There is a saying that all good things come in threes. There is another saying that all bad things come in threes. Finally, someone, tired of being confused by the two conflicting clichés, melded them together into one saying. All things come in threes. This is actually a faulty observation, as all things come in ones, mostly. Especially socks. But once in a while, the statement is proved momentarily true.

 For, good or bad, three people stood outside Tristan's house, doing their best to look imposing and pleading at the same time. They held their cheap crimson plastic bags aloft with pride, their dusty, bedraggled clothing affecting the image not. No, their physical appearance didn't detract from the atmosphere of heroic deed-doing they gave off. It was the conversation that they were currently having.

"I can't believe you were so out of your mind that you took your dad's car!" Tea raged, "And you didn't even have a driver's license! What on Earth were you thinking?"

"I don't believe I was thinking of anything in particular," admitted Joey sheepishly, 'I thought we'd been through that, actually."

"No, she has a point," Yami admitted. "How anyone, in their right mind or not, could take their father's keys, enter his vehicle, and drive it to two of his friends' houses and the shopping center without remembering about his lack of a driver's license is beyond me."

"I was under a kind of trance," explained Joey earnestly. "Like those Zen minks. They go into a sort of trance in which they forget their settings and the world around them, and concentrate solely on…enlightenment, or something."

"Joey," Tea said, giving him an odd look, "First of all, they're monks, not minks, and secondly, there is no way you'll ever convince me that you were concentrating solely about enlightenment, the meaning of life, or anything actually deep and meaningful."

"Is that really so hard to believe?" He asked, sounding fairly insulted. "I mean, I know I'm not the smartest person in the world…"

Yami snorted. Joey glared at him and continued. "But I do think of things other than food and duel monster cards, you know."

"Really," Tea said tartly, "You've been keeping that little fact about yourself very well-hidden."

 "Hey!" Joey snapped, his immensely short temper ignited, "At least I don't go about making stupid little speeches about friendship all the time!"

"What's wrong with friendship? Don't LIKE friendship? Got some kind of GRUDGE against friendship, Mr. Bad-Brooklyn-Accent?"

"Only against you, Miss Twirling-Ballerina-Klutz!"

"Oh, that's really witty. I can see you certainly have a flair for making interesting comebacks. Why don't you hire yourself out for a line of work that may appreciate your unique talents? Say, the Barney show?"

"Now, you two, I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding," Yami said, attempting to be a kind of mediator. Unfortunately, while he was quite good at intimidation and utter mastery over opponents, Yami was devastatingly bad at breaking up fights. He wasn't much of a people person, and that really worked against him. His approach to breaking up fights was to simply knock both of the bickerers out, and sort it out with them when they came to. Unfortunately, this was not an open option for him in the case of Joey and Tea, who swiveled as one to face him and blasted the unfortunate pharaoh with angry glares.

"Shut up!" they yelled.

Yami shut up. He was unused to having glares of rage directed at him. He was usually the one to glare. He was quite good at it too, as he lined his eyes with thick mascara to make them look more slanted and imposing. The mascara seemed to be no help against the righteous anger of his two friends, who seemed to be quite ready to tear out each other's throats. The long taxi ride to Tristan's house had not been pleasant for either of them.

"You are just plain annoying!" Joey said, pointing his finger accusingly at Tea, who rolled her eyes.

"And you are an imbecile who can't come up with plans to save his life. Come on, throw another stupid, unoriginal platitude at me, I'm ready."

Joey took a deep breath in preparation of going into full rant mode. "You," he began venomously, "Are a cross-eyed, knobby-kneed, inbred monkey posing as a girl, who deserves to be freely shot at by a team of amateur Terminator wannabes." He paused, trying to think of the very worst thing you could ever say to a female. He fished through the stream of his memories, trying to remember exactly what infuriated the girls on TV. He got a catch. "And, you're FAT.".

The audience, if there had indeed been an audience, would have been cued to gasp simultaneously. One could almost feel the dramatic tension, sparking and fizzing between the two, like demented roman candles. Everyone knows what happens in an argument of this scale. The tension either becomes romantic passion, or two friendships are tragically ended, cut with the sharp blade of sarcasm.

Joey stood there, giving her a look of satisfaction. Beat THAT

Tea did indeed look like she was about to beat something. Namely, Joey's head, along with other delicate parts of his anatomy. Her mouth opened and closed as she did an excellent impression of a landed fish. She pointed her finger at him, still wordlessly mouthing unknown curses, her face turning a brilliant crimson.

Yami had the odd and completely inappropriate urge to find a timer.

Finally, Tea regained her ability of speech. "Joey Wheeler," she hissed, the sound of her voice causing both males to take one step back and prepare to flee, "You are a horrible excuse for a human being, and I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU ANYMORE!" She screamed the last word right in Joey's, and consequently, Yami's ears, turned on her heel, and stared fixedly at the sky.

 It was at this moment that Tristan opened the door, brandishing a large bowl of cherries and whipped cream. "Oh," he said pleasantly, "It's you. Would you care for a cherry?"

 In the student government room, a meeting was about to begin. A meeting that could mean the end of school management as anyone knew it, or a triumphant giving of prizes. The future teetered precariously, depending entirely on the whim of one individual.

 Malik gave the student council president an intense stare. This was not an incredibly hard thing to achieve, since Malik had rather intense eyes. They were a vivid purple, and about an inch and a half away from insanity. Those eyes seemed to stare right through your soul.

 In actuality, Malik was fixing his gaze just beyond the president, and at the pink-painted wall. In all his life, he had never seen such terrible taste in decorations. The hamster poster that lingered directly over the president's head, like a brightly-colored, tacky cloud, gave Malik the odd inclination to run away in abject terror. Hamsters should not be smiling cheerfully while dancing on their forelegs. It was against the laws of nature, and was just plain wrong.

The president, under the impression that Malik was focusing his eerily powerful stare at him, began to outline his plan. "Um," he started, withering under the power of the violet eyes, "Um. So, um." He announced intelligently.

"Why is there a hamster poster on this wall?" Asked Malik abruptly.

"I like hamsters."

"It displeases me." Malik stated firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't like hamsters?" the president ventured, glad for any kind of conversation.

"Hamsters are fine. As far as small, furry rodents go, they are quite tolerable. The problem with this poster is the expression on this hamster's face. It is grinning. And holding a pinwheel lollipop. Hamsters don't go about doing that kind of thing." Malik continued his lengthy diatribe about the habits of domestic rodents. "They also do not dance around wearing tutus. I defy anyone to fit any clothing on a hamster. It would bite your finger off before you even finished putting socks on it.  I mean, I've lived underground for most of my life and even I know that."

"You certainly have quite a tan for someone who's lived underground for most of his life."

Malik gave the president a condescending glare. "That's not the point."

The president was aware of that fact. The point, it seemed, was wandering far away, and was about to take the bus. "You may have been wondering why I've called you here today,' the president tried, gladly grasping onto the traditional start of a businesslike conversation.

"No."

"Pardon?"

"No. I wasn't exactly wondering why you called me to this disgustingly decorated room, Mr. President. I've been told that you are slightly batty, as is the case with most people in positions of power. I am under the impression, however, that you have a scheme of some sort you'd like to discuss with me."

"Er, yes."  The president felt lost and adrift on an endless sea of uncertainty. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to be calm, composed, and slightly impressive as he stood in his cheap school-bought chair, outlining his master scheme. He was most certainly not supposed to be gibbering like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Yes," he began again, more confidently, "A plan that involves you."

Malik raised an eyebrow.

"We of the student council have chosen you to be most suitable for the plan we are carrying out. Your mission is to locate a set of Exodia cards, using any means necessary, and bring them back to the school before the costume dance on Friday."

"Any means necessary?" Malik asked. The gleam in his eyes would have caused any hardened criminal to run for the hills after writing up a very detailed will.

The president, however, noticed it not. "Yes. Any means necessary. We will, of course, reward you for your efforts and service to the school."

"That's alright," Malik stated distractedly, "I've already got a t-shirt. You mean, any means necessary, right? You're giving me carte blanche on this?"

A tiny bit of apprehension flashed a fin. The president wasn't aware of the definition of carte blanche, but the way Malik said it made it sound dangerous.  "We expect you to have some self-restraint, of course," he affirmed, "For instance, killing is not allowed. Any felony at all is not allowed."

"Of course not." Said Malik, the very picture of innocence.

"Excellent. Well then, we are equipping you with the Driver's Ed car, to aid you with your searching. Please do not abuse the driver, he wasn't easy to come by. Here is a credit card, a map with all the duel monster card-selling stores marked out, and a pair of fuzzy dice to hang from the rearview mirror. I wish you good luck."

In response, Malik flashed a smile that would make a shark envious. It seemed that this week would be an enjoyable one after all.

 Elsewhere, in the Kaiba mansion, Mokuba was busy getting utterly lost in the ventilation system. It was his seventh attempt at breaking into Seto's bathroom, and so far he'd gotten two guest bedrooms, one torture chamber, a kitchen placed very randomly on the third floor, and three rooms of unknown purpose.

"Should've got the blueprints," Mokuba muttered under his breath and continued his way across endless feet of metal piping, trying not to disturb the occupants of the rooms beneath him in the off-chance that he took a lucky turn and ended up directly over Seto's bathroom.

 Not that the caution would have done him any good, seeing that Seto had taken his shower already. Showering was a particularly stressful occasion for him, as it involved the removal of hidden cameras from various nooks and crannies of the expansive bathroom. He had learned his lesson the first time pictures of him, devoid of clothing, had appeared on multiple fan sites around the web. Along with this, he was forced to check around the bathroom to make sure no fan girls or reporters were hiding themselves in his cabinets, secure the area to prevent any assassination attempts, and inform his bodyguards to go on Code Aqua.

  At the moment, his daily rituals complete, Seto Kaiba was busy in his limo, attempting to open a bottle of sparkling cider without a bottle-opener. The cork was a very stubborn one. It seemed to quite enjoy it's life, wedged into a circular hole of glass above an endless ocean of carbonation and apple juice, and was having none of Seto's attempts to liberate it from it's prison.

"Damn…stubborn…thing!" Seto muttered, prying at the cork, which stubbornly resisted his efforts.

"Indeed." Agreed the chauffer.

"Don't 'indeed' me." Seto said peevishly, "It makes you sound British."

"I am British, sir."

"All the more reason then."

"May I enquire as to where Master Kaiba would like to go?"

"Hm?" Seto asked, still preoccupied with the problem of extracting the cork.

"The designated drop-off point, sir." The chauffer replied with bottomless patience.

 "We're headed for the high school," Seto explained. "I'm performing my charitable act of the month."

"And what would that be sir?" The chauffer asked, hoping that it had nothing to do with a mass dog-walking parade. The dog hair had been immediately drawn to any white surface in the surrounding area, and the Kaiba mansion had quite a number of white surfaces.

"I'm funding a school dance. The student council seems to be extremely excited about it."

"Ah."

"It's a masquerade. I suppose I shall have to attend, so on the way back home I would like you to stop at a costume store."

"Yes, sir." The chauffer, who was named Jeeves by some sort of natural law, made an effort to picture Seto in any kind of costume. The only thing that kept popping up was the unsettling image of Master Kaiba wearing black leather and leering in a completely uncharacteristic way. Mental Seto clenched a rose between his teeth and began to dance.

"Exactly what kind of costume did you have in mind, sir?"

"I believe the costume of choice would be a tuxedo, a black cape, and a mask."

Jeeves, who had two daughters obsessed with Sailor Moon, forbore comment. The dancing Seto Kaiba in his mind removed the rose from his mouth, donned a cape, and began to mouth 'In the name of Justice' repeatedly. Jeeves made some kind of funny coughing sound, and focused his attention on the hood ornament. "Yes, sir. I know of several places that carry such…apparel."

"Excellent. Also, do you have any idea what the odd clanking noises in the ventilation system where?"

"I haven't the slightest."

"A few of our maids seem to have seen a black-clad figure popping its head into rooms around the house. If it is another insane person out to steal my personal belongings, I'm afraid I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Perhaps it's a mouse."

"It would have to be an extremely large mouse then, and I don't believe Mokuba has been successful enough with his endeavors at chemistry to achieve such a result."

"Why do you have that old-fashioned ventilation system, anyway? Wouldn't it be easier to update it to something else?"

"Jeeves," snapped Seto, "Some policies must be kept! What would happen if a maniac broke into my house and locked people in their rooms? How would they escape? How would the maniac maneuver through the house, if not for the conveniently placed vents? Please do not consider that option ever again."

"Yes, sir."

"Just drive the limo." At that, the cork popped out of the glass bottle, and hit Seto right between the eyes. The bottle sprayed sparkling cider everywhere in the immediate vicinity as Seto cursed at the newly emancipated cork and the chauffer attempted to keep a straight face.

In a room coated entirely in shag carpeting, an impromptu meeting was being held.

"Let's go over this again," Tristan said slowly, "You three are competing in the costume dance contest. You are going to be horsemen of the apocalypse, but you are missing one member. Therefore, you want me to give up my practice for the Olympic shag-knitting competition-"

He was cut off by a choked whimper from Yami, who muttered something that sounded like "Oh, Ra."

"The Olympic shag knitting competition," Tristan repeated, raising his voice slightly, "Which I am very proud to be a part of, and not insecure about at all. You want me to give up my plans for the sake of dressing up like an idiot and going off to win cards for Yugi."

"Friendship demands it." Tea said, crossing her arms and giving Tristan a look that told him if he even tried to protest, he would be tortured in unspeakable ways.

"Well, that's great for friendship. But I have a rug to finish."

"Oh, I can finish it, dear." Serenity interrupted, "You only have about a third of it to go." Her voice was infused with a blend of pure adoration and mad cheerfulness.

"Oh, I couldn't put you through such trouble, darling." Tristan protested, taking Serenity's hands in his and gazing at her lovingly. A corner of her mouth twitched downwards, almost imperceptibly.

"But I will enjoy every minute of it, love." Serenity insisted, leaning forward and giving Tristan a look of heartfelt longing. "With every move of the knitting needle, I shall think of you." She gave his hands a  slightly tighter squeeze than was necessary.

"But I don't want to tax your delicate hands with such work, on top of your own. Think of the blisters you will get!"

On the couch, Tea, Joey, and Yami watched with fascinated horror.

"To love is pain," Serenity replied sweetly. "It will be sweet agony." She smiled fixedly at Tristan.

"No," Tristan replied, also smiling fixedly, "I'm afraid I am selfish and must protest at forcing this work upon you."

"And I said I would gladly take it, darling."

"No, you won't, dear."

"You try and stop me, sugar pie."

"Bring it on, love of my life."

"Gladly, precious."

"Break a leg, honey."

"Oh for the love of RA!" yelled Yami, "Just get a damn room and get over it!"

"Shut up!" Tristan and Serenity yelled, and Yami was given death glares for the second time that day. He shrunk back, unused to the situation.

"Fine," he said peevishly. "I'll come back when everyone is actually sane."

"Oh yeah," said Tea sarcastically. "I can definitely see that happening some time soon."

Yami gave her a swift glare. "I'm going to remember that."

"That's a nice change of pace."

Yami opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. "Grrr!" He announced to the world in general, and then promptly pulled a disappearing act in a flash of golden light.  To any strangers watching, it would seem as though he had shrunk and lost quite a bit of his hair dye. Fortunately, no strangers were looking in, so Yugi was once again safe from any tabloids.

 He blinked a few times, his hand outstretched as though he had been holding something in it. "Oh, for goodness sakes!" he snapped, dropping his hand and crossing his arms petulantly. "Is it too much to ask to get an uninterrupted hour of television? I was just about to see the season finale of As The Spinning Wheel Turns! Now I'll never know if Arnold is Terry's illegitimate son!"

Everyone took a moment to give Yugi a wary glance.

He seemed to take in his surroundings and flushed. "I mean that I was playing chess," he corrected quietly.

Joey nodded slowly. "Uh-huh."

"Anyway!" interjected Tristan, exasperated with the complete randomness of the situation, "I would rather not join your motley crew of costume-makers, thank you very much."

"Hey!" Snapped Joey. "Watch who you're calling motley!"

"Please inform the moron that motley just mean mixed or contrasting. It's not an insult per se." Tea said, haughtily addressing the thin air.

"Whaddya mean by 'per se'?" Joey asked her, eyeing her suspiciously. "And who are you calling a moron?"

"Please inform the moron that I am calling him a morn, and per se means 'as such'. If *someone* actually took the time to listen to the teacher instead of reading comics, I'm sure he would know this." Tea replied.

"What's with them?" Yugi inquired, gesturing at Tea and Joey, who were glaring threateningly at the nearby scenery, and completely ignoring one another. Tristan and Serenity shrugged, their previous squabble forgotten.

 "Yugi, the boy who will now be referred to as The Moron insulted me. Therefore, he broke the holy bonds of friendship and I won't lower myself by speaking with him in any way." Tea explained, granting Joey a poisonous scowl.

"Ditto." Joey said, crossing his arms and turning his head.

"I'm sorry guys, but this will probably make the entire plan quite difficult. I'm pretty sure we're going to have to have some form of communication." Yugi felt like screaming and challenging someone to a particularly dangerous game of cards. He left for a couple hours, and everything started falling apart. He'd have to discuss people skills with Yami. Or the lack thereof.

Silence from Tea and Joey, who seemed temporarily lost in their little world of hostility. Yugi could feel the negative energy emanating from them in waves. It contrasted shockingly with the pink surface of the couch they sat on, creating an odd atmosphere, like Poe mixed with Disney.

Yugi paused as a thought came to mind. "Hey. What are we going as?"

"The horsemen of the apocalypse," Tea announced, enthusiasm returning to her voice. "Tristan has agreed to be the fourth-"

"I have not." Snapped Tristan vehemently.

"Yes, he has." Serenity interrupted, giving her object of affection a gaze that was both loving and terribly menacing. "

 Serenity had spent one too many days in that small, charmingly decorated house, and had plans to go off to some small, cheerfully decorated bar and get completely inebriated. Being drunk was one thing she had not experienced yet, and she found herself intensely, fatally curious as to how it would be like. Unfortunately, she had been far too busy knitting countless shag rugs for the upcoming rug Olympics to indulge in recreational activities. She saw this dance party as a gift from above. Now if only Tristan would cooperate.

"No," Her stubborn boyfriend was saying, "No, absolutely not. I refuse."

And with that, a ninja star crashed through the window, cut off a miniscule amount of Yugi's magnificent hairdo, and buried itself in Tristan's wall.