Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Gi Oh!. Some lucky bastard in Japan does.
A/N: Warning: This story makes no sense. Even I don't understand it, and I wrote it. At least, I hope I did, because if I didn't, then who did?
That said, I must now award a good deal of credit to one RavenWolfe of this website (and other places, I imagine), without whom no senseless plot bunnies would have been formed. And I do so love senseless plot bunnies.
Now I have to give you something of an explanation so that this isn't complete gibberish, at the very least, even if I can't make it sensible.
Seto means "turmoil." Or "chaos." Or something of that ilk.
Mokuba means "wooden horse."
Kaiba means "seahorse."
That means that "Seto Kaiba" means "turmoil seahorse," and, as RavenWolfe so adequately said, that sounds "like a rather interesting name for either a racehorse, a band, or a flavor of ice cream."
It also means that Mokuba Kaiba means "wooden horse seahorse," or, to simplify, "wooden seahorse." And, what with how many times he gets kidnapped, Capture the Flag gets invented all over again.
Am I making sense yet? No? Good. Please try not to break your brain while reading the following senseless fanfiction.
Turmoil Seahorse was having a perfectly normal day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, there had already been multiple attempts at corporate takeover on his company, and he had just received word that his little brother, Wooden Horse Seahorse, had been kidnapped.
Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Prior to the breathless employee bursting into his office to deliver this unfortunate bit of news, Turmoil had been staring at his computer screen, not because there was anything particularly interesting there, but because that was his job. You see, he was the head of one of the biggest companies in Japan, and he earned a lot of money by staring at his screen.
Now he turned to stare at something else – namely, the employee. He narrowed his eyes at the employee. Unlike when you or I narrow our eyes at something, he did not do this because he needed glasses and found the man difficult to see, but because he thought it made him look terribly intimidating.
The employee apparently thought so, too. He stiffened, sweating and feeling like he was going to faint.
"Are you certain?" Turmoil asked him.
"Y-y-y-y-es, s-s-s-ir!" the man stuttered.
Turmoil scowled, making him look even more intimidating then before. His employee wanted nothing more than to leave the room alive.
"Leave," Turmoil snapped.
The employee thanked his lucky stars, hastily bowed to his employer, and walked as fast as he could towards the exit.
"And send Roland in after you," Turmoil called to his back.
The employee bowed again, this time thanking his lucky stars that he had turned down the promotion for Roland's job when it had been offered to him.
Turmoil Seahorse watched him leave, sighed, glanced at his computer screen, and then turned to stare out the window. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Wooden Horse had been kidnapped again. It was a perfectly normal day.
He hated normal days.
Wooden Horse Seahorse was having a perfectly normal day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing – or at least they had been the last time he had checked. He couldn't be quite certain right now, as he was currently tied up in a windowless warehouse at what he could only assume was the Domino Wharf.
He sighed. It was such a bother, getting kidnapped so often. It grew extremely old after the first few times, and the kidnappers rarely had any kind of original plot. He was sick of being used as bait for his brother.
He wasn't particularly worried. Turmoil would save him – he always did. What was the point of older brothers if they didn't save you when you got kidnapped? He only wished that he might have a bit of ice cream, because his throat was very dry.
Suddenly, the door at the far end of the warehouse opened. This did three things:
One, it confirmed that, yes, the sun was still shining and the birds were still singing, making Wooden Horse wonder if their throats were as dry as his was.
Two, it sent a cool draft into the room. This draft smelled distinctly of salt, which confirmed that Wooden Horse had been right in his assumption that he was at the Wharf.
Three, it allowed a man to enter the room. Wooden Horse wasn't surprised by this, as someone had to have opened the door, and it would make sense that they would only do so if they wanted to enter through it.
The stranger shut the door behind him, turned on a light switch so that they could both see, and stomped towards where Wooden Horse lay tied on the floor. Presumably, this man was the kidnapper. He was doing his best to look intimidating, but he wasn't doing a very good job; he could do with taking some lessons from Turmoil.
"You," he snarled.
Wooden Horse, guessing (successfully) that since there was no one else in the room, 'you' had to mean him, cocked his head. "Yes?"
"Wooden Horse Seahorse."
"You can abbreviate it to Wooden Seahorse, if you'd like. Or just Wooden Horse. Wooden Horse Seahorse is awfully redundant, don't you think?"
The man fumbled for a moment, apparently not expecting such a cheerful reply from the boy he had just kidnapped, and then continued. "Wooden Seahorse, then. I'm going to kill you."
Charming fellow, wasn't he? "Really?"
"Unless your brother gives me his company."
"Just his company?" Wooden Horse widened his eyes innocently.
The man blinked, confusion spreading over his face. "What else is there?"
"Ice cream."
"Ice cream?"
"Yes, ice cream," Wooden Horse continued, wondering if the man was hard of hearing. "Turmoil Seahorse Ice Cream."
"What's that?"
"Ice cream, obviously. The best kind in the world."
Turmoil and Wooden Horse had spent a very long time working on Turmoil Seahorse Ice Cream. Actually, Turmoil had done all the work, which was why it was named after him. Wooden Horse was just the taste tester. After many hours of careful work (and tasting), they had finally invented the best kind of ice cream in the world: vanilla, with a perfect blend of chocolate and caramel swirls, just the right amount of nuts, and an assortment of tropical fruit mixed in. They had both agreed that this incorporated the correct levels of both sweet and tangy. Their taste buds had agreed, too. Turmoil Seahorse used this to his advantage; not only could he could get other big important businessmen to do anything he wanted while they were delighting over a bowl of ice cream, but it made a wonderful break in the monotony of staring at his computer screen all day. Wooden Horse just ate it, preferably with chocolate syrup.
"I've never heard of it," Wooden Horse's kidnapper now informed him.
Wooden Horse rolled his eyes. "That was blatantly obvious."
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Roland, the head of the Seahorse's security (in other words, the person in charge of making sure that the people in charge didn't get assassinated, as that was very bad for business) approached Turmoil's desk timidly. The underling who had told him to report to Mr. Seahorse's office had been scared out of his wits (if he had had any in the first place). This could only mean two things:
Either Mr. Seahorse had run out of ice cream, or Wooden Horse had been kidnapped.
Turmoil was still staring out of the window, wishing that the sun would stop shining quite so brightly and that the birds would stop singing quite so loudly, as it was hard to think with the sun in his eyes and bird songs in his ears. Upon hearing Roland's voice, he shifted in his chair so that he was facing the other man.
"Wooden Horse has been kidnapped again, Roland."
Roland felt a momentary rush of relief. At least it wasn't the ice cream.
"What do you plan to do, sir?"
"Plan #123,908,012."
"Oh, of course," Roland said, wishing that he could remember which one that was.
His confusion must have shown on his face. Turmoil's eyes narrowed (Intimidation is a highly useful skill). "I thought I told you to memorize the Plans, Roland."
"...You did, sir," Roland admitted. "And I did try," he continued, "but the book is so long... It's going to take me awhile to get through it." He banished the thought of the Book of Plans from his mind, as he was currently using it as a doorstop, which it was much better at then being a book.
Turmoil gave an aggravated sigh and explained what Plan #123,908,012 consisted of.
Feeling much better now that he knew what was going on, Roland nodded. "When do we begin, Mr. Seahorse?"
"When they call."
"...And when will that be, sir?"
Turmoil looked at his watch. "If prior experience is anything to go by... about sixteen seconds."
Roland blinked.
They waited.
The phone rang.
Roland looked at his watch. Exactly sixteen seconds had passed.
Turmoil Seahorse answered the phone. "Seahorse Corporation, this is President Turmoil speaking."
A cold chuckle answered him. "I have your brother, President Seahorse. If you ever want to see him alive again, you'll show up at the Domino Wharf by noon tomorrow to give me your company and five hundred gallons of Turmoil Seahorse ice cream."
The kidnapper was astounded to hear Turmoil break into immediate sobs. "No! Not Wooden Horse! How could you!" He said something else, but it was impossible to decipher what unless one spoke fluent sobbing-CEO-ese, which the kidnapper did not.
It was a most disturbing thing, hearing one of the most powerful men in Japan sobbing like a baby. The poor kidnapper wasn't quite certain how to handle it. "Yes, well... If you... erm... If you ever want to see him again... Just... show up. By noon tomorrow. With–"
"Yes, I know, at the Wharf with the company and five hundred gallons of ice cream," the CEO wailed. "Just don't hurt him!"
The kidnapper grunted and hung up.
A slow smirk spread across Turmoil Seahorse's face. "Did you get that, Roland?"
"Yes sir. How much time do we have?"
"Noon tomorrow."
"Very good, sir."
"How was my acting, Roland?"
"Most excellent, sir; they must think you've finally gone off the deep end."
"Oh, I did that a long time ago, Roland. No worries; I'm a Seahorse. We swim very well."
"...Yes sir," Roland agreed. "Shall I go get things ready, sir?"
"Yes, Roland."
"Very good, sir." Turning to leave, Roland was stopped by his employer's cold tone.
"And get me some ice cream."
Noon of tomorrow rolled around faster than Turmoil had thought it would. This was a good thing; the quicker Wooden Horse was returned to him, the better. He ignored that, logically speaking, Wooden Horse would have been returned to him at noon tomorrow whether the time rolled by quickly or not.
He currently stood at the Domino Wharf, as Wooden Horse's kidnapper had instructed him. He fingered the remote in his pocket, hoping that this would work. It was a waste of good ice cream if it didn't.
There they were. A big, bulky brute swaggered forward, dragging Wooden Horse by one elbow. Turmoil hoped that his brother wasn't being damaged at all by this.
"Hullo, Turmoil," Wooden Horse greeted him when they were close enough to speak without shouting.
"Wooden Horse," Turmoil nodded. "I trust you're not damaged at all?"
"Nothing a little ice cream wouldn't fix," Wooden Horse replied cheerily. The brothers traded a Look. They had both memorized the Book of Plans (this was before it was a doorstop), and Wooden Horse had been able to guess (successfully) which Plan his brother would decide to use.
The kidnapper cleared his throat, not liking that his victims seemed to be carrying on just find without him. "Did you bring the goods?" He gave Turmoil his best attempt at Intimidation; it failed brilliantly.
"Of course," Turmoil scoffed, doing a much better Intimidation. The kidnapper quailed.
"So. Er. Where are they?" asked the kidnapper, who, because everyone, even kidnappers, deserves a name, shall henceforth be known as George.
"In there." Turmoil pointed to an old warehouse about a hundred feet to his left.
"...In there?" George asked. Wooden Horse was now quite certain that he had a hearing disorder.
Turmoil looked incredulous. "Well, what did you expect? You don't think I can fit five hundred gallons of ice cream in my trench coat, do you?"
George wouldn't have been surprised if he could. Not only did Turmoil's trench coat look extremely cool, it could defy gravity. It didn't seem too much of a stretch to think that it could fit five hundred gallons of ice cream, did it? Taking one look at Turmoil's narrowed eyes, George decided not to mention this.
"Well, are you going to go get the ice cream or not?" Turmoil demanded.
"...What about the company?"
"You want that after the ice cream."
"I do?"
"Yes. That way it'll be that much sweeter."
This seemed to make sense. George shrugged and dragged Wooden Horse to the warehouse. Turmoil followed.
The door to the warehouse was already open. George began to drag Wooden Horse inside.
"Wait," Turmoil stopped him.
"Yes?" George asked him, confused.
"You don't want to take him in there."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll eat all your ice cream, of course," Wooden Horse said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oh." George nodded and released his prisoner, shoving him back out the door. "My ice cream."
"Of course it is," Turmoil said, untying the ropes that had bound Wooden Horses arms (the ones on his feet had been removed earlier in the day so that he wouldn't have to be carried) and helping him to his feet.
George took a few steps into the warehouse. "...I don't see any ice cream here," he said. He turned around to look at the Seahorse brothers.
Turmoil did his best to nod reassuringly (after using Intimidation for so long, it becomes hard to do much of anything else). "Don't worry; it's in there."
George, incredibly observant as he was, noticed that Turmoil now held a remote in his hand. "What's that for?"
"What, this? It... signals the band."
"Band?"
"Yes. So that you can have some music while you're enjoying your ice cream and my company."
"Oh..." George walked a few more paces into the warehouse, all the while searching for his ice cream.
Turmoil pressed the button on the remote.
Five hundred gallons of ice cream were released from a trapdoor in the ceiling straight onto George's head.
Wooden Horse smirked. "They never think to look up, do they, big brother?"
"No," Turmoil admitted.
A black limo drove onto the wharf, stopping just in front of them. Roland opened the driver's door and stepped out. "Ah. I see everything was successful, Mr. Seahorse. Master Wooden Horse, it's good to see you well."
"Hullo, Roland," Wooden Horse greeted.
Roland opened the door for them. Wooden Horse bounced happily inside, Turmoil following him.
The drive back to Seahorse Corporation Headquarters was reasonably uneventful, other than that Wooden Horse tried (unsuccessfully) to convince Turmoil to buy him a race horse.
When they had finally returned triumphantly to Turmoil's office, Wooden Horse flopped down on the plush couch. Turmoil started to sit down at his desk so that he could resume staring at his computer screen and earning lots of money. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and someone had tried to overthrow his company and kidnap his brother all in one. It was a perfectly normal day.
Except...
He turned to Roland, narrowing his eyes.
Roland gulped. Wooden Horse hadn't been kidnapped; he was right there on the couch. That could only mean...
"Roland, was that the last of the ice cream?"
"Er... Um... I, er... have to go and... study the Book of Plans." Roland hightailed it out of the office.
Turmoil sighed. They were out of ice cream. That had to be the first time that had happened since, well, since Turmoil Seahorse Ice Cream had been invented. Today wasn't so perfectly normal after all.
Turmoil smirked. He loved non-normal days.
A/N: No, I don't get it, either. Leave a review to tell me exactly how little sense it made. Or did it make sense to you? Good, you can explain it to me, then.
Free samples of Turmoil Seahorse Ice Cream to anyone who does.