Strawberry: …And suddenly, she found her old Yu-Gi-Oh! DVDs and fell back in love with the series xD Before we begin, I just want to throw it out there that this story will be in either TWO or THREE parts dependent on how I finally decide to divide it.

Warnings and Disclaimers: Rated T for occasional language, sexual themes, and mild tobacco usage. I do not own any of the characters (aside from Roshanne Mostafa), city names (i.e. Battle City, Duelist Kingdom, etc.), or plot occurrences (directly pulled from the show). THIS IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE!

Part One – The Yacht

- To you I may pour out all the contents of my heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away. That is further from your nature than any other, and yet, I would not trust anyone else with all of my being the way that I trust you. -

Chapter One: Gold & Sandals

The ceiling had a faint, hairline crack in it. He continued to ponder the words.

He was locked away in a chamber, desperate to see and feel the sunlight. He felt alone in thinking that everyone had been blessed with its presence against their skin but him. He wanted it so… He had asked Ishizu numerous times to take him outside but every time she had grown solemn and shaken her head slowly. He loved his sister in spite of it all, but why did it have to be him who was born into an ancient clan? Why did he have to follow all their foolish rules when he did not agree with them?

He let his mind wander to daydreams of the future, hoping that one day he would be free of it all. He did not want to become like his father, as much as he respected him. The boy wanted to live in the outside world with the sunlight and other people without such an onerous duty to carry out. He dreamed that one day, things would be different.

That wasn't it. It was not nearly as desperate as he had felt other times, and he had still been very young at that point. Such few misfortunes had crossed his innocent pathway that he doubted now heavily that that reflection of his youth could have been the answer. He thought again.

His father was angry with him again. He drew his hand up sharply and looked ready to strike when he stopped short and averted his gaze, fuming. The boy winced all the same and cowered in his bed sheets as he apologized over and over again in the hopes that his father would understand that it was an accident. He had not meant to break the vase.

A change of course was taken. "The fault lies not with you, my son," his father hissed, "but with Odion. When he returns, send him to my room. I shall know if you disobey."

The boy swallowed audibly and made a slight, pleading whimper. He knew well what was going to happen: his father was going to beat Odion again. It had happened so many times, and yet Odion never complained. But it pained the boy to think that someone whom he considered a brother was receiving such harsh treatment. Odion was always blamed for things that he had no control over. It did not seem fair.

The door slammed and his father exited the room.

Was that it?

No, no, that couldn't have been it, either. It had to have been something stronger, more tangible more…

The heated knife came into vivid contact with his skin and though he tried to scream, he knew that it would neither succeed nor be of any use. At that moment, the boy wished to die, for nothing anyone might have done could have saved him the pain of months' healing time. It was then that the question began to muddle in his mind: Who was he to blame?

There…that was it. That was what the words had brought about. "Who should I hate?" he said aloud to himself as he remembered saying the exact same words to Odion as if it were yesterday.

Marik Ishtar lounged back in his desk chair. For a moment, he felt tempted to stride to the mirror in the bathroom to remind himself precisely what the images imprinted on his back looked like. They were more like scars, he considered, and though he knew his duty for the majority of the time, he sometimes wished that they would simply fade. But nevertheless, they were not scars, he did not get up to look in the mirror, and he distinguished the considerations all together. There were more important dealings he was faced with on that morning. While the yacht was sailing peacefully over the steady ocean waves, he could not let his thoughts divert too much from the cards.

He rummaged around in his pocket and extracted the card—it was one-third of what he needed to complete his very own destiny. It was cased in a thick plastic to avoid its disappearance or maiming. The Winged Dragon of Ra. He smiled as he examined the depiction of the beast. He remembered well its power in the duels during which he had played the card. The opportunity did not come up particularly often (unless, of course, he had fixed the duel) but when it did, the results were devastating. With that card in his deck, he was entirely invincible.

With good reason, he thought to himself. It would come as no surprise that he was virtually unstoppable, as he was one day going to have complete power over the entire world. And that day was coming.

His eyes narrowed as he pocketed the card again. Resting his elbow on the table lazily, he thought of what his father would have said if he were still around. Of course, he wasn't all that concerned with remorse; in fact, he didn't much care at all if his father didn't agree with him. What he wanted to know was what his father would have done if he discovered that he had wasted his life guarding a tomb when his own son was going to be the Pharaoh. They waited and waited, doing what they thought was protecting the Pharaoh as they awaited his return. In actuality, they were only hindering him. If Marik hadn't gotten out of the place when he had, his entire destiny would have been hindered. But he was out now, and that was all that mattered. He was going to rule, and he was going to defeat anyone who got in the way of that.

The momentary high that came in his thoughts of destructive behavior dissipated quickly, as there was nothing more he could do at the moment. There was a gentle but resounding pang in the confines of his mind as a rush of more hateful considerations entered his head, but it, too, disappeared. The brief occurrence happened every so often, and though it tended to interfere with his thought patterns on a few occasions, it was nothing he felt that he couldn't handle. He had grown to become accepting of that squelched part of himself that wanted something more than just success. It was a blinding sort of angle that overtook him, and while he did not appreciate the potency of it, it was completely under his control.

In those moments, he did not just begrudge his previous task of a tomb keeper: he hated it, and he hated his father likewise. All of it seemed to make him all the more angry and further tempted to look at his sister with more rage than he tended to. And when those moments passed, something airy passed through his being and reminded him that Ishizu had never meant him any harm. Sometimes he felt as though he was being yanked in two completely different directions.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his right leg over his left. It was a good thing he was as in control of himself as he was. If he ever faltered the least bit, he might have succumbed to either that vengeful anger or that annoying call that he was doing something incorrectly. He was settled enough to know that the middle ground was the best choice, and it was where he stood the most successfully.

Just as he began to consider when he was going to restart the trials of the counterfeit cards he was exhibiting so much energy on, the door opened carefully. Before looking around to see who the visitor was, Marik touched a finger to the end of his Millennium item. "What is it?" he asked stonily. He hated to be disturbed, regardless of whether he was working on some project or simply losing himself in his thoughts. But alas, the interruptions happened frequently.

"Master Marik," came the sound of the intruder's voice. Marik felt the tension in his tendons loosen slightly at the realization that Odion had entered.

"What do you need, Odion?" Though it was not always his intention, whenever he spoke to Odion, the tone of his voice always seemed harsher than usual.

"Ms. Mostafa is all settled now," said Odion. "Are you ready to greet her?" Marik sighed, well aware of the business that needed to be taken care of. Roshanne Mostafa was her name. She was rumored to have been an expert in tracking all sorts of cards. She had become fluent in computer programming as well as the format of the cards in correlation to their usages in duels. He did not completely understand her methods, but he knew that he needed her if he was going to locate the other two Egyptian God cards.

So, though he was in something of a huff, he replaced the Millennium Rod down on his desk and got to his feet. He fidgeted briefly with one of the cuffs on his right wrist as he exited the room at Odion's side. He was not quite sure what to expect. They walked all the way through the outer deck and into the glimmering sunshine. For a split second, Marik was reminded of the memories he had uncovered shortly before Odion's entrance. He remembered having had no idea what it was like to soak up the sunlight. He could not help but smirk, as he was now all too familiar with it.

"I present to you Roshanne Mostafa," one of the men said. Marik looked up to find the woman standing in front of him, dressed in a shockingly casual manner. He had expected her to have worn something official looking, as she should naturally have been banking on making a good impression. It did not concern him in the least, as he knew from the start that she was his one chance and he could not have settled for anything less.

Then he considered the fact that she had come directly from Egypt. He wondered how the culture could have slipped from her mind so quickly. Could she really have become accustomed with capris so easily? Her top fell in moderation: she wore a cream-colored blouse that covered her arms up to the elbow, loosely fitted so that the format of her body was hidden just well enough to keep the illusion alive. He scoffed and averted his gaze, swallowed up in his thoughts. She had skin that was perhaps a shade lighter than his and rosy with a gentle glow. Her eyes were of a timid hazel that seemed to reflect the beige of her shirt to give them a golden appearance. Black hair fell in wavy rivulets down to her shoulder blades.

She was wearing sandals. Sandals.

"Marik," he said sharply. He chanced a glance in her direction to see if her expression had changed. It had, in fact, but not to the sort he was expecting.

She looked up at him out from under the straight bangs that hung across her forehead. A teasing sort of smile played around the corners of her mouth as she looked at him. It made his stomach churn to the point of utmost annoyance. But he needed her, he reminded himself spitefully. He would have to grin and bear it despite her blatant disrespect towards him. "I know," she answered lately. "I know what your name is."

Roshanne took a step towards him, and this time, she did not falter in her focus. The strings of her gaze left him with no choice but to look back at her intently, lest he be perceived as weak. But she did a fine job at breaking him down when he felt her fingertips slide around his hand. The motion startled him to the point that his own digits felt like putty in her grip as she shook his hand politely. Already she had caught him off guard, and the thought angered him to no end.

She was still grinning at him in that conniving manner when Odion spoke. "Master Marik requires your assistance in tracking two cards," he said. At this, Roshanne slowly looked in his direction. Marik took the opportunity to take a step away from her in the case that she attempted to condescend him again. He was not going to have her think that she was governing him. Was it that she thought herself superior because she knew how to find even the rarest of cards and so few seemed able to? He certainly hoped that was not the case, for the mere locating of a card was nothing compared to the ancient duel tactics that he wielded. Besides, he was destined to be Pharaoh. What did card tracking have over that? "It is imperative that they be located as soon as possible. You are relieved of the duty of retrieving the cards themselves; Master Marik, myself, and a good portion of his rare hunters will be able to perform this task on our own."

Marik looked at her again and squinted. Odion continued to give her further instructive information, but he did not care to listen. He knew well the procedure they were going to take, and he did not need to have it explained again. So he continued to analyze her character as thoroughly as he could manage without giving himself away. He could ascertain that she was not very old—no older than twenty—by the youthfulness in her face. She even seemed to give off that aura of experience that had come without the benefit of time.

Not to mention her senseless arrogance that radiated through the air as though she was certain that no one in the world could do her job the way that she did. It mingled with the potent scent of floral smoke that bore some resemblance to citrus and mint. That, in and of itself, was a mature sort of smell, but it did not sway him. She was young and inexperienced. That was his final conclusion.

"Master Marik, shall I escort her to the laboratory and introduce her to the system?" asked Odion.

The following happening was a strange, eerie sort of coincidence, Marik thought. At the same, precise moment that he turned his head to address Roshanne, she did the same, with nearly the exact same speed and angle. For a moment, he found himself dumbstruck at the synchronized action, but quickly rid himself of his curiosity and said, "Yes," with unwavering eyes. While he continued to address Odion, he spoke into Roshanne's face. "When you've completed this task, send her in to me. You may bring her to the study. When should I expect you?"

"Fifteen minutes."

It was not Odion who had spoken. Roshanne had answered as if she was well-aware of the lab's exact location as well as the time it would take for her to overlook the system. With a flash of her eyes, she turned to Odion and said, "I won't need any longer than that."

Fine then, Marik thought to himself. I don't have time for this. With a curt nod, he whirled around and began stampeding away back to his room in an unexplainable huff. He did not look back to see the faces of the people remaining—especially Roshanne's, though there was a tugging in his chest that made him want to do so all the more. He hoped beyond all hope that his lack of care towards her directly produced responses would have turned off her arrogant air. She'll answer to me, he promised himself. As he rounded the corner into the hallway of his room, he curled his fingers into a fist at his side. Yes, he needed her around to get what he wanted, but under no circumstances did that mean she was exempt from his power over her. He would gain her obedience whatever means possible; even if it meant using the Millennium Rod.

Strawberry: As of recently, I have been focusing entirely (fanfiction-wise, that is) on The Dark Knight. I have enveloped myself in the affairs of the Joker, and to me, this story is a really a different style. Again, as some of you may know, I tend to write stories with a lot of psychological analysis/reflections on the part of a certain character. I like to prove that there is something inside of them that they were unaware of. And while this story is pretty similar to that, I definitely integrated a more physical approach as well. Marik isn't really a traditionally "complicated" character, but from certain standpoints, he holds more complex parts in his mind alone that are really worthy of in-depth searching. But, like I said, the plot of this story is much more interactive and broad than I usually do it, so let me know how it is :3