So hey there, kids. Welcome to a world where Bakura owns a pub and Kaiba owns a chain store, where Ryou attends sixth form college and where Marik is taking a holiday... I don't even, OK. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: We do not own either Yu-Gi-Oh or YGOTAS, much as we would like to~
Bakura ran clumsily down the street, balancing his map and umbrella awkwardly as he went. These streets were totally foreign to him and honestly, the bad weather wasn't helping. Squinting against the spitting rain, he began to count the doors of 'Aybrook Street' in the faint hope he might be nearby.
"Oh bother..." he muttered, flipping the map around again.
He had only a vague idea how long he'd been walking, and the rain was pissing him off more and more with each step he took. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to find this blasted place- shouldn't somewhere like a pub be a little more obvious? That would be something for him to change, he supposed, as soon as this bloody weather-
The rain turned to hail, and he swore loudly.
"Hey, over here!"
He squinted in the direction of the voice. He could just about make someone out, but, more importantly, they were standing underneath a small bus shelter that Bakura hadn't noticed before. He ran towards it and ducked inside.
"You're soaked," pointed out the stranger, "I mean, you have an umbrella. Why the fuck don't you use it?"
Bakura looked up and simply glared daggers at him.
He was around the same age as Bakura, with dark skin and pale blonde hair coming down to just below his shoulders. His eyes appeared to be purple- contacts, Bakura thought with amusement- and he was dressed in the most absurdly unsuitable clothes for the current weather; a pink shirt that exposed his midriff, trousers and gold earrings.
"I'm aware," muttered the soaked teen. He started to shake out his long hair, deliberately letting droplets of water flick all over the stranger, who looked positively insulted.
"What the frig are you doing? You're getting me all wet!"
"That's what she said."
"What do you mean by tha-oh. Very funny. I am laughing my pants off."
"I don't care."
"Well that was kinda insensitive."
Bakura said nothing. He stared at the falling hail, wishing it would stop.
"Where are you going?"
"None of your business."
"Hey, I'm just trying to be a good person. And trust me, that isn't something I usually do!"
"Well stop it. It's bloody irritating."
Silence.
"What's your name?"
"Why do you care?"
"I'm Marik Ishtar."
"I don't care."
"Just tell me your friggin' name before I start singing Lady Gaga. Because believe me, when I do that you will have no choice but to obey my sexiness!"
...The sheer idiocy of this man is almost comical, Bakura thought.
"Bakura. My name is Bakura. Happy?"
"No. Where are you going, Bakura?"
"To the pub. By God, I'm late. This stupid-" but here, Bakura broke off. The hail was lighter now. It would stop soon. He glanced at his watch. If he ran, he might make it...
"The pub? What for?"
"I own it."
"No way! You own a friggin' pub? Now that is badass."
"I don't really see why- Marik, was it?"
"Yeah."
"Well. Nice knowing you, I suppose."
"What, are you leaving? Hey, wait-"
But Bakura was already half a block away, and his mind had moved to other things.
Bakura knocked four times against the door. His knuckles were raw from the cold and rain; he couldn't wait to get indoors.
From the outside, the pub looked rather grand, he thought. From the outside, the building looked in pretty good shape, and although the windows had misted up from rain, they looked fairly intact.
He swore loudly and banged against the door again.
"Hello?" he shouted impatiently over the sound of rain, "Look, will you please, just let me in? I'm freezing my arse off out here!"
The hail had more or less stopped by now but the rain seemed to be harder than ever. Bakura tightened his fists and tucked them furiously into his pockets. He was on time, surely.
"Where the hell are they...?" he muttered angrily, taking a few steps back from the door. He cocked his head, and peered at the doormat, which seemed slightly askew. At once he realised, and sighed heavily. This was verging on ridiculous.
"No bloody way..." he laughed quietly, very irritated, lifting up the soaking brown doormat. For underneath, were a wet envelope and two sets of brown metal keys.
How very kind of them he thought, fumbling with the keys in the rusting lock.
Bakura heaved himself against the door and practically threw himself inside. It was dry, at least that was something. He looked up and around at the dark empty pub.
It was awful.
The room smelt terribly of beer, urine what Bakura could only describe as mouse-shit. All over the place, chairs and barstools were tipped over and the carpets were fraying seemed to be stained with anything and everything.
Slowly, Bakura made his way around the room, not yet daring to touch anything. Within moments, he spotted a rat scurrying across the floor. His lip curled in mild disgust.
The bar itself seemed to be all right however and he eventually, gently, pulled on one of the beer-taps, a look of amusement across his face.
"Eww, this place stinks!" laughed a voice from behind him. Bakura spun around, blinking in surprise. The idiot from the bus stop stood before him, a foolish grin across his face.
"Man! I took you for a classy guy but this pub is jus-"
"Who let you in?" growled Bakura petulantly. The young man, Marik, simply blinked at him.
"You left the door open for me."
Bakura just stared at him, in slight dismay.
"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"
"Well I don't know, but you friggin' well did!"
"Look, we're not open yet. Get your arse out."
"Well that's just rude! I'm going to tell your mother!"
Bakura sighed heavily ran his hands though his wet, white hair, making it stick up at an odd angle. This, Marik, was like some silly child. Some silly child with a bad taste in clothing.
They stood in silence for a while. Only the sound of light rain could be heard through the open door.
"I followed you all the way here, just to be told to get my 'effing ass out?" murmured Marik, quietly, his eyes lowered. Bakura cocked his head to one side. It was bizarre. This boy barely knew him yet he seemed so genuinely upset at being asked to simply leave. Bakura considered him for a moment.
"What do you want?" he said, eventually staring hard into the stranger's foolish purple eyes.
"What do I want?" repeated Marik, "Well that's friggin' obvious, isn't it! I want... erm... I want..."
Bakura stared at him, unimpressed.
"You don't actually know, do you?"
"What? Don't be so friggin' stupid! I always know!"
"Know what?"
"It doesn't matter!"
"Well clearly it does. Because if you don't answer in the next five seconds, I will bloody well throw you out."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Yes."
"...oh. Well, then. I want... world domination?"
Bakura glared at him.
"No? How about a puppy?"
Silence.
"I know! Let's exchange beauty tips! I love what you do with your hair!"
"L'Oreal. Because I'm worth it," Bakura muttered under his breath, almost smiling at this boy's idiocy. Marik just beamed back at him, oblivious.
"Can I stay? Pleeeeeease?" he begged
"...The answer's still no," replied the white-haired boy, but he felt his resolve weakening. He picked up a (rather filthy) glass from the counter, took out a cloth and began wiping it absently.
"Why? Is it the clothes? I know my dazzling fashion sense can be daunting, but I promise I'm an ordinary guy just like you!"
Bakura put down the glass. He felt both angry and amused, but he decided to let the amusement guide him for a while. He didn't really want to make an enemy out of this Marik- not that he saw anything wrong with making a few enemies here and there, and this guy was annoying enough to prove a fun one. But still, something about him...
"If you're so keen to stick around, then why don't you work here?"
Marik blinked at him, his large purple eyes betraying surprise and a fair amount of... what? Happiness? Triumph?
"Will you pay me?"
"I suppose."
"How much?"
"Look, I don't know yet. Do you want the job or not?"
Marik considered him for a moment, before winking at him and striking the oddest pose Bakura had ever seen.
"Frig yes!"
Bakura ascended the dark wooden stairs, his hand lightly touching the rotted banister. Behind him, Marik wittered away, skipping stair steps in large childish leaps.
"So what's up here?" asked Marik, thumping up the last couple of steps.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? But it's your freaking bar, isn't it?"
"Yes, but..." Bakura started, but couldn't bother to explain. He was too preoccupied with the state of the up-stairs living conditions; they were filthy. He pulled out the little paper house-plan which had instructions on how the house worked. It had notes on the boiler system, the plumbing, where the bed sheets were...
He opened the door to what must be his 'fully furnished bedroom' and stood there for a moment, staring.
Marik stumbled into the room beside him eventually broke the silence.
"Haha! Your room smells like poop!"
"Oh piss off, Marik." growled Bakura, shutting the door again, "I suppose you've already got a place to stay?"
Marik considered this.
"N-no, not really." he looked down, embarrassed, almost.
"What?"
"I don't actually have...anywhere yet."
"Oh? Well then I suppose I might be able to lend you one of my rooms. As part of payment or something..." Bakura trailed off, looking around the dilapidated rooms.
Marik's eyes lit up, and he smiled a ridiculous grin. Bakura, glanced at him a little suspicious.
"What?"
"You'd...really let me stay?"
"...Of course. You work for me, don't you?"
"Yes sir!" Marik did a little salute with his left hand, and winked. He looked rather silly, but Bakura couldn't help smiling. He found that he was quite affectionate of this strange fellow, even if he was a total idiot.
Bakura blinked, and shuddered. How could he be warming to this...this moron? His smile was immediately replaced by a stern scowl.
"Alright." he said coldly, pointing to a room sound the landing, "You can have that room."
"Oh boy! I've always wanted my own room!" chirped Marik happily, running down the hall, skidding on the slightly wet floor. Leaks, Bakura noted. Probably a good few.
"I'm going to make this place look so friggin' cool!" he shouted back at Bakura, "I'll see you in the morning, loser!"
Marik disappeared into the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Just as Bakura turned back to his own room he heard Marik's outraged voice call,
"OH NICE, BAKURA. YOU PISSED ON MY BED!"
Bakura rolled his eyes and went to look. It would seem the fool was, however, somewhat justified- there did appear to be a large, possibly damp stain on his sheets (which, Bakura realised, the previous owner had been kind enough to leave unchanged). He sighed.
"I'll look for spares. Stay here and don't do anything weird."
Marik nodded consent, throwing himself down on the bed before remembering the (supposed) pee and scooting away slightly. Bakura noted his movements with interest- the slight, disgusted upturn of his lips, the childish pout- and smiled wryly to himself. This arrangement could prove interesting after all.