Mokuba eyed the bare sepia walls of his new apartment, dubiously, and then at the carpet-stain-free, but an odd color, somewhere between beige and amber, with a shake of his head. It was a small, two-bedroom apartment on the end corner of the two story building, where he could hear the eerie creek of of the ceiling as his neighbors above him walked across their living room. There was a small, private porch from his bedroom that overlooked the massive tree-lined pond that was filled with Canadian geese that squawked on their morning dives into the water, a parking lot with two large dumpsters, flanked by another apartment building, and then, the sparse, broken concrete shred of road that led to the main drag of the small town. The small town was surrounded by the endless forest. It was an eerie sound to hear the chirp of crickets, and the occasional howl of a coyote. It was nothing like the constant roar of highways and humanity that Domino had been. Mokuba found the silence both cleansing, and frightening.
It had been a little over a week since Mokuba arrived to what he hoped would eventually be home. He had spent his first days doing little more than securing the essentials, establishing a residency, getting his power turned on, his Internet. He had bought a small, frill-free pickup so that he could drive where he needed, and haul furniture to his apartment as he made his exploratory trips to the local towns, and purchased what he needed for his new home. His living room, kitchenette, and one bedroom were the size of his old room.
He was displeased with the box-like way his washer and dryer were stacked on top of each other, and he found it extremely difficult to understand the rural, wary watching of the 'locals' as he slowly pushed his shopping cart through the super-market's narrow aisles, and attempted to find food. It was almost like foraging, he realized. Before, food was lavishly prepared and presented by the plateful to his or Seto's specifications, or casually munched on as he used to run through their fully stocked, gleaming kitchen, usually populated by at least one house keeper. Mokuba now had to buy his own food, and cook it-something he was a bit frightened of. For the time being, he bought a few boxes of macaroni, some frozen dinners, a bag of apples, and a six pack of diet Coke. It wasn't much, but it would be enough for a few days.
He made his way back to his sparsely furnished apartment. He was content to have the bare essentials for the moment-a single bed that was mercifully long enough to accomodate his height, a tie-dyed quilt and pillows, with sheets, a small dining set, couch and a microwave, with a television. His only decor was a few cherished pictures of Seto, and a series of push-pins he used for an impromptu jewelry rack for his massive collection of hemp necklaces. He bought a small, wire and metal computer desk, and propped his laptop on it, and checked his email compulsively. Mokuba was unashamed to admit that he was an Internet addict.
Tonight, Mokuba was heating up a frozen dinner of a corndog and fries, while he idly flipped through the channels to pass the time. There was hardly anything on, but the soothing blare of sound made the night a bit less lonely, and kept his usual, obtrusive thoughts away. Drifting through life was hardly how he planned on spending the rest of it, and his heart ached when he pondered the unwelcome possibility that he had somehow brought all he was attempting to run from with him. He sighed wearily, and debated the merits of going to bed. It was late, but he wasn't tired, and he was hardly charmed at the idea of staring at the ceiling. He flipped through the channels again, not really paying attention to what was on them, lost in his thoughts. He drifted off, despite of them.
The morning light was searing, and his back ached from his awkward slump over the couch. Somehow he had fallen asleep on it, curled up in nearly fetal position as he blinked, and groaned himself awake, his dark hair falling in tangled knots. Mokuba slowly rose, rubbed his eyes, owlishly peered at the static and the humm of the television that had been left on all night.
Yawning and scowling at the late hour of the morning, and the growling of his stomach, Mokuba stared in disgust at the contents of the refrigerator, and decided to go into town to grab something to eat.
After a short shower, he dried his sopping mop of hair, and dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and thick jacket.
The morning was chilled for autumn, the sun bright, and the air bitingly crisp.
Mokuba pulled into the road-side cafe, a small mom and pop operation with a neon sign stating they were open. He was soon greeted, and seated by a harassed looking waitress, who almost shoved the plastic menu in his hand, and hastily scribbled down his request for hot tea, eggs, and toast before scurrying away to the next patrons. He leaned back, watching with little interest the morning assortment of office folks snatching coffee, loggers jawing at each other, harassed mothers attempting to soothe fussy babies in their high chairs. Mokuba was struck anew how alone he felt, surrounded by this conglomorate of humanity.
The waitress put down a steaming cup of tea, toast, and scrambled eggs, with an obligatory smile before she bustled away, slapping the ticket on the table. Mokuba left some bills on the table after downing the last swallow of his tea, before he went on his way.
It was when he was fumbling for the keys of his truck when he heard the sudden squeal of breaks, and he jerked in suprise when he saw his truck lurch forward a few inches. Startled, he peered in dismay at the extremely crumpled bumper of the small Honda that had collided with his truck. The driver of the car-a teary-eyed woman-was already scrambling for the door handle, as she gaped in disbelief at her car, and then at the small dent in Mokuba's bumper. She dissolved into tears, stammering out an apology in between the sobs, her speech garbled by crying and panic. Mokuba stared quizzically at the dent to his truck, and then back to the frantically sobbing woman, uneasily, before he attempted a bit of chivalrous, but awkward soothing.
"It's alright, accidents happen. It's not like you ran over anybody." He said it softly with a resigned hitch of his shoulders. She stopped crying, her crumpled face blanched white, and trembling from her stifled sniffing. Mokuba gestured towards the dent in his bumper. "See? You hardly did any damage. Really, it's alright."
She managed to restrain her weeping into hitching breaths as she finally nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. I honestly didn't mean for this to happen. Please, let me get my insurance information out for you. I'm covered, it should take care of that dent-" And she was scrambling in her purse for the insurance papers, as Mokuba only waved it away. "Unless you need my insurance information to get your bumper fixed, I don't really see the need to make things more complicated. A dent that size is barely noticeable."
The woman stared at Mokuba for a disbelieving moment, before she only breathed out a long, pent up sigh. "Are you sure? I don't want you to have to pay for this."
Mokuba only gave her a tired smile and another shrug. "If it's all the same to you, I prefer to just leave it be...and maybe, for you to watch where you're driving, okay?"
Her smile was both awed and relieved as she continued her blathering thanks, as Mokuba politely endured them for a few more awkward moments, before he gently gestured to his truck, and shrugged. "I need to be on my way...safe driving..."
She finally waved in farewell, and suprised him by clasping his hand warmly, with a bright, earnest smile.
"I don't think you know how much this act of mercy means, sir. I can't thank you enough for it."
Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at that. "You've thanked me quite profusely, mayme, and I'm glad that I've...helped. It was nice to meet you, but I need to be going now, alright?"
Mokuba finally managed a polite, but hasty exit back to his truck, still shaking his head and attempting not to chuckle until he was finally out of her earshot.
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It was two days later that Mokuba's quiet afternoon of television was interrupted by the soft knocking at his door. Puzzled, he raised an eyebrow as he rose from his lounging slouch in the chair to peer through the peephole to see who it was. Both eyebrows shot up in suprise when he saw the woman who had accidently bopped his truck earlier. She was standing there, her hand raised in hesitation, as she glanced around uncertainly. Mokuba saw that she had a large, plastic dish curled against her side in her other arm.
Mokuba opened the door after her second knock, and stared down at her, curiously. She seemed startled by his sudden appearance, her bright smile wavering into discomfort.
"Hello again." She said softly, as she thrust forward the plastic dish, as if it were unwanted. Mokuba scowled at it, puzzled, but accepted it with a questioning glance. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the woman who hit your truck two days ago."
Mokuba blinked, nonplussed, as he shifted to accomodate the package. "Umm...hello to you, too. I remember you. What brings you here? And what is this?"" Mokuba was careful to keep his tone curious and not irritated as he gave the box a pointed glance.
"They're chocolate chip cookies." She gave him a warmer smile. "To thank you. You could have been a real jerk over my hitting your car, but you were so gracious about it, that I owe you this, at least. And, they're also to welcome you here. You're new in town, right? What brings you here?"
She regretted the friendly questions when his dark eyes filled with sadness, as he slumped in sudden reminder. He gave her a tired, forced smile, and an equally forced answer. "Yes...I'm new here. I've only been here for about two weeks."
She nodded, letting the unanswered question remain unanswered as she stepped back a bit. "My name is Josephine."
Mokuba nodded. "Pleasure to meet you...I'm Mokuba."
She looked puzzled as he stated his name. "Mokuba...that's certainly a unique name." Mokuba merely nodded as he gave the plastic box another glance. "Yes, I know...it's not really common. I don't know of anybody else who has it."
Josephine nodded, and seemed a bit uncomfortable as she ventured, "Do you like it here?"
Mokuba shrugged. "It's not bad, honestly. It's very peaceful, which is sort of what I was looking for. I like the quiet."
After a few more polite inquires, and faltering attempts at conversation, Mokuba gave an apologetic glance towards his door. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Josephine, and thank you very much for the cookies, but I need to go. Maybe I'll see you around?"
At her nod, he turned back to his apartment. He heard her sigh, and then the pleading word, "Wait."
Mokuba pivoted towards her, puzzled by the look of pain on her face as she awkwardly shrugged and sighed again.
"Something wrong?" Mokuba watched as she worked her hands in nervous little knots. "I hope that this isn't too invasive, and I'm sorry if it's a bad subject, but I know about your older brother."
He flinched as if stabbed, deliberately setting the box on the railing, and turning towards her, his dark eyes burning with some emotion she could not identify. "What do you know about him, and how?" The words were curt as Mokuba eyed her, warily.
Josephine's shoulder rose and fell as she groped for the right words. "I recognized you from a few newspapers, and I read about your older brother's death. Mr. Kaiba was famous, even here. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Mokuba accepted that grimly, as he crossed his arms, and waited. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and looked at him with compassion. "And before you write me off as being nosy, or worry about what my motives are, I don't have any...except to let you know that I may understand what you're going through. I lost my brother, too."