Author's Note: While I tend to stick to the Japanese names, I use the dub name Croquet in this story because I like how Darren Dunstan says it.
Also, The Mummy is a great movie.
That is all.
Warnings: None. Seriously, none. I wanted to do something happy for once. What? Why are you looking at me that way? Not everything I write in October has to be depressing. I can write fun silly stuff too, you know.
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! is copywritten to Kazuki Takahashi and Konami. The Mummy is copywritten to Universal Studios.
Pegasus couldn't believe he had spent the past two months planning every detail for his Halloween party, with the grave exception of what his own costume was going to be.
"Damn it, Croquet, how could you let this happen?" Pegasus swore. He ripped a calendar down the center, folded the pieces, tore those portions in half once more, and threw the bits in the bin underneath his desk.
"Apologies, sir," Croquet said in a manner that wasn't entirely apologetic. He had tried, multiple times throughout September and October, to remind Pegasus he needed to order his own costume well ahead of the projected party date. Pegasus disregarded the reminders and assured his butler he was entirely capable of keeping his own wardrobe on track.
He wasn't.
"I swear the last time I checked the calendar, it was the eighth of October," Pegasus groaned. He flopped into his crossed arms on his desk with a painful sigh. "How is today Halloween?"
"There is something the earth does, sir. It rotates," Croquet said plainly. Pegasus lifted his head from his arms and glared.
"You know, Croquet, there's an academy in the United Kingdom that specializes in training prior infantrymen as combat-certified butlers. I think I may call them and ask for their next graduation roster."
"I would appreciate the extra assistance, sir," Croquet said. Pegasus' glare faded and eased into an impressed expression, sliding his mouth into a halfhearted smirk.
"That's why I like you, Croquet. You don't balk."
Pegasus sighed, straightened his posture, and slumped back into his chair as his hands flew over his face.
"The party is in six hours, and all the costume shops are stripped of anything decent," Pegasus whined. "What am I supposed to do? Take a curtain and wrap it like a toga? I can't do that. I already went as Marcus Aurelius last year."
Croquet said nothing. He remembered it well. Having gone out of his way to employ a period tailor specializing in Roman history, Pegasus' costume had indeed been accurate to the figure. Despite this, everyone kept calling him Julius Caesar. Pegasus became frustrated and lamented on his party guests' lack of historical knowledge. He had then spent the last half of the party drinking so much wine that people were calling him Caligula before he passed out in the fountain of the courtyard. It was privately dubbed "The C.C. Incident," and they both agreed to never speak of the night again. However, Croquet recalled more people would have correctly guessed he was Marcus Aurelius had Pegasus opted to wear a beard with the costume, but he had chosen not to because it made Isis uncomfortable.
"She says I remind her of her father when I wear it," Croquet distinctly remembered Pegasus saying as he had thrown the fake beard in the fireplace of his Italian estate. "That is not a good thing."
Yet it also wasn't good that Pegasus did not have a costume ready for his own party at present.
"Knock knock," came another voice. There were two knocks against the door of room to accompany the words, but the woman responsible for saying them had only done so as a courtesy, not as a way of asking for genuine permission to enter Pegasus' private study, as she had proven when she poked her head around the doorway with a confident smile.
"At least one thing in my life has gone right," Pegasus sighed wistfully. He visibly perked up and stretched his arms out. "You need not announce yourself. Come in, habibti. Let me have a good look at my lady this hallowed day."
"Charming," Isis hummed. She stepped into the room, asking coyly, "So, what do you think of my costume?"
As she swept her hand down her body, Croquet thought it looked quite nice. Pegasus' jaw would have hit the top of his desk if he had been a Toon monster.
"The leather boots look comfortable," Croquet commented. Isis nodded in acknowledgment to the compliment.
"It's… not what I expected," Pegasus said, his arms drooping with his voice.
"You don't like it?" Isis asked, somewhat disheartened.
"It's not that. It's just not what I had been expecting," Pegasus repeated. Isis had only given him a hint that week: she'd be dressing like a character from a film they had watched recently. Pegasus had been hoping she'd be Catwoman.
"Indiana Jones?" Pegasus asked, cradling his hand in his chin. She was wearing an artificially dirtied white blouse and brown slacks with knee-high, saddle tan boots, with a leather pistol holster at her chest, and leather bands at her forearms. "Seems incomplete. Where is the hat and the whip?"
"What? No," Isis said, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm not Harrison Ford. I'm Brendan Fraser."
Pegasus could only blink. Isis tapped her foot against the floor as he tried to understand what she was saying. The silence that followed was discouraging.
"Rick O'Connell," Isis finally clarified. "From The Mummy. Is it really not obvious?"
"Aah, now I see it," Pegasus said, poking the air with his index finger to punctuate the point. "Why Rick O'Connell, though? Wouldn't you rather have been Evelyn, or Anck-Su-Namun?"
Isis narrowed her eyes with a pout. Croquet looked unfazed, but he did a mental double-take. He did not know the pragmatic Miss Ishtar had been capable of the expression.
"I spend the other 364 days surrounded by artifacts and entertaining a man who thinks himself a hierophant," Isis said, holding an open palm and gesturing to Pegasus. "I would like to call myself an adventurer for a night."
Pegasus raised his eyebrows at being called a hierophant, and nodded in appreciation at her statement.
"I see you've put a good deal of thought into your costume. Indeed, my love, you've captured the spirit of Halloween." Pegasus frowned then.
"Meanwhile, I'm still chasing it!" he said. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head low, looking as though he wanted to weep.
"You don't have a costume?" Isis asked, somewhat bewildered, "but the party is in six hours."
"I know!" Pegasus cried. Croquet pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to Pegasus.
"Oh, stop it, I'm not that upset!" Pegasus took the handkerchief and tossed it into the little silver trash bin with a sniffle, showing that he was, in fact, that upset. It was now Isis' turn to hold her chin in her hand, thinking of a way to alleviate his frustration.
"No, you know what? I do have a costume," Pegasus said bitterly. He slammed his hands against his desk and stood up. He stomped determinedly past Croquet and Isis, making his way for the exit.
"I'll just cut off a piece of the bear rug and say I'm a jungle man named 'George.' It'll be a couples themed costume: we'll both be Brendan Fraser."
Pegasus didn't sound happy with the decision. Isis smiled.
"Wait." Isis reached out and grabbed his wrist. He stopped at looked back at her miserly.
"We don't both have to be Brendan Fraser, but we can do a theme. Croquet, do you have a pen and paper?"
The man said nothing as he pulled out a fountain pen and a memo pad from the chest pocket of his suit.
"Shokran," Isis uttered appreciatively. She took the stationery and began to write.
"What are you doing?" Pegasus asked, peeking over her shoulder.
"I'm making a list of things to get," Isis said.
"But all the Halloween shops are pilfered by this point."
"Perhaps, but I am willing to bet the art supply and beauty shops are well stocked," Isis said. She ripped the top page off of the memo pad and handed it along with the pen back to Croquet.
"Croquet, do you mind coming along with me on an adventure into town?"
"Not all all, Miss Ishtar," Croquet replied.
"Very good," Isis said.
"Where are we going?" Pegasus asked.
"Croquet and I are going shopping for your costume supplies. You are going to stay here and make sure everything is ready for your party."
"But—"
"Tend to your party," Isis said. She placed a hand on his chest and a quick kiss to his lips. She smoothed her hands over the lapels of his suit. "It will be my responsibility to make sure you look good for the event. Croquet, yallah."
"Yes, Miss Ishtar."
Isis left Pegasus no room to comment or argue as she dashed out of the room with Croquet in toe.
"… But I want to go on an adventure too," Pegasus said.
- 0 -
Croquet and Isis returned two hours later with a surplus of synthetic mica and acrylic paint with a box of black hair dye and liquid eyeliner.
"What is—"
"No time to waste! We need to get to your art studio!" Isis said, turning Pegasus right around and pushing against his back. "The party is in four hours!"
They sprinted to the studio and Croquet tossed the plastic bags into the room before shutting the door.
"Just what am I—"
"Get your clothes off," Isis said, pulling at the buttons of his suit and slipping it off his shoulders.
"Oh my, but madame, the party is in four hours," Pegasus said salaciously.
"Exactly. That's why I need to start painting you!"
"… Wait, why do you want to paint a portrait when we only have four hour—"
"Not a portrait! You! I need to paint you! As soon as we dye your hair black!"
"… What?"
- 0 -
"I must say, Isis, I've never been painted like this before, but the experience is quite pleasant. And I do look quite dapper with darker hair. Though, I have some concern about the overall, er, aesthetic? I don't mind the theme. I do think it's quite clever you came up with this on the fly, and your skill with an airbrush is impressive. I'm just somewhat concerned that someone will think I'm unduly appropriat—"
"Please stop talking. I need to get these lines clean on your chest and I'd rather not have uneven design around your nipples."
"Yes, Ma'am."
- 0 -
Though Pegasus nor Isis were present for the first 45 minutes of the party, they did manage to participate in that night's festivities. Pegasus did still end up wearing a loin cloth, but he was not a jungle man by any means.
Everyone looked on and away from the man as he made his grand entrance, a carved, lithe figure of shimmering gold from head-to-toe with black scales flanking his chest, sporting an intricate Egyptian neck piece with a winged scarab at its center. The darkness of the kohl at his eyes matched the darkness of the hair as a circlet of a gold serpent stood proudly atop his head.
"Is he the naked lady from The Mummy?" Jounouchi asked under his rubber tiger mask, putting the axe of his costume down and curving his hand to the side of the mask, as though imitating some semblance of secrecy.
"Anck-su-Namun," Anzu said flatly, adjusting the rim of the hat of her Dark Magician Girl costume to keep it from falling over her eyes. "And yes, he is."
"Alright, first things first, before anyone says anything about appropriation," Pegasus announced with his arms outstretched, "I want it to be clear, she is the one who approved this costume."
He gestured to the Egyptian woman in a dirtied white blouse and saddle tan pants at his side, who was currently smiling like a cat that had eaten an aviary of canaries.
"Wow," Ryou said from his place at the punch bowl. His brown Ghostbuster jumpsuit had been a half-size too small, and he attempted to casually pull on the seat of the pants to relieve the third wedgie he'd experienced that night. "I think this is the second year in a row your sister has sabotaged Pegasus' costume."
Malik spat out his cheap plastic vampire fangs into his palm so he could speak clearly.
"I know," Malik said with a sense of whimsy and admiration. "I'm so proud of her."
"You should be."
Malik and Ryou jumped as a ghoulish man in black with a pale face and sunken eyes hovered behind them with a serving tray.
"Your sister spent three hours painting Master Crawford's body with an airbrush."
"That's… impressive," Ryou said. "Uh, Mister Croquet, is it?"
"Just Croquet is fine."
"Didn't need to know that," Malik said.
"They would have showed up to the party on time, but Master Crawford made it a point to tell me Miss Ishtar wanted to take time to 'thoroughly admire her work' without smearing the paint."
"Really didn't need to know that," Malik said with a grimace.
"Neither did I," Croquet said. He held out the serving tray of white chocolate balls skewered by toothpicks, with bright red cherry syrup oozing out of the little spheres. "Would you like an eyeball on a stick to clear the palate?"
END