A disclaimer: this is not taking time away from my other projects. It's already written. It's BEEN written for a long time. Some of you who stumble across this might even recognize it. End of disclaimer.
Hello, there. It's midnight o'er here for me, which feels appropriate given the purpose of this particular story. Right now it's a short story, specifically. It's also an experiment. I've wanted to write a horror story for a long time. I've been writing for 15 years, and I've pretty much always been a fan of horror in various forms. I've never combined the two.
So, this.
Those who know me will be the opposite of surprised to note that the focus of this tale is on the Kaiba brothers. Iced Blood is not a man interested in breaking from tradition. Not after this long.
I promise, though, that this one's got a bit of a different flavor.
Okay. I think I'm done. I'll let everybody speak for themselves now.
Enjoy.
.
"I'm not so sure this was a good idea, you guys."
"Maybe we shouldn't have bothered calling him. I mean, it's not like he's going to believe us, anyway."
"He's so narrow-minded, it's not even . . ."
"Guys!"
They trailed off like small children, caught after lights-out at summer camp by an overzealous counselor. The parts of the small children were played that night by Yugi Mutou, Joey Wheeler, Tristan Taylor, and Téa Gardner.
The counselor, in no uncertain terms, was an effervescently furious Seto Kaiba.
Mokuba Kaiba stumbled up the stairs that led from the Turtle Game shop up to the apartment shared by the Mutou family. He looked exhausted. His eyes were half-closed, and he didn't say a word when Yugi greeted him. He was only upright by virtue of the fact that he was leaning against his brother, who was as straight and stolid as an obelisk.
"Allow me . . ." Kaiba murmured slowly, ". . . to understand something. You. Call me. You find my personal number, use it without my permission. You wait until after midnight to do so, insist that I come here, never mind that I might be in the middle of something. No, what's important is that you screech in my ear for fifteen minutes about how damned important it is that I join your little sleepover. And not only do you not find this rude, but you have somehow found a way to blame me for it. Do I have all this right?"
On any other day, at any other time, this would have been Mokuba's cue to play peacemaker, and say something to the effect of: it's rude to antagonize people, too, so why don't we just listen to them, since we're here already? But as it was, the black-haired young Kaiba was barely able to harness enough energy to stay on his feet, and he wasn't far from losing that.
"Why did you drag Mokuba here?" Téa asked, with reproach leaking into her voice. "He looks so tired. You could have—"
"Oh, well, since you asked nicely," Kaiba snarled, "why don't I tell you? We weren't at home, which you might have realized if you'd bothered to let me speak. We've been at a convention this weekend, and Mokuba has had a total of about five hours of sleep in the past three days. We were on our way back, when you decided to call. You know, if only I'd thought to tell you I was busy, that it was important that I get home. Oh. Wait. I did!"
"Nii . . . sama . . ." Mokuba mumbled. "Not . . . s'loud."
Kaiba drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and forcibly calmed.
"I'm sorry," Yugi said, in a soft voice. His eyes were meek. "You should . . . take your brother home. I wasn't thinking. We'll . . . tell you later."
"Oh," Kaiba snapped, his voice considerably lower in volume, but no less in venom, "isn't that accommodating of you? Am I being given permission to leave, Your Imperial Highness? Well done. Let's ignore whatever business he has until he's already taken the extra time to come here, then decide it's wasted! Sorry we kept you from going home and letting your brother go to sleep for the first time in twenty hours for absolutely nothing."
While his brother continued to seethe, Mokuba occupied himself with shuffling zombie-like to a nearby chair and finding some way to collapse into it without loosening his teeth. He curled up into the fetal position and lay his head on one arm of the cloth-covered recliner, letting his feet dangle over the other. He blinked heavily, trying vainly to keep his eyes open for at least a handful of seconds.
He fell asleep almost instantly.
"Since when do you do what we say, anyway?" Tristan dared to wonder. "If you're so pissed, and so convinced it wasn't worth it to come here, why the hell are you here? Just so you can bitch us out for it?"
Kaiba's eyes flashed like spasmodic road flares. His throat worked, and smoke actually seemed to curl out from behind his teeth. Of course it was really just his breath, meeting the cold. But all the same . . .
"Tristan," Yugi put in, before Kaiba could put his indignant rage into words, "let's not do this tonight. Kaiba, if you're going to stay here, then I'll tell you what we need to talk about. We might as well do it now." He breathed deeply, and put his hands onto the gleaming golden artifact hanging from his neck. The Millennium Puzzle glowed, then hummed, and Yugi was no longer himself.
He was sharper.
"We are in danger," the other Yugi declared without preamble. "Mortal danger. And your brother may be the most vulnerable of all of us."
The fury that had taken up residence in Kaiba's entire being sloughed off of him, and was replaced by keen interest. His sea-storm eyes narrowed to slits. ". . . I'm listening."
Joey and Tristan were seated on a small couch; Téa Gardner had claimed a matching ottoman. Yugi, now in his confident form, lounged on a chair next to her. The furniture was situated around a small wooden coffee table, on which was set the artifacts of a sleepover: empty snack bags, soda cans, mugs, and plates.
To Kaiba's left was a small, standard-definition television set into a wooden entertainment center. A Magic & Wizards tournament played on the screen, but none of the denizens of the Mutous' living room were currently paying it any heed.
There was one more chair in the room, but Kaiba didn't claim it. He crossed his arms, and waited for Yugi to speak again. The ancient king, in turn, seemed to be studying Kaiba's face, unsure of what to make of whatever information he found there. Finally, he decided to be diplomatic, and said:
"I do apologize for not thinking of your business before calling you, but—"
Kaiba cut him off: "If this situation is so important that it actually warrants my presence here, then don't apologize. If it's trivial enough that you have to justify my being here, then this conversation is over."
Téa pursed her lips.
Joey said, under his breath, "Why'ncha make up your fuckin' mind?"
"He is no ruder than we," Yugi interjected, before Kaiba could snap out a response, "for keeping him, and Mokuba, any longer than necessary. It's late, and just looking at the poor boy is cause enough to realize we should keep this short. Please, refrain from starting an argument on moral superiority. This is hardly the time for triviality. Both of you? Please?" He eyed Joey and Kaiba in turn.
Kaiba simply raised an eyebrow.
"It's about Bakura," Yugi said.
.
Like a couple of other projects I've done recently, each update to this tale will be a single scene. Some will be short, some will be long. This one does its best to set the stage.
A couple of points: one, for those unaware, "Magic & Wizards" is the original name, given in the manga, for the Duel Monsters card game that so dominates the anime. I've found myself particularly fond of it for various reasons.
Two, the title of the story proper. As befitting any story involving Ryou Bakura, which this one does, the Millennium Ring will feature prominently.
The Black Hag's Wedding Band is a name that I've given said Ring. Ancient artifacts typically have names attached to them. Not just their "proper" names, but nicknames.
The Puzzle, for example, I've taken to calling the Labyrinth of Princes. The Rod? God's Finger. You get the idea. It's a bit of flavor, that's all.
The horror isn't showing itself just yet, but trust me. I know what I'm doing.
I hope.