This is a companion set to Last Rites and Lemon Meringue. If you have not yet read that one, please do so. Otherwise, this here is going to make less than no sense to you. It might do you good to read You Owe Me A Dollar as well. The passing remark made by Bakura at the end of the third chapter is much more amusing if you are familiar with who and what he is referencing.
This is the deal. Malik thinks he did kill Yami. Yami, of course, is not dead. The appearance of a sweet roll on the front porch chair has Malik convinced that Yami has returned to haunt him.
This turned out a lot funnier than I thought it would. Malik is so adorable in this. I kind of feel bad that it actually is so comical. It is basically a story about Malik going insane. But, well... just read it. I honestly believe you will love it.
What inspired me to write this? I actually found a cinnamon roll on my front porch chair. The thing is...I was home. All day. I also, in addition to a psychotic cat, own a Chihuahua who barks if the grass blows. No one could have possibly walked onto my front porch and left it there. Yes. Very creepy. But... it did inspire me to write this. I think we will call it even.
Disclaimer: I am making no money from this venture. I own nothing but the iced cinnamon roll mentioned in this story. If you sue me, that is all you are going to get. An iced, and very quite possibly haunted/cursed cinnamon roll. Still want to sue me? That is what I thought.
Sweet Rolls From The Grave
By: Creature of Habit
Malik emptied more of the flavored creamer into his freshly brewed cup of coffee. In his opinion, there was no such thing as too much hazelnut goodness. No matter what Marik said. Taking an inquisitive sip, he smiled. Perfection. Dropping the soiled spoon into the sink with a quiet clack, the drowsy blonde padded back to the bar, which was, as usual, littered with various coupons, store fliers, and, as of yet, unpaid bills. That reminded him...
"Marik?" Malik gracefully covered his yawn with the back of his hand, poking his head around the corner to peer into the, unsurprisingly empty, living room. A grumpy pout. "Always so conveniently missing when I need him." The hikari griped to the couch as he and his fuzzy purple slippers stomped past. Marik knew how much he hated going out in the cold! Especially after a rain.
The unhappy blonde uttered more than a few choice words as he stepped out into the strident winds. The feel of arctic air crawling under his lilac bathrobe to molest his more delicate parts caused him to yelp as he scrambled across the long front porch to the mail box. Stupid Marik! Stupid, kinky weather! He gathered the stack of magazines and envelopes as fast as he could, noting, with more than a small amount of derision, that the stupid mail box was leaking, and pivoted back for the warm sanctuary that was his house.
With a loud thump, the bundle tumbled onto the white-washed, rain-dampened porch planks.
Malik blinked. And blinked again. He turned a tight circle, feeling more than a touch unnerved at the eerie development. Had he failed to notice it in his initial haste? Or...? Lavender pools slowly settled back upon the object resting, silent and lackadaisical, between he and the front door. He struggled to swallow around the thick knot in his throat.
Sitting, a little too innocently, on one of the wicker front porch chairs, was a lone, iced sweet roll.
FIN
Not a heck of a lot going on here. Except for the weather molesting poor Malik. All because mean Marik was not there to go get the mail for him. And, just what is with that creepy sweet roll?
Reviews are, as always, welcome and appreciated.