She screamed bloody murder.
It had all happened so fast; a blur, the scream, falling… Where was she?
"You're a lucky girl, Mazaki," a voice, smooth as honey, purred in her ear. The pleasant baritone worked wonders over her shot nerves, soothed her erratic heartbeat. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something so utterly familiar about the sound, some blurred detail screaming in the back of her mind for attention… it hovered just over the tip of her tongue.
"T-thanks-s," she stammered. What was it?
He offered a hand, silhouetted against the noonday sun. Shielding her eyes with her left, she accepted his help with her right, struggling to place a name to that enthralling voice…
"Duke?! This is dance camp you hentai!!" she scolded good-naturedly.
He flashed her a dazzling smile, batting his eyelashes in mock effeminacy. "How else would I keep this fabulous body in shape? Swimsuit season is right around the corner! I'm actually here on a business services internship. Pays well, looks good for college, and I'd be swamped with girls with skimpy little tutu's so I figure…"
She punched his shoulder playfully. "You haven't changed at all, you perv."
He shrugged, grinning. "Seriously though, why the hell were you standing in the middle of the road? Ever since that whole Battle City freak show I've come to identified all of Yugi's little playmates as a few bricks short of the load, but still..."
It was unfortunate she had missed her true, blue friend's heartfelt greeting while she had her attention captivated by the dark tire marks scarring the cracked pavement where she had stood only heartbeats ago. The bus had screeched to a halt a ways off the road. Luckily, her dancer's reflexes had kicked in, throwing her back into the bushes. It chilled her to the bone, staring at what would have been, given a second longer, the site of her very last breath. An ominous omen, her talisman-bearing, black-cat-phobic grandmother would have declared, before fetching some incense to burn in a plea for the ancestors protection. Anzu never dared to ask dear grammy how she expected her distant relatives to be of any use from six feet under. Yet she did find herself morbidly wondering what it would be like to witness such a spectacle: to see yourself die, before your very eyes.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder, jerking her from her dark musings. "You're just one of those brats that needs to be the center of attention, aren't you?" Duke jibed warmly. Sending him a quizzical look, Anzu adjusted to the setting around her. The bus driver legs stuck out awkwardly from underneath the car, taking inventory of the damage. A few students whose nerves were still intact had gotten off the bus to stretch; the remaining pairs of eyes were locked on her.
Anzu turned quickly away to hunt for her scattered bags. If she hated anything, it was being forced into the limelight. The first lesson stage performance had taught her was that the audience thrived off of secrets. A rare few intellectuals actually assessed a performance for its artistic quality. Most simply were there to watch comedian forget his lines, or catch the magician's sleight of hand. That's why she had pitied Yugi, for example. The fans, the fame, the fortune, was worth nothing if it meant sacrificing her pride and privacy.
Being the playboy he was, Duke was well-attuned to the subtleties of the female psyche. He cut in smoothly, bags in tow.
"Let's get you on the bus shall we?" he asked, smirking. "It's just like you to mooch off of my popularity, goldigger."
She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the smile from blossoming across her face, and silently thanked his sense timing. That was twice he'd saved her now.
Hopefully, there would be no need for a third.
