Disclaimer: If I owned Beyblade… well, I don't sadly. It's a fact that will most likely never change. This is the last of the stories that belong to glitteredvixon06.

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Title: The Kuznetsov Chronicles

Genre: Humour/Parody

Rating: T

Summary: What happens when Boris orders Bryan to keep a diary about his fellow bladers? This story.

Warnings: Yaoi, yuri, het, swearing, ninjas, mops, vampires, eyebrow talk, lemons, Santa Claus dress-ups, karaoke, Garland's smoothies…basically pure randomness. Don't say you haven't been warned. Proceed with caution.

Chapter Two: Purple Haired Men Are Sexy Beasts

I walked out of the room furiously attacking my nose. Okay, not really 'attacking' it per say, but I was rubbing it hard enough to turn it red. Don't you just hate allergies? I'm not sure exactly what it is I'm allergic to but I do know I'm allergic to cats. But enough about cats and more about me.

Well, as you already know I am head of the Student Representative Council. I only accepted the offer because I desperately need those extra brownie points on my resume. But you already knew that. But what you didn't know was that I had gotten myself fired from my last job as a librarian. Yes. A librarian. Why are you surprised? (narrows eyes) You think I wouldn't make a good librarian don't you? (huffs and pouts)

So…I guess you want to know whether or not I am going to tell my lovely friends about the upcoming wedding. I'm sure they'll be thrilled (rolls eyes) not. I can picture their reactions – Spencer will rave on about lemons, Ian will try to convince me he can speak in another language using his eyebrows and Tala and Kai will be busy screwing each other to notice. Yes. My friends aren't very normal. I am the only sane one around unfortunately.

But I want to tell someone. But I can't. I don't have many friends. The White Tigers especially hate me after the whole Rei episode. You see, Rei bought this wicked awesome chocolate bar I wanted. It was the last one. I asked if I could have it nicely. The bastard said no. So you know what I did? (silence) Of course you don't, that's why I'm going to tell you. To put it simply, I punched him in the nose. Very hard. He ended up with a broken nose.

Rei refuses to get it fixed so he kinda has a nose similar to Owen Wilson. Everytime he sees me, he points at his nose to remind me of the day I broke it. He's never forgiven me. And neither have his stupid friends. So I can't talk to them out of fear they will claw me to death.

Hmm. Who else could I talk to? The horror show rejects the Dark Bladers? Or the I-have-a-giant-stick-up-my-ass Majestics? How about the-we-have-bitbeasts-named-after-gods-because-we're-too-incredibly-lame-to-think-of-something-new BEGA League members? I am certainly not talking to Team Psykick. They'll try to give me a fortune cookie or a palm reading. And let's not forget – they're copycats. I don't want them cramping my style. Stupid copycats. I will also not talk to that mullet freak Gordo and his friend Zeo. Nor will I talk to the royal pair, King and Queen. Can you tell I'm loved by all?

I'm not left with a lot of options – Saint Shields, All Stars, Barthaz Battalion, BBA Revolution and FDynasty. With each team having one member that pisses me off – maybe I'll talk to the school psychiatrist (nods). Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

.

"So Bryan, what is your problem?" asked Voltaire, looking directly at me from across the floor, legs crossed.

Why are we sitting on the floor? Good question. "Why are we sitting on the floor?" I asked. "Legs crossed might I add," I said, looking down at my legs. I must say, I have nice legs. Whoa Bryan, that was random.

"The chairs and table have been moved to Stanley's office, your new headmaster," Voltaire replied.

That old crackpot? "I hate the floor."

"And why is that?" Great. Now he's acting all creep-like.

"I have hemorrhoids," I responded bluntly. Actually, I don't but that's not the point. The point is my ass hurts!

Voltaire raised an eyebrow. "And how does that make you feel?"

"Like shit," I replied snappily.

"And why is that?"

I'd hate to be a psychiatrist. Sitting down with crazy people all day and helping them would drive me bonkers. I mean, imagine if you had to deal with a nutter like Kane? What would you do? Absolutely nothing. He'd be too busy trying to read your palm. "Boris told me his life story and his future plans," I explained.

Voltaire nodded, understanding. "I remember those days," he said solemnly.

I think my heart almost stopped beating. "What?"

"Shaving our body hair and mud wrestling."

Mud wrestling? Why must God torment me like this? What did I do? Santa didn't need to check his list twice for me! I'm good! "Mud wrestling?" I blinked.

Voltaire nodded. "Very enjoyable times. Following the mass shaving ritual, we would all join in some mud wrestling. All in the nude of course," he grinned and chuckled at the thought.

"The women too?" I blurted out.

He shook his head. "Only men participated. The women would keep themselves busy making good use of our hair."

COUGH. SPUTTER. CHOKE. COUGH. Not again. Not more traumatic images. This just isn't my day.

"Headmaster Stanley was thinking of holding a day similar to it."

"You mean, we're all meant to shave our body hair and join in mud wrestling games whilst the women played around with our pubic hair?" Could this day get any worse? Apparently yes it can.

"It would be lots of fun for all students," he said, wagging his eyebrows at me.

I shook my head vigorously. "I do not thinks so, sir." Thinks? All this talk about shaving is messing with my ability to speak!

"And why is that Bryan?"

I mustered up my best smile. "I do not wish to shave or mud wrestle," I said, using my best disproval voice which really, wasn't different from my normal tone. "And I'm sure no one else would – okay, maybe Tala would but he has a few screws loose so he doesn't count."

"That's not very manly Bryan. All men participated to prove their manliness."

Would everyone please stop making fun of my manliness? It's demeaning. "Look, I don't enjoy stuff like that."

"How does that make you feel?"

What the fuck? "What?"

Voltaire shrugged. "It's part of my job."

Erm, okay. "Look man, I know your heart is in the right place but no one really wants to participate." Whoa, where did that come from?

He looked at me, eyes full of concern. "Why so miserable Bryan?" Who does he think he is? The school psychiatrist… oh wait, he is. My bad.

"I do not wish to see my friends' wave around their parts, Voltaire. I see enough of that."

Voltaire arched his eyebrows. "Are you gay Bryan?"

Am I gay? "NO I AM NOT!" I screamed. "Do I look like Oliver to you?" I demanded, hands on hips glaring.

Voltaire sighed. "I was joking Bryan."

I pouted. "It wasn't very funny," I said, standing up from the floor. "I must go now." And without waving goodbye, I exited the room.

.

My God, that was a traumatic experience. Voltaire was always a creepy bastard, but now he was a hairy, perverted, creepy bastard. Back hair? Mass shaving rituals? Mud wrestling? No wonder the man did not marry again. You see, his wife ditched him for a man with purple hair.

Speaking of purple hair, why do women find purple haired men sexy? Although now that I think about it purple haired men are sexy beasts. Sure, they're a sore sight for the eyes but there's something about that purple hair that messes with the ladies' minds…even with some of the men too. I'm pretty sure I caught Oliver checking out his captain, Robert Jurgen the other day.

Yup. I said it. Robert Jurgen. The Grouch. Or Rob the Snob. I also like Robbie. That drives him insane. He hates being called 'Robbie', he claims it's uncouth. Robbie just sounds cute don't you think? It's the name mothers call their newborns when they want old people pinching their cheeks until they turn red. Thank God I was never called Robbie.

Anyway…Robbie is one sexy hot beast and that's coming from a straight guy like me. With his large nose, thick eyebrows and menacing glare, you'd think people would run the opposite direction. But no, they do not. Why? The purple hair. Do you think I should dye my hair purple? Not that I have trouble picking up chicks because I am in fact an expert in chick-picking-ups, but maybe… I guess that wouldn't be a good idea. Otherwise people would assume that I am copying Robert and Boris.

Don't assume I'm gay though. Because I'm not. I'm as straight as ruler. As straight as a non-flexible ruler. You know the ones I'm talking about? They look like rulers (because they are rulers) but you can bend them and slap people with them? Yup, flexible ruler wars are back in fashion. And yes, before you ask, not only am I head of the student representative council, I'm also the champion of flexible ruler fights.

Anyhow… I must find someone to talk to. Maybe I'll talk to Max? I wonder if he even knows? He'll most likely flip out and shit bricks when I tell him. Heh heh, that'll be amusing to see. Unless of course he does know.

Bryan.

What the hell? Am I hearing voices?

It's Falborg, dipshit.

Did I ever mention my bitbeast can talk to me?

"What do you want?" I said aloud.

I need a bath.

Great. Time to give Falborg a bird bath. (sigh) I hate my life. Now usually, birds can clean themselves. But not Falborg. Unfortunately, as mighty as Falborg is, she's clueless when it comes to hygienic matters. Hence the reason why I have to clean her. I'm pretty sure no one else has to clean their bitbeasts…

I guess it's better than discussing Boris's marriage plans though. Honestly, that guy needs some serious help. I'm sorry, but I just can't let go of the past. Mass shaving rituals???? With what, razor blades? God. Disturbing. Speaking of disturbing, I read this story about this man who humps cars. Yes. He attempts to have sex with cars. Isn't that weird? Does he think he is going to get the car with child or something? (shakes head) Too many freaks, not enough circuses.

Yo Bryan, you listening to me or what?

Since when did Falborg learn ghetto speak? Might have to pluck a few feathers for that attitude. Heh heh… featherless Falborg, that would be a funny site to see.

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