Author's Note:
Setting: The story starts on a plane going to Europe.
Pairing: If this weren't an AU, the format would be Yami no Bakura x Yami no Malik, but since
it is, we will call it Bakura x Marik (Psychoshipping)
Rating: M – to be safe and for sexual suggestions (or more) later on
Genre: Romance/Drama
Disclaimer: This video is fan-made and is in no way associated with the musical artist or Kazuki Takahashi in any way
Lastly, this story is shounen-ai. If you don't like, don't read. You can always flame though. Everyone knows flames are only useful for bumping up the review numbers, so feel free to.
He placed the pad of his fingertips on a button with a light bulb printed on it and a ringing, bell sound was released somewhere above him. An alert to the stewardesses and the dudes pretending to be one that he wanted something.
Bakura Touzokuo stared at the sight on his table, feeling both nostalgic and nauseous.
His plane food often ranged from crap to something even worse, utter crap. He had heard reviews on the airline's website claim that their food had been heaven-sent, but nothing they could send him could get more hellish than this. Why couldn't they just serve normal food, like…cupcakes…instead of fetid stork and reef? That and he had way too little leg space.
"Good morning sir, what may I do for you?" A blonde flight attendant stood before him with her annoyingly long locks scattered all over her front until her waist. He would never know from the point of others, but to him her hair looked like the dreaded pincers of a praying mantis, only yellow instead of sickly green. In fact, he could see them pointing at him now, threatening to pierce him for whatever reason he wasn't sure of. She smiled brightly with sparkling teeth way too bright for his enjoyment. All he needed was sweat to make the imagery genuine. He was able to spot a lot of guys staring at her—possibly drooling—and doing all which he didn't give a damn about.
"Depends on your definition of good." Bakura yawned loudly, immune to the Mother Theresa replica. And while her demeanor should've entranced him—along with any other man—he was currently stifling the voracious urge to strangle her. "Frankly, Ms. Stew, I feel like crap," he said flatly.
The stewardess blinked at an almost comical angle. "I'm sorry?" Her giddy voice came out as an awkward squeak.
He rolled his eyes. 'Why must all blondes be dense?'
"Crap. Dung. Manure. I feel like shit. Does your infantile brain have any capacity to comprehend or are you just as dimwitted as your looks clearly tell us?" Bakura's eyebrows creased as he frowned. He shifted and crossed his arms. "Obviously, Ms. Stew, your airline services do not meet my appreciation and I insist that you take action immediately. In other words, change my food before I sue this place for inconsistency."
Judging by the shocked look that took so long to appear, he knew he had gotten her total attention—and by the eyes he had suddenly gathered—a crowd's as well. She seemed partially offended and confused as to what she was supposed to do for a moment. "Mr. Bakura, we—the flight crew—are doing the best we can." She motioned with her hand to the other flight attendants working behind her.
How a bimbo knew his name was beyond him. "Seriously, Ms. Stew, serve your passengers' needs, not their blind desires," he said.
"We are not blind!" cried a guy with a gray cloth draped over his eyes.
"Oops. My mistake; you're desperate." Bakura gasped and placed a palm on his mouth, feigning shock. Not that the man could see it anyway. "Blindly and so terribly desperate." He turned sharply towards the stewardess and spoke in the gentlest voice that he could muster…which, apparently, came off mocking. "Ms. Stew, I believe the airline's lack of assistance has blinded and confused the passengers so weirdly to the point that they need extra services for a therapist in this trip." He knew he was overdoing it…and he loved it. He loved their helplessness against him.
She blinked once more and her eyes averted to several of her colleagues for guidance. Anyone could tell this had never happened before. Well at least, during their flights. With him around, this would stay constant. The stewardess put a hand on his shoulder. "I suggest you get some rest, Mr. Bakura. And I am proud to assure you that our—"
"Are you telling me to do this just so you could exploit my disadvantage?" he rudely interrupted. "A mind such as mine cannot rest without loss. Do you really want me mentally challenged?"
"Such marvelous intelligence can never diminish, sir. And in such little time, too. I just—" She was panicking now, and she could see he knew it.
"Then you will let me exercise my intellect to make sure nothing goes to waste." Bakura crossed his legs underneath his table and grinned. "I regularly give responsibility to normal people, but I give my full honor to freak shows. You should be grateful."
She stiffened and clenched her teeth. By this, he could tell she was starting to get angry. "Our other passengers have more emergency issues to be attended to. Why won't you alleviate your issues to the television program instead of wasting brain cells?"
"Because it is just so much better than watching Sesame Street." He sighed.
Her hand jerked halfway to her forehead for a slap but quickly drew away as she remembered her duty. And maybe the damage she had almost afflicted on her career. She shook her head and said, "There is a remote a centimeter away from you, Mr. Bakura. I suggest you use it,"
He arched an eyebrow at the tinge of scorn in her voice. He smirked. "Indeed, Ms. Stew, I would be using it had the channels contained anything else but Big Bird squawking in my face," he drawled.
Her eye twitched along with her hands. "My name is Ms. Angel and I prefer you call me that instead of…Ms. Stew." The corners of her mouth twitched with the difficulty of saying the name.
Bakura nodded. He had gotten Ms. Stew from the word stewardess. He did it often to torture them and strip their dignity to shreds. Male form would probably be Mrs. Stewie. "Yeah, I must admit, foods such as stew don't deserve such blasphemy," he said.
She stood straight and straightened her shirt. "Sir, I am the captain of the—"
"You're a whore," he said bluntly. He lifted a hand towards his food, but refused to touch it. "Now replace my stork and reef with something actually edible."
"It's pork and beef, sir," she replied before sighing.
"Same banana." He waved his hand as if to shrug her off, but then got an idea. "Actually, I believe a banana would be fine, Ms. Stew."
"Why so? You were the one who ordered the combination."
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Well yeah, that's because I thought it'd at least be distinguishable from cow crap." He frowned when he noticed she wasn't taking any action. He sighed. "Well? Are you daft? Hurry up. I haven't got all day but you sure do. Get me a non-infested cupcake or something."
She sighed and her shoulders slumped, portraying a sure sign of defeat before she slowly walked away, a gloomy look marking her once gentle features.
On his seat, Bakura relaxed. His endeavor had gotten a bit overboard, but gratifying nonetheless. Everything seemed so boring to him nowadays that he didn't know what else to do. He pressed a silver button and leaned back on his seat, ignoring the protests that came from behind. By the sound of liquid swooshing on the floor, he would guess that he had just created a mess.
He saw another blonde stewardess heading his way to aid the man behind him and he scoffed. 'Worthless blonde attendants.'
Bakura never liked blondes. He never understood why they had to create new words and expressions for mankind's already growing vocabulary. The Aussies did that too, he supposed, but there was just something about blondes. Bakura could've sworn there was some sort of sinister plot behind their acts, that they were going to take over the world and they knew it. He didn't care what kind of shade—sandy blonde, platinum blonde, bimbo blonde—he just didn't like them.
He was glad to be the way he was. Despite contrary belief, Bakura Touzokuo wasn't an albino. Well, not entirely, anyway. The closest attribute he had to an albino—besides his hair—would be the color of his eyes, which were brown. But even then, his eyes were dark brown, not pale brown or even red. Albinos had trouble with sunlight and sunburned easily from overexposure. He had a window shutter open beside him and the sun aiming directly at his face and he still wasn't heating up. Total albinism was out of the question.
As soon as Bakura realized the attendants wouldn't be sending him food anytime soon, he decided to take a nap. He grabbed the blanket and covered himself with it before shifting to find a comfortable position. He liked sleeping. A lot. For him, sleeping—no pun intended—cooled his flaring temper down. He always thought clearly after a good rest.
He slept soundly on the plane, until he was awoken by a sharp jolt.
A/N: I apologize for Bakura badmouthing the blondes, but I promise Marik will change his perceptions later on, hence the title. ;)
I thank Wikipedia and several Yu-Gi-Oh guides on the information about albinism.