A/N: well, it's been forever, really forever, since I've written something about my most beloved characters of all time. I'd like to thank mid winter break, which allowed me the time to start writing once again. I do realize that I never finished my other story, which ties into the characters of this one. NO, this is NOT a continuation of my other story. More like a new beginning, with a few of the same people. This is a whole new story, and I apologize that I never finished the other one. I just don't have the heart to finish it. But I will try my best to make it up to you through Pass the Kaleidoscope.
This story contains: Foul language (aka profanity), different POVs (I assure you that you'll have fun seeing what's happening through the eyes of completely different personalities…), some graphic violence later on in the story, drug use, and crude humor.
WARNING: if you are sensitive about the Catholic religion, or religion in general, read at your own risk. There is Catholicism bashing in the beginning of this story, but please have an understanding that people DO have their own views on things…. And I don't mean for any of you to take this offensively.

Pass The Kaleidoscope

Chapter 1 -Tairo-

"I'd rather neuter a whale…"

* * *

Isn't life just great. Just. "Swell". When I use the word "swell" that means my daily suckage ratio is high. Yes. Today is a "swell" day.

Well, we just happened to bump into a priest on our way to the apartment complex, basking in the egoistic glory of our win today.

Who is this "we" I am referring to you ask? Gasp. You should really get to know us. We're a jolly kick up the ass, we are.

Oh, you say you like surprises that involve your ass? Well too bad, pervert, I was only joking. But I'll tell you more about us, if that makes you any happier.

To start off, me, Roshoko, Bayrie, Dyonie, and Keno are something this little world decided to categorize as Drifters.

We fight for show and competition, and we get paid if we win. We have our own age divisions, and the bigger the competition, the better your ass gets paid when you beat up on other drifters.

Rough life? Forty-five percent of kids are drifters these days or somewhere around there. It's not a bad way to go… as long as you're not a wuss, and trust me, anyone who knows our gang does not classify us as a bunch of wusses. Unless of course they're drunk or drug induced. That's somewhat understandable.

Hm… no, Dyonie cannot be classified under the species of wuss.

Lotsa people who don't get to know him would probably think that he's a real push over, but you really gotta admire that blond haired, blue eyed snapshot of innocence. He's real smart, that kid. And he's got a good heart.

Smart and gentle, do you know how hard that is to find in a drifter? Violence tends to be sort of unavoidable when you're trained to fight for money.

Yeah… too many of us like to show off our biceps to be gentle. Sometimes Dyonie wears this expression on his face that makes him look about 12, though we're all 16 except for Roshoko and Keno.

Roshoko is Keno's older half bro, and I don't feel like getting into their family history right now cause I'll be damned if it doesn't take me more than an hour to explain it.

Besides, Roshoko can explain it better than anyone else, when given the right time. I'd just be wasting your time even worse as it is.

Ah, how I love to waste your time.

I mean, er… Roshoko? I was talking about him right? Oh yeah… he has nice eyes. It's a gay thing to say, but he does.

He and his younger half bro share the same blood red eyes. Some people kind of avoid looking into em, actually. They might share the same angry red eyes, but there's something about Roshoko's that let you know he's determined to kick some serious ass.

I guess I've always been the one to stare death in the face and crack some kind of perverted joke. And that's exactly what it's like staring into Keno and Roshoko's eyes. It's like staring death down. I have come to call that look Roshoko gives me when I tend to chatter on and on the Glare O' Death.

You don't want to mess with this guy, Roshoko Ryu.

In fact you probably wouldn't even want to talk to him, unless he has taken some sort of silent liking to you. So remember, if you ever see a 6'2, 17 year old male with dark brown hair and red eyes that burn an icy laser through your face, to not feed, poke, provoke, or be tempted to stick anything up his rear end.
Same goes for Keno. 5'9, a decade and a half years old (hey, you can do math can't ya?), navy blue hair, and red eyes.

Yes, these rules apply to him too. Except you can provoke him for all I care. He'll kick your sorry heiny but it's sure as hell funny to see him mad.

Who else am I forgetting? Oh yes, Bayrie. If your looking for an average, normal guy, you got him. Sorta messy light brown hair, and eyes to match. Great guy really, just wish he'd give back all the freaking stuff he borrowed from me…. dude… that's my shirt he's wearing right now…

Ok well that's everyone.

Cause I always save the best for last, and Bayrie's a great guy and blah blah blah (insert sappy friendship crap here), but not the best.

If you were thinking about me, add 50 points to your scoreboard please… if not, deduct 100 points and send you straight to the fiery jaws of hell. Anyway, the name's Tairo, and don't you dare forget it. I can be fun or I can be death waiting to hit you like a truck on the freeway. Mostly I'm a happy carefree guy that just likes to blabber on and on. Silence makes me uncomfortable, so I talk. Does it annoy a lot of people? You bet your underpants it does. Do I care? Not at all. Talking is good. If you won't talk, then I will. Especially with the girls… I've taken my words and also my looks to my advantage, and from experience, it pays to have fiery red hair, natural blond highlights, and big green eyes that somewhat resemble large almonds injected with spherical blobs of radioactive, melted emeralds. Lovely picture isn't it.

Now see, if it was a chick we had just so recently bumped into, I could have used my words and my eyes to get us out of this flytrap, cause we really didn't belong. But this was no girl, and this was no fun. Stupid priests… I wonder how many little boys this sick bastard has molested. Hope some of them were drifters…. could give him a good smack or two.

The priest spoke to us. "Young gentlemen such as yourselves shouldn't be fighting in meaningless competitions of brawn! Hurting one another, being God's children, for pay! This is truly degrading."

We couldn't believe what we had just heard. Roshoko arched a cynical eyebrow, and I almost laughed outright.

The practice of being a drifter had been around for thousands of years… I doubted the Catholic religion was against it, really. I know plenty of good little Catholic boys and girls who show up at tournaments to compete. Something seriously wrong with "Father" here…

"May I suggest that the five of you join us on Sundays, from 9 in the morning till noon?"

I rather go neuter a blue whale, but I bet you anything the reason Dyonie cut me off was because he knew I'd say something like that.

"We'll think about it." Blondie said in his usual, polite way.

With that, we did the first thing that came to us and speed-walked away as quickly as possible. Yet not quickly enough not to catch the guy muttering "Uncultured heathens…"

"Narrow minded preacher…" I muttered as well, except I hadn't bothered to keep my voice down.

Sigh… I was being inconsiderate.

I guess the priest was just trying to help… But damn, that guy really knew how to let air out of your happiness balloon. I mean, we had all just won money in the different tournaments we fought in, and this guy comes along and tells us we committed a cardinal sin.

At the time I didn't really consider doing what Dyonie had said. 'We'll think about it.'

Well I did just that as we walked back home… wasn't the religious type, myself. None of us were, and none of us were looking for it either.

Yet it -would- give us something to do on Sunday mornings. I really gotta get my lazy self outta bed. . . I sleep in so that my first meal of the day is lunch, and most people have already had it by then too.

Never gave too much of a shit about my health just as long as I could compete, but I've started to notice that if I sleep too long that it affects my fighting skills in a tournament.

Better to get paid then get a few extra hours of sleep, I do declare.

I was surprised to find that the other guys wanted to go too.

Well….. want is a strong word….. a word I normally save for things like food or sex, but I guess they were thinking the same things I was. We don't want to go, but we could…

Roshoko was wary of a place with such holy reputation, undoubtedly suspecting that the reputation was all a lie, and Keno by all means did not want to sit in a church listening to hymns for 3 hours. But both didn't give a flying fuck about wasting time since we did it so often, so they agreed in the end. Reluctantly, of course.

* * *

Ah, the smells of Sunday…

Note to self, use a better deodorant.

Well shit. Now I remember why I set my alarm this early… or even considered to set it at all.

Day one of boot camp.

Did I say boot camp? My bad… I meant church… and if you asked me to choose, I'd take boot camp. At least there I can show off my athletic abilities.

Like the disgustingly cheerful bundle of energy that I can be sometimes, I jumped out of bed and hunted around for church clothes in the tiny closet of our dingy little apartment.

I was shocked to find that I owned a formal shirt, and pants that weren't designed for sagging half way down your butt.

I pulled my faded gray T-shirt over my head replacing it with the white, button up shirt in all its collared glory.

Once I was done changing, I took a gander at the mirror.

Oh dear lord… what have I done.

Glancing at the nightstand, the digital clock next to my bed flashed 9:15am, then rushed out of my room. We'll be taking the car this time.

* * *

There I sat in the car with 4 other guys, trusting Roshoko that his reckless driving wouldn't send us straight to heaven or hell before we even got to church.

All of us were wearing the same clothing… but the only two of us here that looked like we actually belonged in church were Dyonie and Bayrie.

Dyonie with his light blue shirt, cuffs buttoned at the wrist and not a single hair on his blonde bangs out of place. What a choirboy.

I could just picture him with the black outfit and white collar…

I sat back and enjoyed the wind in my face, messing up my perfectly tousled hair. I still don't get how convertibles don't mess up Dyonie's hair… must be a priest-to-be thing.

When I got a good look at the driver sitting next to me, I laughed and he ignored.

Actually, he accelerated then swerved so that a telephone pole nearly mangled my arm.

I screamed and then started laughing again. I had never seen Roshoko in anything formal before, except maybe a karate uniform. He hadn't bothered with buttoning the cuffs around his wrists like Bayrie and Dyonie did, but instead folded the long sleeves so that they showed most of his tanned arms.

And I see that he was too impatient to button his shirt up properly…. tsk tsk. I mentioned this out loud and Keno dryly reminded me that I hadn't buttoned my shirt up at all. No wonder it felt so breezy.

We arrived at the church doors at exactly 9:30. Better late then crashing into a light post and running over a few civilians to get there, the way Roshoko Ryu, or Road Rage if you will, was driving.

We opened the doors with a loud creak and stepped inside. Who knew church people had such a keen sense of hearing, as the mass of people turned their heads to stare at the "Uncultured Heathens".

And I had to yawn at that exact moment too.

Mmm… sleepy…. damned AM. Aw hell, I'll sleep on a church bench.





A/N: well…. There's the end of the very first chapter. I guess it was more like an introduction than anything else. Oh and just incase if you're wondering, no, the whole story will not be based around a church. This was just the beginning. Anyway, even if you didn't like it, please review and tell me what you think about it ^_^ I'm all ears for constructive criticism and comments.