Just enough time to update this sucker! Yeah! Here's the second chapter of my precious story.
Ch. 2: Youthful Play
"Okay, Bakura. You first."
"Ah—Sakura!!"
"Just kidding, brother!"
Sakura pushed Yami Bakura's door open.
"Just what I'd expect," she said bemusedly.
The room was fashioned like an ancient Egyptian tomb. Gold littered the corners, the walls were dank, and his bed was no more than a sand and straw filled sack and a sheet. Near that was a picture of his family. Barely visible through the grime was a woman with reddish hair and electric blue highlights, with one blue eye and an emerald one. In her arms was a baby with pale purple locks tinged with blue highlights. The proud father—Tomb Robber Bakura—was smiling happily with an arm around his wife's shoulder. He looked so young, happy and carefree. It didn't seem as if a feeling like that could easily be dragged away from that kind of person. Obviously something had purged it from him...
"Hmm...I wonder why it's so dirty..." Ryou muttered, running a finger down the glass. However, no matter what he did, the grime just replaced itself over the picture.
"Wow!" Sakura said. "At least his wardrobe was cool!"
She pulled at his cream-colored under robes and at the flowing crimson over robes. There were ankle bands, wrist bands, and things of the sort that went with it. He also had a cream colored hood and an Egyptian...
"Skirt?!"
Sakura cocked an eyebrow.
"He wore a skirt?!"
"It must have been what he had to wear back then I'm sure it might have not have been by preference. Besides, Egypt is a hot place. And he probably wanted a bit of mobility..."
"Yeah, I bet he'd fancy a nice healthy breeze round his privates," Sakura said hollowly.
Ryou took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
"I'll pretend I never heard that."
"Okey-dokey then!"
They then turned to a new, yet old looking door. On the door was a sign that had something very specific and untidily Sharpie-markered on it.
MY MEMORIES. BUZZ OFF!!
"In there, d'you reckon?" Sakura said sarcastically.
"In there," her brother confirmed.
He pushed the door open and a great white light emanated from the doorway.
"Er—show us what you can—his childhood, please?"
They both jumped into the light.
"Hold on Sakura!" cried Bakura. "Don't let go!"
"I don't plan on it!" Sakura replied.
They were both falling...falling...
WHUMPH!
Bakura tasted sand.
"Eurgh! Ptui!"
He gagged on the taste, sputtering and coughing.
"Where...am I?"
"Ku...Ku..."
"Huh?"
"Na...Eru-na...Eruna!"
Sakura was reading Egyptian over and over. She ran her fingers over the sign before her over and over again.
"Ku...ru...Eruna...KuruEruna!!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh! Baku, you're awake! I didn't notice...I was reading this. It says 'KuruEruna.' That must be the name of the village."
"How...?"
"Oh, reading hieroglyphs and hieratic is something Yami Bakura taught me," she said offhandedly. "I had a lot of free time. But these are his memories, so he might make them easier for us to understand. All we do is watch..."
"Mother! I'm going to play outside with Mariku!"
"Very well. Take care to be back before sunset."
"Alright!"
The Bakura twins were behind a small house. A five year old boy skipped into their view. Yami Bakura, or just Bakura, as he was back then. His hair wasn't the perfect picture of tidy, but it was no worse than Ryou's hair. Just shorter. He met up with no other than a five-year old past-Malik. This Malik was skinny, but stocky and well muscled. Bakura was skinny, with deceivingly weak-built arms that could actually carry extremely heavy burdens. For he was a slave, and required the strength.
"Hey, Mariku, let's go to the Nile's side. I'm thirsty."
"Yeah. And it's pretty hot. So, uh..."
Mariku lowered his voice.
"...how's your reading lessons going."
"It's 'how are' your reading lessons going," Bakura corrected.
"That answers my question."
"Yep. Mother says I'm doing really well."
"My mother thinks I should study with you."
"That'd be nice! I would have a pal to study with."
Bakura bent down and scooped a handful of water from the river and drank it. It ran down the sides of his mouth and cooled his tan cheeks.
"The water is so great," Mariku said.
"My mom says it's our life-blood."
"Yeah, I know, but enough of that. Let's play some stone-papyrus- knife."
"Okay," Bakura replied to his friend.
"Both boys emptied their pockets of all their treasures. Shiny stones, squares of cloth, and other knickknacks.
"I have something special," Bakura said. He removed his right sandal and produced a crumpled piece of papyrus. It had very sloppy Egyptian hieroglyphs written on it.
"I did it myself," he said proudly. "It says 'My village is KuruEruna. I live here.'"
"Wow! The prince probably can't write as good as you!"
"Oh. 'Ol Porky-pine?" Bakura said mockingly. "I'm not scared of his smarts. All he does is sit on his royal duffer all day."
Both of the boys laughed at their own cleverness.
"Okay then. On the count of three, Bakura?"
"Hn," the other boy nodded.
"One, two, THREE!"
Bakura's fingers were connected in the universal Egyptian sign for knife. Mariku had papyrus.
"Kuu, kuu...I win!!"
"Okay..." Mariku conceded, handing a shiny stone to his friend.
They played for keeps, always. After an hour, Bakura rubbed his empty and growling belly.
"I'm hungry," he said plainly.
"Let's play a few more. We just started and sunset is only an hour away.
Bakura could no longer concentrate. He hadn't eaten all day and his little body demanded much. Needles to say, he lost his only bit of papyrus.
"Here," he said, angry at himself for losing it.
"No, you can keep it, Bakura."
"But you won it!"
"Ah, one day I'll write my own. But...do you think I could maybe borrow it?"
"Oh, of course!"
Mariku was ecstatic.
"Wow! I'll give it to you soon! I just need to study!"
He then put a worn hand on his own sore stomach.
"I'm hungry, too. Let's get to our houses, or our mothers will worry."
"Play tomorrow?"
"You know it!" Mariku said brightly.
They both headed home.
"Mother, I'm home!" Bakura called.
"Come in. It is time for your bath."
"Oh, Mother!" he sighed in indignation.
He entered their small bathing room and stripped of his cream colored shirt and only pair of pants before stepping into the cold tub of water. He shivered violently as she cleaned the filth of the day from him and rinsed his hair.
"So, how was your day, my son?"
"It was okay. We drank from the Nile, Mariku and I. and we played stone-papyrus-knife."
"Ah. So you wee very busy indeed!"
"Yes, Mother."
"So, are you ready for bed?"
"Yes, but what's for dinner first?"
"I'm sorry, little Baku, but we haven't a crumb of bread or a drop of soup. Nothing at all. I'm afraid our dinner will be just water."
At the sound of that, Bakura's shoulders sagged. His stomach groaned for food, and water only sharpened the want.
"I don't want water," he said. "It makes me hunger for food even worse!"
"Alas. You must drink it."
"But why?"
"You will become dehydrated otherwise. That means dried out, my love. Remember, we are at the mercy of the sun's heat, we must be prepared."
"Do we have to work tomorrow?"
"Yes, indeed. You will work on a different project than I. stay close to Mariku's family. They will protect you as best they can."
Bakura nodded in acknowledgement, Mariku's family was of a prestigious grave keeper line, and he knew they were kind. He drank his "dinner" after his "bath" and cuddled near his mother.
"Mother, I feel ill."
"It will pass, my dear. You father has gone on one last round. Perhaps he will bring a small morsel for you."
Bakura curled his small, dark body into a tight fetal position and shuddered.
His father soon came.
"I could only 'appropriate a potato," he said solemnly.
The young boy looked hopefully from above his knees as waves of intense hunger passed through his little body.
"It is less than yesterday," his father added. "And where is little Bakura?"
Bakura pulled his head out from his fetal position and smiled weakly.
"Hi, father."
His father smirked and mussed the boy's pale lavender locks.
"And how are you this evening?"
"...hungry..."
"Then I suppose you're in luck. For in my hand I hold the answer to all your problems."
Bakura grinned happily.
"It's for me?!"
"Every last bite."
Bakura retained his smile until the potato was placed in front of him, steaming and good. Then a though struck him and he felt his stomach plummet.
"Mother, Father...what of your dinner?"
"Worry not, Baku. Tomorrow we eat with the Ishtars," his mother said.
"Like maybe a sleepover?"
"Perhaps."
He inclined his head for a "short prayer after he cut his potato open...
"Uh...thank you, Ra...and all the other gods too, for this potato. And thank you for my mother and my father, and Mariku, and his parents and our house and their house. And thank you for giving me a roof over my head in this village, and thank you for..."
Bakura's parents smiled. His "short" prayers were a bit lengthy, but it was still cute.
"...and thank you for the water in the Nile. Amen."
Abandoning any manners he wound have had as a five-year-old, he buried his face into the potato. Once, he gagged on the chunks of sticky potato, but his mother was there to pat his back when he did. Face covered in potato flecks, he smiled at her.
After his feast, he curled up on his cot, at his mother's permission, and slipped into the childish nighttime reveries that were his dreams. Never suspecting what dangers awaited him...
Wow, pre-measured chapters are a killer. I suppose that's my fault. But hey, more reading, I suppose. Anywho, R&R.
Ch. 2: Youthful Play
"Okay, Bakura. You first."
"Ah—Sakura!!"
"Just kidding, brother!"
Sakura pushed Yami Bakura's door open.
"Just what I'd expect," she said bemusedly.
The room was fashioned like an ancient Egyptian tomb. Gold littered the corners, the walls were dank, and his bed was no more than a sand and straw filled sack and a sheet. Near that was a picture of his family. Barely visible through the grime was a woman with reddish hair and electric blue highlights, with one blue eye and an emerald one. In her arms was a baby with pale purple locks tinged with blue highlights. The proud father—Tomb Robber Bakura—was smiling happily with an arm around his wife's shoulder. He looked so young, happy and carefree. It didn't seem as if a feeling like that could easily be dragged away from that kind of person. Obviously something had purged it from him...
"Hmm...I wonder why it's so dirty..." Ryou muttered, running a finger down the glass. However, no matter what he did, the grime just replaced itself over the picture.
"Wow!" Sakura said. "At least his wardrobe was cool!"
She pulled at his cream-colored under robes and at the flowing crimson over robes. There were ankle bands, wrist bands, and things of the sort that went with it. He also had a cream colored hood and an Egyptian...
"Skirt?!"
Sakura cocked an eyebrow.
"He wore a skirt?!"
"It must have been what he had to wear back then I'm sure it might have not have been by preference. Besides, Egypt is a hot place. And he probably wanted a bit of mobility..."
"Yeah, I bet he'd fancy a nice healthy breeze round his privates," Sakura said hollowly.
Ryou took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
"I'll pretend I never heard that."
"Okey-dokey then!"
They then turned to a new, yet old looking door. On the door was a sign that had something very specific and untidily Sharpie-markered on it.
MY MEMORIES. BUZZ OFF!!
"In there, d'you reckon?" Sakura said sarcastically.
"In there," her brother confirmed.
He pushed the door open and a great white light emanated from the doorway.
"Er—show us what you can—his childhood, please?"
They both jumped into the light.
"Hold on Sakura!" cried Bakura. "Don't let go!"
"I don't plan on it!" Sakura replied.
They were both falling...falling...
WHUMPH!
Bakura tasted sand.
"Eurgh! Ptui!"
He gagged on the taste, sputtering and coughing.
"Where...am I?"
"Ku...Ku..."
"Huh?"
"Na...Eru-na...Eruna!"
Sakura was reading Egyptian over and over. She ran her fingers over the sign before her over and over again.
"Ku...ru...Eruna...KuruEruna!!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh! Baku, you're awake! I didn't notice...I was reading this. It says 'KuruEruna.' That must be the name of the village."
"How...?"
"Oh, reading hieroglyphs and hieratic is something Yami Bakura taught me," she said offhandedly. "I had a lot of free time. But these are his memories, so he might make them easier for us to understand. All we do is watch..."
"Mother! I'm going to play outside with Mariku!"
"Very well. Take care to be back before sunset."
"Alright!"
The Bakura twins were behind a small house. A five year old boy skipped into their view. Yami Bakura, or just Bakura, as he was back then. His hair wasn't the perfect picture of tidy, but it was no worse than Ryou's hair. Just shorter. He met up with no other than a five-year old past-Malik. This Malik was skinny, but stocky and well muscled. Bakura was skinny, with deceivingly weak-built arms that could actually carry extremely heavy burdens. For he was a slave, and required the strength.
"Hey, Mariku, let's go to the Nile's side. I'm thirsty."
"Yeah. And it's pretty hot. So, uh..."
Mariku lowered his voice.
"...how's your reading lessons going."
"It's 'how are' your reading lessons going," Bakura corrected.
"That answers my question."
"Yep. Mother says I'm doing really well."
"My mother thinks I should study with you."
"That'd be nice! I would have a pal to study with."
Bakura bent down and scooped a handful of water from the river and drank it. It ran down the sides of his mouth and cooled his tan cheeks.
"The water is so great," Mariku said.
"My mom says it's our life-blood."
"Yeah, I know, but enough of that. Let's play some stone-papyrus- knife."
"Okay," Bakura replied to his friend.
"Both boys emptied their pockets of all their treasures. Shiny stones, squares of cloth, and other knickknacks.
"I have something special," Bakura said. He removed his right sandal and produced a crumpled piece of papyrus. It had very sloppy Egyptian hieroglyphs written on it.
"I did it myself," he said proudly. "It says 'My village is KuruEruna. I live here.'"
"Wow! The prince probably can't write as good as you!"
"Oh. 'Ol Porky-pine?" Bakura said mockingly. "I'm not scared of his smarts. All he does is sit on his royal duffer all day."
Both of the boys laughed at their own cleverness.
"Okay then. On the count of three, Bakura?"
"Hn," the other boy nodded.
"One, two, THREE!"
Bakura's fingers were connected in the universal Egyptian sign for knife. Mariku had papyrus.
"Kuu, kuu...I win!!"
"Okay..." Mariku conceded, handing a shiny stone to his friend.
They played for keeps, always. After an hour, Bakura rubbed his empty and growling belly.
"I'm hungry," he said plainly.
"Let's play a few more. We just started and sunset is only an hour away.
Bakura could no longer concentrate. He hadn't eaten all day and his little body demanded much. Needles to say, he lost his only bit of papyrus.
"Here," he said, angry at himself for losing it.
"No, you can keep it, Bakura."
"But you won it!"
"Ah, one day I'll write my own. But...do you think I could maybe borrow it?"
"Oh, of course!"
Mariku was ecstatic.
"Wow! I'll give it to you soon! I just need to study!"
He then put a worn hand on his own sore stomach.
"I'm hungry, too. Let's get to our houses, or our mothers will worry."
"Play tomorrow?"
"You know it!" Mariku said brightly.
They both headed home.
"Mother, I'm home!" Bakura called.
"Come in. It is time for your bath."
"Oh, Mother!" he sighed in indignation.
He entered their small bathing room and stripped of his cream colored shirt and only pair of pants before stepping into the cold tub of water. He shivered violently as she cleaned the filth of the day from him and rinsed his hair.
"So, how was your day, my son?"
"It was okay. We drank from the Nile, Mariku and I. and we played stone-papyrus-knife."
"Ah. So you wee very busy indeed!"
"Yes, Mother."
"So, are you ready for bed?"
"Yes, but what's for dinner first?"
"I'm sorry, little Baku, but we haven't a crumb of bread or a drop of soup. Nothing at all. I'm afraid our dinner will be just water."
At the sound of that, Bakura's shoulders sagged. His stomach groaned for food, and water only sharpened the want.
"I don't want water," he said. "It makes me hunger for food even worse!"
"Alas. You must drink it."
"But why?"
"You will become dehydrated otherwise. That means dried out, my love. Remember, we are at the mercy of the sun's heat, we must be prepared."
"Do we have to work tomorrow?"
"Yes, indeed. You will work on a different project than I. stay close to Mariku's family. They will protect you as best they can."
Bakura nodded in acknowledgement, Mariku's family was of a prestigious grave keeper line, and he knew they were kind. He drank his "dinner" after his "bath" and cuddled near his mother.
"Mother, I feel ill."
"It will pass, my dear. You father has gone on one last round. Perhaps he will bring a small morsel for you."
Bakura curled his small, dark body into a tight fetal position and shuddered.
His father soon came.
"I could only 'appropriate a potato," he said solemnly.
The young boy looked hopefully from above his knees as waves of intense hunger passed through his little body.
"It is less than yesterday," his father added. "And where is little Bakura?"
Bakura pulled his head out from his fetal position and smiled weakly.
"Hi, father."
His father smirked and mussed the boy's pale lavender locks.
"And how are you this evening?"
"...hungry..."
"Then I suppose you're in luck. For in my hand I hold the answer to all your problems."
Bakura grinned happily.
"It's for me?!"
"Every last bite."
Bakura retained his smile until the potato was placed in front of him, steaming and good. Then a though struck him and he felt his stomach plummet.
"Mother, Father...what of your dinner?"
"Worry not, Baku. Tomorrow we eat with the Ishtars," his mother said.
"Like maybe a sleepover?"
"Perhaps."
He inclined his head for a "short prayer after he cut his potato open...
"Uh...thank you, Ra...and all the other gods too, for this potato. And thank you for my mother and my father, and Mariku, and his parents and our house and their house. And thank you for giving me a roof over my head in this village, and thank you for..."
Bakura's parents smiled. His "short" prayers were a bit lengthy, but it was still cute.
"...and thank you for the water in the Nile. Amen."
Abandoning any manners he wound have had as a five-year-old, he buried his face into the potato. Once, he gagged on the chunks of sticky potato, but his mother was there to pat his back when he did. Face covered in potato flecks, he smiled at her.
After his feast, he curled up on his cot, at his mother's permission, and slipped into the childish nighttime reveries that were his dreams. Never suspecting what dangers awaited him...
Wow, pre-measured chapters are a killer. I suppose that's my fault. But hey, more reading, I suppose. Anywho, R&R.