Disclaimer: These aren't my characters or my world. I just smashed them all together for fun, not profit.
This Happened: This story is set in Pre-War Last Airbender-verse, and it's a complete AU for the characters involved; so, no spoilers for anything in Avatar: The Last Airbender or Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters.
Author's Note: Thank you forbiddenseason for giving me the idea to write this. (It was quite a long time ago, but I still give thanks where they're due.)
This is my first real foray into multi-chapter fanfiction writing, especially such an odd genre? Haha, let me know what you think.

Note: This story may upgrade to M if things end up getting dark (knowing me they probably will).

Bakura had the curious tendency to forget that his actions had consequences. This oft-belated realization was offset only by his ability to pretend otherwise.

Jian was a pleasant enough place, he supposed. It was squeezed in between a river and a mountain, the latter cleaving the town nearly in half as it skirted the water's edge and wrapped around the rocky cliff side. On a map, the little port town was nestled cozily on a trade route from Ba Sing Se to the Northern Water Tribe, making it a hotbed for commerce, especially of the non-legal variety.

Bakura liked to think that he had lingered on Jian's shores of his own volition, and that the dirty, cramped rows of huts and their putrid-smelling inhabitants were merely contacts that he was using for information, rather than his indefinite neighbors. He liked to think that he wore a ratty tunic and kept his white hair dirty because he didn't want to draw attention, instead of the truth: his clothes had been stolen on his first day there, and he was too afraid to bathe in the river. Perhaps the saddest fact of them all was that, among the locals, Bakura fit in perfectly.

The only part of Jian that wasn't rundown and degenerate was the Guǎngchǎng, an enormous plaza dedicated to merchants and travelers, and his current destination. He attempted to make his way down the crowded street; however, Bakura, being small and attired poorly, was being tossed around the empty spaces between people. Growing tired of being jostled here and there, he finally escaped the rushing crowd, finding his ground in a narrow alleyway. Taking a deep breath, he rested his forehead on the wall, eyes closed. All part of the plan, he lied to himself.

The plaza was awash with people coming for some annual celebration. Bakura had heard it being talked about for two weeks, but had had little understanding of what the festivities entailed. Apparently, it involved the already cramped Jian being flooded with entertainers, artists, farmers, miners, herbalists, finery merchants, treasure hunters, and- Was that an armadillo fox? Bakura craned his neck, trying to get a good look at the large caravan trundling down the street filled with animals.

Under normal circumstances, Bakura might have found cause to enjoy himself. The scale of the festival was exciting; the entire city transforming in preparation for the event. He'd never witnessed anything of this calibre growing up in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se.

There was one tiny snag which dampened his enthusiasm to basically nothing: he had no money.

A stack of crates was piled beside him in the alley, and he tested the one closest to him for strength. They seemed stable enough to hold his weight; so, he carefully climbed up to a moderate height, clinging close to the wood as he peered over the heads in the crowd. There had to be someone... If luck could be on his side just this once, he might be able to finally get out of this sorry town.

Bakura blew a puff of air upward, upsetting the sweaty tufts of his white hair resting atop his eyebrows. Just one target, just one heist. It would be easy, he told himself. All he needed was to choose his victim, and the fool wouldn't know what hit them.

There— Bakura's eyes sharpened and focused on a boy, roughly his same age. A sunburned nose and a displeased grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth, the boy was thin and gangly, dressed head to toe in blue and white. Water Tribe, eh? Didn't usually see many of those around, since their kind tended to keep to themselves. He certainly appeared and acted foreign; where most Earth kingdom inhabitants were stocky, grounded, stubborn, this boy weaved through the bodies around him with careful precision. He was carrying a small crate filled with shining trinkets. Bakura surveyed him, trying to figure out where he was going.

"Hey! Get off!"

The shout to his right startled him, and he jerked, scrambling back off the crates. One of the merchants was glaring at him. "Shoo!"

Bakura sauntered deeper into the alley, his expression sour but his mind deep in thought. He only needed a little money to get passage elsewhere; if the Water Tribe boy was gullible, maybe he could snatch something and make off with it. Worth a shot, at least.

Still, he would have to find the boy all over again, and somehow survive the crowd. Then, it seemed that luck truly had graced him, since, as he exited the other end of the alley, he collided directly with the boy he'd been watching earlier.

The corner of the crate the boy was holding dug painfully into his clavicle as the boy literally shouldered him out of the way, pushing Bakura to the ground and continuing on as if nothing had occurred. Angry, he nearly shouted his displeasure, but held his tongue.

Dusting himself off, he stared at the boy's back, calculating. Then, without thinking, he followed after, his eyes trained on his target.

He hadn't gone far. Soon enough, the boy stopped at a stall where various pieces of jewelry could be seen on display, and began chatting with another man who was tending the shop. As Bakura crept closer, he caught portions of their conversation.

"... think this is the last one," the boy was saying. His voice was higher pitched and he possessed a strange accent Bakura was unfamiliar with.

The other man, a much larger, burly sort replied. "You didn't have to-" A loud bark of laughter sounded off to Bakura's left, and he inched ever closer to the duo, straining his ears. "... find another method, Marik."

"Don't worry about it," the boy, Marik presumably, said.

"Might I take my leave? This would be a good time to restock our provisions."

Marik waved the other man away. "I'm alright here; go."

The larger man offered Marik a little bow before walking off. From this closer vantage point, Bakura got a more proper look at the boy. Blonde hair coupled with a darker skin tone make him look exotic among the fair-skinned, dark-haired Earth Kingdom inhabitants. He was wearing a vest, fur-lined and embroidered to look like frost. Not quite fitting for the current warm season, the fabric was haphazardly rolled over his abdomen, bunched up as if it were going against its natural function. His legs were completely wrapped around with thick navy cloth, smatterings of dirt and mud marring the otherwise immaculate attire. Still, Marik was adorned with quite a lot of jewelry himself: armlets, bracelets, earrings, and a choker, all of a bright and polished silver, which made sense considering what he was selling.

When he felt it was safe to approach (namely, when the larger man was well out of sight), Bakura straightened from his crouched position, sauntering up to the stall. "Oh! Hello! I remember you!" he chirped to the boy, as if he had only just noticed his presence. "Sorry about that, back there; didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's fine," was Marik's curt response. He didn't even look up.

Bakura slid a smile onto his face, reaching out and pilfering small trinkets every time the other boy turned his back. "Could I make it up to you somehow? Do you need help with anything?"

Marik was setting out necklaces from the crate he'd been carrying, laying them carefully on the wood. "No."

"Are you sure? I won't be any trouble."

"I can manage on my own."

"It's quite hot out; I'd be happy to fetch you some wa-"

Marik slammed a bracelet down with such force that Bakura flinched. "What's your name?"

"Ryou," Bakura lied, stealing his brother's name effortlessly.

"Okay, Ryou," Marik echoed with mocking politeness, leaning casually against the side of his stall. "Get lost."

He couldn't help the puzzled frown that overtook his face. "Excuse me?"

"You look a little young to be hard of hearing."

"I- I am not!" Bakura spluttered, offended.

"Good," the other boy remarked with a smug little smirk. "Then you know what to do."

What was this kid's problem? He was really starting to get on Bakura's nerves. "Are all people from the Tribes this uncivilized?" was his snide retort.

Marik's gaze snapped to Bakura in an instant, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you just say to me?"

"I suppose you're having trouble with your ears too?" Bakura shot back.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, sharing mutual glares while the rest of the crowd boiled around them. Then, out of nowhere, Marik chuckled, amusement transforming his face from annoyance to dry mirth. Bakura looked on, still wary, but Marik was already on to the next thing, turning around to resume his work. "Seems you have a brain after all. But, you know... You've got to be the worst thief I've ever seen."

Bakura froze, his hand halfway to the tabletop, reaching for one of the rings. He snatched the limb back to his side, plastering a look of confusion on his face. "I don't know what you mean," he insisted with complete sincerity.

He wasn't sure exactly when Marik had moved, but suddenly he was on the other side of the stall, encroaching heavily on Bakura's space. He flinched back several paces, belatedly realizing Marik had a firm hold of his bag, which ripped open and spilled gold jewelry all over the dirt.

Damn. He was caught. "Those were already mine," he insisted, desperate. Marik's eyes narrowed.

"You carve my personal seal onto all your jewelry, I take it?" he commented, pointing out a small symbol on one of the rings. Bakura said nothing, staring defiantly at the boy. He was just a stupid Water Tribe rat; could probably take him in a fight.

However, the next words out of Marik's mouth surprised him, "If you want them so badly, take them. They're worthless anyway."

What? "What does that mean?"

"It's all fake gold," Marik told him. "So, like I said, worthless." The admission was delivered so breezily that Bakura wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly.

"They're fake?!"

"Would you keep it down? I'm trying to run a business here."

"Business?!"

"Yes," Marik said flatly. "Now go away. I've no use for urchins like you."

Bakura ground his teeth together, glaring at the boy in open dislike. This Marik kid was unbelievable, and altogether infuriating. "You destroyed my property," he complained, holding up his decimated satchel.

"You stole mine."

"Yeah, and it's all worthless, apparently. My bag wasn't!"

"Should have thought of that before, hm?" Marik returned, condescending. He stooped down to pluck the fallen jewelry up off the ground, clearly unconcerned with Bakura's outrage and content to ignore him.

It was then that he noticed it- a flash of reflected light around Marik's neck. A choker, exquisite in design, with a round plate of translucent stone hanging in the center. Lettering was meticulously carved on its surface, the stone held in place by thousands of tightly packed oval beads wrapped around the boy's throat. Sure, his wares may have been fake, but what he was wearing clearly wasn't.

With that shiny trinket in hand, Bakura would be on his way to having both money and payback. Sounded like an ideal plan to him.

Not giving himself much time to think about it, Bakura lowered his stance, grounding himself like he'd been taught. Quick as a whip, he slid his foot backwards, shifting the dirt beneath the other boy's feet to throw off his center of balance. Marik gave a startled grunt as he attempted to right himself, and Bakura took the opportunity to reach down, wrapping his fingers around the precious stone on the boy's neck. An almighty snap sounded, beads flying everywhere, but he didn't waste any time before making his escape. By the time the blonde had recovered, Bakura was several yards away, pushing through the throng of people.

Despite the speedy getaway, the other boy wasn't far behind. He could hear Marik shouting after him, drawing closer and closer every time. Bakura didn't look back, but kept running, confident he would eventually lose his pursuer. His heart was racing, and he was feeling positively euphoric with victory and malice.

Just as he was about to break through the crowd and lose Marik among the maze of huts outside the plaza, he felt his head jerk backward, straining his neck. Bakura tried to twist away, but, agile as he was, it made no difference when Marik had a firm grip on his hair. In the next instant, Bakura was slammed face-first into the ground. Dirt buckled beneath his cheekbone, and he growled, struggling to break free.
Immediately, Marik pressed down on him with his full weight. "Give it back!" was his fierce command. When Bakura stubbornly gave no reply, he snarled, "Now!"

Bakura's arm was pinned beneath the other boy's knee, but he held onto his prize with all his strength. No way was he going to comply with Marik's demands. Ever. The pressure on the back of his neck increased, causing Bakura to take in a gasp full of dirt. "Did you hear me, you pathetic little beggar?" The boy's voice clanged sharply in Bakura's ear. "Give. It. Back!"

"What's going on here?" a voice sounded up ahead, and the weight crushing Bakura was immediately lifted. He coughed in relief.

One of the watchmen from Jian's guard posts stood a short distance away, his expression stern. Bakura had had a few run-ins with him before, and he could tell he'd been recognized. Tense, Bakura was ready to spring up and away at a moment's notice.

However, it turned out that there was no need for an escape, since Marik waved a hand carelessly at the guard. "Only a misunderstanding," was his affable remark, his tone completely different from how he'd spoken only a moment before. "It was my mistake; sorry for the disturbance."

Before anyone could say anything more, he'd vanished back into the crowd. All Bakura could do was frown, perplexed by the situation. For someone who had just attacked him like that to get his property, he sure seemed unconcerned about it. Bit creepy, Bakura thought.

The watchman seemed just as flummoxed, his robe flapping as he turned a shrewd eye on Bakura. "Didn't I warn you to stay out of trouble?"

"You call this trouble?" was his careless rejoinder before he turned his back on the man. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he sauntered off, glaring at anyone who dared to give him a strange look. As he made his way deeper into the slums of Jian, Bakura kept a tight hold of the stone, and, along with it, he grasped onto a tiny sliver of hope.