Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Search For My Tongue ❯ Search For My Tongue ( Chapter 1 )

Search For My Tongue

Disclaimer: I don’t own Beyblade or the poem “Search For My Tongue” (by Sujata Bhatt) that this is based on and inspired by. Don’t sue!

SUMMARY: ‘Every time I think I’ve lost it, that I’ve forgotten the mother tongue, it blossoms out of my mouth.’ Kai centric. No pairings.

Chapter 1 –
It wasn’t their fault, he supposed. In fact, scratch ‘supposed’ – he knew perfectly well that it was no one’s fault but his own. So why was he blaming them? Kai didn’t know.
A knock at the door made Kai look up sharply. A head poked round and into the room – Kai sighed.
“What’s up, Ray?” he asked in flawless Mandarin. Ray grinned at the Russian.
“C’mon Kai it’s dinner time! Get in before Tyson clears it all.”
Kai shook his head and lay back down. “I’m not hungry.”
Ray frowned and went away. Kai ran a hand through his hair.
Mandarin. Japanese. English. French. Spanish. German. Italian. This list of languages went on and on, but there was only ever one he wanted to speak. Russian.
Kai groaned and rolled over, cursing his ability to pick up languages quickly, along with his team’s tendency to travel (and determination to stay away from Russia and the Demolition Boys, the only other Russians he cared for). It wasn’t fair, he grumbled mentally. Why should the rest of the team get to visit their homelands freely when he could not? It wasn’t like all Russians were evil...
Bang-Bang-Bang!
“KAI!”
Kai groaned louder and went to open the door before the pounding from the other side broke it down. He glared down at Tyson as he opened it.
“I’m not hungry. Leave me alone.”
Japanese now. If Max should appear there’d be English thrown into the mix...
Tyson frowned. “Kai, you’ve never acted like part of the team but could you at least try? You’ve never done anything for us!” Tyson paused, missing Kai’s growing fury. “Well, except betray us for those Russian bastards...”
Kai snapped.
Tyson’s eyes widened as the older boy grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him so his feet hung about 3 inches off the ground. He frowned in confusion at the nonsense Kai yelled at him.
Ray, Max and Tyson’s Grandpa came running.
“Kai! What are you doing?!”
Tyson gaped at his captain. “What the hell did you just say to me, Kai?! What’s your problem?!”
Kai shoved him away. “My problem is you, Tyson.”
Tyson’s cocky smirk returned and Kai felt his heart sink. “If you wanted a beybattle, aaaaaall you had to do was ask...”
Kai glared furiously. “Right now I could beat you easily.” He snapped. “Not everything revolves around you, Tyson.”
Ray stepped forwards looking angry. “Then what is your problem, Kai? What did we ever do to you?”
Kai glowered and replied in a steady mixture of every language he could think of; changing with every word. By the end of it no one knew what had been said, or what to say to it.
“...Kai?” Grandpa asked at last. “What language were you yelling at Tyson in?”
“Russian.”
“You know Russian?!” Tyson cut in, gaping at Kai again. He sniffed indignantly. “Must have been that no-good Tala.”
Kai felt a wave of mixed fury, hurt, helplessness and determination wash over him – all as jumbled as the languages inside him.
“Tyson.” He ground out, clenching his teeth and fists in suppressed rage. “I am Russian. My mother language is Russian.” He proceeded to repeat this – in Russian – for good measure. Then again in English and Mandarin and his shaky Cantonese that he really wasn’t proud of. He told them in broken German, failing French and mediocre Spanish. In his rusty Italian and recently-started Greek.
And by the time he’d finished, by the time he hoped they’d understood; he knew they’d lost focus. So he told it again in Japanese, English and Mandarin. And then once more in hushed Russian for good measure.
And then he went back into his room and closed the door, calm.
Kai smiled – only slightly.
Suddenly Russia didn’t seem so far away.


-END-