Several hours later, a few blocks away from the bar, Ishizu Ishtar was busy at work. She and several of her colleagues had to do some dirty work today; they had been assisting the building crew with the new wing of the Domino Museum of Art and Artefacts. Her staff members (who were practically her brothers) Odion and Marik, who had been transplanted along with Ishizu from Cairo, had donned workmen's clothes and were helping the hired crew dig the foundations. Ishizu herself, ever the tireless worker, was deep in the trenches laying steel and concrete with the best of them. Shirtsleeves rolled up, knee deep in dirt, sweat soaking her back, Ishizu Ishtar was not one to let any detail go to chance. Especially with the Museum. The new Devlin wing, named for a kind grant from the sympathetic new mayor, could not afford to go over budget, especially now when so much municipal funding had to go towards repairing other, more "essential" city services such as the ruined elevated trains and subways.
Ishizu had fought long and hard to secure the funding for the replacement wing as well as for the new Domino City Arts Reformation Program, or D-CARP. She'd been nearly killed several months earlier in the accident and had met, debated, cajoled city council members with two black eyes, several broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and tubes in her until, thanks to Mayor Devlin, they agreed to appoint her Domino Arts Representative and fund a pilot year of D-CARP.
The idea behind D-CARP was to lure the clandestine duelists from wherever they were hiding and carrying out their dangerous games not only to help beautify the city, but to invest time and effort by volunteering in the Museum. In exchange for their approved participation, along with mandatory check-ins and counseling sessions (along with potentially turning in their fellow duelists), the participants could re-enter civilized society and receive a lighter sentence for their crimes against the city.
Good works are good for the soul. Art is best for the soul. Ishizu knew this to be true in her heart. Now the hard part was getting the new wing off the ground, not to mention D-CARP. Ishizu hadn't slept more than three hours a night since she'd been allowed to leave the hospital. The Museum had been closed since the accident. The construction was supposed to finish within the year. The new modern, glass-paneled wing would house the museum's collection of Egyptian, Greek, Etruscan and Roman antiquities, an area in which Ishizu specialized.
So, then, D-CARP was the target for the time being. Unfortunately, the program lacked a lure. The fish weren't nibbling.
Marik came up behind Ishizu and tapped on her shoulder. "Ishizu, you'd better take a break from the site today." Marik, along with Odion, had trained with Ishizu back in Cairo. The yellow-haired former was a genius with hieroglyphs, spoke and read and wrote in them like a mother tongue. The hulking, tattooed latter was, among other functions, the most meticulous conservator and preparator Ishizu had ever seen.
Ishizu turned sharply. "Marik, if I don't stay on the site…"
"… it won't be done properly. Yada yada. Ishizu, we know how to do this. I know how to do this. You don't need to micromanage every little detail…" A small smile quirked Marik's lips. He knew better than practically anyone. He could see the weariness behind Ishizu's coffee-colored skin and the bags beneath her eyes.
Ishizu knew as well. This was part of their routine: Marik playfully convincing Ishizu to take a break from the long hours, or at least take a catnap, Ishizu only half-jokingly relenting. "But if I don't micromanage, what am I going to do?"
"Why don't you take some flyers from your office and go around town advertising the D-CARP event?"
Ishizu sighed. "Do you really think that will help, Marik?" So far, newspaper editorials and televised press conferences, including one from her hospital bed, had accomplished nothing. Were flyers really supposed to make up that loss?
Marik placed a hand on her shoulder. Ishizu knew she should feel irked at her junior colleague, but couldn't help feeling a bit comforted. "Well, Ishizu, you're certainly not a lot of help around here—I mean, how are the workmen supposed to pay attention when you're, y'know, all bending over… and sweating and groaning…" Marik winked, knowing that the only way to get Ishizu to take a break was to piss her off a bit.
"Not cool, Marik." Ishizu rolled her eyes. Marik hastily bowed his head in apology.
"Okay, okay, I get it." She pushed down her shirtsleeves and hiked up out of the trench. Marik stuck his tongue out at her and made his way down to where Odion was handling some kind of power tools, placing a hand on the small of his back when he thought no one was looking.
Ishizu dug her keychain out of her pocket and made her way to the stately Main Building of the Domino Museum. The galleries with their impeccably labeled works of art were dim and empty, and Ishizu's heart sank a bit. Her footsteps echoed over the hardwood floors as she made her way to the elevator, stuck in one of her keys, typed her passcode, and waited for the lurching cart to take her to the administrative floor where her office was.
In the darkened elevator, Ishizu couldn't help but feel nauseated and short of breath. She felt like she'd made a misstep somewhere in accepting her role as Director of D-CARP. Soon, she'd make a mistake, if she hadn't already. She already felt like a failure—six weeks and not a peep from the underground duelist networks. Despite Mayor Devlin's and Officer Bakura's best efforts, nothing much seemed to be changing. The cynical side of her wondered if art, of all things, could even help these debased, irresponsible criminals. The optimist in her, though, countered that if nothing else worked, why not try art?
Ding. She quickly made her way through the offices, ignoring the lump in her throat as she thought of all her poor employees, obligated during this process to take a leave of absence. Of course, it was paid leave, but having no family of her own in the area, let alone the country, Ishizu missed the camaraderie of her staff. The long hours stretching to what seemed like days in the galleries preparing a show, making sure every last detail was perfect
Ishizu threw open the door to her office. The clock on the wall read 9:00 am. She located and clipped the flyers for the D-CARP event into a neat pile. The plan was to open the museum for one night on the next Saturday night, where, with free food and drink and entertainment, hopefully the duelists would emerge and begin to see the error of their ways, sign up for the program and rejoin society.
Even in her head it sounded stupid.