Ataahua: HURRAY FOR AN UPDATE! So, this chapter's something a bit different and probably a little on the slow side, but it's necessary and might just answer a couple of questions for some of you. It probably also replaces said questions with new ones, but we can't have it all, can we?
TDH: I just want to make sure I point out that a lot of the finger work in the chapter is Ataahua's. She's done some lovely stuff with this chapter and very much deserves all the mad props I can give her.
Update: Because Act I is getting hella long, we've decided it won't include the Battle City arc of the IAN series. Instead, Act II will deal with Battle City, while Act III will start several years after Battle City's end. Hope this makes sense!
Warning: We're just gonna say it now. This story is getting darker and darker. Yes, we're saying this AFTER the shitfest. For the rest of Act I, plus all of Act II and Act III, you can expect themes of anxiety, depression, several types of assault, psychological trauma, and who knows what else. This is our way of avoiding the need to add warnings on every chapter that calls for one, since that'd ruin the suspense a smidge.
Anywho, it's time to read IAN's thirty-fourth chapter, Privacy Matters.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Privacy Matters
"Don't tell me you're truly surprised?"
Stumbling two steps back, A'isha hit a salt-spattered railing and gripped it with shaky hands. Over her shoulder, beige low-rises and the golden bay of Alexandria City shrunk more and more by the second.
Marik stood before her, his cloak billowing in the biting wind. "You should be thanking me, Dear A'isha." A corner of his lips quirked up as he brought one gold wing of the Rod to her jawline, the Eye of Horus blinking wickedly in the sunlight. "You so desperately want to hate me. In fact, you have every reason to. Yet still, you hesitate." The Rod's wing stole a shiver as it slithered down her neck, ghosting over her thrumming pulse point. "Well? Now's your chance." His laughing eyes challenged her. "Hate me."
Gold pinched flesh.
A gasp caught in her throat as an oozing warmth crept down her neck.
His shoulders rolled with a chuckle. "I take it that's a no?" He withdrew the Rod and wiped its sullied wing on his robe, but she knew he was far from finished. "Perhaps," he uttered, sliding the Rod beneath his cloak, "you're in need of a little… incentive."
"I-Ish…"
Her eyes darted to that voice: familiar, feminine and heartachingly wobbly.
There stood Amara, perched on the only perimeter portion of the ship without a railing. Her body was rigid, the Eye of Horus burning bright on her forehead—but her pupils were like pinpricks, eyes blown wide with a terror that was most definitely hers alone.
A'isha's stomach lurched into her throat, her head whipping back to Marik. "What're you—"
"From day one, I've made it clear that I'm capable of a great many things." This time, it wasn't the Rod, but his fingers that slunk across her jawline. He gripped her chin, his hand quivering with quiet rage… just like that Godawful night. "This ship has a motor"—his taunting smirk turned unmistakeably perverse—"and while I still have a need for you, little Ish, I really have none for your cousin." His thumb alone left her chin to painstakingly trace the curve of her trembling lips. "You are, after all, the more stimulating of the set…"
A'isha glowered at the jerk, her stare screaming her contempt—
"Ish, I'm slipping!"
—only for dread to clamp down on her chest, wiping any ire from her face.
She tried to move.
Failed.
Her legs were frozen, unresponsive, and somehow, she knew he had nothing to do with it.
Marik roughly released her chin, his laughter riding the salty wind. His words, however, resounded in her mind alone. "Well, Miss Cares Too Much, aren't you going to do something?" His every punctuated step echoed as he circled her once. "Save your pathetic cousin." Twice. "Take a life boat." Thrice. "Return to normality and forget all about me." Stopping before her, he leaned in near and spoke softly, "I won't stop you, A'isha."
"Why're you just standing there?" cried Amara, a sob choking her every syllable. "Help me!"
Silently, A'isha screamed at her legs.
She had to protect Amara!
She always did!
But her legs remained numb… immovable… cold.
The hand that re-gripped her chin, however, was unbelievably warm.
"Are you afraid of testing me again?" Marik taunted within the confinements of her mind. "Or of another spectacular failure?" With his grip still firm on her chin, he yanked her face far too close to his own. "Or perhaps the thing you fear most… is that you'll never truly escape me?"
Amara's scream pierced the air—
"A'ISHA!"
…
Click!
A'isha awoke with a jolt, air sucking in through her nose. The warm weight of a blanket replaced the chill of the wind and groggily, she pried her eyes apart for just long enough to spot the jerk by the light switch, his laptop tucked under one arm. She lugged her own arm over her eyes and unleashed a groan. Great! Now it was time for the living nightmare—
"Get up," he ordered, forever a master of persuasion.
"I'll get up when you LEAVE."
Silence.
That is, unless she counted the sound of his impatient creeper fingers drumming against what was probably the wall by the light switch.
"I don't hear you leaving."
"I don't see you getting up."
A'isha glared into the arm slung over her eyes. "Well, you'll be standing there a while—"
Three steps came closer.
She lurched upright on the bed, peeling her arm from her eyes to hurl him the sourest glare she could muster. Usually, her hatred of mornings—and him—would've amped it up tenfold.
But the sight of him right there, his eyes set on her and his face so stoic…
It made her every cell seize up.
"Don't—"
Her voice cracked.
She should've been embarrassed, but all that came was alarm and anger and a suffocating weight in her chest.
"Don't touch me!"
It took every last shred of self-control to keep her head held high and her trembling in check. Especially as he searched her face. For what, she didn't know, but by the frown that broke his stoic expression, he didn't find it. "If the concept of being touched by me is such an unwelcomed one, I suggest you do as I say."
Her lower lip dared to shake. "Right. Because you touching me is such a concept at this point!"
Marik's stare broke from hers to fall on the hallway door. "Amara will arrive with Odion in an hour's time." He seemed to be initiating an all-out staring contest with the exit. "I'll allow her to remain here until dinner's end, at which point Bryn will escort her back to her room, and you won't see her again until circumstances permit it." It was then that his eyes returned to hers. "Is that clear, A'isha?"
As much as the jerk was ignoring her words, any sign of disrespect would beg him to rescind Amara's visit. She directed a glare at the fist-sized hole in the wall dead ahead. "Crystal clear."
From the corner of her eye, he glanced at the gold watch around his wrist. "Good. I'll be back in fifteen hours and fifty-eight minutes." His retreating steps followed, and the door soon clicked shut.
Only then did A'isha feel herself sag against the headboard, stale air rushing from her lungs all at once. She glanced at her hands. Trembling. So were her lips. She shoved them under the covers, shook her head and finally, managed to roll her eyes.
Sixteen hours—or should she say, 'fifteen hours and fifty-eight freaking minutes'—couldn't come slow enough.
Leather groaned as Marik suavely seated himself in his office chair and flipped open his laptop. Illuminated was a Microsoft Word document, the insertion point blinking rhythmically at the end of a lengthy paragraph. One of many.
The title at the top of the screen read 'Facebook Posts and Messages – A R Dahar'.
Having already scrutinised the document and its text, he gave it one final skim, then sent it to a small printer stowed away in his closet.
A second document, this time titled 'Facebook Posts and Messages – A E Dahar', soon followed the first, and the satisfying, semi-distant hum of the printer had him closing Microsoft Word.
It was then, as his web browser filled the screen, that Marik straightened in his seat. He'd left A'isha's Facebook Messenger open, and a new message had appeared not five minutes earlier.
From Dani.
And the preview, to put it lightly, was oh so intriguing—because, unlike the others in the now-printing documents, the message wasn't addressed to A'isha.
It was addressed to him.
Dani Wyatt:
To the fucking low-lives who have taken my girlfriend,
You may think you know what you have done, but trust me, you sick fucks, you do NOT. You have stolen laughter from countless homes, joy from countless faces, light from countless lives. We will not stop searching until she is back where she belongs… until they are BOTH back where they belong!
I am itching for the day Ahad throws you in the shittiest cell he can find, where I hope to every damn God on this earth you will rot to the end of your pathetic fucking days… if you don't get the death penalty.
And if by some fucked up miracle you end up walking free, you should hope I never find out who you are because believe me, I will deliver my own form of justice and I promise you now it will make a jail cell seem like a trip to fucking Disneyland.
Rot in every circle of hell,
Dani
Marik laughed.
And not just a two-second chuckle.
No, he threw his head back and laughed so loud A'isha heard.
One dip with the Rod – cautiously, in case she was showering – revealed she was brushing her teeth, and thinking he'd either 'finally cracked or was torturing helpless kittens'. That only made him laugh harder.
It took a few moments for his laughter to die down to a smirk. In that time, he skim-read the message twice more. Was this pathetic excuse for a threat truly meant to intimidate him?
No matter. The buffoon would soon realise exactly who he was up against.
Marik's eyes shifted to A'isha's nickname, currently 'Miss Mute'. He rolled his eyes, adjusted it, and typed his response in a matter of minutes.
The R.H.:
To the entertaining fool whose girlfriend I've taken,
Believe me, I know exactly what I've done and more importantly, who I've stolen.
A'isha Renia Dahar. 16 years old. Fiercely loyal. Hilariously stubborn. Undoubtedly self-sacrificing. Snarky to a fault. Cares far too much. It may interest you to know I'm particularly familiar with that last trait.
Amara Elissa Dahar. 15 years old. An absolute airhead. Utterly boy-obsessed. No filter whatsoever.
But let's not dwell on that pathetic, simple-minded child. We both know your dear damsel in distress is of far more concern to you. I don't blame you, little Dani. Her company's exceptionally stimulating.
I'm as perceptive as I am persuasive. Perhaps I even know Dear A'isha more intimately than you claim to.
Your move, Daniel.
Yours amusedly,
The R.H.
Dani saw the message instantly.
Marik didn't use Facebook himself, but it was possible the nickname change had triggered a notification, and the panicked fool had watched him type his reply with baited breath.
Oh, if only the Millennium Rod allowed access to his pathetic mind from this distance. It would surely prove even more entertaining than Dani's pitiful message.
Dani is typing…
Marik leaned back into his chair, his fingers threaded behind his head and his smirk immovable. The little typing indication never ceased. The fool clearly had plenty to say.
His first message appeared.
His second.
Third.
And finally, a fourth.
Dani: You lying coward
If I remember right Amara escaped just two nights ago
Your robed freaks were spotted running after her and firmed up Ahad's theory that the Rare Hunters were to blame for all this shit
You're acting mighty arrogant for someone who just fucked up
Marik tilted forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Laughable. That was the best way to describe this. Absolutely laughable.
RH: I assure you, Dani, that neither girl will jump at the opportunity to make such rash decisions in future. I made certain of that.
Marik's eyes drifted slowly to the still abraded and scabbed knuckles of his right hand. Bandages were no longer needed.
He had indeed made certain there'd be consequences. He'd shown that said consequences would be carried out. He'd ensured another escape attempt would be futile. He'd been sure to demonstrate his authority quite clearly.
Marik sucked in a slow breath, exhaling soon after.
At about the same time, another two messages appeared in quick succession.
Dani: You sack of shit
What the hell did you do to them!
RH: Language, little Dani. Is this not a conversation between two gentlemen?
Dani: You!? A gentleman? That's fucking rich
RH: I'm far more of a gentle man than you give me credit for. I'm sure Miss Mute would agree.
Dani: How do you know that
Marik snorted. Dani was clearly emotional. The thick-headed fool hadn't even noticed his choice of spacing and the implications behind it.
Perhaps a little less subtly was in order…
RH: So emotional… to forget that nonsensical nickname was presented plain as day before I changed it. Although, I must admit I was aware of it well before today.
Dani: And just how is that, asshole
RH: Is it so out of the question to think A'isha simply told me?
Dani: Like HELL she did!
RH: Perhaps you don't know your beloved damsel as well as you believe.
Dani: Where. Is. She.
RH: Worded like a question. Delivered like a statement. Which is it?
Dani: WHERE IS SHE?
RH: Ahh, yes. The question on many a man's tongue this moment.
Dani: Hurry up and fucking answer me Shakespeare!
RH: Are you aware your dear girlfriend prefers acting Shakespeare to reading it in a play? I'm usually more partial to reading his work, but I must say, Dear A'isha's preference has merit. It'd be a shame to let that tongue go to waste.
Dani: YOU SICK FUCKER!
IF YOU'VE SO MUCH AS LAID A FUCKING FINGER ON HER I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND STRANGLE YOU MY FUCKING SELF!
RH: How does it feel, Dani, to know she spent your two-year anniversary in the arms of another man?
Dani: FUCK YOU
RH: If I recall, your shared plan that night was for her to partake in that instruction with you, little Dani. Fear not. I touched her plenty on your behalf.
Dani: DROP DEAD YOU VILE FUCK
YOURE A SICK EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING AND DESERVE NOTHING LESS THAN AN ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR!
RH: Perhaps it would be more prudent to steer your anger toward A'isha. After all, it's been eleven days and already, she's admitted to harbouring feelings for me. It would seem her loyalty extends to some things more than others. Give it another week and instead of me having a key to her room, perhaps the reverse could be said. It certainly wouldn't be the first time we've shared my bed.
The chair gave another groan as Marik reclined into its back, a seemingly permanent smirk on his lips.
It was no wonder Dani had been so short with A'isha the night she was mugged. He was impatient, immature, and certainly not solution focussed. Clearly, her so-called boyfriend was a lost cause. Why was she even with the impetuous fool?
Marik scoffed. Perhaps love truly was blind—
"A'ISHA!"
He bolted upright in his seat, his focus stolen by the incessant squawking of his far less tactful captive.
Although, it served as a reminder of the task at hand.
RH: It's been a pleasure, Daniel, but I have, shall we say, other things to tend to.
With that innuendo, Marik swept from his chair and strode into his closet. He scooped several double-sided A4 sheets of paper from the printer and sifted their contents. All printed correctly.
Amara continued to squawk beyond his bedroom door. Probably insulting him and expressing concern for her cousin, all in a single breath.
Rolling his eyes, Marik reached for a stapler, kept by the printer, and stapled each group of sheets. He'd planned to have Odion hand these blasted documents over to the girls. After all, anything from him would be treated with caution.
Evidently, Amara had already graced A'isha with her insufferable presence. That meant they were now under Odion's watch until nightfall. It seemed that by messaging little Dani, he'd foregone his window of opportunity.
Marik huffed through his nose. Revealing his involvement in these documents certainly hadn't been his intention. The last thing he wanted was for her— them to know he'd been the one to think up these… gifts, for lack of a better word.
They'd think he cared.
Or that he was planning and scheming.
The paper crumpled in his grip. He already suspected which way A'isha would primarily lean… but then again, really, what was the harm in her believing he cared?
She wouldn't discuss their relationship with his Rare Hunters. They wouldn't learn of this seemingly kind gesture. They'd still fear him. And while he'd now learnt from using the Rod that, as he'd assumed, she spoke of him to Odion, that didn't really matter. His brother was well-aware of these documents, and the respect he had for Marik was unshakeable.
This time as he huffed through his nose, it was from amusement. He could already imagine the wheels turning in A'isha's mind. Seeing it happen first-hand was merely another positive of delivering these documents personally.
And as another bonus, his presence would likely end Amara's blasted squawking.
With his mind made up, Marik left his closet with the stapled documents in hand, and fast approached his bedroom door. He eased it open, revealing A'isha's across the hallway, currently closed.
Still, Amara's incessant rambling became comprehensible, even through the thick wood.
"—and I KNEW he had the hots for you!"
Marik rolled his eyes. He wasn't even remotely surprised.
"Seriously, it's SO obvious!"
He took a silent step across the hallway and carefully tested the door handle. Unlocked—
"Gosh, it's too bad you can't seduce him into letting us go."
That had him biting back laughter. A'isha? Seducing him? Dear Ra, what an absurd thought! He'd never be so foolish as to fall for that—
"He'd probably fall for that—"
Marik glared at the door handle.
"—but, well, he's HIM. Ya feel me?"
With a steady hand, he quietly opened A'isha's door, revealing a familiar, white room.
Amara paced holes through the carpet, her back primarily to the door and her eyes set on A'isha, currently slumped against the headboard of her bed. She'd propped her chin in her open palm and her right foot on a stack of pillows. Bruises and swelling still pooled at her ankle—
Her eyes shot to him.
She bolted upright on the bed.
Her eyes darted back to an ever-oblivious Amara, and her lips parted—
"As in he's SUPER disgusting," Amara cut in, earning a wince from A'isha, "so seducing him would be, like, total torture for you, Ish!"
Marik got comfortable, folding his arms and propping his shoulder against the doorframe.
A'isha, on the other hand, gradually slumped down the headboard, an odd mix of panic and disapproval twisting her face.
"And, like, if there's ONE thing I'm not letting you go through ANY MORE OF, it is TORTURE!"
Movement caught his eye. Odion occupied the armchair in the far corner, a hefty book in his lap and a crease between his brows. His brother, too, had noticed his presence.
"Mar—"
That drew Marik's attention right back to A'isha. Her eyes were on Amara, wide and pleading.
"No no no— Ish, I am totes not suggesting you seduce our way outta this shitstorm. Like, dear God, do NOT look at me like that!"
Hints of scarlet dyed A'isha's cheeks, visible even despite her caramel complexion.
He needn't have a mirror to know his smirk was immeasurable. So much for Amara's ambition to spare A'isha more torture.
"Amara—"
"Heckin' NO!" the pathetic girl prattled on, her hands flying through the air. "The only way you should EVER hit that creep is with your FOOT, Ish, right in the NUTS!"
One amused quirk of Marik's brow had A'isha's shoulders launching up to her ears.
"And, Ish, you gotta make sure he doesn't—"
"AMARA!"
Only then, as A'isha's bellow cut clean through the room, did Amara screech to a halt. In fact, every cell of her body seemed to still.
Until A'isha, with a stare that tiptoed the lines of irked and mortified, stiffly nudged her head in his direction.
Amara slowly, but surely turned on her heel. He glimpsed two hazel irises encircled by white, before her eyes narrowed to slits and her face scrunched like a petulant toddler's. "What're YOU doing here?"
Marik pushed off the doorframe and in three long strides, closed the distance between him and Amara. "I'm delivering these." He flourished the stapled papers, his attention flicking to his less infuriating captive.
With crumpled brows, A'isha's head tilted to the right in clear curiosity.
A hand blurred through Marik's line of sight.
The clear of a throat followed.
"Na uh. Nope. No, sirree. You needa STOP making googly eyes at my cousin—"
Marik watched as A'isha groaned, burying her reddened face in both hands. Her messy top bun shifted with a disapproving shake of her head and a few stray strands of damp, black hair swayed with the movement.
"—and LISTEN UP, King of Creeps!"
A sudden prod in Marik's chest had him prying his eyes from A'isha. With a sharp huff, he stared down his nose at the scowling girl before him. The top of her black-haired head barely reached his shoulders.
"Oh, good. You CAN listen!"
He couldn't help but laugh. Truly, an actual toddler might've been more intimidating.
"Newsflash, creepo! A'isha doesn't WANT your stupid paper." She flicked the stapled papers with the back of her hand, visibly dismayed when they stayed in his grasp. "No! Na uh! The only thing A'isha WANTS from you… is for you to get LOST!"
Marik let out an amused snort. "You forget whose ship this is, girl, and who granted A'isha's Christmas wish for an unbearable headache."
A low growl rumbled in the back of her throat. "She— She ALREADY had a headache from dealing with YOU all night, Mr Christmas Wish!"
"Amara." A'isha kneaded her forehead as the slightest hint of annoyance leaked into her tone. "The longer the two of you bicker, the less time we have for Christmas things."
Marik found himself simultaneously amused at the single word vocabulary lasting as long as it had and relieved that it wouldn't be sticking around permanently.
But that relief was short-lived as he heard A'isha add, And the more time we'll have to stand someone who said it'd be fifteen hours before I saw his damn face again!
A frown almost inched to his face, and surely would have had there not been the two sets of attentive eyes—or perhaps three, considering Amara stood a mere foot away—watching his every move. Further, the stapled papers were still in his hand, and lest he develop a literal major headache thanks to the less tactful of his captives, his priority was to relieve himself of said papers immediately. Thankfully, the only direction little Amara needed was for him to hold them above her, presented like string to a cat.
"What's that?" She seemed a hair away from actively jumping for the papers, but startingly, exercised enough restraint to simply snatch them instead.
"You have eyes." Marik rolled his own. "Use them."
"What the—?" Amara's eyes were practically the size of dinner plates at the pages upon pages that contained a little more gossip than well-wished sentiments for a safe return. If he recalled correctly the split was 55/45, again the larger number claimed by the gossip. "How'd you GET this?!"
"I'm the leader of the Rare Hunters. Naturally, I have a whole manner of resour—"
"Oh my GOD!" Amara balked, her nose all but hitting the paper. "Jasmine's dating Ryan Asghar? That does NOT sound right."
This time, Marik did frown. True to expected form, Amara had figuratively torn into the over-glorified gossip column within half a minute. He should've known it'd result in the near loss of his hearing. Before her childish squawks could finish off his eardrums, he stepped around her and to the foot of the bed.
A'isha's stare was dead-set on him, not the remaining papers in his hand.
In almost the same fashion as one full hour prior, he paced to the side of the bed, and held out the stapled paper. They were almost exclusively filled with well-wishes, although some almost read as if she were dead rather than merely kidnapped.
A'isha's stare didn't once fall from him to the extended papers. "I don't want it." Her voice neither broke nor faltered. No, it was firm and decisive.
Marik truly shouldn't have expected less; shouldn't have expected her to think this meant he cared, first and foremost. Her reason for refusing them wasn't apparent, but he knew it wasn't blind. In that moment, a subtle dip into her head with the Rod proved his train of thought wasn't far off.
They're called private messages for a reason, Marik caught her think, and thanks to that stupid stick, I don't even have the illusion of privacy!
The book in Odion's lap appeared to have his undivided attention, but Marik felt his eyes on him. It was never a welcome feeling; it was the closest his brother ever came to chastising him, and a rarely used action at that. He could've sworn he saw Odion pointedly mouth the words "privacy matters" as he read, his large finger tapping a portion of his book's page. Unlike Amara, his brother truly was a master of subtlety.
Despite A'isha's refusal, Marik dropped the papers on her bed and turned toward the door. "Enjoy your Christmas"—as he crossed the threshold into the hallway, he dipped in with the Rod one last time—"and the true privacy to peruse those messages at your leisure, A'isha."
Her scoff cut through the room. Like you'd actually—
Leaving the confinements of her mind, Marik closed the door behind him. He swore he heard her huff.
Ataahua: Again, this chapter wasn't as action-packed as some of our others, but they can't all be the equivalent of the shitfest or dindate, right? Goodness. Poor Ish would be (even more of) a damn mess! Also- gee, Marik's so spectacularly great at underestimating others and shooting himself in the foot, but I am HERE for it!
TDH: Additional Pillow Talk Chapters are coming- it just didn't fit well in this chapter. And I have to say it… Just the GALL on that boy… shooting himself in the foot indeed.
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