I should be finishing Slither, but the urge suddenly came upon me to write this instead. My comic shop opens in a few weeks and being nowhere near ready, the stress is driving me insane. This calms me. O.o
For FlamethrowerQueen, because it's been a while. In a couple of weeks after the shop opens I'll send you the link to the doujin auctions if you still want it then. I haven't posted them all yet, I'm so behind...
Shout at the Devil – 3
Bakura P.O.V.
We're all in the kitchen today. I'm sure it began with a good reason, these things usually do, but nobody remembers it so it can't have been that important anyway. The fate of the world would not depend on us doing something in a kitchen. That would be as stupid – if not more so – than the fate of the world depending on card games.
Since this is Ryou's kitchen, it's big, clean and shiny. Or at least, it was. There's an island-type thing in the middle where everyone who isn't participating in the cooking spree is sat. That would be Seto and I, along with Marik who is stirring something green in a bowl. Taking up the rest of the kitchen are Malik and Otogi, who are the instigators of this little travesty against food. Surprise, surprise. No, they never did get into the slightest bit of trouble over causing Domino high school to explode. One day I will learn how they manage to evade reality so well.
Anyway, those two are making a cake with unmentionable ingredients, and since Ryou is helping them it will probably still taste alright. Hikari has an unnatural talent for cooking, and Marik is helping by stirring the... whatever that is, but also keeping out of the way because he doesn't want to frighten Ryou. I think perhaps he's being too careful around my lighter half, but Ryou seems to think it's sweet so I suppose in a way it's working. It shows he's thinking about Ryou's state of mind, although at present Marik, Seto and I are talking about mine.
Seto periodically tries to figure out what's wrong with me, and today is one of those days where he once again tries to accurately diagnose the world's oldest mental case. The problem, he thinks, is that I am so very old. I've had thousands of years for whatever insanity I had to begin with to fester and become something completely new. Most people only have one lifetime to grow their personality disorders. I've had hundreds. Still, it doesn't stop Seto reading books on psychology and coming up with interesting theories, I think it's something of a hobby for him. I don't mind – I think he should have more hobbies anyway and hearing what he thinks is wrong with me is often amusing. Personally I just think 'madness' covers all it needs to, but he needs in-depth categories. Generalizations annoy him, more so ones concerning me because he stubbornly continues to believe that I'm very complex. Well, whatever makes him happy. Happy being a generalization that I'm not going to pick apart, because at present I have no problem with them. They encourage a lack of deep thought and occasionally this is a good thing.
So, to the conversation going on at our little kitchen island, while Marik stirs his bowl of rather disturbing green icing, Seto reads a book on personality disorders and I practice drawing hieroglyphs on a napkin because I can write Japanese now and I don't want to forget my own letters. I like being able to write Seto notes in my language – they're always going to be meaningless drivel like 'I am going home to watch the picture box there, yours is too big and my eyes do not follow it well.' or 'straw is more comfortable than your bed, I am sleeping in a chair. Do not wake me.' I pinned that one to my chest and fell asleep in his office chair. 'Picture box' refers to the television, which sadly lacks a hieroglyph. He reads them, but it takes him longer than it would if they were in Japanese. Or English. Or French, or any of the other languages he excels at for no reason.
"When you talk to Yugi and his friends, what do you see?" Seto asks me, not raising his eyes from his book. He can read and hold a conversation at the same time, it regularly unnerves people who think he's not listening to them.
"I see their lips moving." I say, thinking carefully about what I do when one of them is talking to me. It doesn't happen much, but when it does I very rarely pay attention to what their mouth is saying when I can try to figure out what they really want to say instead. "I look at their eyes and their face, and the way their hands move. Listen to how fast they breathe, wonder where they might hide a knife or a vial of poison." I say, drawing the hieroglyph for 'tomb'.
"You actually think they could hurt you?" Marik asks, incredulous. Still stirring that slime.
"No. Force of habit. If I stop doing it, it won't be a habit and I won't do it the one time it matters." I reply, noticing Seto watching me. This is one of those things he finds interesting about me – the things he thinks are complex but actually seem very simple to me. I think common sense in the desert a few thousand years ago and common sense right now in this time are very different. It's hard to change survival instincts, though. Not that I would – civilization is a fragile thing in most people and I've borne firm witness to the fact that deep down everyone is an animal. We're not all the same type of animal – some of us are wolves, some of us are sheep and some of us might even be human – but we're still all animals in the end. I just don't put as much effort into hiding the fact as most people seem to want to. Is it something to be ashamed of?
"Do you listen to what they say when they talk to you?" Seto asks, and I like the way his voice sounds. It's smooth and constant, very easy for me to concentrate on. Not like the pharaoh. His voice is too deep and out of proportion with his frame. His voice becomes just sounds to me after a while, a pattern of ups and downs instead of real words.
"I get the gist of it at the end." I say, "but I could never quote them word for word unless it was short. They say a lot of things that mean nothing, I can tell by their eyes when they're getting to the important bits." I'm quite glad they don't talk to me much, although I'm sure Seto will be watching me like a hawk the next time they do. Watching me watching them. Though some days I feel like a god, some days I also feel like a test subject. I don't mind with Seto, he's one of the very few people who can tell when I'm being purposely crazy or when I'm being genuinely crazy. The first one scares children. The second scares everyone. Except, perhaps, Seto. I don't think I'd be able to tell anyway. It rarely happens anymore, he can see it coming and distract me. Mostly it's little things now. I don't start wars, I just stare at the flashing red light on the microwave until Seto finds me like that and I realize I've been there for six hours. Slightly more conventional and less apocalyptic madness, which works well for all concerned.
"If you saw the same thing when you talked to us it'd almost be like some twisted form of autism." Marik muses. "What do you see when you talk to us?" He asks. I'm not sure what autism is, but I'll ask Seto later.
"Mostly what everyone else sees, I expect." I say, because I have no reason to fear for my survival around this lot so the usual instincts – however archaic – don't seem to kick in.
"And when I talk to you?" Seto asks, noting the fact that I said 'mostly'. He's well aware he's not in the same league as everyone else, even this strange and disturbing family we seem to have grown.
There's no sense lying to him, he can tell. This isn't romantic words, just honesty. I'm a thief all the time, but only a liar when I need to be.
"I see your eyes." I say, because that's what I look at when he speaks to me. "But I hear your words."
He smirks slightly, because I know full well that translates to him as 'I'm mesmerized by your eyes but I'm listening, honest.' I don't care.
"What do you see when you talk to me?" I ask, wondering for once if this conversation on psychology actually has become subtle romance.
"I see all of you." Seto says. Not just the eyes, all of me. I suppose that's true, he's the only one who can see right through me. He knows things about me nobody else has ever known and that I have never told him. In my eyes there are mortals, and there is Seto. He isn't on the same level in my mind as they are.
"What is autism?" I ask, because no more romantic subtleties strike me. Words can only take one so far and they never were my preferred method of communication.
"You don't have it." Seto assures me, as Marik rolls his eyes and adds a drop more green food colouring to his icing, stirring it in casually.
"Cigarette break." I say, standing up. Seto places his book down on the counter and joins me, leading the way through the kitchen and out of the back door. Neither of us smokes.
Out in the back yard behind the unused shed, I lean against the wooden wall and smirk up at him.
"You were being romantic." I claim, as he stands very close in front of me. Intimidating to most people, but to me he's just tall.
"Prove it." He smirks back, then leans in and kisses me. I lean heavily back against the wall in the sunshine and close my eyes, his lips against mine feeling hot and demanding. He has that way about him.
I part my lips to see what he'll do and I am not disappointed by his reaction. His tongue against mine is a delicious feeling, and when it ends my breath comes faster than usual. I open my eyes and look up at him, wondering what he really sees when he looks at me. Am I beautiful, or just interesting? To him, are they the same thing? I don't suppose it matters, because his eyes look at me in a way they do not look at anything else.
"Say that you don't love me." I demand, smirking again.
"No." He says simply, and his fingertips are at the side of my throat, tracing the skin there in a pleasurable, ticklish way. He seems to like that part of me, and continues his attentions there. I do not mind, and instead close my eyes and lean back again, focusing on the feelings. I am half something he is studying and half something he is worshiping right now, and I do not think Seto would enjoy a relationship any other way. I am fairly sure this is a relationship now. He has refused to say he doesn't love me, which is the same as saying he does, only much easier to actually say. 'I love you' is so overdone. 'I don't not love you' is much better.
Eccentricity abounds, we were made for each other.
The End.
This was short, but I can only keep up being eloquent for so long before the alcohol wears off. I hope it's at least readable, sometimes it's hard to tell. Writing it was a welcome hour of stress relief, anyway.
Yes, it really did take me a whole hour to write two and a half pages...