(I understand that the doc manager is being really screwy right now, mainly
with the ""s and such. Just try to ignore it for now, please!)
Disclaimer: *prods with stick* SAY IT!!!
Man with Needles: Huh?
*snaps needles* Not so tough without your needle, ARE WE?!
Man with Confiscated Needles: *gulps* Um . . . yeah. Right. This head-case doesn't own such an influential program for young teens all around the world, and if she did, we have established that she would do something ~dreadful~ with social commentary . . .
^______________^ *adopts Irish accent* Kubrick is me idol!
Well Dressed Lawyer: You do not own Kubrick. You do not own Beck.
Right! I don't own Beck's "Sea Change". I nearly forgot! ^^;;;
Well Dressed Lawyer: *pulls out paper*
What the hell is this?!
Neostar: *smacks a few lawyers with Mallet-sama* ^____________^
*giggles* Thank you!
Responses:
summer psycho – Oh dear . . . *blushies* Arigato, friend! *huggles psycho* I took your suggestion to heart, and faithfully, here are a few scenes from everyone's favorite insane tomb robber . . . both of them, actually ^^;;; I hope I will continue to sustain your interest ^^ Tell me what you think of my OOC Bakura!
Ryou's Gal - *nodnod* Absolutely insane. Don't ask what I was thinking when I made Kaiba a drummer . . . I don't knoe--know. I connot tell you when Rei/Ryou turns back ^^ But I will say that it'll be a while.
R Amethyst – Going for the dangerous bishies? *grins dreamily* But Kenshin is SO adorable! Not Battousai Kenshin, he's freaky (I don't understand those fangirls at all), but sweet, laundry-happy, no-kill, "ororororororo?" Kenshin. ^_________^ Soujiro smiles . . . too much. It freaks me out more than his dub-voice *shudder*. You think Mai/Kaiba, huh? I dunno . . . yet ^^;;; I'm so sad! I was going to pair one of them up with Joey, but we'll see.
Lyn/Lin – Excellent *rubs hands together*
Yami Krissy - *claps* YAY for the microphone ^^ *giggles* However, I unintentionally made this an entirely Yami Bakura chapter . . . stupid giggleplex. Hope you like it anyway ^^;;;
Shenya – I hope this is soon enough . . . I swear, I am so lazy right now! I'm trying to catch up in my algebra on my own this summer, because I'm taking trig next year; two years before it is normally introduced o.O I'm pathetic. AND suicidal.
Rosz of the Angel – I know how you feel with the whole biology thing. I'm taking three honor's classes next year, and I've been dreading it all summer. ^^;;; However, that had nothing to do with my horrible laziness in getting the last chapter up. I'm just glad that you guys still remember me! The deal I was thinking with Shadi is that he has been the sort of "Yami" among an entire line of sons originating from his original body back in Egypt. Since the soul pushed out of the way has never really gained control of his body, if it were to, it would probably have the intelligence of a very small child.
Kaiba could be a wonderful musician ^^ My mother used to be a music teacher, and she developed this program that incorporated math into music, while learning the piano. Most left-brained children are actually very gifted in music (I went to an art's school for 3 years; I have experience). And since Seto Kaiba was adopted into a very high-class family, I believe regular music-lessons were inevitable in his life. And you know him, he is SO yearning to be a rebel. He's such a nerd!!!
Thank you for the compliment. I was thinking that most of my dialogue has been very choppy, of one-idea sentences. I tried to patch it up a little in this chapter, and I hope it worked ^^ See ya!
~*~*~*~
Anybody a Beck fan around here?! *crickets chirp* I guess not . . . all of the songfics around here are googoo doll-based, Linkin Park-based, or even . . .
*stabs Avril Lavigne doll*
Beck is the COOOOOOLEST though! Everyone should download a song, or buy a CD. He's a wonderful musician; unlike anyone you have ever heard before, I insist. His lyrics are odd, but strangely make sense. For example;
"Treated you like a rusty blade a throw away from an open grave cut you loose from a chain-gang and let you go."
". . . who would ever be so cruel blame the devil for the things you do it's such a selfish way to lose way to lose these wasted blues these wasted blues . . . "
- "Nobody's Fault but My Own"
And come on. Anyone with their first hit entitled; "Loser" appeals to most people around here. I strongly recommend you check him out sometime; it'll open up your mind, man. ^^
Naturally, the song Yami Malik's singing is a Beck one; a beautiful, depressing melody from his latest CD; "Sea Change". The CD that proves the only way to have sadness, is to have beauty.
If you are interested at all in Beck's works, I would go to amazon.com; they have samples of some of his songs when you look under his individual CDs. If you want to be happy, start under "Midnite Vultures". If you want to hear something melodic, look under "Mutations". If you want to hear something a little more main-stream, try "Odelay". And finally, if you want to hear something depressing, look at "Sea Change".
Please try it the next time you're bored! ^^
Now, onto the ficlet . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
--Flashback--
~*~*~*~
/Where are you where are you why can't I find you . . . /
He had curled himself into a knot of misery, eyes pressing into the knees that were masked by neatly pressed slacks and malnutrition. Stars danced and fell lazily around the view of his closed eyelids, but no matter how much he said, how much he cried, how much he cursed the little specks, they never answered his questions.
The carpet crawled between his bare toes and stroked the tender skin surrounding his toenails with scratchy strokes as he rocked himself back and forth, back and forth.
/ . . . come back come back I'm so lonely . . . /
Though these thoughts that were racing through his mind were so hard to admit before, even to himself, he found himself riding their urgency to all probable possibilities of ~where~ he went, and ~why~ he--
/Oh Ra my god whathaveIdone?!/
Only now was the infamous tomb robber, blinded by obsession of revenge for as long as was important, understanding enough to realize his mistakes.
But Ryou was not dead. Not yet, anyway.
Something had happened when he disappeared from Malik's home that morning two weeks ago, and disappeared entirely he did. An event so startlingly peculiar, that the boy's entire existence was erased from the soul room in his own body, but the body ~was not dead~. Yami Bakura was the only one who inhabited it now.
He had never dreamed of anything like this happening. He rocked back and forth, back and forth.
/Come back come back . . . come back it hurts it hurts/
No matter how ridiculous it should seem, after thousands of years, a lost and confused little boy had come back to life. He hadn't really lived after his presence at the destruction of his home. Just existed.
Living was highly over-rated, and though the sudden assault of smells, tastes, and the loss of encountered resistance should have been enticing to a power-hungry soul that had dreamed of such a chance for so long, but it had just left him feeling lonely.
Vaguely he registered a presence nearing his Hikari's old and otherwise deserted house, and easily passing the creaky front door cautiously. He didn't mind right now, he knew it wasn't Ryou, so why bother.
A strong voice, slightly faded and watered-down with distance sang with an echoing quality that warmed the ears, warmed the soul.
"Time wears away, all the puzzles of the day . . . all the treasures," hum "you could hold."
It was familiar, but due to the strange distraction aching in his stomach and sickening sensation spreading throughout his head, he couldn't recall the reason he thought he heard it before. His head was spinning, that he could tell, even if his eyes were shut tightly, tight enough to block out others.
"Days turn to black, in the light of what they lack, nothing's mea-sured . . . anymore."
A repeat of the first line's melody gave the tone a slightly insistent feeling.
"/No, no, just go away . . . /" Bakura croaked, his throat parched with lack of use. He could barely hear it himself, and he burrowed himself further into the mistaken sanctity of his knees.
"Already dead to me now."
"/I deserve to die, I did die, so what's wrong with me?/"
"Already dead to me now."
Then, quite abruptly, Bakura sat up with amazing alertness, considering his situation just a moment before, and the haunting melody rose to a dearly sad note that made his insides churn. The door that stood guard of his little room opened without much of a fight, and light spilled in.
It was like a burst of the sun, a silent explosion that surrounded a figure in the doorway, with hair that seemed the light itself, Though it burned his reddened eyes dry, the image was too beautiful to let go, it was like a morning at home . . .
Home was so far lost, now.
"Because it ~feels~ like I'm watching something . . . die-ing."
The song was unresolved, but the person singing it sighed nonetheless, finally looking at the pathetic soul torturing himself with doubt on the ground. It was Malik, or rather, Yami Malik; scarred and frowning.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked stiffly, flipping his blonde hair over his shoulder. On his face was left a serious expression, something Yami Bakura rarely ever saw on the normally overly happy comrade.
Bakura's hair was normal, but his eyes were bloodshot, and since his irises were still a deep burgundy color, more red than brown, it was a startling appearance.
He stared at him for a moment, his neck oddly craned forward like a nocturnal rodent's, his eyes large with confusion.
"Too much." He whispered, lowering his head and letting his long bangs obscure his expression. Swallowing was very difficult, but his throat was extremely dry. He coughed anyway.
Yami Malik looked onto him, startled into showing it plainly on his face. The other ancient spirit was talking as if he hadn't for days, and his back was shaking like he was . . . crying? He had never cried before, in Yami Malik's recollection.
Instinctively, his heart pulled him down, and placed his hand gently on Bakura's back in what he vaguely remembered as a comforting motion. He didn't remember Egypt as well as he should have, but he remembered this, and very hard-to-place feelings that haunted his memories. Perhaps they were lovers once, but it was a faint, and very fleeting experience. He rubbed his back.
"He's gone." The white-haired one said through sniffs.
"Yeah, yeah." Yami Malik was never the comforting type "Gotta get over it. He'll come back; you're connected."
"No!" he abruptly shoved his arm off his back and looked at him with, a glare? No, something along the lines of anger, but gilded in absolute hopelessness, and his voice reflected the same startling passion.
Bakura wobbled a bit, but managed up with the shaking support of a nearby antique cabinet. Reaching out for the dagger, or a sharp letter opener (as Ryou's memories insisted), he picked it up, and turned with determination to the imposter who didn't understand.
Feeling even the thin, weak grip of something more ornamental than anything, as comforting and familiar as the memory of his own dagger, he sliced, and nicked his finger enough to allow a few droplets of blood through.
Yami Malik stared.
"Oh . . . my god."
"He's gone."
"There must be some kind of mistake--"
"And who could have made that mistake?" demanded Bakura, turning away weakly, but angrily.
"The gods."
Even under madly tangled bangs, the glare was flashing and burning with great force of eternal suffering. The fires flashed through his mind, everything ablaze; his humble home, his belongings, his ~mother~. /Ninety- nine sacrifices./
" . . . I stopped believing in gods a long time ago. When they forsake me, I renounce them."
Malik looked understanding, but even he understood that it was not a matter to push, because he had never experienced something so terrible.
~*~*~*~
--End Flashback--
~*~*~*~
"I didn't need your help." Yami Bakura commented. Sitting determined, millennia of discipline allowed him to look thoughtful and menacing without fidgeting. The result was a very intimidating look that burned where he chose to place it.
"Really," Yami Malik responded sarcastically, disappearing behind a mass of mismatched, worn books. A few golden hairs and shuffling were all that alerted anything to his presence, and he pulled himself back up with his hands on his knees, carrying a few choice books back to the rickety old table.
Bakura just glared; sitting perfectly still besides his eyes, which were following the blonde easily and smoothly as he chose a spot to sit on the other side of the table. He gave no further notice to the skilled tomb- robber, who had reverted to a self-assured slouch in the chair, crossed lanky legs, and thin arms framed with wirey muscles crossed across his chest.
The storage room was plain, besides the sea of books, barely illuminated by a single light-bulb that hung precariously over the creaky wooden table. That was what the room was used for; all of Isis' books that she had collected for the further examination in her ancient studies. Though no one doubted that she had read each book at least twice, Isis was the queen of clutter outside of her home (which she often blamed on her brother to tidy up, whenever possible). She was one of the most understanding when it came to the theories in human behavior, but sadly, her council for a better, peaceful world seemed to always overlook ~her~ existence.
Luckily, Isis didn't guard the keys very effectively either. ~Especially~ for the resident tomb robber.
Yami Malik was annoyed. By the coolness of the room, by the dust slowly snowing on his usually pristine hair, but especially because of the white- haired spirit--wait, /high-school student/ that had been glaring at him icily throughout the entire, unfavorable experience.
"For the love of ~RA~ you stupid thief! You would have died if it weren't for me!" he finally snapped, matching the look.
Bakura still stared, unfazed.
"You know it's true," the blonde hissed, snapping the book on his lap shut "you were starving yourself, and the only reason you hadn't died before then, was because you were drawing energy from your own life force! You think I don't know that?!"
He flinched back, as the comment registered deeply in his mind. "And why would you care?!"
Yami Malik finally looked at him, his lovely eyes twisted with surprise. After a moment of pause, he leaned forward with an almost concerned look, but his hair skillfully obscured any sense of weakness. Even amongst themselves they could never be weak, as it was a cruel, cruel world where they came from, crueler than it seemed.
"How could you say that?" he asked quietly "I don't know about you, but human companionship is something I have missed greatly over the millennia, even semi-human.
"And if you haven't guessed it yet, you're the closest thing to a friend I have."
Bakura sneered at his uncharacteristically tender moment, and averted his gaze to something much more interesting; his fingertips.
Yami Malik, after pausing to roll his eyes and make a profound sound of disgust, continued to a level that he knew was necessary for Bakura to listen.
"No wonder your dear little Hikari left you." He continued flipping pages.
The other boy's eyes flashed to a particularly dangerous level, radiating the pain of loss, as it was the type of pain that overshadowed everything else. For a split second he appeared old, and very weary through his usually unbreakable façade, and he lowered his head, beaten by the mention of a child, and tossed his hair among itself in ugly surrender.
"We're looking for something to your benefit, you know. Not necessarily Ryou Bakura's, but yours all the same."
Bakura picked up a book. The English translations were easy to read when he could tap into Ryou's stored memories so easily, but they gave off a bitter sense of nostalgia in a faded glaze when he read them. His Hikari had the clearest memories, but though he gained everything he needed to continue Ryou's schooling, his memories were incomplete. He hid so much, and Bakura would probably never be able to discover every dark secret.
But he didn't mind as much as he suspected he would, as his Hikari had unknowingly humbled him through his constant skittishness.
They were not his to see.
The text of that particular book seemed useless for the purposes of "seeking" and "recovering", so he picked up his magic-warmed ring for temporary amusement. Unfortunately, it didn't amuse him as much as it usually did, and his thoughts began straying back to the useless text. Not the purpose, just the neatly printed letters, somewhat resembling the neat penmanship that haunted his dreams, haunted his consciousness . . .
/a, b, c, d, e . . . g--f, g/ Augh!
His treasure, his beautiful gold thing, that located the forms of his heart's desires; gold, silver, and jewels. It had never failed him before, and yet . . .
Pausing at the ceiling with a frown, he let the bangles on the ring dangle over his fingers limply. /And yet you could never help me locate the greatest treasure of all./
He gave no outside signal of his thoughts, but Ishtal understood. It was just Bakura's way.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Well, that's all there is to it for now. Word is telling me that there are 3000+ words in this chapter, so Mai and Rei are coming back next chappie, 'kay? Remember; Beck. Not Jeff Beck, just Beck. Way cool.
Any suggestions will always be heeded and personally responded to. You guys rock *sobs*
It's so pretty . . . you know you want to click on that little review button, doncha?!
^^
See you in . . . two weeks, or less than a week (my softball team is going to the National tournament in Missouri next week)
Toodles!
giggleplex
Disclaimer: *prods with stick* SAY IT!!!
Man with Needles: Huh?
*snaps needles* Not so tough without your needle, ARE WE?!
Man with Confiscated Needles: *gulps* Um . . . yeah. Right. This head-case doesn't own such an influential program for young teens all around the world, and if she did, we have established that she would do something ~dreadful~ with social commentary . . .
^______________^ *adopts Irish accent* Kubrick is me idol!
Well Dressed Lawyer: You do not own Kubrick. You do not own Beck.
Right! I don't own Beck's "Sea Change". I nearly forgot! ^^;;;
Well Dressed Lawyer: *pulls out paper*
What the hell is this?!
Neostar: *smacks a few lawyers with Mallet-sama* ^____________^
*giggles* Thank you!
Responses:
summer psycho – Oh dear . . . *blushies* Arigato, friend! *huggles psycho* I took your suggestion to heart, and faithfully, here are a few scenes from everyone's favorite insane tomb robber . . . both of them, actually ^^;;; I hope I will continue to sustain your interest ^^ Tell me what you think of my OOC Bakura!
Ryou's Gal - *nodnod* Absolutely insane. Don't ask what I was thinking when I made Kaiba a drummer . . . I don't knoe--know. I connot tell you when Rei/Ryou turns back ^^ But I will say that it'll be a while.
R Amethyst – Going for the dangerous bishies? *grins dreamily* But Kenshin is SO adorable! Not Battousai Kenshin, he's freaky (I don't understand those fangirls at all), but sweet, laundry-happy, no-kill, "ororororororo?" Kenshin. ^_________^ Soujiro smiles . . . too much. It freaks me out more than his dub-voice *shudder*. You think Mai/Kaiba, huh? I dunno . . . yet ^^;;; I'm so sad! I was going to pair one of them up with Joey, but we'll see.
Lyn/Lin – Excellent *rubs hands together*
Yami Krissy - *claps* YAY for the microphone ^^ *giggles* However, I unintentionally made this an entirely Yami Bakura chapter . . . stupid giggleplex. Hope you like it anyway ^^;;;
Shenya – I hope this is soon enough . . . I swear, I am so lazy right now! I'm trying to catch up in my algebra on my own this summer, because I'm taking trig next year; two years before it is normally introduced o.O I'm pathetic. AND suicidal.
Rosz of the Angel – I know how you feel with the whole biology thing. I'm taking three honor's classes next year, and I've been dreading it all summer. ^^;;; However, that had nothing to do with my horrible laziness in getting the last chapter up. I'm just glad that you guys still remember me! The deal I was thinking with Shadi is that he has been the sort of "Yami" among an entire line of sons originating from his original body back in Egypt. Since the soul pushed out of the way has never really gained control of his body, if it were to, it would probably have the intelligence of a very small child.
Kaiba could be a wonderful musician ^^ My mother used to be a music teacher, and she developed this program that incorporated math into music, while learning the piano. Most left-brained children are actually very gifted in music (I went to an art's school for 3 years; I have experience). And since Seto Kaiba was adopted into a very high-class family, I believe regular music-lessons were inevitable in his life. And you know him, he is SO yearning to be a rebel. He's such a nerd!!!
Thank you for the compliment. I was thinking that most of my dialogue has been very choppy, of one-idea sentences. I tried to patch it up a little in this chapter, and I hope it worked ^^ See ya!
~*~*~*~
Anybody a Beck fan around here?! *crickets chirp* I guess not . . . all of the songfics around here are googoo doll-based, Linkin Park-based, or even . . .
*stabs Avril Lavigne doll*
Beck is the COOOOOOLEST though! Everyone should download a song, or buy a CD. He's a wonderful musician; unlike anyone you have ever heard before, I insist. His lyrics are odd, but strangely make sense. For example;
"Treated you like a rusty blade a throw away from an open grave cut you loose from a chain-gang and let you go."
". . . who would ever be so cruel blame the devil for the things you do it's such a selfish way to lose way to lose these wasted blues these wasted blues . . . "
- "Nobody's Fault but My Own"
And come on. Anyone with their first hit entitled; "Loser" appeals to most people around here. I strongly recommend you check him out sometime; it'll open up your mind, man. ^^
Naturally, the song Yami Malik's singing is a Beck one; a beautiful, depressing melody from his latest CD; "Sea Change". The CD that proves the only way to have sadness, is to have beauty.
If you are interested at all in Beck's works, I would go to amazon.com; they have samples of some of his songs when you look under his individual CDs. If you want to be happy, start under "Midnite Vultures". If you want to hear something melodic, look under "Mutations". If you want to hear something a little more main-stream, try "Odelay". And finally, if you want to hear something depressing, look at "Sea Change".
Please try it the next time you're bored! ^^
Now, onto the ficlet . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
--Flashback--
~*~*~*~
/Where are you where are you why can't I find you . . . /
He had curled himself into a knot of misery, eyes pressing into the knees that were masked by neatly pressed slacks and malnutrition. Stars danced and fell lazily around the view of his closed eyelids, but no matter how much he said, how much he cried, how much he cursed the little specks, they never answered his questions.
The carpet crawled between his bare toes and stroked the tender skin surrounding his toenails with scratchy strokes as he rocked himself back and forth, back and forth.
/ . . . come back come back I'm so lonely . . . /
Though these thoughts that were racing through his mind were so hard to admit before, even to himself, he found himself riding their urgency to all probable possibilities of ~where~ he went, and ~why~ he--
/Oh Ra my god whathaveIdone?!/
Only now was the infamous tomb robber, blinded by obsession of revenge for as long as was important, understanding enough to realize his mistakes.
But Ryou was not dead. Not yet, anyway.
Something had happened when he disappeared from Malik's home that morning two weeks ago, and disappeared entirely he did. An event so startlingly peculiar, that the boy's entire existence was erased from the soul room in his own body, but the body ~was not dead~. Yami Bakura was the only one who inhabited it now.
He had never dreamed of anything like this happening. He rocked back and forth, back and forth.
/Come back come back . . . come back it hurts it hurts/
No matter how ridiculous it should seem, after thousands of years, a lost and confused little boy had come back to life. He hadn't really lived after his presence at the destruction of his home. Just existed.
Living was highly over-rated, and though the sudden assault of smells, tastes, and the loss of encountered resistance should have been enticing to a power-hungry soul that had dreamed of such a chance for so long, but it had just left him feeling lonely.
Vaguely he registered a presence nearing his Hikari's old and otherwise deserted house, and easily passing the creaky front door cautiously. He didn't mind right now, he knew it wasn't Ryou, so why bother.
A strong voice, slightly faded and watered-down with distance sang with an echoing quality that warmed the ears, warmed the soul.
"Time wears away, all the puzzles of the day . . . all the treasures," hum "you could hold."
It was familiar, but due to the strange distraction aching in his stomach and sickening sensation spreading throughout his head, he couldn't recall the reason he thought he heard it before. His head was spinning, that he could tell, even if his eyes were shut tightly, tight enough to block out others.
"Days turn to black, in the light of what they lack, nothing's mea-sured . . . anymore."
A repeat of the first line's melody gave the tone a slightly insistent feeling.
"/No, no, just go away . . . /" Bakura croaked, his throat parched with lack of use. He could barely hear it himself, and he burrowed himself further into the mistaken sanctity of his knees.
"Already dead to me now."
"/I deserve to die, I did die, so what's wrong with me?/"
"Already dead to me now."
Then, quite abruptly, Bakura sat up with amazing alertness, considering his situation just a moment before, and the haunting melody rose to a dearly sad note that made his insides churn. The door that stood guard of his little room opened without much of a fight, and light spilled in.
It was like a burst of the sun, a silent explosion that surrounded a figure in the doorway, with hair that seemed the light itself, Though it burned his reddened eyes dry, the image was too beautiful to let go, it was like a morning at home . . .
Home was so far lost, now.
"Because it ~feels~ like I'm watching something . . . die-ing."
The song was unresolved, but the person singing it sighed nonetheless, finally looking at the pathetic soul torturing himself with doubt on the ground. It was Malik, or rather, Yami Malik; scarred and frowning.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked stiffly, flipping his blonde hair over his shoulder. On his face was left a serious expression, something Yami Bakura rarely ever saw on the normally overly happy comrade.
Bakura's hair was normal, but his eyes were bloodshot, and since his irises were still a deep burgundy color, more red than brown, it was a startling appearance.
He stared at him for a moment, his neck oddly craned forward like a nocturnal rodent's, his eyes large with confusion.
"Too much." He whispered, lowering his head and letting his long bangs obscure his expression. Swallowing was very difficult, but his throat was extremely dry. He coughed anyway.
Yami Malik looked onto him, startled into showing it plainly on his face. The other ancient spirit was talking as if he hadn't for days, and his back was shaking like he was . . . crying? He had never cried before, in Yami Malik's recollection.
Instinctively, his heart pulled him down, and placed his hand gently on Bakura's back in what he vaguely remembered as a comforting motion. He didn't remember Egypt as well as he should have, but he remembered this, and very hard-to-place feelings that haunted his memories. Perhaps they were lovers once, but it was a faint, and very fleeting experience. He rubbed his back.
"He's gone." The white-haired one said through sniffs.
"Yeah, yeah." Yami Malik was never the comforting type "Gotta get over it. He'll come back; you're connected."
"No!" he abruptly shoved his arm off his back and looked at him with, a glare? No, something along the lines of anger, but gilded in absolute hopelessness, and his voice reflected the same startling passion.
Bakura wobbled a bit, but managed up with the shaking support of a nearby antique cabinet. Reaching out for the dagger, or a sharp letter opener (as Ryou's memories insisted), he picked it up, and turned with determination to the imposter who didn't understand.
Feeling even the thin, weak grip of something more ornamental than anything, as comforting and familiar as the memory of his own dagger, he sliced, and nicked his finger enough to allow a few droplets of blood through.
Yami Malik stared.
"Oh . . . my god."
"He's gone."
"There must be some kind of mistake--"
"And who could have made that mistake?" demanded Bakura, turning away weakly, but angrily.
"The gods."
Even under madly tangled bangs, the glare was flashing and burning with great force of eternal suffering. The fires flashed through his mind, everything ablaze; his humble home, his belongings, his ~mother~. /Ninety- nine sacrifices./
" . . . I stopped believing in gods a long time ago. When they forsake me, I renounce them."
Malik looked understanding, but even he understood that it was not a matter to push, because he had never experienced something so terrible.
~*~*~*~
--End Flashback--
~*~*~*~
"I didn't need your help." Yami Bakura commented. Sitting determined, millennia of discipline allowed him to look thoughtful and menacing without fidgeting. The result was a very intimidating look that burned where he chose to place it.
"Really," Yami Malik responded sarcastically, disappearing behind a mass of mismatched, worn books. A few golden hairs and shuffling were all that alerted anything to his presence, and he pulled himself back up with his hands on his knees, carrying a few choice books back to the rickety old table.
Bakura just glared; sitting perfectly still besides his eyes, which were following the blonde easily and smoothly as he chose a spot to sit on the other side of the table. He gave no further notice to the skilled tomb- robber, who had reverted to a self-assured slouch in the chair, crossed lanky legs, and thin arms framed with wirey muscles crossed across his chest.
The storage room was plain, besides the sea of books, barely illuminated by a single light-bulb that hung precariously over the creaky wooden table. That was what the room was used for; all of Isis' books that she had collected for the further examination in her ancient studies. Though no one doubted that she had read each book at least twice, Isis was the queen of clutter outside of her home (which she often blamed on her brother to tidy up, whenever possible). She was one of the most understanding when it came to the theories in human behavior, but sadly, her council for a better, peaceful world seemed to always overlook ~her~ existence.
Luckily, Isis didn't guard the keys very effectively either. ~Especially~ for the resident tomb robber.
Yami Malik was annoyed. By the coolness of the room, by the dust slowly snowing on his usually pristine hair, but especially because of the white- haired spirit--wait, /high-school student/ that had been glaring at him icily throughout the entire, unfavorable experience.
"For the love of ~RA~ you stupid thief! You would have died if it weren't for me!" he finally snapped, matching the look.
Bakura still stared, unfazed.
"You know it's true," the blonde hissed, snapping the book on his lap shut "you were starving yourself, and the only reason you hadn't died before then, was because you were drawing energy from your own life force! You think I don't know that?!"
He flinched back, as the comment registered deeply in his mind. "And why would you care?!"
Yami Malik finally looked at him, his lovely eyes twisted with surprise. After a moment of pause, he leaned forward with an almost concerned look, but his hair skillfully obscured any sense of weakness. Even amongst themselves they could never be weak, as it was a cruel, cruel world where they came from, crueler than it seemed.
"How could you say that?" he asked quietly "I don't know about you, but human companionship is something I have missed greatly over the millennia, even semi-human.
"And if you haven't guessed it yet, you're the closest thing to a friend I have."
Bakura sneered at his uncharacteristically tender moment, and averted his gaze to something much more interesting; his fingertips.
Yami Malik, after pausing to roll his eyes and make a profound sound of disgust, continued to a level that he knew was necessary for Bakura to listen.
"No wonder your dear little Hikari left you." He continued flipping pages.
The other boy's eyes flashed to a particularly dangerous level, radiating the pain of loss, as it was the type of pain that overshadowed everything else. For a split second he appeared old, and very weary through his usually unbreakable façade, and he lowered his head, beaten by the mention of a child, and tossed his hair among itself in ugly surrender.
"We're looking for something to your benefit, you know. Not necessarily Ryou Bakura's, but yours all the same."
Bakura picked up a book. The English translations were easy to read when he could tap into Ryou's stored memories so easily, but they gave off a bitter sense of nostalgia in a faded glaze when he read them. His Hikari had the clearest memories, but though he gained everything he needed to continue Ryou's schooling, his memories were incomplete. He hid so much, and Bakura would probably never be able to discover every dark secret.
But he didn't mind as much as he suspected he would, as his Hikari had unknowingly humbled him through his constant skittishness.
They were not his to see.
The text of that particular book seemed useless for the purposes of "seeking" and "recovering", so he picked up his magic-warmed ring for temporary amusement. Unfortunately, it didn't amuse him as much as it usually did, and his thoughts began straying back to the useless text. Not the purpose, just the neatly printed letters, somewhat resembling the neat penmanship that haunted his dreams, haunted his consciousness . . .
/a, b, c, d, e . . . g--f, g/ Augh!
His treasure, his beautiful gold thing, that located the forms of his heart's desires; gold, silver, and jewels. It had never failed him before, and yet . . .
Pausing at the ceiling with a frown, he let the bangles on the ring dangle over his fingers limply. /And yet you could never help me locate the greatest treasure of all./
He gave no outside signal of his thoughts, but Ishtal understood. It was just Bakura's way.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Well, that's all there is to it for now. Word is telling me that there are 3000+ words in this chapter, so Mai and Rei are coming back next chappie, 'kay? Remember; Beck. Not Jeff Beck, just Beck. Way cool.
Any suggestions will always be heeded and personally responded to. You guys rock *sobs*
It's so pretty . . . you know you want to click on that little review button, doncha?!
^^
See you in . . . two weeks, or less than a week (my softball team is going to the National tournament in Missouri next week)
Toodles!
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