Rating: PG-13 for now.
Category: Humour
Pairings: None, at the moment. Subject to change.
Summary: Malik falls into a tomb and gets more than he bargained for.
Spoilers: Up to the end of Battle City, possibly the new Doomie arc. And spoilers for some stuff in the AE arc, too.
Notes: Indiana Jones and Tomb Raider ate my brains. Story is from Malik's point of view.
"What're you doooing?" a tiny voice asked from somewhere near my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a little thing hovering there, with tiny beating wings.
I declined to answer and continued to make my way down the rough stone wall. I paused for a moment, searching with my left foot for some kind of miniature ledge to step down on. It wasn't really working, hence my pausing in my path for the last minute and a half.
"What'cha doooin'?" the little voice continued and this time, I could feel tiny hands taking hold of some of my hair and tugging it slightly. Annoyed, I blew in the direction of the tiny thing. There was an angry squeak and my hair was immediately freed.
The little thing zipped around to hover in front of my face. I almost had to cross my eyes to look at it.
"Whatcha doing? Why're you here? Why're you climbing down the wall?" inquired the miniature version of my other self.
I kid you not. The little thing in front of me was an exact duplicate of the darker half of my personality - ah, good old fashioned schitzophrenia - except distinctly smaller and with tiny little black wings growing out of his back. He could have easily fit into my hand. Where he came from? I have no idea. I came home after Battle City, relatively exhausted (I blame the plane ride), and just a bit emotionally unstable (I blame him for that). I had gone into my room and found this little thing zipping around there, much like a molecule high on sugar of some sort. I promptly made my head acquainted with my desk over this.
As for the existance of him? I'm the only one who knows. Isis would probably freak. And not in the good "must save Malik from eeeeeviiiillll" freak, the "Malik, you haven't cleaned your room in three weeks and things are beginning to grow in there and if you do not clean it this instant, I will throw everything out that is in it!" freak. Oh, believe me, my sister can be very scary at times.
"I am obviously climbing the wall," I replied to the small version of my other self. Some times, the only way to get him to shut up is to actually answer his questions. "Why? Because it is the only way into the place I am going to."
"And where're you going?" he inquired, as I managed to find a steady foothold (finally!) and continued to make my way down the side.
"Because I can," I muttered in reply, now finding it quite easy to contine my descent down the rock wall.
That resulted in a cackle. "So it's illleeeeegaaalll?"
I really hated the way he drew out words. I also really hated the way he managed to figure things out so quickly. I also really hated the way he understood my glaring silences. Anyone else just thought I was slightly off my onion.
"Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!"
Now he was doing some odd form of a jig in mid-air. I fought down the urge to grap him and smish him against the rock wall. I already knew it would do no good. I had squished him under my shoe once and he had popped up from the floor, as odd as ever. And of course, if I tried to smish him, he would bite my hand. And he bites hard.
"So, where we going?" he inquired, stopping his jig and trying to look angelically.
I glanced downward. One thing I've gotta say for myself, I've got good night vision. And, due to the good extent of said night vision, I could see a hole in the ground. Except it wasn't really a hole in the ground, more of a hole in a ceiling.
"In there," I replied, dropping in through the hole. I fell about seven feet before landing in a heap on the ground and stirring up quite a lot of dust that made me hack and cough. Grace, thy name is not Malik Ishtar.
"What's in here?" much to my annoyance, the fairy-sized version of my other self had managed just to zip in without any injuries.
"Stuff, little version of my other self," was my oh-so-imformative replied. I took the flashlight out of the pocket of my cargo pants - ah, faithful cargo pants with big pockets. You'll never leave me. I turned it on and shone it directly on the little floaty-guy.
He squealed and ducked out of the direct beam of light.
"I'm getting tired of calling you that," I muttered.
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Little version of my other self and things like that," I replied, shining the flashlight around. This room was rather bare. And seemingly without a door leading out of it. Great, just great. "I'm going to have to give you another name."
"I like my name!" was the indignant reply.
"And what's that?" I asked absent-mindedly, kneeling down to examine the floor.
"Malik," was the simple reply.
"Malik is my name," I glared. "You can be Nanashi."
"Why a Japanese name?" he asked, attaching himself to my hair.
"Because it means nameless," I replied, getting to my feet.
"Fine then." I could tell that he was pouting even without turning around. With a long-suffering sigh, I stepped forward.
Which turned out to be one of my not so brilliant moves, as I plummeted through the floor. I heard Nanashi give a squeak of alarm as he tightened his grip on my hair.