Author's Notes: Yet another "drabble" from me. This time for Arythusa, Queen Mother of Thief Bakura/Kisara. Love to the non-canon. At least this one, anyway.
Outcasts
As another gust of hot air smacked sand against her back, Kisara wearily realized that she had lost all sense of time. How long had it been since she had started her never ending trek? Maybe a week. Possibly even a month, or longer. She wasn't sure anymore. She wasn't sure of much of anything anymore.
Truth be told, the white haired girl was becoming rather tired of running from potential slave sellers at every turn. She wondered if she could find something that would cover her up more than her torn dress did. Maybe if she covered her hair and skin, people wouldn't pay attention. That would also solve the random women and children screaming in fright upon seeing her. Yes, she'd rather like the lack of high pitched screeching. It was never fun having a stranger declare you a monster.
Upon shaking herself out of these thoughts, Kisara noted that she had stumbled into a rundown village. It looked to have been abandoned for years, with houses with crumbling stones, and tools and weapons lying on the ground, deteriorating. Upon looking at a broken spear, Kisara assumed that a large battle must've taken place. Perhaps that was the reason the place was deserted.
The good thing about this was that she wouldn't have to worry about anyone trying to kill the "white skinned demon." The bad thing was that it also meant that there was no food to be had. And, as tired and disoriented as she was, Kisara was most certainly hungry. And a little water, she admitted, would also be nice.
But she supposed that nothing could be done about that for the time being, and that she should just continue her journey. She didn't even recall where she was going anymore, or even if the destination really mattered. Just so long as she kept moving, kept living, it was okay.
Her dragging, blistered feet scraped along an old pathway through the dilapidated town, until it opened up to what appeared to be the tiny center of the place, complete with rundown food booths. In the middle of it all, a gold encrusted chariot with both wheels broken off sat, beginning to show decay from age. Kisara, too tired to notice such an out of place item, simply walked past it.
"...Ku?"
The unexpected voice startled the girl, and she spun around, pale hands flying up to her chin in a nervous habit. Sitting inside the chariot was a boy around her age. Short, messy white hair framed a sharp face which was now sporting an annoyed expression. The light hair contrasted harshly against his dark skin. Purple eyes glared at her, as the boy reached up subconsciously to trace an odd scar that adorned his right cheek.
"Who are you?" he demanded, gruffly.
"I-I'm sorry!" Kisara quickly apologized, hands now clenched in fear underneath her chin. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"That's not what I asked," the boy snarled, irritated. "Who are you?"
He seemed totally nonplused by her appearance, and this somehow made the girl off kilter enough to actually reply to a question she'd usually avoid. "Um... Kisara."
"Kisara," he repeated, as if seeing how the word tasted. Then, with a growl, the boy snapped, "Kisara, get the hell out of my village."
Another person would've taken offense to such a demand. But Kisara, who was so used to being yelled at and ordered to, simply cowered at the boy.
Cowered to the point of staying completely still, literally too afraid to move. Her body ridged, her blue eyes remained locked in fright on the boy in front of her. She knew it was a silly reaction; was completely aware that she should be walking away, if not running for her life. But somehow, every time she sensed herself in danger, Kisara found herself totally immobile. It was a fault that had caused her many an injury in her time.
And it was this unique response that caused the scowl to slowly leave the boy's face, only to be replaced by confused disbelief. The boy stood up, which only resulted in Kisara moving just enough to let out a tiny squeak. She hadn't realized until now just how strong looking he was, a fact that made her light headed with fear. With a look of curiosity, he slowly walked over to her, making her seem to somehow stiffen even more.
"Don't you know how to run?" he asked when he was only a foot away.
A shuddered gasp was her answer, and the pale skinned girl swayed a bit.
"Dammit, don't you faint!" he growled, reaching out, and giving her a good, hard shake. "I'm not dragging your sorry carcass anywhere, so you better stay the hell awake."
The boy's words, and the rough handling caused Kisara's brain to rattle, and she somehow managed to find enough courage to pull herself away from him. "Leave me alone!" she cried, her wilting posture contradicting her words.
He raised a brow, amused by the outburst. "Well, I suppose you were bound to have some backbone. Even for an idiot," he added, walking back to the chariot. "You know, you're going to get yourself killed by doing that one day."
"I... " Kisara took a large gulp of air, feeling safer with more space between herself and the boy. "I know."
He turned just enough to look at her. "Then why do you do it?"
"I can't help myself," she defended, meekly.
He snorted. "Well, that's stupid. And something I really don't care about, anyway," he noted.
Somehow, his dismissal made her feel more insulted than she believed it should have. She was confused as to why, until it finally struck her. He didn't seem to care about her looks. Didn't even seem to notice them. So, instead of treating her like a freak, he was treating her like a human. A human that obviously annoyed him, but a human nonetheless.
"You really shouldn't be here," he said, snapping her out of her thoughts. With a grunt, the boy settled himself back into the chariot. It provided good shade against the afternoon sun. "Only the dead stay here," he told her.
Kisara tilted her head, taken aback at the odd statement. "You don't look dead to me."
"Him first," he grinned, cryptically. "Then I'll go."
She blinked, not understanding what he meant. "...Oh."
"I'll be leaving soon," he said, eyes cast toward the sky. "But I'll come back. I always do. You always go back home."
She felt sick at that statement. If this had really been his home, then she couldn't imagine just what he might've witnessed in such a desolated place. And just what could've been left for him at the end of it all. At the same time, she envied him his memories. At least he had them.
"I don't have a home," she told him. She didn't know why she wanted to tell him, a perfect stranger, this tiny confession. Yet, she couldn't help but do so. Maybe she felt an odd kinship with this boy, an outcast in his own right. To find someone that was, in a way, like she was made her feel less alone. Or maybe she just wanted the excuse to talk to someone for once.
And maybe the boy felt the same way she did, for he replied, "Lucky you." There was no sarcasm in his voice, only a small sneer on his face.
"I suppose," she said, with a shrug. "I wouldn't know.
"Hey," Kisara whispered, eyes downcast. "Could I... Stay here for a little
while?"
The boy narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"
"I'm tired. And," her voice became nearly inaudible, "the dead don't throw stones."
Her last line was spoken so softly, Kisara wondered if he'd even heard it. However, the boy arched one eyebrow, before giving a one shoulder shrug. "Do what you want, I guess," he grunted.
She released her pent up sigh, her body sagging a bit. With a mumbled thanks, she wearily walked over to the boy and his chariot, and nearly collapsed up against the dilapidated thing. The boy grunted again at her movement, but that was it.
"What's your name?" Kisara asked, suddenly.
"What does it matter?" he countered.
"You know mine. It's only fair I know yours," she argued, though her voice had become more subdued at his obvious irritation.
"Ku," he spat, gritting his teeth. "Stupid."
They lapsed into silence after that. Kisara might've been annoyed, if it weren't for the facts that she was too tired, and that her innate meekness made it difficult for her to feel offended by his rudeness. Even with the midday sun, she felt her eyes begin to close from exhaustion, and she yawned at the inner decision to take a small nap.
She had almost drifted to sleep, when the boy finally muttered, "Bakura."
"Hm?" Kisara uttered, waking up a bit at his voice.
"My name," he growled, somewhat annoyed that she wasn't following. "It's Bakura."
"Oh," she blinked owlishly, and nodded as she woke a bit more. "Bakura... "
"Ku," Bakura bitterly grumbled. "Stupid girl."
She ignored the last remark. "Bakura... " Kisara repeated, rolling it over her tongue. Then, in a tiny, but as firm a voice as she could muster, she stated, "I don't think I like it very much."
"Eh?" he choked. Then, a small chuckle emerged from the scarred boy who sat in the chariot. And the small chuckle became a larger one, until it became a pleasant, if oddly toned laugh.
It made Kisara wonder if she could stay longer than just "a little while."