Goodbye to God.
Another Yu-Gi-Oh! fan fic with (guess what?) Quentin Tarantino-inspiration by Heavens to Bikini Kill
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This is Two.
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To deliver dope, or to not deliver dope? That was the question.
Asking any of my friends, even Honda, was not an option. Period. Yuugi would quote pamphlets from some drug-free program that we had all gone through years ago, Anzu would preach about honesty (and then friendship), and Honda would just nod and agree, so not to set them off on his own being.
The day after I ran into AK and Kohta, my father gave me a very attractive greenish-purple bruise on my left cheek (you don't need to know how it got there). So in theory, it took me only 24 hours to make my decision.
Pay phones are lovely. I dialed the number from the scrap of paper that I had kept in my remarkably thin wallet. One ring. Two rings. Whatever.
"Hello?"
"AK." I already knew it was him. "I'm in."
His smirk transcended through the wire and echoed off of my eardrum. "Great. Kohta and I will be at the park, on the same bench, in thirty minutes. Don't be late. Kohta hates it when people are late."
What the hell was I doing? I have no idea.
----
Lemon ice pops can prove to be a very effective source of comfort. I sucked on one whilst I kicked around rocks nervously and waited for AK. I was not anticipating Kohta's arrival in any manner. (The man's just plain freaky.)
"Hello there, Jonouchi Katsuya, age seventeen, student at Domino High, runner-up at Duelist Kingdom, Battle City finalist." My head shot up immediately to see AK addressing me as he read from a small index card. Kohta noted my slight shock at the sudden abundance of information and smirked.
I didn't really need to know how they got that information. All I really wanted to know was why they needed it.
Kohta gritted his teeth and his feral smile nearly caused me to melt into a puddle of scared man. "Just in case, Katsuya... just in case." Gods, that man is beyond creepy.
They both sat down, flanking me. AK was carrying a bright yellow saddlebag that he treated as though his life depended on its existence. I saw his eyes wandering to my lemon ice pop once again, and I immediately tossed it away. I already knew he was getting ideas. Pervert.
I took a very deep breath, as though I were about to plunge into a pool of something very terrible. "What do I need to do?"
AK brushed his bangs away from his face and dumped the bag onto my lap, handing me a sheet of paper with two addresses written on it. He pointed to the first one. "Go there, give whoever answers the door the bag, collect the money," his finger moved down to the second address, "then go there, and leave the money under the door, in a clean, white envelope."
I laughed nervously. "Awfully quick, don't you think?" "You got a problem with it?" Kohta snarled. He looked as if he were ready to kill somebody today.
I carefully chose the correct answer. "No."
----
Who knew that Domino had a ghetto that was worse than mine?
I know I didn't. And I know that I have never had to clutch anything close to my side protectively before in my life. I suppose there's a first time for everything.
I walked tentatively through this obscure and unknown K District, praying to the gods that nobody thought of me as a fresh new target. Gods help me for what I was about to do: perpetuate (yes, I know what that means) the demise of the poor in Japan.
It would be best to make my appearance in the K District short and unmemorable. I practically sprinted up the stairs of some run-down, close to condemned apartment building that wasn't suitable for the rats, much less for entire families to live in. And I thought MY home was bad.
I found myself on the third floor, and peered down the hall. I could barely stand to breathe, the place smelled of booze and feces. Apartment 327.
Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out. Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out. Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out.
"Kaiba?!! Kaiba Seto?!?!"
Said CEO glared and snatched the bag out of my hands. "Make inu. I knew that one day you'd end up as no more than a delivery boy."
I had to lift my jaw off of the sticky, filthy floor just to reply. "You... you... you USE?!"
Who knew that his glare could get even narrower? "No, baka." He swept absentmindedly at his nose, the common mark of someone who sniffs cocaine. His hair was remarkably messy, considering that the standard Kaiba is impeccably and freakishly neat. I copped a view of the apartment over his shoulder and noted that it was entirely bare save for a table, a chair, and some rolled up scraps of printer paper. (Anybody would know that he was using them to sniff... in his own private cocaine wonderland, where nobody would find him.)
I giggled furiously. "Yeah, right. Crack fiend."
He counted out yen and growled audibly (a rarity that I experience all the time). "Shut up." He looked up for two seconds to hand me the money, and I saw nothing but red and sunken eyes. Drug user Kaiba? Classic! "You're not to know anything more than what Kohta and AK tell you."
Was he trying to suggest that he was only trafficking himself? Please. I'm not buying that bullshit. He placed the bills in my hand, and I counted them out, just to make sure. "Riiiiight." I pulled out a clean, white envelope, and carefully placed the bills inside, licking and closing it shut. I stuffed it into my pocket, and turned to leave, adding over my shoulder, "You've got a bit of white on your nose."
Hearing him sniff and rub wildly to get it off made me happy for the rest of the week.
[A/N: This was shorter. Sorry about that. But I'm actually really happy with the way that it's turning out. Dude, I had a dream about Quentin last night. We watched a movie that nobody else liked. (sigh) Oh Quentin, only you understand me. Aaaanyway, thanks for the reviews (hm, I DO write rather formally, don't I?), and I'll see you next chapter. Sorry that I can't update as often, School's starting soon. My summer is over. (AP Chemistry RULES!)]
Another Yu-Gi-Oh! fan fic with (guess what?) Quentin Tarantino-inspiration by Heavens to Bikini Kill
--------
This is Two.
--------
To deliver dope, or to not deliver dope? That was the question.
Asking any of my friends, even Honda, was not an option. Period. Yuugi would quote pamphlets from some drug-free program that we had all gone through years ago, Anzu would preach about honesty (and then friendship), and Honda would just nod and agree, so not to set them off on his own being.
The day after I ran into AK and Kohta, my father gave me a very attractive greenish-purple bruise on my left cheek (you don't need to know how it got there). So in theory, it took me only 24 hours to make my decision.
Pay phones are lovely. I dialed the number from the scrap of paper that I had kept in my remarkably thin wallet. One ring. Two rings. Whatever.
"Hello?"
"AK." I already knew it was him. "I'm in."
His smirk transcended through the wire and echoed off of my eardrum. "Great. Kohta and I will be at the park, on the same bench, in thirty minutes. Don't be late. Kohta hates it when people are late."
What the hell was I doing? I have no idea.
----
Lemon ice pops can prove to be a very effective source of comfort. I sucked on one whilst I kicked around rocks nervously and waited for AK. I was not anticipating Kohta's arrival in any manner. (The man's just plain freaky.)
"Hello there, Jonouchi Katsuya, age seventeen, student at Domino High, runner-up at Duelist Kingdom, Battle City finalist." My head shot up immediately to see AK addressing me as he read from a small index card. Kohta noted my slight shock at the sudden abundance of information and smirked.
I didn't really need to know how they got that information. All I really wanted to know was why they needed it.
Kohta gritted his teeth and his feral smile nearly caused me to melt into a puddle of scared man. "Just in case, Katsuya... just in case." Gods, that man is beyond creepy.
They both sat down, flanking me. AK was carrying a bright yellow saddlebag that he treated as though his life depended on its existence. I saw his eyes wandering to my lemon ice pop once again, and I immediately tossed it away. I already knew he was getting ideas. Pervert.
I took a very deep breath, as though I were about to plunge into a pool of something very terrible. "What do I need to do?"
AK brushed his bangs away from his face and dumped the bag onto my lap, handing me a sheet of paper with two addresses written on it. He pointed to the first one. "Go there, give whoever answers the door the bag, collect the money," his finger moved down to the second address, "then go there, and leave the money under the door, in a clean, white envelope."
I laughed nervously. "Awfully quick, don't you think?" "You got a problem with it?" Kohta snarled. He looked as if he were ready to kill somebody today.
I carefully chose the correct answer. "No."
----
Who knew that Domino had a ghetto that was worse than mine?
I know I didn't. And I know that I have never had to clutch anything close to my side protectively before in my life. I suppose there's a first time for everything.
I walked tentatively through this obscure and unknown K District, praying to the gods that nobody thought of me as a fresh new target. Gods help me for what I was about to do: perpetuate (yes, I know what that means) the demise of the poor in Japan.
It would be best to make my appearance in the K District short and unmemorable. I practically sprinted up the stairs of some run-down, close to condemned apartment building that wasn't suitable for the rats, much less for entire families to live in. And I thought MY home was bad.
I found myself on the third floor, and peered down the hall. I could barely stand to breathe, the place smelled of booze and feces. Apartment 327.
Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out. Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out. Knock, give up the bag, get the money, get out.
"Kaiba?!! Kaiba Seto?!?!"
Said CEO glared and snatched the bag out of my hands. "Make inu. I knew that one day you'd end up as no more than a delivery boy."
I had to lift my jaw off of the sticky, filthy floor just to reply. "You... you... you USE?!"
Who knew that his glare could get even narrower? "No, baka." He swept absentmindedly at his nose, the common mark of someone who sniffs cocaine. His hair was remarkably messy, considering that the standard Kaiba is impeccably and freakishly neat. I copped a view of the apartment over his shoulder and noted that it was entirely bare save for a table, a chair, and some rolled up scraps of printer paper. (Anybody would know that he was using them to sniff... in his own private cocaine wonderland, where nobody would find him.)
I giggled furiously. "Yeah, right. Crack fiend."
He counted out yen and growled audibly (a rarity that I experience all the time). "Shut up." He looked up for two seconds to hand me the money, and I saw nothing but red and sunken eyes. Drug user Kaiba? Classic! "You're not to know anything more than what Kohta and AK tell you."
Was he trying to suggest that he was only trafficking himself? Please. I'm not buying that bullshit. He placed the bills in my hand, and I counted them out, just to make sure. "Riiiiight." I pulled out a clean, white envelope, and carefully placed the bills inside, licking and closing it shut. I stuffed it into my pocket, and turned to leave, adding over my shoulder, "You've got a bit of white on your nose."
Hearing him sniff and rub wildly to get it off made me happy for the rest of the week.
[A/N: This was shorter. Sorry about that. But I'm actually really happy with the way that it's turning out. Dude, I had a dream about Quentin last night. We watched a movie that nobody else liked. (sigh) Oh Quentin, only you understand me. Aaaanyway, thanks for the reviews (hm, I DO write rather formally, don't I?), and I'll see you next chapter. Sorry that I can't update as often, School's starting soon. My summer is over. (AP Chemistry RULES!)]