Mr. Ryou nodded slowly at Bakura's resignation and then went back outside to get his fianceé. Bakura stared after him morosely and then slowly went upstairs to get himself a bit more presentable and to compose a letter to Amane.
Yami Bakura was sulking in the boy's room. "What do you want?" he grunted. "I am not going to make a snowman with you."
Bakura sighed and plopped down at his desk. "Yami . . . my father's engaged!" he wailed. "And he didn't even bother to tell me until now!"
Yami Bakura, who was stretched out on the bed, now sat up and didn't look surprised. "That sounds like something he would do," he remarked unsympathetically. "I never did like him much."
Bakura shook his head and pulled a sheet of paper toward him on which to write his letter.
Dear Amane—
Well . . . I never thought this would happen. Never once! But Father's gone and gotten engaged. He has been for two months and he never thought to tell me!! He said he just assumed I could meet her when he brought her here. I don't understand it, Amane. Why wouldn't he think I was deserving of knowing?!
"Bakura?"
Yami Bakura looked toward the door, from which the voice had come. "I suppose now you must go and meet her," he said with a certain amount of amusement.
Bakura didn't think it was funny at all. Carefully he folded the unfinished letter and put it in the desk drawer for safe-keeping. "Coming, Father!" he called, trying to sound normal. With a glare at his Yami, the boy left his room and descended the stairs slowly.
Mr. Ryou was at the bottom of the stairs with a lovely woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. They both smiled up at Bakura as he came down to them.
"You must be Bakura," the woman said, shaking his hand gently. "Your father has told me so much about you I feel I know you already."
Bakura gave a weak smile as he shook her hand. "Oh really?" He couldn't help thinking that it was a wonder his father remembered or cared to tell her anything. "Well . . . I'm hoping we will get a chance to know each other." The boy felt uneasy for some reason that he couldn't quite place, but he soon brushed it off.
"Yes!" the woman declared. "I hope that too."
Mr. Ryou beamed with pride. "This is Frances," he declared.
Bakura nearly fainted.
****
Duke closed up shop for the day, noting that it was starting to snow again. He sighed, idly wondering what was happening with Bakura, and then prepared to head out the door.
He stopped when he heard a creaking sound nearby. Knowing that he was the only one supposed to be in there, the emerald-eyed boy slowly advanced and hid behind a shelf to watch. Someone had obviously broken in.
Duke waited for nearly five minutes, but no one approached. He could hear the person rooting through a box, however. After arming himself with a make-shift weapon, he crept around the corner to attack silently—but no one was there. Only the box remained.
Duke knew the person couldn't have gotten away that fast. Grimly he looked around for any place the burglar could have concealed himself (or herself, even). Just when he was about to give up, something extremely hard hit him on the head from behind. With a cry of surprise and pain the boy found himself falling. Then he knew no more.
The assailant stood over him with a nasty smirk. "That was almost too easy. Now to find what I came for!" With that the figure disappeared into the storeroom.
****
Seto was busy going through documents when Velma appeared hesitantly in the doorway. "Mr. Kaiba?"
He looked up with a sigh. "What is it?"
Velma grinned nervously. "Well . . . I'm takin' tomorrow off, of course," she said slowly.
"I already know that," Seto said in irritation.
Velma giggled. "My sister . . . well . . . she was hopin' that I could stay with them over the weekend and stuff. . . ."
"Go ahead," Seto said with a wave of his hand.
"Really? Oh thank you, Mr. Kaiba!" Velma exclaimed. "I'll be back bright and early on Monday!"
"I expect you will be." Seto was barely listening, actually, but he was hearing enough to know what was going on.
As he started to type up another email, the screen suddenly flashed with the news that he'd just received one.
"Eh?" He narrowed his eyes, wondering who would even know his email address to send something. Curiously he clicked on the button that would take him to his Inbox and then looked for the new message. The sender was one he didn't recognize.
Kaiba—
I doubt that you'll remember me, but I remember you very clearly. There are things we need to discuss. Meet me at the lot you wanted to buy from Mr. Thorton last year exactly one hour from when you receive this email.
It was unsigned.
"Are you gonna go, Seto?!"
Startled, Seto looked to see Mokuba leaning over the back of the chair and staring at the computer screen.
"It sounds like it could be trouble!" Mokuba continued with a frown.
"I'm not afraid of trouble," Seto replied. He didn't trust whoever was sending the message, but he also felt that he needed to go see what was up. He'd be careful.
"Yeah? Well, I don't want you to get hurt!" Mokuba cried. "Tomorrow's Thanksgiving! I want us to be able to have a nice, quiet day without trouble!"
"We will," Seto said firmly. "But I should check this out. Alone," he added.
Mokuba glared. "It's not like I'm a baby, Seto! I could help!"
"I'm going alone," Seto repeated. "I don't want you involved in this!" With that he walked out the door, leaving no room for arguments.
Mokuba crossed his arms in frustration.
****
Marik was getting a message as well, but his wasn't so subtle as to what was wanted.
"What is that, brother?" Ishizu asked, looking over at the note he was holding.
"A death threat!" Marik replied angrily, showing it to her. It was written entirely with capital newspaper letters, and red ink was splotched around the edges as if to resemble blood.
Your last days are now, Marik Ishtar! Don't resist your death,
As it's pointless to do so!
Ishizu narrowed her eyes. "This should be reported to the police!"
Rishid, coming into the room and realizing what was being talked about, looked at the note and then out the still-open door. "How long ago was this delivered?!" he cried in outrage.
"Only a moment ago," Marik told him. "I heard a soft thump and then I came to the door. All I found was snow smashed on the door and this." He waved the note. "At first I thought it was another prank of those children, but . . . I really don't think they'd do something like this."
Rishid grunted. He didn't really think so either, but then they actually couldn't be sure. Those boys might find something like that hilarious, not realizing that it would really be a crime.
What made him hesitant to out and out accuse the boys was more the fact that Marik's name had been used. And their new neighbors, to Rishid's knowledge, didn't know Marik's name. They just wanted to call him "Girly-boy."
Now he headed outside, locking the door firmly behind him and instructing Marik and Ishizu not to let anyone in until he came back. Marik, realizing that Rishid was going to look for who had placed the note, begged vehemently for him not to, but Rishid insisted. After a thorough search of the yard, the man hadn't found any clues other that the footprints in the snow, and even those weren't good enough to determine anything about the person who had left them. The snow was still falling heavily, and already the prints were mostly concealed again.
Much to Marik's and Ishizu's relief, Rishid came into the house then—cold and snowed on but safe. "I agree," he said in response to Ishizu's earlier comment. "We should call the police."
****
Mr. Ryou looked at Bakura expectantly. "Well? Did you hear me, Bakura? I said this is Frances!"
Bakura swallowed hard. Frances . . . Franceska. . . . That was all he could think of. But then . . . that was silly, wasn't it? Franceska had fallen off a balcony and seemed to have broken her neck. Then, after hissing her hatred for Bakura, she had vanished. She couldn't be here now!!
Frances didn't really look like Franceska, Bakura tried to console himself. Even though she does have blonde hair, she wears it short and Franceska had it so very long. . . . And . . . she doesn't have fangs. . . . He laughed weakly in his mind. Of course this can't be Franceska! I'm just imagining things!
Aloud he managed a smile and tried to look normal. "Oh, yes, Father! I did hear," he said. "I'm very happy to meet you, Frances."
Frances smiled. "I would say the same about you, but as I said, I've heard so much about you, Bakura, that I feel I already have met you."
"Well!" Mr. Ryou said brightly. "Why don't you and Bakura get better acquainted while I fix us something to eat?"
"Imagine," Frances smiled, "I found myself a man who will willingly cook! It's a miracle from above!"
Bakura chuckled weakly as his father herded them both to the couch.
"It runs in the family!" Mr. Ryou declared. "Now I won't be a minute!" With that he disappeared into the kitchen.
"He's such a delightful man," Frances smiled. "Bakura, you're so very lucky to have him as your father!"
"Oh . . . yes," Bakura agreed, snapping back to the present and twiddling his thumbs. "Here's Oreo," he announced as the kitty approached.
"A cat? How darling," Frances declared.
Oreo looked up at her and let out a loud hiss.
The cat knows! Bakura couldn't help thinking. Oh my . . . oh dear . . . oh . . . what shall I do if it is Franceska??! How will I protect my father??!
Frances frowned. "Not very friendly, is she."
"She usually is," Bakura replied weakly, scooping Oreo into his arms.
"It must be my perfume, then," Frances decided. "Everyone always tells me I use too much. But I can't help myself."
"Oh . . . I didn't notice anything," Bakura said honestly.
"You're a sweet boy," Frances told him.
Oreo yowled loudly, but Mr. Ryou was now making such a racket in the kitchen that he didn't hear.
Yami Bakura did, however. He descended the stairs in irritation, looking as though he'd just been woken up—which he actually had been. "What's that terrible racket?!" he demanded.
"It was Oreo, I'm afraid," Bakura said, praying that his Yami would pick up on the possible trouble.
He did. He took one look at Frances and muttered something to himself before taking the struggling cat out of Bakura's arms.
"You must be that Egyptian thief I've heard about," Frances smiled.
"Father mentioned him?" Bakura exclaimed in surprise.
"Oh yes," Frances said. "He told me about everything." She walked past them both to head upstairs. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to freshen up a bit."
"O-of course," Bakura stuttered. "Go right ahead. . . ." But she was already gone.
Now the boy moved close to Yami Bakura. Oreo had calmed down as soon as Frances had left the room, and now she was purring as her fur was stroked. "Yami!" Bakura whispered urgently. "Do you think . . ."
"I don't know what I think!" Yami Bakura retorted.
Bakura blinked at him. "But the way you looked at her, I thought for certain. . . ."
"I detected something vile about her," Yami Bakura grunted. "But maybe it was all that perfume."
Bakura stared at him.
****
Tristan was walking home with Joey and Serenity after a day of celebrating the snow. They had built snowmen, a fort, and even had had a snowball fight. Serenity declared that she hadn't had so much fun in a long time.
Tristan smiled. "Joey and I always enjoy our annual first snow of the year get-together," he said smoothly, "but it was much more fun this year with you along, Serenity."
The girl blushed crimson and Joey went red as well, but not from embarrassment.
"Hey," Serenity said then, changing the subject, "why is the back door of Duke's shop open?!"
"Huh?" Tristan turned to look. "That's weird," he muttered, watching the door flap in the breeze and the snow fly inside.
"Eh, he probably just forgot to close it," Joey said with a shrug.
"Maybe we should go make sure," Serenity said worriedly. "I'm sure he wouldn't be that careless!"
Tristan sighed but he knew Serenity wouldn't be at peace until they checked. "Alright," he relented. "Come on then." He led the way up to the door and inside. "Hey, Duke!" he called. "Are you in here, buddy? You left your door open!"
"All the lights are off," Joey said, groping for the switch. "He's probably not even here."
"Let's make sure," Serenity urged.
Tristan, who had gone ahead, wasn't watching where he was going and wound up tripping over something. "Hey!!" he gasped, sprawling on the floor. "Duke needs to straighten things up in here!" Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position and then his eyes widened. "Wait a minute. . . ."
"Tristan?" Serenity called from around the corner.
The hazel-eyed boy bit his lip. "I don't think you should come over here, Serenity," he called back. "There's . . . uh . . . a lot of stuff you . . . uh . . . might trip on!" With that he turned his attention again to Duke, who was laying sprawled on the floor, and gripped the other teen's shoulder desperately. "Come on, buddy, get up!" he hissed, wondering what on earth had happened. Had Duke just been careless, tripped on the nearby box, and hit his head? Or had . . . foul play been involved?
Tristan's question soon was answered when he saw a paperweight on the floor near Duke's prone form. Most likely someone had hit him over the head and then run out the door, leaving it flapping open accidentally. Carefully Tristan picked up the object and winced when he found how heavy it was. He knew it wasn't likely that Duke could've survived being hit with that.
Yami Bakura was sulking in the boy's room. "What do you want?" he grunted. "I am not going to make a snowman with you."
Bakura sighed and plopped down at his desk. "Yami . . . my father's engaged!" he wailed. "And he didn't even bother to tell me until now!"
Yami Bakura, who was stretched out on the bed, now sat up and didn't look surprised. "That sounds like something he would do," he remarked unsympathetically. "I never did like him much."
Bakura shook his head and pulled a sheet of paper toward him on which to write his letter.
Dear Amane—
Well . . . I never thought this would happen. Never once! But Father's gone and gotten engaged. He has been for two months and he never thought to tell me!! He said he just assumed I could meet her when he brought her here. I don't understand it, Amane. Why wouldn't he think I was deserving of knowing?!
"Bakura?"
Yami Bakura looked toward the door, from which the voice had come. "I suppose now you must go and meet her," he said with a certain amount of amusement.
Bakura didn't think it was funny at all. Carefully he folded the unfinished letter and put it in the desk drawer for safe-keeping. "Coming, Father!" he called, trying to sound normal. With a glare at his Yami, the boy left his room and descended the stairs slowly.
Mr. Ryou was at the bottom of the stairs with a lovely woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. They both smiled up at Bakura as he came down to them.
"You must be Bakura," the woman said, shaking his hand gently. "Your father has told me so much about you I feel I know you already."
Bakura gave a weak smile as he shook her hand. "Oh really?" He couldn't help thinking that it was a wonder his father remembered or cared to tell her anything. "Well . . . I'm hoping we will get a chance to know each other." The boy felt uneasy for some reason that he couldn't quite place, but he soon brushed it off.
"Yes!" the woman declared. "I hope that too."
Mr. Ryou beamed with pride. "This is Frances," he declared.
Bakura nearly fainted.
****
Duke closed up shop for the day, noting that it was starting to snow again. He sighed, idly wondering what was happening with Bakura, and then prepared to head out the door.
He stopped when he heard a creaking sound nearby. Knowing that he was the only one supposed to be in there, the emerald-eyed boy slowly advanced and hid behind a shelf to watch. Someone had obviously broken in.
Duke waited for nearly five minutes, but no one approached. He could hear the person rooting through a box, however. After arming himself with a make-shift weapon, he crept around the corner to attack silently—but no one was there. Only the box remained.
Duke knew the person couldn't have gotten away that fast. Grimly he looked around for any place the burglar could have concealed himself (or herself, even). Just when he was about to give up, something extremely hard hit him on the head from behind. With a cry of surprise and pain the boy found himself falling. Then he knew no more.
The assailant stood over him with a nasty smirk. "That was almost too easy. Now to find what I came for!" With that the figure disappeared into the storeroom.
****
Seto was busy going through documents when Velma appeared hesitantly in the doorway. "Mr. Kaiba?"
He looked up with a sigh. "What is it?"
Velma grinned nervously. "Well . . . I'm takin' tomorrow off, of course," she said slowly.
"I already know that," Seto said in irritation.
Velma giggled. "My sister . . . well . . . she was hopin' that I could stay with them over the weekend and stuff. . . ."
"Go ahead," Seto said with a wave of his hand.
"Really? Oh thank you, Mr. Kaiba!" Velma exclaimed. "I'll be back bright and early on Monday!"
"I expect you will be." Seto was barely listening, actually, but he was hearing enough to know what was going on.
As he started to type up another email, the screen suddenly flashed with the news that he'd just received one.
"Eh?" He narrowed his eyes, wondering who would even know his email address to send something. Curiously he clicked on the button that would take him to his Inbox and then looked for the new message. The sender was one he didn't recognize.
Kaiba—
I doubt that you'll remember me, but I remember you very clearly. There are things we need to discuss. Meet me at the lot you wanted to buy from Mr. Thorton last year exactly one hour from when you receive this email.
It was unsigned.
"Are you gonna go, Seto?!"
Startled, Seto looked to see Mokuba leaning over the back of the chair and staring at the computer screen.
"It sounds like it could be trouble!" Mokuba continued with a frown.
"I'm not afraid of trouble," Seto replied. He didn't trust whoever was sending the message, but he also felt that he needed to go see what was up. He'd be careful.
"Yeah? Well, I don't want you to get hurt!" Mokuba cried. "Tomorrow's Thanksgiving! I want us to be able to have a nice, quiet day without trouble!"
"We will," Seto said firmly. "But I should check this out. Alone," he added.
Mokuba glared. "It's not like I'm a baby, Seto! I could help!"
"I'm going alone," Seto repeated. "I don't want you involved in this!" With that he walked out the door, leaving no room for arguments.
Mokuba crossed his arms in frustration.
****
Marik was getting a message as well, but his wasn't so subtle as to what was wanted.
"What is that, brother?" Ishizu asked, looking over at the note he was holding.
"A death threat!" Marik replied angrily, showing it to her. It was written entirely with capital newspaper letters, and red ink was splotched around the edges as if to resemble blood.
Your last days are now, Marik Ishtar! Don't resist your death,
As it's pointless to do so!
Ishizu narrowed her eyes. "This should be reported to the police!"
Rishid, coming into the room and realizing what was being talked about, looked at the note and then out the still-open door. "How long ago was this delivered?!" he cried in outrage.
"Only a moment ago," Marik told him. "I heard a soft thump and then I came to the door. All I found was snow smashed on the door and this." He waved the note. "At first I thought it was another prank of those children, but . . . I really don't think they'd do something like this."
Rishid grunted. He didn't really think so either, but then they actually couldn't be sure. Those boys might find something like that hilarious, not realizing that it would really be a crime.
What made him hesitant to out and out accuse the boys was more the fact that Marik's name had been used. And their new neighbors, to Rishid's knowledge, didn't know Marik's name. They just wanted to call him "Girly-boy."
Now he headed outside, locking the door firmly behind him and instructing Marik and Ishizu not to let anyone in until he came back. Marik, realizing that Rishid was going to look for who had placed the note, begged vehemently for him not to, but Rishid insisted. After a thorough search of the yard, the man hadn't found any clues other that the footprints in the snow, and even those weren't good enough to determine anything about the person who had left them. The snow was still falling heavily, and already the prints were mostly concealed again.
Much to Marik's and Ishizu's relief, Rishid came into the house then—cold and snowed on but safe. "I agree," he said in response to Ishizu's earlier comment. "We should call the police."
****
Mr. Ryou looked at Bakura expectantly. "Well? Did you hear me, Bakura? I said this is Frances!"
Bakura swallowed hard. Frances . . . Franceska. . . . That was all he could think of. But then . . . that was silly, wasn't it? Franceska had fallen off a balcony and seemed to have broken her neck. Then, after hissing her hatred for Bakura, she had vanished. She couldn't be here now!!
Frances didn't really look like Franceska, Bakura tried to console himself. Even though she does have blonde hair, she wears it short and Franceska had it so very long. . . . And . . . she doesn't have fangs. . . . He laughed weakly in his mind. Of course this can't be Franceska! I'm just imagining things!
Aloud he managed a smile and tried to look normal. "Oh, yes, Father! I did hear," he said. "I'm very happy to meet you, Frances."
Frances smiled. "I would say the same about you, but as I said, I've heard so much about you, Bakura, that I feel I already have met you."
"Well!" Mr. Ryou said brightly. "Why don't you and Bakura get better acquainted while I fix us something to eat?"
"Imagine," Frances smiled, "I found myself a man who will willingly cook! It's a miracle from above!"
Bakura chuckled weakly as his father herded them both to the couch.
"It runs in the family!" Mr. Ryou declared. "Now I won't be a minute!" With that he disappeared into the kitchen.
"He's such a delightful man," Frances smiled. "Bakura, you're so very lucky to have him as your father!"
"Oh . . . yes," Bakura agreed, snapping back to the present and twiddling his thumbs. "Here's Oreo," he announced as the kitty approached.
"A cat? How darling," Frances declared.
Oreo looked up at her and let out a loud hiss.
The cat knows! Bakura couldn't help thinking. Oh my . . . oh dear . . . oh . . . what shall I do if it is Franceska??! How will I protect my father??!
Frances frowned. "Not very friendly, is she."
"She usually is," Bakura replied weakly, scooping Oreo into his arms.
"It must be my perfume, then," Frances decided. "Everyone always tells me I use too much. But I can't help myself."
"Oh . . . I didn't notice anything," Bakura said honestly.
"You're a sweet boy," Frances told him.
Oreo yowled loudly, but Mr. Ryou was now making such a racket in the kitchen that he didn't hear.
Yami Bakura did, however. He descended the stairs in irritation, looking as though he'd just been woken up—which he actually had been. "What's that terrible racket?!" he demanded.
"It was Oreo, I'm afraid," Bakura said, praying that his Yami would pick up on the possible trouble.
He did. He took one look at Frances and muttered something to himself before taking the struggling cat out of Bakura's arms.
"You must be that Egyptian thief I've heard about," Frances smiled.
"Father mentioned him?" Bakura exclaimed in surprise.
"Oh yes," Frances said. "He told me about everything." She walked past them both to head upstairs. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to freshen up a bit."
"O-of course," Bakura stuttered. "Go right ahead. . . ." But she was already gone.
Now the boy moved close to Yami Bakura. Oreo had calmed down as soon as Frances had left the room, and now she was purring as her fur was stroked. "Yami!" Bakura whispered urgently. "Do you think . . ."
"I don't know what I think!" Yami Bakura retorted.
Bakura blinked at him. "But the way you looked at her, I thought for certain. . . ."
"I detected something vile about her," Yami Bakura grunted. "But maybe it was all that perfume."
Bakura stared at him.
****
Tristan was walking home with Joey and Serenity after a day of celebrating the snow. They had built snowmen, a fort, and even had had a snowball fight. Serenity declared that she hadn't had so much fun in a long time.
Tristan smiled. "Joey and I always enjoy our annual first snow of the year get-together," he said smoothly, "but it was much more fun this year with you along, Serenity."
The girl blushed crimson and Joey went red as well, but not from embarrassment.
"Hey," Serenity said then, changing the subject, "why is the back door of Duke's shop open?!"
"Huh?" Tristan turned to look. "That's weird," he muttered, watching the door flap in the breeze and the snow fly inside.
"Eh, he probably just forgot to close it," Joey said with a shrug.
"Maybe we should go make sure," Serenity said worriedly. "I'm sure he wouldn't be that careless!"
Tristan sighed but he knew Serenity wouldn't be at peace until they checked. "Alright," he relented. "Come on then." He led the way up to the door and inside. "Hey, Duke!" he called. "Are you in here, buddy? You left your door open!"
"All the lights are off," Joey said, groping for the switch. "He's probably not even here."
"Let's make sure," Serenity urged.
Tristan, who had gone ahead, wasn't watching where he was going and wound up tripping over something. "Hey!!" he gasped, sprawling on the floor. "Duke needs to straighten things up in here!" Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position and then his eyes widened. "Wait a minute. . . ."
"Tristan?" Serenity called from around the corner.
The hazel-eyed boy bit his lip. "I don't think you should come over here, Serenity," he called back. "There's . . . uh . . . a lot of stuff you . . . uh . . . might trip on!" With that he turned his attention again to Duke, who was laying sprawled on the floor, and gripped the other teen's shoulder desperately. "Come on, buddy, get up!" he hissed, wondering what on earth had happened. Had Duke just been careless, tripped on the nearby box, and hit his head? Or had . . . foul play been involved?
Tristan's question soon was answered when he saw a paperweight on the floor near Duke's prone form. Most likely someone had hit him over the head and then run out the door, leaving it flapping open accidentally. Carefully Tristan picked up the object and winced when he found how heavy it was. He knew it wasn't likely that Duke could've survived being hit with that.