Ehehehe. My first upload on ever. I'm a bit nervous.
Okay, first of all, to clear things up:
This is set in the future, where people live with everything made of ice. They refer to themselves as the 'Iceborne men'. They gain power from the coldness surrounding them. Everyone's deathly pale and have white hair except one kid (the main character)- Malik Ishtar. He's the only guy so far living with the Iceborne who's tan and has blonde hair. So naturally, he sticks out. The main pairing is thiefshipping, maybe the only pairing. This was a gift. Where Bakura comes in and all… hehe… that's for later.
So… enjoy? And if you can, leave a review about what you think. I'd love to know.
Signed with kisses-
Almond luver
The white school bus skidded to a jerky stop outside the Museum of History and flapped open its door, letting out twenty six students from the Soft Ice High school. Pale skinned students flooded out of the bus and boldly met the freezing air with casual short sleeves and khaki shorts. Twenty five identical raven haired teenagers marched into the museum- some of them ran to the entrance; some of them stuffed their hands in their pockets and slouched. They couldn't think of anything duller then standing around stuffy artifacts, learning about things they'd never understand. A few even tried to stay on the bus, just to show their unenthusiasm.
Last person to step into the icy wind, dressed in a huge Eskimo jacket, was Malik Ishtar. He, too, stuffed his hands in his pockets, but not because he was trying to look bored or cool. He gladly would have whipped off his jacket and rocketed to the museum, had the option been open to him. Trying to balance the large hood on his shoulders, Malik dragged his feet all the way to the building entrance, where Miss whatever her name was, Malik's teacher, was handing out stickers and counting heads.
She quickly shot Malik a look and held out worksheets for the rest of her groaning students. When she got to Malik, she lowered her voice and whispered. "Malik? You can take your jacket off now."
Said boy did as he was told, shaking off his wet hood and jacket to reveal golden strands of hair, and tan, dark skin. He looked up at his teacher, his purple eyes dancing with curiosity.
The teacher fidgeted with the jumble of wool the tan boy used as a scarf. "I don't think you should go upstairs… it's open, and it's really cold."
Malik's lilac eyes narrowed considerably. "I can manage, ma'am. I don't need special treatment."
'Ma'am' sighed, then fingered the goose bump covering arms questioningly, earning a sheepish grin from the tan boy. "…Okay, I won't."
The woman nodded. "That's what I like to hear."
Malik gravitated glumly downward. There was a narrow, zigzagging staircase at the rim of the atrium, and a warm base for the elderly and infirm. Malik followed it downward and stepped into the heat, his tense muscles relaxing.
Few visitors ever bothered to come to the bottom floor. Infact, the only person there was a tall man clad in black, who was pacing around the other side of the room.
From a previous trip to the museum with his family, Malik knew that this floor was about the earlier days of the 'Iceborne men.' It told of how humans from the hotter side of the earth began dying out, until the Iceborne were the only ones left.
But there was one specific exhibit that Malik sort of remembered from before, and was quickly awed by now. It was a book showing life before the horrible drying. The Egyptians.
The picture consisted of a small wooden shack, home to a family of four. The furniture looked soft and velvety, comfortable and warm, unlike the hard ice chairs of the Iceborne. A bright, shining object shot out sparkling rays of light onto the desert scenery outside. In the house, something that resembled soup was cooking on flames that fluttered above a heap of coal and licked around the base of the copper cauldron.
The family themselves seemed like they hardly paid attention to the camera, as they were buisy doing things Malik couldn't quite make out.
Egyptian family, killed soon after this photo was taken.
Malik felt pity for them, but more then that he felt a terrible, aching pang of empathy.
Because the Egyptians were tan.
That was what had fascinated him. Was why he gripped the book tightly in his hands, was why he stared blankly at the picture of the Egyptians, absorbed, transfixed. The picture of the Egyptians resembled the Iceborne in every way but two-
There hair was light
and they had dark skin.
They had arms, legs, heads, torsos- all tan. They looked abnormal and awkward. The looked, in a word, like Malik.
Lost in the contemplation of the picture, Malik forgot about the world around him. He became so oblivious to his surroundings that he didn't hear the other person on the floor, the black-clad man, standing right behind him. He didn't realize that the stranger was at his back, close enough to whisper in his ear, until the man did just that.
One word, softly spoken:
"Freak."
Malik almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to face the stranger.
The man was tall and slender but well-proportioned; handsome, if a little hawkish-looking. The dark, long coat he was wearing appeared tailor-made and expensive. His long, black hair was combed neatly, if not obsessively neatly. The most striking thing about him, however, was…
His crimson tinted eyes,
…shining like a pair of setting suns.
"What did you just say?" Malik demanded. His body was tingling over with shock. And with anger.
"You heard," the man replied coolly.
"Say it again."
"Very well. Freak."
The man smirked as he said this, revealing thin, sharp teeth.
"You've got a nerve," Malik said, jabbing a finger into the man's chest. "What gives you the right to go around calling someone else a freak? What gives you the right to criticize my appearance- Red eyes?"
"I'm merely stating something I see through these very useful eyes of mine, which is a small defect," the man's smirk widened, unflustered, "and what I see through them is a young man with a very large defect. Namely tan. I presume you were born that way."
"So what if I was?"
"You didn't burn yourself and dye your hair?"
"No, I did not," Malik growled. "But it's got nothing to do with you anyway, so why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone!"
The man smiled, briskly and without any traces of warmth.
"How interesting, then, that you should be standing here looking at a book about Egyptians. A boy with a tan also looking at people with a tan. Perhaps… perhaps you're wondering if you're related to them?..."
"We all are," Malik spat haughtily. "Most of the Iceborne use to live in the sun once. We evolved to suit our cold environment."
Crimson orbs twinkled with mirth. "Except you didn't. Does that make you a weaker defect? No, I'd rather not use that term. I think I prefer 'freak'. Much more straightforward and to the point."
That did it.
Malik was fed up. A few jibes and taunts- no problem. He was use to it. Could even throw back some witty comments. Kids his own age could be unthinkably cruel. Sometimes adults too. But this man was being deliberately malicious, his red eyes twinkling in amusement as the blonde teen stuttered, and Malik wouldn't have it.
He did something he knew he would regret but stubbornly did anyway. He balled his hands into little fists and took a swing at the stranger…
Red red eyes
…who avoided the punch as if he'd known Malik was about to hit him even before Malik did. A single, easy jump, drove him backwards and out of Malik's reach.
Malik blinked, then lunged at the man.
The man darted sideways with effortless ease.
Malik stumbled forward and recovered his balance just in time to catch a blow from the man's left arm. It wasn't especially hard- little more then a swat. Still, it had sufficient force to knock him to the floor. Stunned, he staggered to his feet. The side of his head numbed, but he ignore the pain, more determined then ever to inflict some kind of reprisal on the man.
He had been thrown near the old weaponry exhibit. His gaze fell an axe, but he knew it was just a flimsy confection of wood and paint. However, the short brass poles which held up the lengths of the velvet rope in front of the exhibit looked sturdy and useful. Malik snatched up the nearest one, twisting it at the same time so that it unhooked itself from the loops at the ends of the ropes it was attached to. Then he turned towards the man, brandishing the pole like a club.
"Oh really!" The man sneered, as if he couldn't believe his opponent would stoop to such a low tactic. "I thought this was going to be a fair fight."
"It is now," Malik said. "I'm not powered by the cold air like Iceborne, remember? This evens things up."
The man's crimson shaded eyes flicked from Malik's face to the pole and back. "I'm not powered by the air either," he whispered. Then: "You could break a bone with that."
"You could break more then a bone with your powers."
"I bet you wouldn't dare, though."
Malik grinned wryly. "Try me."
The man barked a laugh, wisps of cold hair surrounding him, as if getting read to attack. Malik tightened his grip on the pole.
"MALIK ISHTAR!" said a loud, shocked voice, echoing across the floor. "What in the name of all that's wet and cold are you up to?"
Miss whatever her name was flew across the open space to land near Malik and the man, plainly aghast.
"Defending myself," Malik said. "This bastard said horrible things about me. I didn't do anything to him. It was entirely unprovoked."
"Is this so?" Miss what's her name asked the man.
He dipped his head in a gesture of humility. For some reason, Malik thought the man would admit the truth and back up his version of events. How could he not?
But in the even, perhaps unsurprisingly, he didn't.
"Of course not, madam," he said. "What a ridiculous story! There I was, minding my own business, enjoying the many delights of the museum, and all of a sudden I find myself viciously set upon by this boy…"
"you- YOU FUCKING LIAR!" Malik burst out. "YOU started it. You know you did!"
"Malik!" snapped his teacher. "Language!"
The man shrugged at her, as if Malik's swearing simply proved his point. Malik was clearly an out of control teen thug with no manners and no respect for his elders.
"But this isn't right," Malik protested hotly. "What he said didn't happen. He's just trying to shift the blame. He-"
"He, Malik," said the teacher, cutting in. "Isn't the one waving a piece of museum property around in a threatening manner, which inclines me to put more store by his claims than by yours."
"But- but-"
"Put the pole down, Malik. Put it down now and apologize to the gentleman."
"No."
"Do as I tell you."
Reluctantly, Malik let go of the pole. "I won't apologize, though."
"Do you want a censure?"
"Don't care."
Miss whatever studied his expression and knew he meant it. The threat of a bad mark on his report card, along with a note to his parents, really didn't bother him.
She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, sir," she said to the man. "Malik can be one of our more difficult pupils. He has his unruly moments. If you wish, you may file a complaint with our principal, but I hope you will be good enough to over look this whole… episode."
The man deliberated, then nodded knowingly. "Consider it forgotten, madam. After all, I was a hot headed, impulsive lad myself once, believe it or not. I understand that some youngsters aren't always in control of their emotions."
"I'm most grateful to you. And so should you be, Malik."
"Ha," said Malik.
"As a matter of fact," the man added, "I'd ask you to be lenient with him. Don't punish him on my account. No harm's been done, after all."
"…If…if you're certain…"
"I insist on it."
"Very well," said the teacher, impressed and grateful. "All the same, Malik, I feel the only way to ensure you stay out of trouble is if you don't leave my sight for the rest of the day."
Malik wanted to protest some more. He didn't want to be cast the villain here. Fine if he had done something wrong, but he hadn't! Quite the opposite- he was completely innocent. It was all so unfair! And the man's patronizing forgiveness only made it worse.
But Miss whatever's stern expression brooked no further argument. She had made up her mind about the situation, and nothing was going to change it. With a further, final apology to the charming man, the teacher led him off, making for the staircase.
At the last moment, Malik turned and fixed the man a fierce, glowering glare.
In return, the man with the crimson eyes gave a sly wink.
To Malik, still fuming with the injustice of it all, the wink seemed like an insult but also, somehow, a promis.
It seemed to say: You and I haven't seen the last of each other.
Malik, though, firmly hoped they had.