"There's a place they go to, you know. People used to call it Ariel in October."
"Ariel in October, eh? I'm pretty sure that used to be a club – it was open sometime in the late 80's, early 90's."
"Yeah, that's it. Well, anyway, they go to this club and—well, since they've boarded up the windows and shit—you can never see what they're doing."
"People give those guys too much credit. They're probably just getting high… though I wonder why they choose to hang out there? I mean, all three of them are pretty fucking rich, with their loaded daddies and whatnot."
"See, that's what I thought at first, too. But I don't know anymore, man. I think they're doing weird, fucked up shit in there. I've heard stories about them."
"Stories?"
"They've done bad things. Serious shit, man, deep shit."
"In that building?"
"In general. They're fucked up. Popular kids in school, but fucked as hell up anywhere else. They have all these people hanging around them in class and in the halls, but really, they just keep to themselves."
"They're just kids, like the rest of us."
"Just 'cause they're kids doesn't mean they're not capable of doing crazy things."
"Ariel, huh?"
"I'm telling you, don't hang around them. You can't trust them."
"You can't really trust anyone anymore."
Ariel in October
Written by Chelsey M.
WARNINGS/NOTES: rated M for yaoi/boy on boy slash, strong sexual themes (sadly, those cannot be posted here – they'll be up on AFF when they come into play), strong language, graphic violence, extreme drug abuse/usage, disturbing issues, some dark humor, AU (alternate universe).
PAIRINGS: Seto/Jou, Bakura/Ryou, (some) Malik/Ryou, eventual Yami/Yugi, (some) Malik/Jou, implied Honda/Shizuka, past Honda/Jou
DISCLAIMER: Muuuch to my dismay, I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of its characters. Though if I did, I'm pretty sure things in the series would've ended up quite differently. :D
SUMMARY: Dark and addictive, Caibre had always been one of the more dangerous cities in Japan. Jou's first mistake was assuming that Malik, Bakura, and Seto weren't as bad as thought to be. Jou's second mistake was trusting them. His third was turning a blind eye to those they killed and tortured. Now caught in the middle off a 3-person war, Jou must find a way to keep himself from being harmed by the people he thought he could trust, or even stop them from killing him.
PROLOGUE
The sun had set long before the dark shapes of three young men descended into the foreboding cemetery, rusted gates creaking quietly behind them. In a way, they were lucky to be out at such an hour where no one else would be around. The dark, night hours were what they preferred. No one would be able to see what they were doing, then. No one would be able to see the large, black plastic bag they had been dragging around for the past block and a half. No one would assume nasty, sinister things of them. No one would ever know what they had been doing that particular night, and that was just fine with them.
"This is really fucking dumb, Seto," Malik hissed, eyes narrowed on the tall figure in front of him. "Burying a goddamn body in the goddamn cemetery isn't exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking of something more along the lines of, you know, burning it or cutting it into little pieces, then burning it."
Seto said nothing.
Silence fell upon the group once more as they continued to make their trek across the graveyard. The air hung heavy above them, and Seto could have sworn he felt the omnious dark of night drip down his back and neck. He was nervous, for some reason, and nervousness was a foreign feeling to him. Malik had always been the jumpy one, and Bakura usually acted like he didn't give a fuck if they were caught or not. Something felt different tonight – off, maybe. Whatever difference there happened to be, it was certainly not settling his nerves. He couldn't help from constantly glancing over his shoulder or from opening and tightly closing his gloved hands. Seto figured Malik was taking note of his discomfort, as he was a little more on edge than usual. Bakura, however, was just Bakura. He walked calmly in step with Seto and did not speak unless he was spoken to, or unless he was threatening someone.
Several yards ahead, a patch of trees and decaying brush loomed above them, painting a nightmarish picture that made Seto's skin crawl. Yet, as if this went unnoticed, they only moved more rapidly, hurriedly pulling the body into the wooded area. The shadows of large oaks and maples enveloped them almost immediately, providing them with a reassurance of coverage and safety from the accusing light. The plastic from the body bag stuck to twigs and branches as they pulled it along the clearing's floor, and by the time they reached their destination, several parts of the bag had been ripped open to reveal marble skin, pale, hollow, streaked with angry blood. Ultimately, Seto figured a few tears weren't going to matter, considering both the body and the bag were within minutes of being implanted into the ground.
Malik ran his thumb over the side of his flashlight, pushing the switch up and watching as a ray of light from the bulb cut through the darkness like the sharpest of knives. They had come to a stop near a large willow tree, where a deep hole had been dug in preparation for this certain event. The body was dropped next to the pit, before Bakura and Malik took their place next to Seto. Once more, no words were spoken. They stood there, as if waiting for something, and all eyes were drawn to the bag. And the body in the bag, the man in the man. The man that couldn't have been any older than 18 – the boy in the bag. Malik really hadn't meant to kill the boy, in all honesty. The situation had just gotten out of hand, beyond his control and repair. The situation was just another of the many Seto, Bakura, and Malik could not handle. The situation was just another of many were someone, unfortunately, had to end up dead. No remorse or guilt was present on the faces of Bakura and Seto – after all, the boy in the bad hadn't been of any great value. The boy had no home to return to; it wasn't like he had parents that cared or parents that were alive. No one would notice, no one would ever assume anything. And if someone did notice… well, Seto could always take care of them. Just like he always did.
"I suppose we should say something now," Bakura said, face blank and voice hard. "We are the ones that killed him, after all."
"Malik killed him," Seto corrected sharply.
In response, Malik only let a snicker pass from his lips as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets and rolled back on his heels.
Bakura, ignoring Malik's quiet laughter, knelt to the ground and firmly placed his hands on the body. With a small heave, he shoved the body into the pit and only stood when he heard it drop to the ground with a barely audible "thud." Bakura brushed the brown dirt from the knees of his pants and glanced to Seto as if waiting for directions. A shovel had been shoved roughly into the ground next to the pit, and Seto grabbed the handle to pull it out. Then, still not speaking, he pushed it into Malik's arms and pulled Bakura from the hole.
"Since you killed him, you can bury him," Seto said coldly, turning his back to him slightly. "When you're finished, come back to Ariel. We'll be waiting for you there."
Malik opened his mouth as if to speak, obviously unhappy with the job he'd been given, but he paused when he saw Bakura and Seto picking their way out of the cemetery. Growling beneath his breath, he turned back to the pit and glared down at it as if it would certainly be the death of him. Why should he have to bury the boy, anyway? He hadn't killed him intentionally, after all. The knife had slipped in his hands, and before he knew it, the boy was lying face down in the gutter. He hadn't meant to kill him, so that meant it was all an accident, didn't it? Just an accident that had turned a little violent over a bag of heroin that cost way more than it should've. Anyway, the boy had been the one to throw the first punch. Malik was merely defending himself, though that turned out to be an exceptionally easy task. Pinning the boy to the wall wasn't hard – he was practically emaciated.
"You should've just given me the heroin," Malik grumbled down at the hole, tossing a shovel-full of dirt into it. "You wouldn't be here right now if you did. We both wouldn't."
The boy in the pit said nothing back. Malik wasn't expecting him to.
"I just want to go home and sleep. Is that too much to fucking ask?"
Digging the shovel into the large pile of dirt, he flung it back into the pit again and again.
"But you had to go ahead and fucking die, you pussy."
Malik, after several minutes of swearing and dirt-tossing, managed to fill the hole completely. He patted the upraised ground with the back of his shovel, before throwing it aside and clapping the soft brown earth from his hands. A large rock rested against a pine tree a couple feet from him, and Malik (with some effort) carefully pulled the rock over the fresh grave. The rock proved to be a satisfactory distraction from the ground, and while it didn't cover the grave completely, Malik figured that no one would really notice. Besides, the cemetery was ages old, not even used anymore.
Still, it probably wasn't the smartest idea to bury a body in such a telltale place. But he couldn't really do anything about that now. The body was buried, and now all he had to do was get the shovel back to Ariel without appearing all that suspicious.
That shouldn't be that hard, either, Malik thought smugly. After all, he had done this before.
He had killed someone before.
Picking the shovel up and flinging it across his shoulder, Malik turned and left the cemetery. Thousands of miles above him, the moon was quietly making its way down the star-speckled sky to hide beneath the hills when the bright sun decided to make its appearance. And inside the houses and crumbling buildings of Caibre, no one noticed as the man with blood on his hands made his way across town. No one noticed as the man with a shovel and hair clumped with dirt made his way past street lamp after street lamp after street lamp. No one noticed as the man they'd label a murderer walked inside a sagging stone building with the words "ARIEL IN OCTOBER" spraypainted in huge block letters across the door.
No one noticed, and that was just fine with him.
End.
End notes: This was revised on April 23rd, 2006. The first chapter is no longer posted because that's in the process of being revised, as well. Anyway, this is merely the prologue. Many angsty, crazy chapters lay ahead Reviews, as always, are extremely appreciated. So if you can spare the time, drop me one! Thanks.