Ataahua: Alrighty. So this one-shot is the first of what will hopefully be many. It's a silly, sarcastic and hopefully somewhat amusing shot and we totally recommend reading it for a bit of extra context on a future scene we'll likely be including in In A Name: Act I. Also, if you've somehow come across this fic and haven't read IAN: Act I, we modestly recommend that you check it out before reading its side fics, like this one. Anywho, hope everyone enjoys this shot!

Character/s: Marik Ishtar
Genre/s: Humour
Rating: T for sexual references and perhaps mildly offensive slang
POV/Tense: Third person/past tense
When in the IAN timeline: About two months before the start of IAN: Act I. Marik is fifteen, probably in North America for some Rare Huntery business.
Summary: Marik's boyish curiosities lead him to a very special section of the grocery store.

IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS
Shot #1: On A Mission

Marik strode through the supermarket with purpose, only one goal and one alone occupying his inquisitive mind. He passed the fruit and veggies, despite being an avid vegetarian with a weakness for bland, barely palatable monstrosities hardly worthy of being called soup.

He sauntered on by the frozen French fries sale, despite his penchant for foods that pack a punch to the taste buds whilst concurrently needing minimal effort to prep. He secretly sucked at cooking. Also, he loved potatoes.

He didn't even glance at the makeup stand, and not because the kohl caked over his eyes had blinded the pretty boy. (Seriously, didn't he know how damaging real kohl was for his eyes?)

Err… Anyway…

Marik was a man on a mission. And if there was one thing that got him in the zone, it was the superfluous desire to satisfy his boyish curiosities… in a mildly sexual way.

Suddenly, his steps slowed. Lavender eyes levitated to the hefty sign that hung from the ceiling by sturdy chains, satisfaction shimmering in their depths as they fell upon two particular words: Family Planning.

Fortunately, World's Biggest Asshole was planning no such thing.

Nonetheless, Marik moved forward. Steps that had just been suave and certain were now filled with dread, and the irksome inclination that he was a fool for yielding to such juvenile intrigue. As he slowly approached the towering shelf of condoms, an odd and unfamiliar feeling of ignorance filled his being.

For the first time in his teenage life, Marik didn't know what the frack to do.

What member muzzler should he purchase—

An elderly woman ambled around a nearby corner and down the aisle, compelling him to promptly reach for the hair gel one shelf along. A master of subtly, Marik was.

Yep. That lady totally thought he was eyeing up the spiffy looking hair gel he was holding in his ridiculously well-moisturised palms. Now he just needed to read the front, seem a little more convincing and all that.

Hmm.

Long-lasting formula. Doesn't dry out. Non-sticky, smooth feeling. Silicone-based formula. Latex compatib—

Shit.

He was eyeing up anal lube.

With a painfully awkward clear of his throat and an utterly mortified look, Marik shoved the stuff in the first empty spot he saw.

Okay. Now he'd never felt so ignorant in his life.

Hoping to wait out the old lady's presence, Blondie strived to ignore the disturbing fact she was now the one staring down cock socks as he detoured to an area of the aisle that was far more familiar to him.

Ten minutes later and he'd completely distracted himself by sniffing nearly every hand cream on offer. The vanilla scented stuff got a double-sniff. Strawberry stuff was lucky enough to earn a triple-sniff, though he was partial to that particular scent on women only. And only after plucking a vanilla scented cream off the shelf – and sandalwood so he seemed a little manlier at the counter – did the Egyptian realise the aisle was empty.

It had probably been empty for the last nine minutes.

Another clear of his throat later and Marik was once again wandering over to his real reason for being there, trying and failing to look remotely inconspicuous.

All right. Back to eyeing up the poppa stoppas.

What texture should he go for? And what about flavour?

Hm. There was chocolate, watermelon, vanilla and strawberry. Or the simplicity of a flavourless willy wrapper.

Marik glanced at one of the two unopened creams held firmly in his right hand, pressed between long piano fingers. The sweeter scented cream made the decision for him.

Vanilla, obviously. No, wait. He only planned on trying one out alone, fulfilling his silly curiosities and all that. Why go for the flavoured stuff?

Well… Marik supposed he'd need to use the rest of the box at some point but…

Hm.

Na. He'd go for flavourless.

So what brand should he buy?

Trojan or Glyde? Durex or Lifestyles? Pasante or Kimono?

What kind of name was Kimono? Sounded like a Japanese garment for one's dong. Though in thinking that, the word did mean 'thing to wear', so he supposed that made sense.

Anyway, he was getting side-tracked again.

Condom brands.

He'd heard of Trojan and Durex. They seemed like trustworthy brands, despite the counterintuitive name of the former. And they both did extra-large.

Perfect.

Marik glanced up and down the aisle, affirming that he was still alone. After tucking his hand creams under one arm, he timidly reached for an extra-large box from both brands. He scrutinised each one, the Durex a striking shade of sky blue with plain, white font and the Trojan simply black with gold, slightly more obtrusive font.

He quickly noticed a problem: the products were both around eight inches in length.

Mr Thinks Of Everything totally didn't check before he left, but the things were both about half an inch too short. As if his ego couldn't soar any higher.

Fortunately, though, Durex had his back. Marik could've sworn some generic choir music was playing in the background as his eyes laid upon an extra, extra-large box of condoms, the stock full and untouched near the top of the shelf. He bit back a proud smirk as he plonked the two smaller boxes back in their former resting places and grabbed the larger box for himself, his whole mood having had the old switcharoo at the satisfying size revelation.

Marik's inner perfectionist had always loathed dust, but when he noticed the top of the box was covered in the stuff, his ego must've swelled to double its size. (Hopefully it was the only thing doing so in that moment.)

Minutes later, Blondie suavely approached the counter. The cashier behind it, a redheaded girl about his age, flashed a bubbly grin his way.

"Hi there," she enthused, as he placed the box of love gloves and the two tubs of hand cream on the off-black conveyor belt, its rubbery surface somewhat smudged and scratched. He coolly withdrew his leather wallet from the shallow pocket of his deep blue denim jeans and glanced at her name badge.

"Afternoon, Amalia."

Her smile grew at his use of her name. And then she glanced at his purchases. Of course, he barely bit back a cocky smirk as her green eyes processed the pack of pecker ponchos, blinking twice. When her eyebrows soared... well, he finally couldn't resist a smirk spreading across his lips.

That's right, Amalia. Extra extra large. Fifteen and still growing, too.

Amalia reached for the box, flushing a fair few shades of red in the process. As she swiped it over the scanner and spared an uncomfortable glance his way, her cheeks finally went beet red. His barely stifled smirk was likely to blame.

As if to heighten his amusement, the redhead tried to play it cool. "So how're you today?"

"Perfect, thank you," Marik returned, fishing his card from his wallet. "And you?"

"Not too bad, thanks." She cleared her throat. "Uhh. Would you like a bag?"

The Marik equivalent of an 'if you've got it, flaunt it' immediately crossed his mind.

"No, that won't be necessary."

"All right," she said with a nod and another small smile, setting the box down on the pale grey counter to her left. Then she swiped his hand creams and her brows seemed to soar again.

That only had Marik's blond brows gathering in brief bewilderment; brief because it only took a moment for a terrifying realisation to slap him hard across the face.

Hand cream and condoms. Oh Ra. Did she think he was using the stuff as some kind of creepy lubricant for…

Immediately, Marik wished he'd accepted the plastic bag. Or worn his usual black cargo pants with the deep pockets.

But he couldn't ask now. She'd probably think he really did plan on using the creams for some sexual purpose. (Honestly, the jerk was just way too proud to go back on his answer. And in other news, water is wet.)

Amalia set the creams down alongside his box of stiffy stockings and rung up his order, perhaps with her head down a little more than it usually would be. Regardless, the blush upon her lightly tanned, freckle-flecked cheeks was still painfully obvious.

"Was that everything for today?"

"Yes," he answered bluntly.

Of course, the girl throwing Sir Jerk-A-Lot off his high horse, unintentionally or otherwise, had soured his mood. That didn't stop confusion from fleetingly crossing her face at his apparent bipolar-ness. With another sheepish clear of her throat, Amalia tapped a few buttons on the register and the credit card machine flashed to life on his right.

"Okay. That comes to fifty-two dollars and twenty nice cents, please."

Marik spared a glance at his purchases and grimaced, another mood switcharoo clearly evident. The look remained along with the implication of those damn creams as he paid for his things. He was soon sliding his wallet back in his pocket and refusing an incriminating receipt from Amalia. (Odion would either kill him or never let him live it down if he somehow saw it.)

With no thanks to offer, Marik gathered his purchases and grimaced harder still.

"I hope you have a great day," Amalia stated, likely realising after the fact that her words could totally be taken the wrong way given the... uhh... salami sleeves he'd just bought. At least, that was what he gathered when she resumed her enactment of a rosy red tomato, blushing now more than ever.

For once, Marik didn't relish the humiliation of another. He was too busy wrestling with his pride over some certain, infuriatingly embarrassing words of his own.

Amalia, seeming to notice his reluctance to leave, hesitantly broke the painful silence that had been hanging low over her station for at least five seconds.

"Uhh. Was there something else I could help out with?"

Marik's amethyst eyes slowly rose from his things to meet her gaze. He was sure he'd never felt more humiliated in his life. Not even when Odion had tried to give him The Talk a few months back, and even that had been absolutely painful.

"Actually," he said quietly, utterly loathing the way his cheeks burned, "is it too late to take you up on that bag?"

Ataahua: Hope you found this as amusing to read as it was to write. It was just something silly and short that we thought we'd share. If there's a particular scenario you'd like to see for a future one-shot please do let us know in a review or a private message; we'll definitely see what we can do. Suggestions or requests are welcomed for a mix of any characters featured in IAN and at any point in the IAN timeline: pre, during or post Battle City and IAN: Act I or its sequels. Anywho, please don't forget to review and follow on your way out and have a really lovely day or night ahead. :D