A/N: Weeee! And if this wasn't the quickest-written chapter so far, I'll eat Ryou! (The implication being here that his yami would rip my throat out very soon after). Written in just two sessions, in about four days, I think - one of 800 words (up to the first scene break), and the other an amazing 4200 burst that only took me until 2.30 in the morning. Wohoo! So, with this chapter the story takes a purposeful turn towards one of the main subplots - or should that be plot? I'm not sure what is plot here and what is subplot anymore…I just know that it was so fun to write. (is happy happy happy)
The chapter title is a bit cliché in its format, but I'm not in a mood to linger on titles right now. Might change it later, though.
This chapter is so sarky! Seriously, it's the most sarcastic thing ever. I think I put wit above psychological analysis and description this time, which is faintly shocking. There's less detailed venturings into characters' minds, but next chapter is probably going to compensate, if the likely content is anything to go by. I just need to ensure that I don't neglect my descriptions again - but generally speaking, if I'm emphasising the wit, things tend to move a lot faster, but at the same time have more dialogue, so description gets left behind a bit. Hope conversation doesn't dominate this chapter too much, however.
Chapter Ten - Of Supermarkets, Sarcasm, and Stealing
"Will it…hurt?"
The movements around him slowed and ceased, instead of halting abruptly, which would have been a sure admittance of guilt. The Pharaoh found Ryou's gaze - wary, a little anxious, but not doubting or frightened - and held it unblinkingly. An easy enough thing for any spirit to do; but mortals seemed always to forget this, or so it would appear from the effect such a gaze had upon them. They seemed to find it reassuring of truthfulness, as opposed to merely unnatural.
He smiled fondness - and it was entirely genuine, if not planned and controlled. "Of course it won't. I wouldn't let you ever be in pain, would I?"
"No…" Ryou answered obediently. The idea was, at this moment, unimaginable. How lucky he was, that such a person was here.
Cool spirit fingers brushed his side again. "All you will feel is a tingle."
It was more of a brief fizz, not quite as unpleasant as a jolt, but enough to make him look around automatically for reassurance. But instead of the Pharaoh, he somehow ended up looking at his koe, observing them both from the doorway of Rishid's bedroom. The Ring-spirit's eyes were a brighter red than yesterday, a shade that suggested vitality or at least recovery, and when they held Ryou's gaze he felt a tug of expectation, similar to when the Pharaoh had looked at him just now but striking different notes, wanting different things. Ryou was relieved to find that he still liked those eyes better.
"All good as new."
He jumped up, and found the Pharaoh smiling at him again - it felt strange to be at the centre of both spirits' attentions, as if he were struggled between the two forces. The thought was faintly panicking, and he found it was less complicated to rip his gaze away from the Dark Yuugi's at once, before anything could happen, and run up to his koe's side. At once everything became better, and he felt relieved that the right thing to do was still so clear.
The Pharaoh was a little startled at such decisive breaking away, and it was possible that some tiny iota of this was manifested in his expression, just as some hint of satisfaction, bordering on smugness, may have in turn been present in the face of the Dark Bakura. Certainly, he seemed to relax just a bit more. "Yuugi is waiting for you in the lounge, my Ryou. How about going off and playing with him?" Oh, and was there the tiniest extra bit of stress than usual on the "my"?
Yami does not bother watching Ryou run off, being content to leave him for now. The eventual outcome is inevitable, anyway, and thus he does not feel the need to rush.
"Are you expecting to be thanked?" Dark Bakura's tone is not ungracious, or demanding - it's a pretty good imitation of an innocent enquiry.
"Not in any way that you would feel happy with."
He folded his arms. "Are you trying to ensure that I am indebted to you? I remind you that this action was not even necessary."
His Pharaoh's gaze swept over him, like sweeping of a cloak before it was folded back around its owner. "It certainly was, if you will insist on continuing to channel all your magic into the maintaining of a healed appearance, and none of it into the fulfilment of such. If physical appearances are that important to you, I suggest that you give your host's a little more priority."
"I was intending to." Bakura's voice had grown very cool, implying a rising of emotion. "If you insist on persevering with such blatant interfering-"
"Oh, do be quiet." This was said in such a tone of seamless calm that the Ring-spirit stopped dead. "We both know that my role is to be "interfering" - if that is what you call sorting out the problems of the people."
"I can sort out my own problems;" and here the Ring-spirit's voice was so calm as to rival that of the other spirit's, and any bystander who was not quite close enough to hear every word but nonetheless could pick up the general tone, would have assumed that they were discussing very bland topics indeed, if it required so little emotion to be expressed.
Yami's voice picked up a note of pleasure - here was an opportunity for correction on a significant topic, something that he particularly enjoyed. "Your problems, as ever, are my problems, and thus I will continue to do you the service of sorting them out for you."
"Such kindness." And with this, the Dark Bakura left, feeling that smile follow him every inch of the way, as if it had attached itself to him like a watchdog, waiting for him to go wrong.
…………
"Where are you going?"
Malik paused, head poking out inquiringly from under his purple hoodie, which was only half on. "Do I look suspicious?"
"Always," the spirit of the Millennium Ring assured him. "Moreover, you answered my question with a question, which is always suspicious."
"…Oh. Well, I'm only going to the store to pick up some more food. Do you want anything?"
Dark Bakura's eyes took on a thoughtful tint, turning darker. "Something to clean metal with." Still in that same thoughtful tone: "Blood-stains can be very stubborn sometimes."
"I'm…glad to hear that. So, is this steel we're talking about?"
"Yes. 440 stainless steel. Maybe some oil too." He rose. "Perhaps I should come with you."
"Still suspicious? Do you think I'm visiting a brothel on the way?"
"If I thought that, then I would definitely come with you anyway. As it is, I haven't seen Cairo at night time yet. Any further objections?"
"Not yet." He stretched delicately, reminding Malik of his cat yet again this visit, and followed him out the door.
"You…ah…are going out like that?"
He trails Malik's gaze until it leads him to the belt at his hips, filled rather prominently with knives. "Naturally." To the teenager's relief, however, he rescues his trench coat on the way out.
……………
In terms of the atmosphere between them, the walk to the supermarket was one of the most successful interactions he had carried out with the Dark Bakura since the first day. It was almost miraculous what a night out at the pub together could do to re-ignite the friendly banter between them that had been almost completely stamped out by the events of the past few days. Conversation flowed easily, and Malik was reminded how he had used to enjoy this person's presence for a time, before one late-night visit had complicated everything. There was no mention of that made now, however: no talk of other alter-egos or Items or sex or sex plus something else or anything like that; just pleasant and, frequently, amusing conversation. If pain were left out of the mix then they had rather similar senses of humour: when he chose to, Bakura could present a view of things that was wry and pleasingly sardonic, rather than overly cynical and harsh. Not that, when holding back, he necessarily gave the impression of holding back, of course.
The light flooding the supermarket was even more cutting and overpowering than Bakura's wit, and caused them both to blink repeatedly; the spirit's eyes reflected the light and became red slits as he half-closed them against the brightness.
"You look even more obviously an albino than usual. Are you making your eyes do that this time, or is it just a reaction to the light?"
"I am not an albino," the Dark Bakura corrected, somewhat irritably, disliking what appeared to be a full twenty-four hours' worth of light being inflicted upon him in a few short minutes. "I'm a spirit: I have red eyes. And why would I bother make them glow in the light, when it obviously looks so much better in semi-darkness?"
"I don't know, do I? And I though Ryou-kun was an albino too."
"No one around here is a Ra-damned albino. I'm a spirit, and he's just…Ryou. And, for your information, albinos do not even have red eyes, but blue or grey, or occasionally pink."
"Mattaku na, you're testy. Did you look that up online on Wikipedia or something?"
"What is this "Wikipedia"? It sounds far too legal to be the sort of thing I would do online."
"It probably shouldn't be. I don't think you'd like it: too many people claiming to be knowledgable on certain subjects, and the few that know what they are talking about never get found because there are ten million hyperlinks to idiots standing between you and them."
"This is why knowledge should not be accessible to everyone. What right do they think they have to try and know everything anyway? Why can't they accept what others tell them, and let that be their only truth?"
Startled by this, and the slight note of vehemence accompanying it, Malik cast his eye around for a suitable excuse not to answer, and found it in the form of noodles. "Hang on, I'm supposed to get some of these. How much do you think is needed to feed all of us?"
Bakura thought about how much weight Layla had put on recently. "…Maybe not so much. I don't think the Pharaoh and I will manage more than a little. Just get enough for four."
"Okay. I need sauce too, and I'm really, really choosy over sauces, so how about you go and get your knife-cleaning-whatsits? I'm sure I won't be done by the time you come back anyway."
With a smirk and a shrug, and much flailing of trenchcoats, the spirit went off.
Malik set his basket down and started studying the nutrition information of various jars with a critical eye. Isis had entrusted with this task, and he would not let her down.
After eight minutes he had, with some great difficulty, narrowed his choices down to two. Now that he had got this far, however, a decision seemed impossible. With or without extra tomatoes? Was four grams more of fat cancelled out by the other jar having five point one grams more of sugar? Was a difference of eighty piastres okay if it also had two hundred grams more?
"Why am I so indecisive?" he wondered, wishing the Dark Bakura would come back and tell him, in no uncertain terms, to stop arseing around and pick one. But which one would he tell him to choose?
"Decisions are such tricky things," an amused voice commented from behind him. He heard footsteps as the Ring-spirit approached.
"Oh, you're back already, are you?" He nudged around for his basket with his foot, and knocked a bottle of lurid-coloured something or other to the floor. "Crap."
"Allow me." Just out of his field of vision, Bakura bent and picked it up.
"You're being unusually helpful. Is there something you want from me? Besides sex, I mean." He finally turned, just to make sure he accompanied the words with a slightly smug smirk. It shrivelled on his lips, however, as he realised that he was not talking to the spirit of the Ring. Nor, unfortunately (and this was about the only time that this word would be used positively) was it a total stranger.
"Considering the age gap, Tomb Keeper, I might have to say no. The offer, however, is appreciated."
"Oh no. No. No way in hell is it you." And no way did I just offer you sex…
Shaadi looked quite flattered. "This method of speech is considered affectionate in this current time, isn't it? I'm not sure I know what to say."
Malik was not in quite so much doubt. "No. No, this isn't happening. Why the hell are you here? I've finally sorted my life out from the last time you were here, so does that mean you felt obliged to come back and screw me over again? Why does this happen to me?" He turned his barely-contained horror on the two jars of pasta sauce, as if they might contain the answer. As it was, their labels reminded him yet again that the only thing they did contain was organic, homegrown tomatoes fresh from some farm on the other side of the country. "What do you want, and how do I convince you that I don't think I want it?"
He wasn't expecting the half-joking question to be considered with such a serious expression. "With great difficulty, Tomb Keeper, as I am very convinced that you do."
Why did he have to lay that "Tomb Keeper" crap on so thick? Malik wondered. And why the hell was the spirit of the Ring taking so long? "Okay, I know you want me to ask, so here it is: What are you talking about? What do I supposedly want? Apart from, naturally, wanting you to go away?" Enforced time with the Dark Bakura hadn't done much for his manners, he noted dryly; but then, he didn't want to make any secret of the fact that he really did prefer Shaadi when he wasn't around.
Shaadi said, "I would like to talk about the other aspect of you."
Malik was so taken aback that he put both jars of sauce in his basket. "What about it…him?"
…………
The spirit that dwelt inside the Millennium Ring had already found what he needed to purchase, when the tine of his Item lit up and started doing what looked like St. Vitus' Dance on his shirt. "Interesting." He set off back to where he had left Malik, acquiring four wallets as he went.
………….
"What makes you think I want to waste words discussing him?"
"Actually, I was planning on doing most of the talking."
"Really? Then would you mind talking yourself over there, to the next aisle? Then I can't see you. Who knows, maybe I won't hear you either. I could even pretend you weren't here. Hm, maybe you could help me take it a bit further by actually not being here."
"You're angry," Shaadi observed calmly.
"No, I'm not. If I was angry, people would be dying. At least, that's what seems to have happened so far. I'm just…pissed that you're still here - in fact, that you were ever here. Go find someone else's life to mess up. You can't exactly be short on candidates."
"And mistrustful." Shaadi was taking out the Millennium Scales, and frowning slightly as he found a scratch on one side.
"Why would I trust someone who hangs doughnuts from their ears? That can't have been fashionable for about two millennia. Oh, and did I mention that you messed up around six years of my life with just two sentences? If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have tried to teach myself fluent Japanese at the age of ten." He broke off. "…Well, that was maybe one of the few good things that came of it. But on the other hand, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have caused those strands of grey hair that my sister keeps denying she has. I wouldn't have caused others to try and take my pain for me, because there wouldn't be any. And-" his voice grew tight- "I would still have a father. So forgive me, please, if I don't greet you with a hug."
"On the other hand," Shaadi interjected in a conversational tone, "You would still have a darker self inside you."
"Oh yeah, because I completely forgot about that bit. Happens a lot, in fact." He couldn't remember when he had last had an opportunity to flex his sarcasm muscle like this: it almost felt good.
The priest (if he could be categorised as such: Malik was tempted to use certain four-letter words instead) looked a little concerned. "I'm not sure how sincere you were being just then. Could I possibly persuade you to clarify for me?"
"It was sarcasm. Another expression of affection in these times, as you like to call it."
"Excellent. Then you won't mind me using this." Having finally finished smoothing out the slight mark along the base, Shaadi held up the Scales. As he raised his arm, his cloak rose up slightly too, revealing the Millennium Ankh swinging slightly within.
…………..
The Dark Bakura cursed thoroughly in Arabic, exhausting his vocabulary in that area as he grimly tried to move through the packed aisle ahead. Apparently, there was some sort of sale on vodka, hence the millions of teenagers blocking the way. At any other time, he would cackled and joined them. Now, however, he regrettably had other, more urgent, places to go. It looked as if this was going to turn into one of those scenes out of a book or film where the character was held up just long enough to make sure he arrived at his destination just as the action was over. He was going to end up looking very foolish, apparently.
The hell he was. The Ring was rising into the air - it was all he could to stuff it back under his shirt before some of the teenagers who had not yet purchased and immediately consumed the discounted vodka in front of him noticed. He rolled up his sleeves, and began pushing hapless wannabe-drunkards aside - in each case engaging in a little light robbery - deciding that not drawing attention to himself was no longer such a high priority.
………..
"Get those things away from me." Useless words - why had he been so desperate to surrender the Millennium Rod to the Pharaoh at the very first opportunity? All he had left was his fists, which, if his recent experiences were anything to go by, were not exactly the most desirable weapon to be had when dealing with magical Items. He strained his mind, trying to recall what exactly Shaadi's items could do. For Ra's sake, the guy had two - wasn't that overkill, considering the amount of times he had seen what just one could do? He had seen his other self decimate whole rooms of people with his.
…Damnit, and here he was thinking about that person again, and it was all because of Shaadi. As if he needed any more excuses to dislike him.
Through considering the likeness between the Millennium Scales and the various artefacts cropping up in ancient history lessons, he was able to create a rough idea of what they might be able to do. Something about judging him…he wasn't sure what he would be judged on, but if failing meant something akin to Am'mit eating his heart, he wasn't sure he really wanted it to happen. And the ankh…wasn't that a symbol of life? And maybe sexual organs too… Although, he could vaguely recall from Jounouchi's residual memories inside him that it could do something along the lines of brainwashing.
Oh Ra. Despite having addled a lot of minds in his time, Malik did not like the idea of such a thing happening to him, thank you very much. He didn't want his soul room redecorated - and he didn't think whatever was left of his yami would take kindly to the idea either.
He took several steps back. "I'm warning you, I'll do…something. Something bad." Oops. Looks like his wit had departed along with his anger, and fear had taken its place. It was not a welcome switch.
"Oh dear. It seems we are experiencing a bit of a misunderstanding." Shaadi tried for a reassuring expression, and failed - he couldn't really manage anything apart from enigmatically solemn - so decided to tuck the Scales back into his cloak. "Please be reassured that I do not intend to feed you to Am'mit. He assures me that he is feeling quite full from my last purging session."
Malik blanched and held up his basket as a shield. "If that was intended to be reassuring, I think you need to go back to your evening classes. As a general rule, mentioning soul-eating crocodiles doesn't make me all that relaxed."
"Oh dear."
"Stop saying that."
"Then, I will get to my point."
"If doing so means that you will go away straight afterwards, then please hurry up and get to it." And if that doesn't invite prevaricating further, what does? Maybe people have been telling me to think before I speak for a reason.
Shaadi's hands folded into his sleeves, giving an impression that the upper part of his body was a long circle with his head perched on top - Malik felt like laughing at this thought. Shaadi had impressed him far more on the last visit - but now he was eight years older, and it all felt faintly comical. Besides, he had just spent the past four days in the same house as the Pharaoh - and after that, no one else really seemed all that impressive.
If only the Dark Bakura would hurry up and return - he would be able to read Shaadi, to tell what his intentions were. Malik peeked furtively around, to see if he was in luck - but no.
"Very well. Tell me, what is your actual opinion on his personality?"
"What?" Having just returned from a muse on Yuugi's alter-ego, and then Ryou's, Malik was not entirely sure what person he was supposed to be talking about.
"I refer, naturally, to the other soul inside you."
Naturally, Malik thought in irritation, as if that was who everyone always meant when they didn't bother mentioning names. Why does he keep returning to this subject? In fact, why does he keep returning to my life? He's got to have better things to do with his time…or actually maybe not.
"Why am I required to give an opinion?"
"Because I'm sure you have one, and I would be delighted to hear it. All your opinions so far have proved to be rather entertaining, if a little predictable."
Ra, that sounded as if it had come straight out of the mouth of the Dark Bakura. "Fine. I hate him; I can't think of anyone who doesn't. I think he's almost as good at wrecking lives as you are. And he's sociopathic and crazy - oh, and did I mention that I hate him? Anything else you need enlightening about?"
Shaadi's eyes were a cloudy darkness that kept shifting in tint so that they could not be pinned down as one specific colour - sort of blue, but maybe with bits of red in as well. They looked curious. "You genuinely believe him to be insane?"
"Not properly," Malik clarified impatiently. "He's probably no more full of murderous intent than any of the other spirits; he's just less able - or less willing - to control it. Maybe it's even a bit admirable to care that little about anyone else's opinion, to be so confident in your own. I don't care. I don't want to talk about him. Can I go now, or will you?"
And it was at that moment, when Shaadi looked as if he actually was considering leaving, that the Dark Bakura ran by, skidded to a halt, and made a show of panting. "One rescue mission, coming right up." He saw who he was supposed to be "rescuing" Malik from, and all the humour vanished from his face, to be replaced with an almost enthusiastic animosity. "Should I act pleased to see you?"
"It might make a welcome change. I'm started to feel quite disliked so far." Shaadi sounded concerned.
The Dark Bakura approached, and with every step his posture and expression became began cooler, as if he were systematically shedding all his emotion like an unwanted skin. "Is there anything I can do to help you? I would like to know as soon as possible, so I can be certain not to do it."
"No, no." The "priest" did not appear particularly dismayed by the spirit's tone. "I feel that I have almost everything I came for - ah, that reminds me. How fares our immortal Pharaoh?"
"Not quite as immortal as you would like to hope." The Dark Bakura ran his left hand up and down one of his knives. "I'm sure the benefit of your counsel would only send him to an earlier grave."
Shaadi smiled but did not reply.
Slightly hoarsely, Malik snapped, "I believe you were on the verge of leaving."
"Yes, please don't let my presence delay you." The spirit of the Ring came a little closer, as if to give the impression that his "quarry" was surrounded. The number of knives in his left hand had now increased to two. "If you have some trouble in leaving, I can always be of assistance."
"Thank you, but I believe I will manage." He looked at the spirit. "We will, I feel certain, meet again very soon." He nodded to them both, and vanished.
Bakura's eyes narrowed, although it was unclear whether it was from irritation or disappointment. Malik dropped his shopping basket, ignoring the clang. "Fuck it, I hate it when he does that!"
"Are you referring to screwing with your head, or vanishing?"
"I don't know. Both. Mostly the latter."
"It is very rude. Perhaps tired cults of aged priests don't include manners in the joining requirements. We shouldn't blame him."
Malik laughed: it sounded so forced and bitter and devoid of humour, he wondered why it even qualified as a laugh. "We should blame him for everything."
Bakura glanced at him. "Well, maybe so. Although your father would still be dead even if Shaadi had kept his advice to himself. You just might have been a bit quicker to work out who was actually responsible."
"What does it matter?" Malik snapped. His eyes were hard, and for a moment flecked with the beginnings of black. "He would still be dead, wouldn't he? I would just have had one less person lie to me about the details! All I need to hear now is that he thought he was protecting me, and then he'll be ready to move in!"
The Ring-spirit was staring carefully at Malik's eyes, trying to discern whether the flecks he thought he had just seen were really there. This was a moment where he could do with having his host around, to borrow his vision. There was nothing wrong with spirit vision: it just picked up on different things to a mortal's. Reluctantly, he left it, resolving to use Ryou's body the moment that they got back.
"And stop looking at me as if I'm about to go crazy," the Egyptian ordered him through clenched teeth. "I'm allowed to be angry, aren't I?"
"No," the spirit replied, almost absently. "In any case, aren't we going to the tills fairly soon? I have money to spend."
Malik glared at him resentfully. "You don't have to keep paying for everything. I'm not that poor."
"Neither am I," the Dark Bakura concluded contentedly.
…………….
The tills were almost empty when they got there - although there was a rather harassed-looking assistant sellotaping a hurried, "There are pickpockets working in this area" sign to the wall opposite.
Malik only sighed and rolled his eyes at his companion, who was looking unaccountably smug. "See how quickly my fame spreads?"
"It had better not spread too quickly, or else you'll end up in jail."
"Then I only hope I don't end up with a life sentence. Ra knows there are better places to spend the next few millennia."
"You'd send the entire building into a world of darkness in the first five minutes, anyway. Why waste time sitting there pretending to grow old?" Malik retorted.
"I like having lots of time. It means I never have to rush anything, except emptying my bank accounts on a regular basis in case I have withdrawal problems again."
"You got found out? Did Kaiba hire someone to get you?"
"Oh no, no." The spirit looked at him pityingly. "As if that would happen. No, it was too much money being put in at once. I kept freezing up the machines, apparently."
"Wow."
"Um, excuse me, sir…" The checkout girl had a large, round face, and her thin hair was plastered back into two stumpy ponytails, which had the unfortunate effect of looking like ears on a pig. "This isn't from our store."
"Oh…right." Blankly, Malik took the item from her. It didn't look like it was even his - he couldn't think why he would have a brown paper bag on him. "Is this yours, 'Kura?"
"No." He was busy paying for their other purchases, and didn't deign to look round. "What is it?"
"I don't…know." He peeked cautiously inside, saw what looked maybe like a canister or bottle, and shrugged.
"Maybe Shaadi gave you your Valentine's gift early this year," the spirit offered with a snicker. When Malik continued to look blank, he reached out to take it, but it was pulled out of reach.
"Forget it. I'll look at it later. Do you think he actually left it, though?"
"Perhaps. Probably something else to screw with your mind. But if I'm right, and it's chocolates, then you have to promise to share them."
"Um, sure. Whatever."
The Dark Bakura began passing him plastic bags to carry. "Are you still sure this much alcohol will last us all until the next shopping trip? The Pharaoh's a heavy drinker too."
"Probably not, but hey." Malik glanced around. "It must be about ten o'clock if the store is closing already. We should probably get back."
Maliciously: "Wouldn't want Isis grounding us both now, would we?"
"She can't ground me - I'm eighteen, for Ra's sake."
"Do you have your own set of keys?"
"Of course."
"Then you're safe - for now. So, are we going back, or not? I thought you mentioned earlier that the Two-Headed Sphinx has a special offer on cocktails on Thursdays?"
"That is very true. But do you want to carry these bags to the pub and back?" Malik gestured with his, to complete the point.
"We'll go home, drop this lot off, and then go. Sound good?"
"It sounds like suicide, but I'm guessing that's what you mean."
"Then it's a date. Metaphorically," the spirit added hastily, as Malik gave him a Look.
"It had better be."