrenaline still pumping all rational thought from my head, I look down, judge the distance and take the insane jump to the ground.

My feet land with a muffled thump, absorbing the impact with bent knees and a single hand touching the wet asphalt. In my chest though, I feel something… shift. It was a unpleasantly bizarre sensation—one, not of pain, but of things moving around in my body when they most certainly should not be—and I press a hand to my ribs with a grimace.

Mentally, I thank Dranzer for suppressing the pain of my broken rib. I can feel her tiring though, soon she will not be able to act as a buffer and then—

—Oh yes, then things will really get interesting.

Putting aside the thought, I pull the soiled facecloths from my pocket and toss them idly toward a nearby trashcan.

I did not pay much attention to my throw, so they fall a little short, sweeping the edge of the can.

A loud yowl has me swinging around, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I take a few startled steps backward, eyes scouring the area. There is a rustle near the trashcans and my gaze drops downward.

The towels I had just disregarded bulge and flop around as some small animal struggles to sweep them off. One edge picks up and twitches in the air, likely caught on the animal's nose and then a tiny paw darts out, catches the material and the entire bundle topples over into a puddle.

From the mess of damp folds pops a miniscule nose, whiskers and a pair of round, dewy eyes.

A cat. Or rather, a kitten. Hardly bigger than a pigeon or squirrel, the little creature shakes itself of the towel before hissing at me suspiciously, waterlogged, grey fur bristling indignantly.

"Tch," I take a step backward. It is only a cat—hardly a threat and not worth the waste in time.

I turn, more pressing matters already taking up space in my head, fully intending on leaving.

A tiny mewl makes my steps falter and I look back.

The cat paws pathetically at the large trashcan as it favours me with a wide, baleful stare, made all the more miserable for its sopping wet fur.

Not even really thinking about what I am doing, I walk closer to the cat. "I have no food." I tell it simply, as though it could understand.

The cat cocks its head, looking at me as though I were being particularly slow. Then it paws at the metal canister again, mewling insistently.

"There…?" I look to the trashcan. Walking closer, the cat lets out a tiny 'meep' and ducks under the towels, looked up at me, eyes hooded by the material. Figuring it would do no harm, I lift the metal lid. The smell that blossoms out from the canister is putrid: expired milk mixed with cigarette smoke. But he cat has a good nose; sitting right on top of a bag of garbage is a styrofoam box which I nudge open, revealing some leftover fish and rice.

The cat yelps impatiently—bold as brass, even as it hides shivering under that towel—and, feeling the edges around my eyes soften, I look down at the little furball.

"… Here." I offer the food, kneeling and placing the box right in front of its curious, twitching nose before rising and backing away a couple of paces.

Skittish and nervous, it takes a few moments before the cat gathered the nerve to peak past its shelter. It eyes the food, then me, then the food and bit-by-bit, it moves forward.

"There you go…" I say softly, wondering if my tone will somehow coax the animal. It seems to work as the cat lets out a loud meow and slinks up to the fish. With a flash of pearly canines, the cat takes the tiniest nibble of the food.

I find myself being drawn closer, hand reaching, tentatively, towards its tiny, fuzzy grey ear. But before I have even properly bent down, the cat grabs the fish in its mouth and darts off into the night, its swishing tail the last thing to disappear around the side of the building.

For a second I remain crouched there, staring at the spot the cat had once occupied; then one corner of my lips curls loosely "Hn."

Pushing off my knees, I rise to my feet. Briskly walking to the front of the building, I exit out the front gates, ignoring the guard's warning calls. The snow paints a serene picture tonight, but by tomorrow it will surely be piled up in dirty mounds on the sides of the roads: filth, mud and all sorts of unnamed things dripping down the roads in endless rivulets.

But that is all to come. Right now the snow is white and pure and, in keeping with the moment, I let my mind wander, thinking about things that are not Voltaire, Boris, Tala or the Bladebreakers.

I was born in Russia—at least, that is what I surmised from what Voltaire told me. I have no memories from before the Abbey, just the vaguest recollections of—someone? Laughter? Safety? I shake my head. Pipe-dreams of a needy child were all those were.

'Kai!'

My head snaps up. Hands resting deeply in my pockets, I turn somewhat, staring sharply at the road behind me. Did someone just call my name?

But nothing moves on the abandoned street, the only sound is the sporadic fizzing of a dying streetlight.

…Still, if someone had in fact called my name…

My mind quickly does the math; I sigh.

The Bladebreakers.

Trouble.

A growl of annoyance passes between clenched teeth as I pass a hand over my mouth in consternation.

Looks like I am back to playing babysitter. One would think that a year's time would have been enough to pick up some common sense but no, apparently not. Snow crunching under my feet, I retrace my footsteps back the way I came.

A shrill scream pierces the air, freezing me in my tracks.

That was certainly not one of the Bladebreakers.

My pace picks up and—even as I rush toward the noise—I am thinking: thinking about leaving it to the authorities but knowing they will never get there in time. The sounds of scuffling and muffled yelps gets louder; I turn into a shadowed alleyway and there it is:

A group of four men surrounding a teenaged girl. Her back is turned to me and I see one man has twisted her hands behind her while another is reaching toward her face.

My eyes narrow.

"Stop."

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End Chapter Twenty-Nine

…To Be Continued

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I miss writing :3 Haven't had the time to just sit down and write for such a long time now… But anyway, I do hope things get better once I finish exams (*phew*)

WolfSong: Hi! Hehe, I'm glad you like Max ^.^ He's such a contrast to the other characters, I find him especially fun to write after long 'Kai' sections XDD.

someone: Hiya! Thanks for reviewing! Gah! Yes, I know the updates have been slow (*headdesk*). I have absolutely NO intention of leaving this story unfinished (all my favourite authors do hat (huffs) it's such a disappointment). I'm so glad you're enjoying the adults in this fic! :D I needed some deep thinkers and the kids just weren't doing it for me XDD Mr. Granger is, I think, my most spontaneous character… I never have any idea what I want him to say; but somehow, when his scene comes, he just writes himself XD It's brilliant. Oh, and I think I enjoy writing 'Lord' Voltaire a little too much (evil grin). Also! I haven't forgotten about Mr. and Mrs. Huo (grins) their story isn't over yet…

butterflykisses46: Hello and thanks for reviewing! :D Yesss, Kai's independence can't be overcome with a simple intervention XD Mr. Tate should know better than to challenge Kai's awesomeness X3. I'm really sorry this update took so long but I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you to all you brilliant people who reviewed: terracannon876, Marie9, Yuliya, Lady Demoonica Darkmoon, Petalwhisker X Fireheart, wolf's lament, CleverPhoenix, alanacrystal, WolfSong, Okamikai, ElementalFoxGoddess, Raykou-kun, FallenHope-Angel, d1bontemp, FlamingIce94, Miako6, BedknobsAndLlamas, Inchoate Designs, Nameless Little Girl, Baka's Angel, someone, bladz-liska, Canyx, beybladeingninjaprincess, BloodRedViolet, grimnessreaper, Pickle Reviver, Darakna, mikinyet, butterflykisses46, chibi heishi and Phoenixfyre101 for pushing me to hurry up and write XD!

Adio!