Author's Note

Writing this one was endlessly frustrating, and what I thought could be formulated in one chapter is not being split into two! Perhaps this will last longer than five or six chapters :O

By the way, I would love a review or two! Just to get a feel of what people think ^_^

Content Warning: Alcohol use, nasty gross alcohol to be specific

Excursion

Pt. IV

Pale chartreuse liquid whirled around a toothpick as Ishizu stirred her poison of choice, an extra dirty vodka martini. She had bit off two of the olives thus far and consumed very little of the actual drink. If she had known the concoction would have tasted that ferociously vile, she would have just gone with another brandy sour, but she just had to show off didn't she? She just had to prove her alcoholic grit by buying something that was such a heinous mix of bitterness and salt and tang that it was making her tongue numb and the back of her mouth feel like it was on fire.

Her face was the picture of decorum, however. She stared down the person sitting across from her with eyes as cool as an oasis. They sat together in the shrouded atmosphere of the lounge's most secluded room, surrounded by dark walls bearing framed mosaic art, on which the shadows danced along in the flickering candlelight. The grandfather clock ticking away behind her was a grating metronome to her uneven breathing.

Much to her chagrin, the man looked rather entertained.

"Do you like that, Ishizu?" he asked, motioning to her martini with a tilt of the beer in his hand.

She nodded. "I love olives."

"Really?" he said, continuing to give her that excruciating smirk, "I can't stand them myself."

"Hmm." Ishizu really did love olives. She just didn't like their brine blended with copious amounts of vodka and vermouth.

He took a long, accented swig and remarked, "That's a lovely harem bracelet, by the way."

"What?" she asked, sounding more bewildered than she probably wanted to at the compliment. Glancing down at her hand, she saw the skinny gold chain trailing down from a gilded band around her middle finger. The chain led into a diamond-encrusted turquoise gem, followed by a series of smaller diamonds, and then separated into two other chains connected to a cuff around her wrist. One of her most treasured possessions, she had forgotten that the item of jewelry had been the last thing she put on before she left her hotel room that night.

Looking back up and giving him a hard glare, Ishizu stated, "I would appreciate it if you didn't call it that."

"That's what they're called, aren't they?" he shrugged innocently.

She ignored his question. "It's an ugly name."

"Oh, don't be so sensitive," he said, "besides, you know the west is fascinated by the harem. You're probably an enticing sight to most of the tourists on this island."

"That's an absolutely disgusting thing to say," Ishizu said, venom infused in her voice. She was now regarding him rather dangerously, daring him to make another ignorant comment.

He held his hands up in apology. "Sorry, sorry. I wasn't saying that it was a good thing. I know all about the dastardly history of orientalism too, you know. Seen all those ridiculous 19th century paintings and such."

"Oh, do you now?" she said, clinking her nails against her glass.

"Yeah," the challenge becoming more apparent in his tone, "in fact, I possess much knowledge that predates your silly little existence by a few thousand years, so I wouldn't be sitting there looking so high and mighty."

Ishizu hmph-ed and took an angry sip of her martini, which she instantly regretted. She tried her best to mask her discomfort, though her eyes watered slightly.

"Anyway, that little gold scrap has a colloquial term that is probably mainly circulated by trendy first world teenage girls, and was mostly likely made by some huge mall fashion chain that employs a hefty amount of slave labor," he glossed on as if it was elementary, "so don't let the compliment go to your head."

He reclined languorously in against the sofa. If she was less proper, she would have thrown her drink on him. And it probably would have stung, considering how much salt and vodka it contained. However, Ishizu only bristled further in her seat. "I'll have you know that this was a gift from my brothers."

"That does look tacky enough for Marik to wear, doesn't it?"

"Are you quite finished?"

He only took another draught of his beer. "Perhaps for now, my dear."

"I hope you know I only let you drag me back here to avoid being harassed by anymore hulking sacks of testosterone out there," she sniffed, tilting her nose up at him, "I was actually just about to leave before you walked over. Consider this a privilege."

"Of course, your highness," he said sarcastically, "Although I find it quite interesting that you'd let yourself by pulled away by a demonic spirit who has clashed with your precious pharaoh so many times—and will most likely do so again in the future—just to escape a few morons who want to get your phone number."

"Some of them wanted to do a lot more than get my phone number," Ishizu said looking down at her glass, watching the tinted, swirling liquid glimmer in the subdued glow of the lanterns hanging above their heads. "And maybe I'm just spending time with you now to make sure you don't go harass some other poor soul on vacation who isn't wise to your true nature."

"My true nature?" he said, chuckling. "And what would you know about that?"

The man waited for her answer while she played with the ends of her hair absentmindedly. "I'm sure you'd like to tell me."

"Maybe if you're lucky," he said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. "but I'd rather talk about you, starting with one question..."

Ishizu's hand had gone from her hair to the hem of her dress, repeatedly scrunching up the silky material and smoothing it over again, fiddling apprehensively under the man's eyes as her own focused on the triangular lines of his jaw as it moved. He was all harsh corners and edges, and when she caught sight of his teeth she could swear he had too many. They glistened in his mouth like tiny serrated jewels, making him appear more monstrous.

"What," he said, with that arresting concentration that could render one breathless, "do you typically…like to eat for breakfast?"

She had been so preoccupied with watching his facial movements that it took a few moments for his question to fully register. "Pardon?" she deadpanned after about five seconds.

"When you wake up in the morning," he elaborated, amused by Ishizu's blank expression, "what is your favorite meal to have?"

She arched an eyebrow and pondered the question. "Well," she spoke calmly, "I typically have a bowl of cooked fava beans with pickled vegetables and bread on the side. Perhaps a boiled egg too. But I wouldn't say it's my favorite." Although, as Ishizu imagined the simple dish, or fūl as it was called in Egypt, she felt like she could devour more than a few helpings on the spot. She had tired of Spanish food during her stay in Madrid; or rather, she had unfortunately grown to associate it with cold, tense silences and dining partners that could not eat without their laptop sitting next to them on the table. It all made her stomach turn in disgust.

"Ah, simple and healthy," he said, nodding.

"What about you?" Ishizu asked. "What is your breakfast food of choice?"

"Whatever slop this one's mother cooks, I suppose," he motioned to himself, and she knew he was referring to his poor possessed soul, Ryou. "though, like you, none of the things she cooks is anything close to being a favorite of mine."

"Then what do you like to eat?"

"For breakfast? Well…" he tapped his chin exaggeratedly in consideration. "I like a good omelet. With feta and tomatoes."

Ishizu chortled at his answer, hiding her mouth behind her hand. The image of him leering over a sizzling pan on a stovetop, mixing together eggs and cheese and vegetables on a bright weekday morning, was not something she could envision in a non-humorous context. She imagined, and she knew it was awful of her, that Ryou would wear periwinkle pajamas. Perhaps with feet as well. Ishizu imagined the spirit's voice in her head: "Whatever little Ryou wears, I wear!"

"Think that's funny, do you?" he asked with a frown.

"Quite," she answered, giving him a tart smile, "anyhow, I happen to make a fantastic omelet."

"Is that right?"

"It is," Ishizu bragged, and when she continued there was a tinge of nostalgia in her voice, "feta omelets were Marik's favorite when he was young, and they still are."

"Oh, I know," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her, "that's why they're mine, too."

Her smile immediately morphed into a very sour look. He appeared pleased.

"And just what is your relationship with my brother?" she probed, crossing her arms.

"Now, now," he replied, swaying his hair to the side, "let's not get into all that. But I'll say it's less of an 'is' and more of a 'was.'"

"Wonderful." The scorn in her voice was palpable. Ishizu didn't know the extent of his and her brother's dynamic but the thought of it made part of her fiercely protective and part of her absolutely revolted. And maybe there was a third, small but acutely irksome part of her that was made uneasy by their history in terms of the current situation.

"Good thing for you."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Maybe you could make me an omelet sometime," he said, finishing off his beer. "I'd like to compare your cooking."

Ishizu's cheeks grew warm as he gazed at her, completely shameless and goading. His brown eyes were dark and penetrative, trying to stare a searing hole through her pride.

"You're repulsive," she said. "You don't deserve to eat anything except actual slop. Like a pig."

"Don't worry, I know the taste very well. Was brought up on it, actually." he said, shirking her comment like it was nothing, "I wasn't feasting on waterfowl and barley wine like some people."

"I don't eat meat," Ishizu snapped at him, "and my brother and I certainly weren't brought up so lavishly. You should watch what you say to me, demon."

"Maybe not in this lifetime," he said, ignoring her warning. Her jaw tightened, and inwardly she cursed his facetiousness and her own short fuse. She knew that she was only making herself seem that much more easy to ruffle.

"What is it that you know about me that I do not?" Ishizu grilled him. "Tell me, Bakura."

Ishizu could tell that she had roused something new him as soon as she had uttered those last words. He bore those shark teeth at her garishly when he grinned that terrible grin of his, one that sent a horrid itching spell all over her body, making her feel like she was being dusted with hot sand. Her flesh tingled more with each passing, increasingly unsettling, second.

"My name sounds so enchanting on your lips," he said. "I'll have to indulge you just for saying it."

She glared at him expectantly.

"Gracious I-set…" he drawled, "friend of sinners and slaves, sympathetic to the downtrodden...yet still the crown diamond of the pharaoh's tyranny—shining symbol of his throne. Tell me, do you think you can spare some compassion for a sinner as heinous as me? Do you think the pharaoh would allow it?"

"Enough of your intoxicating babbling," she snarled at him, no longer able to control her anger. "if you do not tell me what you know, then I am going to leave." Ishizu stood up from her seat to prove it, shoulders square and chest raised outward, poised and stately.

"Simmer down, little goddess," Bakura said, beckoning to her. "I'll tell you everything you want to hear, if you just come sit down next to me on this sofa." He patted the space near his leg. His patronizing tone was maddening, but Ishizu remained quiet, trying to carefully think over her next words.

"Come sit next to me," was his beguiling offer, "and I'll regale you with tales of delicious excess and deception and the spoils of empire. I know that's the world you really want to live in."

A sharp intake of breath from her end. "Why do you keep implying these strange things about me?"

"You're a deity of perpetual grace," he explained smoothly, "and I'm a demon of hedonism. But there's not enough treasure in the world to sate me. I'll only be satisfied after I can immerse you in all my plunder and decadence...and watch you get high on being in the presence of someone in a league far above those pitiful men you surround yourself with. To hell with your pharaoh and his meatheaded servants. They're just a lowly court of fools, every last one of them, except you. You...you are something else entirely.

You'll only realize it once you go up against a real force of nature."

Ishizu bit her lip, eyes fixed on his and trying to make sense of this deep feeling of yearning bubbling up in her gut. Bakura waited patiently for her answer, enjoying the way she appeared before him, like a fine ivory figurine teetering on the edge of its shelf. He had carved out her anxiety, her doubt, her need for him to breathe into her something more transcendental than her mortal existence would permit. He would make sure that when Ishizu finally shattered into him, that he, a demented Pygmalion, would gather each shard as an adored trophy.