Title: Home is where the heart is
Date: 17 June, 2006
Written by: XvXChaosMagicianGirlXxX
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Type story: one-shot, graduation 'gift' dedicated to my readers
Warnings: possible OOCness, AU alert, Pre-Yu-Gi-Oh series setting.,
A/N:
Well, yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? (coughs) Well, I've been quite busy with school (finals, graduation yada yada). All I can really say is, I'm sorry guys! Forgive this girl for her long dragged out abscence...pouts cutely..or at least attempts to Anyway, it's viva la holiday right now! Yay! I'm so glad finals are behind me...and I''m estatic that I graduated high school with fairly good grades! Hooray! USA, here I come. Oh, for those who don't know, in July I will be embarking on a trip stateside to experience the American way of life as an exchange student from the Netherlands! Woot! I can hardly wait! Anyway, I've said enough, read away and (hopefully) enjoy.
Note: For updates regarding my stories and other fanfiction related stuff, visit my livejournal. Just click onthe link in my profile.
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Home is where the heart is
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The light of the fire crackling in the fire place made shadows dance on the walls, creating foreign shapes and forms.
Outside, a nasty blizzard was still raging. Sharp needles made of ice, thumping against the window glass, created small tremors on every surface they touched.
The entire landscape was covered in a white blanket of snow, giving the beautiful Canadian city of Montreal an idyllic view.
Montreal, just another one in a long row of cities his father visited during one of his many business trips. Montreal had become his father's home away from home. His real home, England, becoming one of the many places he called home.
His father went away on business trips as frequently as children merrily skipped along to attend school. What it came down to was an empty house he came home to, more often than not.
Fortunately the heavy and uncomfortable silence in the house was breached as soon as his private tutor Andrew Towson set foot into the house. He enjoyed those hours where another human presence was in the house.
It was much better than almost always having silence as a companion. At first it wasn't all that bad. But as time passed, he grew weary of always being greeted by obnoxious silence as soon as he entered the house.
It didn't help one bit that the "house" he lived in had the size of a small mansion. A stranger in the house could easily get lost in the many hallways and rooms. Even now, after years of familiarity with the grounds he lived upon, he still felt like he could get lost in the maze that he was supposed to call home.
This place he called home represented a dark mark that played a major part in painful memories he tried really hard to forget, but in which he would never succeed.
Back when his father represented a rather small and insignificant dot on the map that was the labour market his home life couldn't be called more perfect. But the day his father's boss decided to pat his underling on the back, the received reward was a promotion. This "wonderful" promotion was the start of a chain of events that unfortunately meant the end of the loving family he had once known.
The promotion his father received was his one-way ticket to become one of the most prominent men in the historical field. The choice he made between his family and his career was painfully obvious.
His mother, who had her fill of his ambitious drive, was one day fed up with it. He didn't blame her. He could sense her bitterness and growing resentment toward the man her father had slowly but surely become.
Their source of income suddenly wasn't a burden anymore. His mother didn't have to count every penny in her pocket any longer, for fear she would spend too much and there would be no money left to make it through the month. Instead the yearly income of his father accumulated to such vast amounts, it was almost unbelievable.
Reaching his prime his father bought a small "cottage" for his family in Wales. Situated in a rural area, standing on a hill, this mansion held the faith of his family in the palm of its hand. This was where the ship stranded and his life and that of the rest of his family was changed forever.
He always compared it to a picture in a photo album. He would flip it open in his thoughts, searching for the right page that contained a certain picture. A picture that was taken in the time his family was still happy. Though he wondered if they were ever really happy. By now, he certainly knew his father wasn't or why else would he have eventually buried himself in his work, closing himself off from the rest of his family more and more each day that passed by.
After they moved into their new home it was as if something cracked in his mother. A blooming flower before, a withering flower afterwards. As if to protect herself from falling further into a pit of despair, she took matters into her own hands. And with a simple, ironical, and equally bitter gesture the "perfect" family in the picture was ripped in two. On the left side his mother and his sister Amane. And on the right side he was left to stand alone, together with his father.
His mother moved on, his father followed suit in the tracks of his old habits, continuing where he left off.
And, years later, the same standard procedure of his father remained. He was almost never home, leaving him to fend for himself, while his dear father was probably sipping wine from a crystal glass of champagne, offered to him by a mere servant on a business gathering.
Sure, his father bestowed 'attention' upon him. Not in the form a loving embrace; which he would prefer much more than being suffocated by expensive gifts his father bought for him. His father would always say: "For you, the best of the best is only good enough my son.."
Money and how to use it seemed to be his father's only way of openly expressing his "love" for his only son. Well, if his father thought money would win him over, he could guess again. He had no use for all those fancy gadgets and gimmicks offered to him. They only had one real purpose or rather destination. The growing pile of "gifts" was the place they ended up, as another addition to the nice collection.
He never opened his mouth to protest against the way the man he called his father treated him. Only on one occasion had he talked back at him. It was a shocking surprise for the both of them. Known for having a soft-spoken persona, his sharp tongue was unexpected. Since his father wanted only the best of the best for him, part of that was his education. His father had wanted to send him away to boarding school. A handy way to disguise the obvious enough reason, which was the real truth. It would have been a convenient way to get rid of a child that was nothing but a burden, standing in the way of his career. This underlying truth, which was not said aloud, but there, had angered him greatly. He had openly barked at his father that he refused to go away to attend some stupid boarding school. His tirade consisted of colourful words he didn't even know were part of his vocabulary.
In the end his father had settled for a private tutor. He stopped going to a public school and was home schooled from that point onwards.
His private tutor had travelled with them to Montreal. Of course, his father wouldn't want him to miss any lessons, for fear he would fall behind in the ways of 'proper' education.
Travelling with his father's personal jet, they traversed across the ocean toward Montreal, Canada, the first destination on this business trip. This was the first time he accompanied his father. And it was for one sole reason: a girl that was anticipating his arrival in a matter of two days. Another two days, and they would leave Montreal, the next place of business on his father's agenda leading them to the historical city of Hannover in Germany, with the small town of Stromberg lying none to far away from it.
This was the only part of the trip he was looking forward to. He didn't come along because he enjoyed the art of sight seeing.
His father was thrilled when he heard his son wanted to come along. Spouting some kind of nonsense on how it was wonderful that his son was following in his footsteps. As if! He would rather jump of a cliff; kiss Miho on the lips as soon as he met her, than become an exact replica of his father.
He didn't hate his father. It was just, he was never there. Ever since the day they moved into this humble abode, everything changed, and not for the better. How could a father-son bond develop when the father was absent for indefinite amounts of time. And he never really forgave his father for driving his mother away.
Currently, his father was away, attending some conference. If it was allowed, his father said he wouldn't have minded it if he decided he wanted to come with him. Even so, he would have politely declined. He wanted nothing to do with his father's "world". He wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.
With his father away for the time-being the apartment was his personal ground for now.
This was the only part of the trip he was looking forward to. He didn't come along because he enjoyed the art of sight seeing.
His father was thrilled when he heard his "son" wanted to come along. Spouting some kind of nonsense on how it was wonderful that his son was following in his footsteps. As if! He would rather jump of a cliff; kiss Miho on the lips as soon as he met her, than become an exact replica of his father.
Currently, his father was away, attending some conference. If it was allowed, his father said he wouldn't have minded it if he decided he wanted to come with him. Even so, he would have politely declined. He wanted nothing to do with his father's "world". He wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.
With his father away for the time-being the apartment was his personal ground for now. For once he relished in the silence, as he was enjoying one of the many books this library held.
Bookcases lined light-blue painted walls, positioned on gleaming, white marble floor. On the far left of the room, a grand staircase, twirling around in circles, lead to the second floor.
The books were all neatly stacked on the shelves. Some of the older ones proudly showed worn covers, indicating years of fond reading. They represented the most popular demand on the shelves. Books with a new feel to them, although dusty compared to the other ones, saw the shelves as a rather permanent resting place. They were almost never taken out; eyes never did skim over their pages much nowadays. And not just because the apartment was vacant for long times in a row.
In the middle of the room stood a comfy, black leather couch. A mahogany table was placed in front of it.
In the ashtray on the table the remains of a burning cigar produced a foul odour that weaved a pattern in the air, and as it reached his nostrils he visibly cringed, sneezing a few times in the process. This cigar lingered in the room, the only indication his father had graced the room with his presence.
Forcefully ignoring the cigar he continued reading.
Cocooned in his own tranquil island of serenity he lay sprawled out on the couch, a warm woollen blanket draped over him. The turning of the pages of his book was the only intelligible sound heard in the otherwise pointed silence of the room.
The unexpected sudden shrill ringing of the phone rudely snapped him out of his carefully orchestrated peace.
Slowly getting up from the couch he dragged himself over to his father's desk to pick up the phone. For some reason the air suddenly felt strangely tense. He almost didn't feel like picking up the phone. He couldn't explain it, but he had a hunch this unexpected phone call had a connection to the bad omen of his dream.
Trying to shake off this bone-chilling discovery he fingered the phone cord nervously, before he finally, albeit carefully retrieved the horn from its cradle.
"Bakura residence….Who's calling, please?" he softly answered the phone, unable to shake the apprehension weighing him down.
"Ryou, is that you?" came his mother's frail, distorted voice from the other side.
"Mom?" he exclaimed, surprised.
"Yes….."
"Is something wrong?" he enquired. "You sound….." After this he trailed off. He was scared of the answer he would receive.
He could hear his mother swallow a huge lump down her throat. "Yes…..I…your sister Amane has been in a car accident…"
His breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat as soon as his mother voiced these dreadful words out loud for him to hear and absorb.
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A/N:
Well, what are you waiting for? Review, review, review, and make this authoress hysterically happy! XD
- stares at her email inbox, waiting for the reviews to start piling up -
Constructive Critisism is pointedly encouraged. Don't be shy.. I won't bite! Much...
Praise to feed my ego some more? Bring it on!
(retarded, stupid) flames? Sure, if you feel like it. Do not think I'll take you serious, though. I'll probably laugh behind your back at your sheer stupidity or..in some cases respond, if your review is amusing enough.. But don't get your hopes up. I'll only get bitchy if I get really pissed. But generally I will just go blow off steam, before I even consider retaliating just to 'entertain' you, so to speak.
Toodles!
CMG, signing out!
Disclaimer: I came up with an absolutely brilliant and seemingly fool-proof plan to secure my ownership of Yu-Gi-Oh. But, as you can no doubt gather from these words, this so-called perfect plan backfired royally...(stiffles a despondent sigh) No further comments on this matter...