The Decision
Nagano Prefecture, Japan. March 21st, 20xx
A mingling of smoke and fog hangs thick in the chilly air above Nagano, Japan, causing the residents to hug their various jackets and coats closer to bared napes and hasten their steps on their way to work. Three stories above the run-down streets of the least tasteful section of Nagano, a man stands on the cracked cement balcony of his rundown apartment and watches the people below with a twisted scowl on his lips. He would be considered rather handsome and exotic with his brown eyes that edge on reddish and the silky white hair that frames his alabaster face in jagged waves, but the malicious hardness set on his face ruins the illusion. He tugs the collar of his black trenchcoat closer to his throat and exhales a sigh that mists in front of him in silvery swirls as he smiles humorlessly to himself.
I didn't think that the humans of this bleak world could become even more pathetic in such a short time. It has been only four years since I was last here, after all. He frowns to himself and tilts his head back to study the thick grey clouds above his head that threaten snow. I need to think about getting out of this country before I continue to puzzle over the idiocy of the human race. This may be a completely different area, but any slight chance that Yugi and his gaggle of twats might find me is too big of a risk. I can't have them ruin my plans again… not after working so hard to get back here.
He swivels on booted feet and walks purposefully into the cramped flat he had been renting for the past year or so, the icy breeze ruffling his white hair one last time before the balcony door snaps shut behind him. Striding over to the tiny bed, he snatches up a plain canvas backpack he had left on the midnight blue sheets and pulls it open before pacing around the apartment. As he tosses his wallet and a few articles of clothing into the empty bag, his eyes wander to the mold creeping up from the baseboards and the peeling vinyl floor. He scowls in disgust before digging out his cell phone from under the bed and stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans, and tossing its charger into the backpack. With the living area cleared, he strolls into the tiny half bath and peers at his reflection in the cramped mirror set crooked on the wall over the avocado-green sink.
"Ryou? You've been quiet throughout all of my planning. Not that I care… but don't you have anything to say on the subject? Typically, you would be so opposed to everything that I decide to do with your body." He watches as his nearly red-brown eyes shift to a silvery-blue for a moment as a softer and much higher-pitched voice echoes through his mind. "I… I already told you Akefia… the words that I… said to you right before you left were all lies. I don't care what you do anymore… as long as you s… stay with me." Shaking his head, the white-haired man smirks and chuckles darkly to himself before turning away from the mirror and yanking a false brick from the wall next to the sink. Sticking his hand into the hidden safe he had created in secret, he retrieves a black velvet bag containing his most prized possession and slides it open after replacing the brick.
The Ring glows softly in his hands under the wavering fluorescent lights, as though pleased to be back with its owner, making the man smile in earnest. He stuffs the velvet bag into the backpack and slips the light-colored leather cord of the Ring over his head, tucking the oddly warm metal under his shirt so that it settles against his chest. He stands and tosses his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and other various toiletries into the nearly full backpack before striding back into the main room of the filthy apartment. Setting the bag on the floor, he starts to hunt down anything he may have missed before deciding to give the kitchen a good once-over. Hmm, where should I go after leaving here? I am bored with this country and need a new place, preferably somewhere with lots of wasted, energetic life.
He pops open his small fridge and takes out his last two bottles of beer before shutting it on the odd condiments, Tupperware full of various foods, and the multiple take-out boxes. He glances around as he thinks about where to go, knowing that the beer is probably the only salvageable thing in the kitchen. "How about Spain?" A quiet voice says, causing him to nearly drop the bottles of beer as he whips his head around, searching for danger. He scowls to himself and walks back over to his bag, stowing the beer bottles in a nest of his clothes before zipping it shut and hoisting it over his shoulder. "Don't startle me like that again, Ryou." He growls into his mind as he walks out of the flat door and locking it behind him. "And why in the name of the Gods would I want to go to a filthy hovel like Spain?" He toys with the keys in his left hand while stroking a book of matches in his pocket, wondering if he should burn this revolting apartment complex to the ground.
"Don't torch the apartment; that will just draw unwanted attention to you right now. And I think you should go to Spain because… um… they are laid-back there?" The man snorts to himself before pocketing the keys and walking down the hallway to the stairwell that leads down to the front office. He rips open the door, unwilling to touch the cockeyed handle for too long, and pauses to allow a bit more time to speak with his host on the manner. "If Spain is laid-back… then explain why that is any different from somewhere like America or even Italy, where being laid-back is like a national sport." He makes his way down the stairs slowly, entertained by his host's quiet discomfort, before pushing open the doors leading to the main hallway, letting them squeal shut behind him on rusted hinges. He pads towards the main office; head cocked slightly as he listens for his host's response. "Well… Spain is the better option because… um… everyone there is drunk, lazy, and complacent." He snickers to himself at that comment as he lowers himself into a splintered wooden chair set outside of the main office door.
"In that case, Spain is more like the other two countries because the same can be said of the citizens there… even more so of Americans." A wicked grin crosses his face as Ryou's indignation swells through their shared mind before the door to the office creaks open, and he quickly drops the unsettling expression. A rather heavyset Japanese man with a balding head covered in a few sparse grey hairs totters out of the office and turns around to face him. The much older male peers down at him through his thick horn-rimmed glasses with confusion on his wrinkly face. "Excuse me, can I help you with something, Child?" The man croaks out in a rusty timbre, making him almost scowl at being called a child. He arranges his face in the most convincing expression of innocence he can muster and smiles up at the older man.
"Yes, Sir, I'm Ryou Bakura… I called down earlier to discuss the termination of my lease here?" The balding man squints harder at him, and he tries his best to keep smiling sweetly, even as he felt his insides curdle at the imitation of his host's voice and kind nature. Understanding dawns on the older man's face, and he nods before starting to shuffle back into his office. "Ah yes… I remember now, please, come into my office Bakura-Kun." The much taller white-haired man rises from his seat, his face dropping into a scowl for a moment as the older man leads him through the rusty office door into the cramped room. "Please, have a seat Bakura-Kun."
Bakura eyes the cracked vinyl of the tiny chair sitting in front of the three-legged desk across from a broken-down office chair and scowls a bit harder before sinking onto the grimy seat. He glances up at the cracked wall clock and the three-year-old calendar sitting next to it on one of the chipped concrete walls while the building manager crab-walks his way to his chair. He flicks his eyes back to the balding man, watching his progress in amusement as the man nearly upsets a stack of dog-eared books and soiled papers from the edge of the teetering desk. As the man heaves his bulk into the chair, causing it to groan and sink a few inches, Bakura arranges his face back into a mask of innocence. Once seated, the fat man raises himself with great effort to dig through the immense amount of papers and books littering the desk's battered and stained surface. When he sits back down, making the chair creak dangerously again, he holds a handful of papers clutched in his chubby fingers. He sets them down and looks over another stack of stained papers and torn phonebooks with confusion deepening the wrinkles along his ample jowls.
"Before we begin, I must ask, why are you leaving so soon, Bakura-Kun? You know as well as I that you have a few months left on your current lease." Bakura bites the inside of his bottom lip before forcing himself to smile sweetly again as he mentally prepares to imitate his host again. "Well, you see, Seiken-Buchou, I've been granted a scholarship to a very prestigious college, but they don't have a campus in Japan." The man across from him smiles broadly and hands him all but two of the papers along with a rather sticky pen, looking somewhat impressed with Bakura. "That is fantastic news, Bakura-Kun! Where are you going to go if not somewhere here?" He looks up at the building manager, resisting the urge to strangle him for the state of the pen in his hand, and smiles.
"The school has three rather lovely campuses located in America, Italy, and Spain, but I haven't decided on which one to attend just yet. I have to get all my affairs sorted out before the school year fully begins." Under the man's greasy smile, Bakura turns his attention to the forms he needs to fill out and starts to focus on writing down all the required information. "You know Bakura-Kun, my daughter moved to Switzerland to go to college even though my wife and I begged her to stay and attend a college close to home. I threatened to disown her, but she was rather insistent on it. Now my wife…"
Bakura tunes out for a while as the man drones on about his problems, settling for filling out his paperwork as he turns his attention inwards to discuss a little more with his host. "Apologies for shutting you off from me, but I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on trying to be you with your wheedling."
"It's okay, Akefia; I understand that you had to do it."
"Good, now, you were saying something about why I should choose Spain over some of the other countries I had in mind?"
"Yeah, I was just about to ask you if America and Italy had nightclubs, bars, and prostitutes everywhere you looked?"
"Yes." He says to his host simply before finishing the paperwork and moving on to sign and date each page whilst ensuring that he didn't miss anything while he feels Ryou fuming. "Well, they aren't available all day and night like they are in Spain. Also, Spain has numerous nude beaches still, unlike the few in Italy and the none in America!" Bakura glances up impatiently at the fogged glass face of the wall clock as he hands the building manager the finished papers and the grimy pen as the man continues chattering happily.
"My son went off and married a Russian woman without our blessing, and I haven't heard from him ever since…" The man's raspy voice fades away as Bakura tunes out again so that he can finish his conversation with Ryou. "Hmm, it isn't like any of that matters to me anyway, nor does it affect my decision, but now that I think about it, Spain has a much lower crime rate right now than the other two and might be more fun to stir the pot so to speak." When he turns his attention back to the building manager, he feels a flash of annoyance as he observes the rather sweaty man chattering away as he slowly scrawls his way through the two papers in front of him. Bakura feels his rage build unchecked as the snail's pace was irksome and was wearing on nerves already fragile from the acting he had to do.
"Bloody hell! Can you just shut the fuck up and finish the papers, Seiken-Dono? I wish to leave this miserable cesspool and get on with my life before I end up like you! No wonder your children abandoned you, and your wife is cheating on you!"
The man's face pales under Bakura's impatient glare, and he watches in satisfaction as tears start welling up in the corners of the older man's dusty brown eyes. He ignores the sudden stench of fresh urine and the older man's flushed face and drops the keys on the table as the building manager hurriedly signs the last paper. "That look suits you, Old Man; you should wear it more often." Bakura snarls before turning on his heels and striding out the door while a symphony of blubbering accompanies him down the hallway. He feels a psychotic smile spread across his lips as he shoves open the main entrance leading out to the street, and he draws in a breath of the polluted air. The shafts of watery sunlight do little to warm the icy look in his eyes as he steps off down the road with the tail of his trenchcoat snapping around his ankles. Let's have some real fun.
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