It's fast-forward time, folks. Time to speed up the clock and see how things go once Sethos settles into his role in the newly expanded Kaiba family. I think he fits in rather nicely.
And by the way, for those of you who might like a more traditional look at the Kaibas' lives, you might want to take a look at my newest work, "Paved with Good Intentions."
And so, moving right along, here you go.
XIX:
Insert Title Here
Unfortunately for our poor, poor Seto, it turns out that Sethos wasn't a hallucination. You can understand why that would be somewhat traumatizing to him, can't you? I bet you can.
It's not exactly fun to find out one of your most firm-rooted beliefs...that is, dead people do not come back to life after touching golden trinkets...just might not be as firm as you thought it was.
So, Seto spent several weeks getting used to the idea of living with one of his ancestors. Coming to grips with the fact that he wasn't going away, and that that didn't mean that he was losing his mind.
Sort of.
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure about his mind. It may have been misplaced. Maybe Seto should put an ad online or something looking for it. "Missing: One Brain. Loyal, territorial, answers to 'Hector.' Reward offered."
Er...moving on.
But seriously, could you imagine the kind of reward a billionaire like Seto would offer?
You know...if he ever did offer one?
Ahem. Right. Anyway.
Sethos, for the most part, settled right into life at the Kaiba Mansion. Things went smoothly for him, barring an incident with the toaster and four tablespoons of whipped cream that...probably shouldn't be examined any further than that.
For a long time during those weeks, Seto wasn't exactly the most hospitable host, you understand. He's not exactly the type to be, anyway, and throw in the fact that his houseguest just happens to be old enough to be his...uh...ancestor...
Well, yeah, suffice it to say, things weren't fun for Seto.
Eventually, though, upon realizing that it was rather nice to have someone else in the house that could be counted on to look after Mokuba without feeding him enough sugar to level a small country, he grudgingly accepted that the spirit of the Millennium Rod wasn't such a horrible addition to the family, after all.
Not that he ever said anything to that effect.
Noa found the spirit quite entertaining, as well. Strangely enough, this was not in a mean way. He legitimately enjoyed explaining any number of things about the current era that Sethos might ask about. And there were plenty of things Sethos didn't understand.
Although, that didn't stop Noa from playing pranks on him every so often.
One of them went so awry that it is no longer permitted to say the words "washing machine" in the immediate company of Sethos Yameth, by penalty of...well, never mind. No use giving people nightmares.
This rule does not apply to Mokuba, however. 'Cuz...well, he's cute. And that's a potent weapon against just about everybody.
To close, we rejoin our intrepid (how many have used that term in this context, I wonder?) heroes roughly a month-and-a-half (that's six weeks, for those playing the home game) after Sethos's untimely resurrection, when said untimely resurrector (Resurrectee? Resurrectite?) decided it was just about time for Seto to start cracking on that whole pharaoh-god thing.
So, let's break through the fourth wall and watch. If we're lucky, we might get to see another mental breakdown.
And, as we all know, mental breakdowns are fantastic.
XX:
Yon Trespasser, Strike Thee Down
Usually, Mokuba was able to spot his brother's limousine – and Travis Copeland, their usual driver – immediately upon leaving school.
It wasn't all that hard to spot, after all.
This day, however, he didn't.
Frowning, he scanned the parking lot, wondering why in the world Travis would be late; and, more to the point, why Seto or Noa wouldn't have shown up in his place if he had other matters to attend to.
The Kaibas had learned long ago that to let Mokuba walk home was a recipe for disaster. He was accosted by far too many people, whether it be admirers or reporters or potential stalkers.
The curse of being a celebrity, he supposed.
He just felt lucky that he wasn't as widely famous as his brother. Mokuba had a bit of a cult following, mostly comprised of girls spanning from around his age to early twenties (and some men around that range, which was more than a little creepy), who thought he was just adorable.
Seto, on the other hand, was a superstar.
Not only was he a twenty-one-year-old billionaire, which was cause enough for scores of people to flock to him, but he was good-looking, charismatic when he wanted to be, and had such a widespread fan-base in the gaming community that he was some species of geek deity.
Sure, he'd lost some of his fire to Yugi, but people still loved the bad guy. So even though he usually lost his games to the vertically-challenged teen prodigy, he made enough of a show out of it that it really made no difference to the audience.
So, suffice it to say, he was nothing compared to Seto, but still mattered enough to be targeted by any number of psychotic people.
"Oi! Rich boy!"
...Point in case.
He didn't recognize the boy who had called him out, nor any of the other three with him, but that generally didn't mean anything.
Mokuba stopped walking and stood still, looking the boy in the eye like Seto had taught him. Bullies didn't want to deal with confrontation; they wanted submission.
They expected submission.
"My name is Mokuba," he said, hands flat at his sides. "Not 'rich boy.'"
"Tch. The fuck ever, rich boy," the unnamed nimrod said with a snort. "We gotta...talk t' you 'bout somethin'."
"Practicing your English?" Mokuba asked, employing the same tactic his brother always did when dealing with people like this: make them mad enough to make stupid mistakes. "It's okay. You'll get it eventually. Don't give up."
"...The hell you say?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mokuba said smoothly, "I didn't realize your hearing was affected, too. It must be hard, living with brain damage that severe."
The three lackeys seemed at least slightly amused by that, and one even cracked a grin. The head nimrod, though, wasn't amused in the slightest.
"You're gonna wanna shut up pretty quick, here, rich boy!"
"Oh, you poor thing. Delusions, too! How horrible!"
The nimrod started forward.
"I wouldn't touch me if I were you," Mokuba said.
"The hell I won't, you little prick!"
Mokuba smiled.
"Okay, but if you touch me, you'll be struck by lightning."
XXI:
Shock Therapy
Mokuba was beginning to learn martial arts, to the point where he thought he would be able to handle someone like this. The guy was big, but obviously stupid, and probably figured he'd have an easy time.
He did regret using something as inhumanly lame as "struck by lightning" to describe his lackluster skills in hand-to-hand combat, but it was too late now.
As soon as the thug grabbed the collar of Mokuba's shirt, however...
A bolt of white-hot lightning shot from somewhere behind Mokuba and struck the boy's hand, sending him flying backward. Landing flat on his back, the boy screeched in pain as he nursed the smoking, charred flesh that had once been his palm.
Mokuba whirled around.
Sethos, his black suit impeccably pressed and ironed as usual, was walking forward. He was watching the four thugs with a mildly curious expression.
"I do believe he warned you," Sethos said idly. "Perhaps you would do well to pay attention to that. For future reference, you understand."
"W-Who the...hell are...y-you?" the injured boy asked through clenched teeth.
"I would suggest you get that looked at, if you want to keep that hand. And it may be a good idea to leave Master Mokuba alone from here on out."
Sethos's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Am I understood...?"
The three uninjured thugs quickly nodded, seeing the threat behind the spirit's gaze for what it was: a death sentence.
"Y-Y-Yassir!" one stumbled out as he turned to walk – run – away. The others quickly followed, with the injured leader running the fastest.
Sethos's dangerous countenance lifted, and he offered Mokuba a smile and a wink.
"Seth!"
"I couldn't very well leave such a dramatic threat unproven, could I?" the spirit asked, smile widening. "Come. I'm to take you home."
Mokuba smiled.
"Okay."
Sethos had yet to master the fine art of driving, although considering that he had only watched Seto drive two or three times in the past weeks, it was nothing short of amazing that he had picked up on it as quickly as he had.
Still, he did not trust himself to take a car to pick up Mokuba, so he had walked.
"Your driver had a family emergency to attend to," Sethos explained when Mokuba asked. "And your brothers are at a meeting. I apologize for my tardiness, little one. I took a wrong turn."
Mokuba couldn't remember if Sethos had ever even learned where his school was, but didn't bother asking. Sethos, like Seto, just did things that amazed people. There was no use asking how.
"Your city is incomparably loud," Sethos muttered, the same comment he made every time he ventured out into public, and Mokuba chuckled.
"You get used to it," he said.
"Indeed."
He sounded entirely unconvinced.
As they waited at a crosswalk near a doughnut shop, Sethos stopped and raised a curious eyebrow at it.
"What is that?" he asked. "It smells heavenly."
"Uh...doughnuts?" Mokuba said uncertainly. "Niisama hates them."
"Is that so? And you, little one?"
"Well, Niisama hardly ever lets me eat them, but...I think he's crazy."
The spirit seemed intrigued.
When the light signified that they could walk, he reached into a pocket and withdrew a bundle of bills, money Noa had lent him, "to do whatever with."
He looked back at the shop.
"...Let's go."
XXII:
Center of Contentment
Sethos shared the same general eating mannerisms as his counterpart; that was, he was slow, methodical, and neat. In sharp contrast to Noa, who tended to bolt down his meals with wild abandon, Sethos treated each bite as its own separate experience, as if each were the last bit of food he would ever experience.
It had occurred to Mokuba that the reason for that probably had to do with the fact that Sethos had not eaten a single thing for over three millennia.
It was clear, though, that while Sethos shared his counterpart's manners, he did not share his counterpart's taste.
Ordering five doughnuts, three for himself and two for Mokuba, Sethos was only halfway through his first by the time Mokuba was finished. That did not mean, however, that he did not enjoy the treat.
Quite the contrary.
"Magnificent..." he murmured reverently. "As delectable a dessert as I have ever had."
Mokuba smiled. "I keep trying to convince Niisama, but he just doesn't get it."
Tearing another small morsel from the pastry, Sethos shook his head. "I cannot understand. I must have him explain such faulty reasoning as he must have."
Mokuba laughed. "He has a lot of that. I think he's still trying to prove mathematically that you don't exist."
"Yes...he still seems reluctant to admit my presence. Coldly scientific, is my successor. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
"Were you like that?"
"Somewhat. I was a priest, so I was trained from infancy to trust the gods...but a part of me always doubted them. It took many years for me to admit the truth of many events I took part in. That magic, and divine power, were tangible things."
"Did something big...like, spark that? Like, some really big magic stuff turned you around?"
"It was more a subtle shift in my point of view," Sethos said. "Menkaura always believed." Here he smiled, a soft, affectionate smile. A smile that Mokuba recognized as the one Seto so rarely had, the smile that said he was content, that absolutely nothing was bothering him.
The smile that only Mokuba himself had ever managed to give him, something the black-haired boy was extremely proud of.
Menkaura, apparently, had done the same for his brother.
"Your brother and I are linked," Sethos said distantly. "I am able to...discern his thoughts somewhat easily. It is not actual telepathy, although I suppose I could elicit such an act with enough concentration...but I am aware enough."
Mokuba frowned curiously. "Huh? You can?"
Sethos nodded.
He glanced up at Mokuba with a serious expression on his face.
"Do you know, little one, how often he thinks of you?"
"Well...kinda."
Sethos smiled again. "You are the center of his existence. His outward personality would state otherwise to most, I am sure, but nearly every thought he has is related to you in some way."
Mokuba smiled as well. "Niisama likes to push people away. He acts that way to force people to hate him."
"Niisama..." Sethos repeated. "You only ever call your brother by that title. Never his name. Why is that, little one?"
"I guess...to thank him. He's done so much for me. Raised me, protected me, taught me...and I know that he would do that, forever, without asking for anything. I could hate him, like most of my friends hate their parents, and nothing would change."
Sethos tilted his head slightly.
"I call him Niisama...to let him know I love him more than anyone else in the world."
XXIII:
You Can't Cure Stupid
"You're late," Seto said as Sethos and Mokuba walked inside.
Thoughts still centered on what Mokuba had told him, Sethos heard the statement for what it really meant: I was worried.
"Mokuba showed me a...doughnut shop," Sethos replied.
Seto grunted. "You didn't let him have any, did you?"
"You know very well that I did."
The scoff and rolling of the eyes, again, told a different message to the spirit of the Millennium Rod: Good. He deserves it.
"Did anything else...eventful happen today?"
"Some guys tried to...say hi," Mokuba said.
"What?" Seto snapped, eyes flaring suddenly.
That word meant precisely that. The meaning wasn't hidden.
"Young Mokuba warned them that to touch him would cause lightning to strike them. I believe he meant the threat as a...metaphor."
"And what did you do about it?" he asked Sethos in a cold, sharp command.
"What else would I have done? I struck them with lightning."
Seto frowned.
"He did well," Sethos said. "I believe you would have been proud. There was no flight in him. He more than likely requires more experience, however, before he is truly able to defend himself...which is why I stepped in."
Seto's frown deepened.
He turned away.
"...Good man."
A nod to Mokuba, which was enough to make the boy swell with pride, was the last Seto said of the matter. That, more than anything, made Mokuba happy.
Seto's silence meant his approval.
Noa had solidified his status as designated doorman, and so it was he who answered the knock.
He didn't recognize the woman, and neither did Sethos, but the spirit did recognize the boy standing beside her.
More importantly, the boy's bandaged hand.
"I need to speak with Seto Kaiba," the woman snapped indignantly.
"Uh...no...I don't think you do," Noa said flatly. "Seto's pretty busy right now, and explicitly asked that no one disturb him."
"I don't care what he asked; that man—"
"I don't care what you ask. Either you explain to me why Seto should be disturbed, or leave."
The woman gasped. "Why, you have no right to spea—"
"Don't start on rights with me," Noa interjected. "I have every right to speak to you this way, because this is my home, and free speech is still covered under the constitution of this country. Now, is there a specific reason you wish to speak to my brother, or should I have the police escort you off of our property?"
Sethos sighed heavily.
"Your brother accosted my nephew!"
"I doubt that. I've been with him since six this morning, and I've never seen your nephew before. Do continue."
"That goddamn fuckstick burned my fucking—"
Noa slammed the door shut.
He pressed a button, on the wall, activating a nearby intercom.
"You either speak to me respectfully or don't speak to me at all," he said. "I refuse to listen to that."
The response came from the boy's aunt.
"Your brother threw lightning at my little boy's hand!"
Noa's face slackened, and Mokuba – sitting out of sight of the front door - snickered loudly.
Noa pressed the button again, gingerly this time.
"...I'm calling the cops."
