The Magicians' Realm Chapter 44: Late-Night Musings, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

Chapter 44, everybody! Which is a bit sedate, but we needed it. Now on to the next event! :D

Angiembabe, thanks for the review! It is a little vague, I'll admit—and yes, poor Yami! D: Yes, she's had previous messes before…now if only she'd tell me about them….Well, Greg does have more experience, we have to give him that. And yes, if some communicating doesn't happen soon, that's exactly what will happen—and that last bit made me think of this: "Camptown races sing this song, do-dah, do dah…."

FicReader, thanks for the ninety-ninth and hundredth review! Darn phone, but still. Yes indeed! And yes indeed….Nice—I can get that analogy. Yes…and me too—this whole arc came out of nowhere for me, and while I like it for the worldbuilding, it's aggravating from the perspective of he's a nice guy! Hello!? And yes, persistence can be a bad thing, as can nosy friends who take bets on whether or not he falls flat on his face or not. And yes, yes, and oh yes—it makes you wonder how those goons got into power to begin with….

Fromtheashtrees, thanks for review number one-hundred-and-one! Yes, he could. Oh good—although to be honest, my descriptions do leave something to be desired at times (the Frost King, for example). Yes indeed…and yes indeed—but after Jurassic World, I'm a little leery of fresh entries to franchises I love (whyyyyy). I looked it up—apparently it was sung by an Australian and was a big hit worldwide in the sixties, so it's an older song (it's a pretty decent earworm for being basically a death ballad, as the guy singing dies by the end of the song). I'm not sure either—plenty of country music, certainly, or maybe "The Battle of New Orleans." Hmmm…I'll put it on my "to-check" list then….

References:

Original characters, + setting © Kineil D. Wicks (myself, not the girl in the story)

"You folks having a good time?"

Teana and Yami both looked up at the new voice. "Oh, uh, Teana, this is Zeff, the proprietor," Yami said, indicating the man in a chef's outfit before them. He had a braided moustache and a peg leg, and struck Teana as more pirate than proprietor. "Zeff, this is Teana. We were having a heated discussion over the intent behind the creation of the rubber duck."

"I noticed," Zeff said. "I could have cooked over that discussion—which you're going to have to have somewhere else."

"Were we that heated that you need to kick us out?"

But Teana noticed what Zeff must have meant. "Yami," she said. "There's no one else here."

"I don't count?" Sanji asked, already out and sweeping. The light outside indicated pre-dawn gloom.

"No," Zeff told him. Then, to Yami and Teana: "Again, you have to leave at closing time. Your bill," he added, handing Yami a slip.

Teana coughed out a laugh at how Yami's eyebrows shot up. "Please tell me I didn't eat this much," he said.

"No, but I have to make up for lost revenue. Now out, before I flip that seat over with you in it."

Within a few minutes, they were walking away from the River's Run, gingerly stepping over the sleeping forms of pirates and Gypsians scattered about the yard.

"Don't they have anyplace better to sleep?" she asked.

"They will when Sanji starts throwing water on them," Yami said, helping her weave through the yard and onto the road. "Can I escort you home?"

"I don't know—what time is it?"

He pulled out a pocket watch, swung it around his hand, popped it open in his palm. "Five-thirty—wow."

"I have a job I have to be at in thirty minutes."

"What on earth do you do that requires you to be up that early?"

"Not all of us have the luxury of sleeping in."

"A true pity. Can I escort you to your job, then?"

"If you must," Teana sighed, accepting his hand and following him along the road. To be honest, she wasn't all that thrilled about walking through the woods this—late? Early?—by herself anyway.

"So," he noised after a while. "Am I forgiven for things I have no control over?"

"The jury hasn't come back on that yet," she said, prompting him to sag. "I'll be honest, I like things better without a whole troupe of people invested in the outcome."

"I heard them betting on us," he muttered. "You disappointed a lot of people by not throwing your drink in my face."

"That would explain the round of applause at me throwing a French fry at you."

"It would—which is more than a little weird."

They were out of the woods now, literally—now, she supposed, for the figurative.

"I suppose I forgive you," she said. "Ish."

"Ish?" he asked, confused.

She stopped at a diner by the train station—her morning job. "I reserve the right to not have my every waking moment occupied by you," she said. "And…yes, I suppose I offered you the whole year—just stop trying to cram the whole year into one month."

He gave that some thought as she climbed the short flight of stairs—not letting go of her hand yet; his long reach meant he could do it.

"Fair enough," he said. "So…when are you free next?"

"My next several days' worth of free time will be devoted to catching up on the sleep I missed tonight." Then, after a brief hesitation: "I'll send you a letter letting you know."

He looked distinctly brighter at that. "Okay, I suppose I could live with that."

"Good, because that's what you're getting. And no loitering around your mailbox like Charlie Brown in the funnies."

"Are you sure? I know some people who would be sorely disappointed at the missed opportunity."

"I'm sure. You'll get a letter next week. Fair enough?"

"I suppose."

"Good. You can let go now."

He did so.

"Goodbye, Mr. Skellington," she began.

"Oh please don't call me that," he said. "That's remarkably…formal."

"Let's keep it that way for now," she said, opening the diner door and stepping in. She went to the employee coat racks, deposited her coat on it, put an apron on, and picked up the mop and returned to the front room. Yami was gone by then, thank goodness. She began cleaning as the sun thought about rising over the Eastern Hills.

And then something loud and clattery and cacophonous roared by. Teana jumped up—managed to catch the tail-end of Hephaestus, Vulcan and Kineil cheering in a device that was vehicle-like in appearance—

The conversation from what felt like a lifetime ago came back to her—those three had been making a car on Yami's dime.

And apparently, they had completed it.

"That," she managed finally. "Is going to be a major menace to the road."

*/*\*

Maxwell checked his watch, glanced up at the clock tower. It was smaller than the one in Delvaire, but it did the job well enough.

He snapped his watch shut, debated on the merits of staying in Dais Run—rumor had it a tar beast had taken up residence in the area, and Maxwell knew that the rats in the area were voracious and vicious. But it was the first place he had leapt to when he decided to be away on urgent business, so….

He stood, walked through the little park, giving other locations thought. Massenborough was a joke. Nawleans was not the place to fall asleep in; Jois-Outside-of-Norkyew and Norkyew proper weren't too bad, if you didn't mind the fact that they were built on dead cities. And no one in their right mind slept in the wilderness by themselves. Except for Skellington, come to think of it—but he had never been in his right mind.

Maxwell sighed, reached into his pocket, pulled out the picture he had retrieved from Head Mage Montgau without Montgau realizing—the fact that he had pulled a fast one on the Head Mage, ha!

He examined it before folding it back up and putting it back in his pocket—he didn't need to give the painful memories any more impetus than they had.

He stopped, slammed his heels together, fell through his own shadow, came back out in a town by one of the Thesdell's tributaries. Didn't remember the name of the river or the town at the moment, but he was sure it'd come back to him. He did remember that this was the town where the Naguses met their fateful end at the hands of the Administrators—experimenting with Chaos-magic and transmogrification; how ridiculously dangerous, according to the Administrators.

He took off his jacket, rolled it up, used it as a pillow when he found a relatively soft-looking street bench and reclined on it. One leg dangled off the end as the other was tucked up against him, basically, but he didn't mind—he had slept in worse.

Staring at the starry sky, he reflected on the actions he had taken. This could be the end of him, if it blew up in his face.

Somehow, he didn't mind the idea of an end to this mess.

I'm not in a position to be asking favors, he thought skywards. But let this work out positively. Please?

That requested, he curled up on the bench, huddled against the first stirrings of autumn, and fell asleep.

Here was hoping.