A/N: Sorry this took me a while, guys. I've been (and still
am) quite grounded and haven't had much time to work on my
writing, much less to post. But it's nice and long today!
By the by, for the curious- that lovely little spurt of Japanese from Jounouchi at the end of the last chappie WILL be translated later (approximately, at least), but for now it is just a loose thread of the plot. Say it with me kids: SEX! Er, I mean . . . "foreshadowing!" ^_^;;
Warnings: If you haven't grasped the presence of yaoi, violence, and clearly looming lemon in this fic yet, then I have nothing to say to you- except maybe a recommendation to work on your reading comprehension.
*prods the fic* The formatting is screwed up. T-T
"Egyptian."
"/Not Egyptian./" ^__~
"War Paint on the Ceiling"
"Bakura-chan, Bakura-chan!" a voice shouted. Ryou and Yami nearly fell off the counter. "Bakura-chan, are you here?!"
"/Who the hell-?!/" Yami demanded as the shop's front door slammed open and in bounded a hyperactive young man wearing a wild grin.
"BAKURA-CHAN!" the man literally squealed, tackling Ryou around the waist. Ryou yelped and they both went down like a sack of lead.
"/Yami-kun, HELP!/" he hissed, grabbing the other's ankle in a death grip. Yami delicately extracted said ankle from his friend's grasp, smiling sweetly down at him. "/Bastard,/" Ryou growled as the boy atop him nuzzled in deeper.
"Bakura-chan, I missed you!" the boy cried gleefully in lightly accented Egyptian. "I haven't seen you in months! I'm so glad you're back!"
"/Yami-kun!/" Ryou wailed desperately. "/Help me!/"
"Oh Ra, what in HELL are you doing?!" Bakura shouted as he came downstairs, rushing forward and yanking the leech off Ryou's stomach.
"/Bakura-san!/" Ryou cried in relief, attaching himself to the other's waist and doing a pretty damn good imitation of a leech himself. "/Thank the gods, you're back!/"
"/Hello again, Ryou,/" Bakura replied, pretending not to be blushing. "And as for you . . . " He glared at the boy in his hands.
"Wai! Bakura-chan!" the boy repeated gleefully, twisting to glomp onto the other boy's arm. He was darkly tanned and had the soldiers' famous blonde hair, though burnt almost white. He was obviously not a native of Egypt, but had just as obviously lived there for years and moved with all the confidence and arrogance of a local.
He was also, interestingly enough, wearing nothing but a half- sheer white loincloth and gold chain-link belt and anklets, a fact which Bakura duly noted and Ryou would've if he hadn't been creeped out by the psychotically wide grin worn with them.
"You look particularly female today, Ishtar," Bakura remarked dryly. "What's the occasion?"
"Delivering a very special piece to the palace," Ishtar replied smugly, kissing the other's cheek. "One of your designs, love."
"Who this?" Yami demanded sourly, grabbing Bakura's arm and glaring at him. "He call you 'love'!"
"Um, yikes?" Ishtar's eyes widened as he seemed to properly notice Yami for the first time. "Bakura-chan, he looks EXACTLY like-"
"Do NOT remind me," Bakura interrupted tightly, clapping a hand over the blonde's mouth. "Ishtar, this is Yami. Yami, Ishtar. He's the artist who made all this crap, and don't piss him off because he owns the shop, not me."
"I also own him!" Ishtar chirped, grinning wickedly. "He is my sexy bitch!"
"Shut up," Bakura growled. "I bought myself back from you, and you know it."
"Technically you can't do that," Ishtar told Yami in a stage whisper, "but I let him 'cause he's really pretty and has, like, the nicest ass EVER."
"You know I can hear you, bastard," Bakura growled.
"Bakura-san . . .?" Ryou whispered hesitantly, tugging slightly on the other boy's arm. "/Bakura-san, what's going on?/" The sudden hesitancy seemed unlike him, and Bakura was momentarily confused until he remembered that the other spoke no Egyptian.
"/Oh, Ryou, I'm sorry!/" he cried, automatically turning to the boy and taking his hands. "/I forgot- I didn't mean- I'm sorry! Please don't be angry, I didn't mean to neglect you!/"
"/No, it's okay, I understand,/" the other said quickly. "/It's just . . . I feel weird not knowing what people are saying. With the slavers . . . it was like that./"
"/I'm sorry,/" Bakura repeated miserably, silently wishing a thousand curses upon his own head. "/It was stupid of me./"
"Oh, how cute," Ishtar giggled. "Bakura has a sweetheart."
"You shut mouth, freak boy," Yami snapped protectively.
"You're so mean." Ishtar stuck his tongue out at the other. "Bakura-chan, your friend is a bitch." He grinned. "I like him. But I really have to get to work again- I have a piece to make for the High Priest; he commissioned it months ago, and I hate to think what'll happen if he remembers that before I finish it."
"/Oh? What kind of a piece?/" Ryou's interest was immediately peaked by Bakura's translation.
Ishtar beamed as Bakura again acted as go-between. "A collar," he said happily. "For a slave."
Ryou paled slightly. He knew THAT word.
"/You don't understand,/" Bakura told him softly. "/The High Priest- the one they call 'The Gods' Whore,' you know? He's never been touched, never been fucked. They say no mortal can have him- he's only for the gods' divine hands. It's bullshit, but the nobles like to gossip about it. And this collar is the mark of not a slave, but a pet./"
"/Or, in lay men's terms, the collar is for him, right?/" Yami cut in, exasperated. "/To show that he is the gods'./"
"Hey, you're talking over my head again," Ishtar complained.
"Oh, shut up." Bakura glared at him.
"You no understand Japanese?" Yami gave the artisan a strange look. "But you speak accent like Japan child!"
"Ishtar was purchased by the former owners of this shop to be their apprentice," Bakura explained. "He was stolen from a Japanese trader when he was still a child, but he's forgotten most of the tongue."
"The accent always stuck, though," Ishtar added with a slight shrug while Bakura repeated a summary of the conversation in Japanese for Ryou's benefit. "I don't really know why- stubborn habit, I guess."
"Or stubborn idiocy," Bakura added sourly.
Ishtar grinned guiltily. "Maybe," he allowed with an offhanded wave. "But that's besides the point."
"And point is being . . .?" Yami inquired flatly.
"There has to be a point?" Ishtar blinked at him.
"Stop it NOW," Bakura warned them both, pushing Ishtar back.
"Oh, go screw your new boyfriend," Ishtar scoffed, ducking out of his grasp and coming up next to Yami. "This one and I are going to have a little talk." He grabbed Yami by the hand and headed back out the door.
"Oi!" Yami cried in surprise. "What you doing, hiretsukan?!"
"Don't cuss at me," Ishtar ordered sharply, and then grinned at Bakura. "Try not to annoy the neighbors with the screaming, ne?"
"Not funny!" Bakura yelled, throwing one of the many pots at the other boy's head. He caught it easily.
"Sankyuu, Bakura-chan," he cooed. "Come along, Yami-san, let's get water from the well."
"Is you crazy?!" Yami yelled. "I get captured if go out!"
"Actually, if you act like you belong, the guards won't even look twice at you," Ishtar replied with a faint shrug. "They'll just assume you're another slave, and to be honest probably won't even notice you at all unless you cause a ruckus."
"But I-!" Yami began again, scrabbling desperately at the table for purchase.
Too late- Ishtar was out the door and still dragging him along.
Bakura repressed what would've been a rather sadistic smirk in favor of picking up the jewelry that Yami had knocked off the table and restoring it to something resembling its former "order."
"/So,/" Ryou said. "/he seemed . . . interesting./"
Bakura snorted. "/You could say that. He's insane, really, but he was . . . when I was . . . he never . . . Agh!/" he fumed, clearly frustrated- partially by his inability to get the words out, and partially by his sudden memory that he hadn't sold "it" to Ishtar yet.
"/When you were his slave, he was good to you, right?/" Ryou guessed.
"/Right,/" Bakura admitted quietly. "/He never touched me./"
"/Then I think I like him,/" Ryou decided, taking Bakura's hand and giving him a wicked grin. "/But not as much as you, Bakura- san./" He nuzzled up against the other boy, looking straight into his eyes. "/So, since we're alone now . . ./"
"/Um./" Bakura turned pink. "/Yes?/"
"/Let's take Yami-kun's advice and get a room!/" Ryou crowed.
"/Ack!/" Bakura yelped, blush darkening as the other tightened his embrace. "/Ryou, not here!/"
"/Like I said, let's get a room,/" Ryou replied, giggling at the other's startled expression. "/Sound like a plan, Bakura-kun?/"
The change in suffix did not escape Bakura's notice, and, surprise, surprise: he blushed. Ryou's smile widened at the sight and he gave him a light kiss. Bakura returned the smile faintly and pressed their foreheads together.
"/You're really beautiful,/" he whispered. Ryou chuckled softly and kissed him again, more deeply this time.
"/You know,/" he said conversationally as he pulled back, "/this is kinda weird, isn't it./"
"/'Weird'?/" Bakura tilted his head. "/What do you mean?/"
"/Well, look./" Ryou held a hand up to the top of the thief's head. "/See? We're exactly the same height. And . . . well, I know you don't like it, but there is the issue of our pigmentation./"
"/I know,/" Bakura answered mournfully, tangling his fingers in a lock of the soldier's white hair. "/I don't know how you can be so beautiful when you look so much like me./"
Ryou smirked at him. "/You are pretty hot, you know./"
"Liar," Bakura murmured, finding the other's lips again.
Ryou would've argued, if he'd understood the word.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Isis!" Yuugi cried excitedly, bursting into the seer's bedroom without even thinking that she might be in some kind of compromising position. Which she was, but not in the way one would think.
"Hallo, my dear," Isis greeted from the bed, where she was busily standing on her tiptoes and painting a rather violent battle scene with lots of blood and whorls of smoke and flame on the ceiling.
"Pharaoh." Her younger brother got up from the bed briefly to bow, then sprawled back down on it limply. "You are well?"
"No worse than usual, Malik," Yuugi told him. "Wow, cool!" he gushed a moment later, staring up at the ceiling-wide mural appreciatively. "That's incredible, Isis!"
"Thank you, dear," she replied, tossing him a quick, gentle smile over her shoulder. "It was a design that little artisan- for-hire of Seto's had done up for us. Could one of you please pass me the black paint?"
"Sure." Yuugi handed up the little pot. "Having fun, then?"
"Oh, yes." Isis smiled again. "Thank you for letting me paint this myself instead of having one of the artists do it."
"It was no problem," Yuugi assured her. "Besides, this is cheaper for me anyway."
"Point," she agreed with a chuckle. "Malik, darling, get the door. The guards are about to get here."
"On it." Malik rolled off the bed and slunk over to said door, opening it just in time to seriously freak out the guards on the other side, the closest of whom had just raised his hand to knock. Isis and Malik had been together for their entire lives, and they'd worked out a system of such perfect timing that they had most of the palace terrified of them and convinced that the duo was capable of just about anything short of mind control.
Which wasn't true, actually, because Malik was totally capable of that. He just didn't do it very often.
Meanwhile, the guards shuffled in and Isis raised an eyebrow as they dragged in Honda, who was slightly bruised and smirking- probably because it was taking four guards to hold him and all of them were VERY bruised and not smirking in the least.
"Konnichiwa, Honda-kun!" Yuugi greeted brightly. "/How have you been?/"
"/Oh, just lovely, Inquisitor-san,/" Honda replied dryly. "/You?/"
"/Wonderful!/" the pharaoh answered with clear relish. "/You're going to love it here, Honda-kun, I promise. This is Isis- she'll be your mistress. And this is her brother, Malik. He's insane./"
"/You're doing the scary thing again,/" Honda muttered.
"/Am I?/" Yuugi giggled and fluttered his eyelashes at the other. "/Oh, Honda-kun, you flatter me!/"
"Ah, dear . . . " Isis began, raising a slender eyebrow with slight bemusement. "Clarification, please?"
"You're too damn polite," Malik muttered. "It'd be a hell of a lot faster if you just kept an eye on the future."
"No, that's inefficient." She shook her head. "Besides, if I read ahead to find out what he's going to say, he'll never have to say it, and then I'll have seen an impossible future, which is, of course, impossible."
"God, I hate all this screwing-with-space-and-time crap." Malik winced.
"Yes, it is fun, isn't it?" Isis smiled again and chuckled warmly. "But, dear . . .?"
"This is Honda," Yuugi explained. "I got him for you. He's chiseled and muscular and was an officer in that nice little battalion we just captured and I bet he's really good for lifting stuff and killing people."
"Well, he is pretty," Malik observed, peering critically up at the soldier. "Isis, can I bed him?" he asked with a hopeful grin.
"No," Isis scolded. "Thank you very much, my dear Pharaoh," she added, turning to Yuugi. "But I don't really need any slaves- after all, I have Malik."
"Hey!" Malik protested. "Not funny!"
"Oh, but Isis . . ." Yuugi looked crushed. "But he's so sweet! Honest, you'll love him!"
"Despite the language barrier, I assume?" Isis asked with another one of her many faint smiles.
"Er, well . . . yes," Yuugi admitted with a nervous chuckle, tapping his knuckles together. "But he's still hot! And you know you need a new bodyguard after that mess with the assassins last week."
"The Pharaoh's right, Isis!" Malik put in. "Let's keep him!"
"Malik, you know I can't take care of a slave anymore," Isis sighed. "I'm very busy scrying and keeping an eye on the war effort right now."
"I'll take care of it," Malik wheedled. "It'll carry heavy thing for us and give you your paint pots and I'll feed it and pet it and fuck it and make sure it doesn't run away."
"Alright, alright- but NO sleeping with him," Isis warned her brother. "Unless he lets you, anyway."
"Score!" Malik whooped, latching onto Honda's arm. "Come, Honda, and we shall have some fun!"
Honda stared at him in confusion. "/Uh, Inquisitor-san . . .? Am I supposed to be his whore?/"
"/Nope, you're Isis's whore,/" Yuugi replied, shaking his head. "/And her bodyguard./"
"/Just checking,/" Honda told him, and then flipped Malik over his back and onto the floor. Malik yelped in shock and Honda calmly took a seat at the foot of the bed, closing his eyes and slipping a pair of short, serrated blades from the hip holsters hidden in his loincloth. "/I will protect her, then- but don't expect the treatment to extend to anyone else in this damned place,/" he added harshly.
"/Never crossed my mind,/" Yuugi assured him. "/Which reminds me, I really ought to go find Seto before he destroys anything really expensive . . ./"
A bloodcurdling scream of the sort to make one's very marrow freeze in their bones echoed through the palace hallways.
"Oh shit," Yuugi muttered in exasperation, putting a hand to his forehead. "Not again."
* tbc . . . *
. : review and me love you long time! ^__~ : .
By the by, for the curious- that lovely little spurt of Japanese from Jounouchi at the end of the last chappie WILL be translated later (approximately, at least), but for now it is just a loose thread of the plot. Say it with me kids: SEX! Er, I mean . . . "foreshadowing!" ^_^;;
Warnings: If you haven't grasped the presence of yaoi, violence, and clearly looming lemon in this fic yet, then I have nothing to say to you- except maybe a recommendation to work on your reading comprehension.
*prods the fic* The formatting is screwed up. T-T
"Egyptian."
"/Not Egyptian./" ^__~
"War Paint on the Ceiling"
"Bakura-chan, Bakura-chan!" a voice shouted. Ryou and Yami nearly fell off the counter. "Bakura-chan, are you here?!"
"/Who the hell-?!/" Yami demanded as the shop's front door slammed open and in bounded a hyperactive young man wearing a wild grin.
"BAKURA-CHAN!" the man literally squealed, tackling Ryou around the waist. Ryou yelped and they both went down like a sack of lead.
"/Yami-kun, HELP!/" he hissed, grabbing the other's ankle in a death grip. Yami delicately extracted said ankle from his friend's grasp, smiling sweetly down at him. "/Bastard,/" Ryou growled as the boy atop him nuzzled in deeper.
"Bakura-chan, I missed you!" the boy cried gleefully in lightly accented Egyptian. "I haven't seen you in months! I'm so glad you're back!"
"/Yami-kun!/" Ryou wailed desperately. "/Help me!/"
"Oh Ra, what in HELL are you doing?!" Bakura shouted as he came downstairs, rushing forward and yanking the leech off Ryou's stomach.
"/Bakura-san!/" Ryou cried in relief, attaching himself to the other's waist and doing a pretty damn good imitation of a leech himself. "/Thank the gods, you're back!/"
"/Hello again, Ryou,/" Bakura replied, pretending not to be blushing. "And as for you . . . " He glared at the boy in his hands.
"Wai! Bakura-chan!" the boy repeated gleefully, twisting to glomp onto the other boy's arm. He was darkly tanned and had the soldiers' famous blonde hair, though burnt almost white. He was obviously not a native of Egypt, but had just as obviously lived there for years and moved with all the confidence and arrogance of a local.
He was also, interestingly enough, wearing nothing but a half- sheer white loincloth and gold chain-link belt and anklets, a fact which Bakura duly noted and Ryou would've if he hadn't been creeped out by the psychotically wide grin worn with them.
"You look particularly female today, Ishtar," Bakura remarked dryly. "What's the occasion?"
"Delivering a very special piece to the palace," Ishtar replied smugly, kissing the other's cheek. "One of your designs, love."
"Who this?" Yami demanded sourly, grabbing Bakura's arm and glaring at him. "He call you 'love'!"
"Um, yikes?" Ishtar's eyes widened as he seemed to properly notice Yami for the first time. "Bakura-chan, he looks EXACTLY like-"
"Do NOT remind me," Bakura interrupted tightly, clapping a hand over the blonde's mouth. "Ishtar, this is Yami. Yami, Ishtar. He's the artist who made all this crap, and don't piss him off because he owns the shop, not me."
"I also own him!" Ishtar chirped, grinning wickedly. "He is my sexy bitch!"
"Shut up," Bakura growled. "I bought myself back from you, and you know it."
"Technically you can't do that," Ishtar told Yami in a stage whisper, "but I let him 'cause he's really pretty and has, like, the nicest ass EVER."
"You know I can hear you, bastard," Bakura growled.
"Bakura-san . . .?" Ryou whispered hesitantly, tugging slightly on the other boy's arm. "/Bakura-san, what's going on?/" The sudden hesitancy seemed unlike him, and Bakura was momentarily confused until he remembered that the other spoke no Egyptian.
"/Oh, Ryou, I'm sorry!/" he cried, automatically turning to the boy and taking his hands. "/I forgot- I didn't mean- I'm sorry! Please don't be angry, I didn't mean to neglect you!/"
"/No, it's okay, I understand,/" the other said quickly. "/It's just . . . I feel weird not knowing what people are saying. With the slavers . . . it was like that./"
"/I'm sorry,/" Bakura repeated miserably, silently wishing a thousand curses upon his own head. "/It was stupid of me./"
"Oh, how cute," Ishtar giggled. "Bakura has a sweetheart."
"You shut mouth, freak boy," Yami snapped protectively.
"You're so mean." Ishtar stuck his tongue out at the other. "Bakura-chan, your friend is a bitch." He grinned. "I like him. But I really have to get to work again- I have a piece to make for the High Priest; he commissioned it months ago, and I hate to think what'll happen if he remembers that before I finish it."
"/Oh? What kind of a piece?/" Ryou's interest was immediately peaked by Bakura's translation.
Ishtar beamed as Bakura again acted as go-between. "A collar," he said happily. "For a slave."
Ryou paled slightly. He knew THAT word.
"/You don't understand,/" Bakura told him softly. "/The High Priest- the one they call 'The Gods' Whore,' you know? He's never been touched, never been fucked. They say no mortal can have him- he's only for the gods' divine hands. It's bullshit, but the nobles like to gossip about it. And this collar is the mark of not a slave, but a pet./"
"/Or, in lay men's terms, the collar is for him, right?/" Yami cut in, exasperated. "/To show that he is the gods'./"
"Hey, you're talking over my head again," Ishtar complained.
"Oh, shut up." Bakura glared at him.
"You no understand Japanese?" Yami gave the artisan a strange look. "But you speak accent like Japan child!"
"Ishtar was purchased by the former owners of this shop to be their apprentice," Bakura explained. "He was stolen from a Japanese trader when he was still a child, but he's forgotten most of the tongue."
"The accent always stuck, though," Ishtar added with a slight shrug while Bakura repeated a summary of the conversation in Japanese for Ryou's benefit. "I don't really know why- stubborn habit, I guess."
"Or stubborn idiocy," Bakura added sourly.
Ishtar grinned guiltily. "Maybe," he allowed with an offhanded wave. "But that's besides the point."
"And point is being . . .?" Yami inquired flatly.
"There has to be a point?" Ishtar blinked at him.
"Stop it NOW," Bakura warned them both, pushing Ishtar back.
"Oh, go screw your new boyfriend," Ishtar scoffed, ducking out of his grasp and coming up next to Yami. "This one and I are going to have a little talk." He grabbed Yami by the hand and headed back out the door.
"Oi!" Yami cried in surprise. "What you doing, hiretsukan?!"
"Don't cuss at me," Ishtar ordered sharply, and then grinned at Bakura. "Try not to annoy the neighbors with the screaming, ne?"
"Not funny!" Bakura yelled, throwing one of the many pots at the other boy's head. He caught it easily.
"Sankyuu, Bakura-chan," he cooed. "Come along, Yami-san, let's get water from the well."
"Is you crazy?!" Yami yelled. "I get captured if go out!"
"Actually, if you act like you belong, the guards won't even look twice at you," Ishtar replied with a faint shrug. "They'll just assume you're another slave, and to be honest probably won't even notice you at all unless you cause a ruckus."
"But I-!" Yami began again, scrabbling desperately at the table for purchase.
Too late- Ishtar was out the door and still dragging him along.
Bakura repressed what would've been a rather sadistic smirk in favor of picking up the jewelry that Yami had knocked off the table and restoring it to something resembling its former "order."
"/So,/" Ryou said. "/he seemed . . . interesting./"
Bakura snorted. "/You could say that. He's insane, really, but he was . . . when I was . . . he never . . . Agh!/" he fumed, clearly frustrated- partially by his inability to get the words out, and partially by his sudden memory that he hadn't sold "it" to Ishtar yet.
"/When you were his slave, he was good to you, right?/" Ryou guessed.
"/Right,/" Bakura admitted quietly. "/He never touched me./"
"/Then I think I like him,/" Ryou decided, taking Bakura's hand and giving him a wicked grin. "/But not as much as you, Bakura- san./" He nuzzled up against the other boy, looking straight into his eyes. "/So, since we're alone now . . ./"
"/Um./" Bakura turned pink. "/Yes?/"
"/Let's take Yami-kun's advice and get a room!/" Ryou crowed.
"/Ack!/" Bakura yelped, blush darkening as the other tightened his embrace. "/Ryou, not here!/"
"/Like I said, let's get a room,/" Ryou replied, giggling at the other's startled expression. "/Sound like a plan, Bakura-kun?/"
The change in suffix did not escape Bakura's notice, and, surprise, surprise: he blushed. Ryou's smile widened at the sight and he gave him a light kiss. Bakura returned the smile faintly and pressed their foreheads together.
"/You're really beautiful,/" he whispered. Ryou chuckled softly and kissed him again, more deeply this time.
"/You know,/" he said conversationally as he pulled back, "/this is kinda weird, isn't it./"
"/'Weird'?/" Bakura tilted his head. "/What do you mean?/"
"/Well, look./" Ryou held a hand up to the top of the thief's head. "/See? We're exactly the same height. And . . . well, I know you don't like it, but there is the issue of our pigmentation./"
"/I know,/" Bakura answered mournfully, tangling his fingers in a lock of the soldier's white hair. "/I don't know how you can be so beautiful when you look so much like me./"
Ryou smirked at him. "/You are pretty hot, you know./"
"Liar," Bakura murmured, finding the other's lips again.
Ryou would've argued, if he'd understood the word.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Isis!" Yuugi cried excitedly, bursting into the seer's bedroom without even thinking that she might be in some kind of compromising position. Which she was, but not in the way one would think.
"Hallo, my dear," Isis greeted from the bed, where she was busily standing on her tiptoes and painting a rather violent battle scene with lots of blood and whorls of smoke and flame on the ceiling.
"Pharaoh." Her younger brother got up from the bed briefly to bow, then sprawled back down on it limply. "You are well?"
"No worse than usual, Malik," Yuugi told him. "Wow, cool!" he gushed a moment later, staring up at the ceiling-wide mural appreciatively. "That's incredible, Isis!"
"Thank you, dear," she replied, tossing him a quick, gentle smile over her shoulder. "It was a design that little artisan- for-hire of Seto's had done up for us. Could one of you please pass me the black paint?"
"Sure." Yuugi handed up the little pot. "Having fun, then?"
"Oh, yes." Isis smiled again. "Thank you for letting me paint this myself instead of having one of the artists do it."
"It was no problem," Yuugi assured her. "Besides, this is cheaper for me anyway."
"Point," she agreed with a chuckle. "Malik, darling, get the door. The guards are about to get here."
"On it." Malik rolled off the bed and slunk over to said door, opening it just in time to seriously freak out the guards on the other side, the closest of whom had just raised his hand to knock. Isis and Malik had been together for their entire lives, and they'd worked out a system of such perfect timing that they had most of the palace terrified of them and convinced that the duo was capable of just about anything short of mind control.
Which wasn't true, actually, because Malik was totally capable of that. He just didn't do it very often.
Meanwhile, the guards shuffled in and Isis raised an eyebrow as they dragged in Honda, who was slightly bruised and smirking- probably because it was taking four guards to hold him and all of them were VERY bruised and not smirking in the least.
"Konnichiwa, Honda-kun!" Yuugi greeted brightly. "/How have you been?/"
"/Oh, just lovely, Inquisitor-san,/" Honda replied dryly. "/You?/"
"/Wonderful!/" the pharaoh answered with clear relish. "/You're going to love it here, Honda-kun, I promise. This is Isis- she'll be your mistress. And this is her brother, Malik. He's insane./"
"/You're doing the scary thing again,/" Honda muttered.
"/Am I?/" Yuugi giggled and fluttered his eyelashes at the other. "/Oh, Honda-kun, you flatter me!/"
"Ah, dear . . . " Isis began, raising a slender eyebrow with slight bemusement. "Clarification, please?"
"You're too damn polite," Malik muttered. "It'd be a hell of a lot faster if you just kept an eye on the future."
"No, that's inefficient." She shook her head. "Besides, if I read ahead to find out what he's going to say, he'll never have to say it, and then I'll have seen an impossible future, which is, of course, impossible."
"God, I hate all this screwing-with-space-and-time crap." Malik winced.
"Yes, it is fun, isn't it?" Isis smiled again and chuckled warmly. "But, dear . . .?"
"This is Honda," Yuugi explained. "I got him for you. He's chiseled and muscular and was an officer in that nice little battalion we just captured and I bet he's really good for lifting stuff and killing people."
"Well, he is pretty," Malik observed, peering critically up at the soldier. "Isis, can I bed him?" he asked with a hopeful grin.
"No," Isis scolded. "Thank you very much, my dear Pharaoh," she added, turning to Yuugi. "But I don't really need any slaves- after all, I have Malik."
"Hey!" Malik protested. "Not funny!"
"Oh, but Isis . . ." Yuugi looked crushed. "But he's so sweet! Honest, you'll love him!"
"Despite the language barrier, I assume?" Isis asked with another one of her many faint smiles.
"Er, well . . . yes," Yuugi admitted with a nervous chuckle, tapping his knuckles together. "But he's still hot! And you know you need a new bodyguard after that mess with the assassins last week."
"The Pharaoh's right, Isis!" Malik put in. "Let's keep him!"
"Malik, you know I can't take care of a slave anymore," Isis sighed. "I'm very busy scrying and keeping an eye on the war effort right now."
"I'll take care of it," Malik wheedled. "It'll carry heavy thing for us and give you your paint pots and I'll feed it and pet it and fuck it and make sure it doesn't run away."
"Alright, alright- but NO sleeping with him," Isis warned her brother. "Unless he lets you, anyway."
"Score!" Malik whooped, latching onto Honda's arm. "Come, Honda, and we shall have some fun!"
Honda stared at him in confusion. "/Uh, Inquisitor-san . . .? Am I supposed to be his whore?/"
"/Nope, you're Isis's whore,/" Yuugi replied, shaking his head. "/And her bodyguard./"
"/Just checking,/" Honda told him, and then flipped Malik over his back and onto the floor. Malik yelped in shock and Honda calmly took a seat at the foot of the bed, closing his eyes and slipping a pair of short, serrated blades from the hip holsters hidden in his loincloth. "/I will protect her, then- but don't expect the treatment to extend to anyone else in this damned place,/" he added harshly.
"/Never crossed my mind,/" Yuugi assured him. "/Which reminds me, I really ought to go find Seto before he destroys anything really expensive . . ./"
A bloodcurdling scream of the sort to make one's very marrow freeze in their bones echoed through the palace hallways.
"Oh shit," Yuugi muttered in exasperation, putting a hand to his forehead. "Not again."
* tbc . . . *
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