Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan fiction based on characters and story-lines appearing in Yu-Gi-Oh and Yu-Gi-Oh R, created by Kazuki Takahashi and Akira Ito, respectively. Original characters and plot elements unique to this story are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Please note that Tilla's thoughts on Voodoo Doughnut are not mine but her own. I'm sure it's a fine establishment. Probably.
CHAPTER ONE
Voodoo! Who Do? Not You.
"Portland is no place for vampires."
There was a time when Tilla Mook almost regretted saying that. If she hadn't, her mother might have spared her the play-by-play on Twilight's production. But she had been right all along. Over-dramatic, but right nonetheless. Voodoo Doughnut proved that.
It was not the ninety minute wait that convinced her of this. No, it was the reason for the wait, which revealed itself when she and Mom finally made it through the door. The walls were bright pink and yellow. They grabbed the eye ... and took focus off the occult kitsch peppered around. Customers shouted risque doughnut names, but were never quite heard over the music. Safe and marketable weirdness, Tilla expected as much. But one look at her mother's expectant smile and she knew she'd never say so.
The man behind the counter stared at Tilla, even though her mother made the order. She didn't think much of it. Her Victorian Gothic fashion tended to attract stares anywhere that wasn't New York. So it caught her off guard when he paused between grabbing doughnuts to say "You're Tilla Mook, aren't you?"
Tilla thought she'd at last succeeded in erasing high school from her memory, until he spoke again.
"Good show at Nationals."
It wasn't the first time someone recognized her as a Card Professor, but it was the first time in Portland. She flushed at her oversight. This city was so tied to her past, it was hard to believe the present existed here at all.
"Thank you," she said.
"We're very proud of her." Beaming, Mom patted the small of Tilla's back.
The man closed the lid on a box that matched the pink of the walls. "I've always wondered, is that your real name?"
Tilla repressed the urge to cringe and instead stretched her lips across her teeth. It didn't feel like a smile should, but it must have looked close enough. His amused grin didn't falter.
"Yes, it is." Tilla plucked the box from his hands and shuffled away from the counter. She had to end this interaction before the inevitable follow up.
"You must really like cheese."
Too late.
"Yes," she said. "It goes well with bread, wine, and a small sacrifice."
A flat, rehearsed delivery typically served well for that line, but not here. The man forced a laugh and started eyeing the next customer. Mom dragged her hand down the length of her face. Tilla headed for the door, more disappointed than she cared to admit. So what if the atmosphere reeked of calculated edge rather than genuine oddity? Someone working at a place called Voodoo Doughnut ought to have a better sense of humor.
Mom waited until they'd cleared the sizable line outside the door to smack Tilla on the shoulder. Her puffed sleeve absorbed most of the blow, but she still flinched.
"Will you stop telling people you sacrifice things?!" cried Mom. "How do you think that's gonna make me look if it gets around? I don't need people whispering behind my back. 'Did you hear about her daughter? What a shame. Where did she go wrong?'"
Tilla snorted. "Like they don't do that already."
"Not anymore. You're a hometown hero." Mom took Tilla's face in her hands and squeezed just a bit too hard. "Don't screw it up."
"I promise nothing," Tilla mumbled through scrunched cheeks.
Stares followed them up Ankeny Street, but not the usual kind. It was the doughnut box that caught people's attention, more so than even Tilla herself. Reactions ranged from mild envy to mild disgust.
Hm, Tilla thought, if one fails to achieve mass appeal with their occult gimmick, do they succeed?
Skidmore Fountain came into view. Thoughts of anything but sitting left Tilla's mind. She first helped her mother crouch onto the base, then flopped down beside her. The box briefly vanished in her lap while her skirt deflated. Once it reappeared Tilla opened the lid and offered first pick to Mom. She chose a simple apple fritter. Tilla opted for the eponymous Voodoo Doughnut. It was a torso-shaped pastry, anguished at the pretzel skewer in its stomach. Tilla thought it toed the line between cute and macabre much better than its namesake did. She drove the pretzel skewer in a bit deeper and twisted it. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
"I know you'd rather be inside somewhere," Mom said between bites, "but it's all bars around here. Nothing opens until five p.m."
"It's fine." Tilla licked the raspberry blood from her pretzel skewer. She'd hoped she would know what to say next by the time she replaced it, but no such luck. The longer she thought, the further she strayed. Instead of finding the right words, she berated herself for not having them already. Then she started berating herself for berating herself. It soon formed a cycle, which transcended her mind and sent the entire world spinning.
The first twinges of nausea were what it took to pull her together. No part of her wanted to be the woman who threw up in Skidmore Fountain. She took a few deep breaths. An small lump formed in her throat, but her stomach calmed. She tore off the doughnut's head and popped it in her mouth.
"I can't drink for at least the next seven months."
Her chewing muffled the words to near intelligibility. She thought back to the shop, dulling the impact of their coarse language with music. She swallowed. What a coward she was.
Mom clenched Tilla's shoulder. No puffed sleeve could save her this time. The pain rivaled the first time she wore a corset. As she had then, Tilla sat up taller and held onto her composure. Her mother, meanwhile, was all out of sorts. Tilla hadn't seen her eyes quite that wide since she told her she was leaving home to play cards for a living.
"Seven months?" asked Mom. "What does that mean? What are you saying to me?"
The taste of fried oil and jelly lingered in Tilla's mouth. It conjured up memories of Hanukkahs past. Dad took her to the bakery each year. She watched him buy a dozen jelly doughnuts, but somehow there was always an extra for her once they were gone. He called it their Hanukkah miracle. She never did figure out when he found the time to slip out and get it.
The Voodoo Doughnut was no miracle, but it could still take her through time. If she looked into the fountain, she might have seen a young girl and not a grown woman. The fears which crept through her veins were certainly those of a young girl. So were the tears.
"It means you're going to be a grandmother," she said.
Mom took her hand off of Tilla's shoulder and placed it on her own heart. "You're having a baby?"
Tilla nodded.
Mom pulled her into a hug. It was, without a doubt, even tighter than that first corset, but it did not hurt. It was freeing. Tilla let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"I can't believe it," Mom said. "A baby! I didn't even know you had a boyfriend!"
Tilla wanted to laugh, but suspected her mom wouldn't appreciate it. She pulled back, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and cleared her throat. "That is because I ... don't."
The color left Mom's face. "No boyfriend?"
"No boyfriend."
"But how?"
In the past few weeks Tilla had felt more than she had in years. Confusion, anxiety and, sometimes, excitement consumed her whenever she deigned to sit still. She had yet to feel as did now, hearing her mother sound so very gutted. It was something she had vowed never to feel from the moment she embraced the dark and ornate. Something that Mom had a unique power to inspire in her.
She felt ashamed.
Personally, I blame Yugi Muto.
"The one with the hair?"
Tilla's stomach dropped. Had she said that out loud? Few things could have been worse. It served as an amusing catharsis on those mornings she spent hunched over the toilet. Not only was it neither amusing nor cathartic in this moment, it was easy to misinterpret.
"Isn't he married?"
Like that.
Mom seized her by the arms and gave her a firm shake. "Tilla, what have you done?!"
"Calm down." Tilla shrugged her off. "It's not his."
"Then what are you talking about?! Are you trying to give your mother a stroke?!"
Tilla cradled her stomach. Some day, she hoped many years from now, her child would want to know their story. Now was as good a time as any to workshop it. It would never be perfect, but it would be the truth.
And the truth was that everything began with Yugi Muto.
