Title The Sweetest Sin
Hey everyone! Yes I am starting a new story! I was inspired this morning by Jou and Mia's little conversations during that Ninja Duel... I guess that's kinda wired cense this story is about Ryou, but hey! Jou and Mia are in it also. I kinda like Jou with Bakura or Seto, but they show just screams Jou/Mia. Any ways . . . This story is gonna be about Ryou Bakura! (Silent Cheers) Yep and I'm gonna add all my favorite characters into their little private school. So much fun!
Summery Ryou Bakura's home life had always been a strange one. With a father that was never home and an old annoying tutor as his only friend, Ryou is going to be in quite a shock when he is suddenly thrown into the fastmoving society of St. Agnus' where lust and seduction are the key elements of survival.Learning the rules to the games is the first step, and coming out on top is the only way to finish. Everyone in this exclusive world has a secret, some way worse then others. Can a young man who's secret is hidden even from himself survive taking the step from neieve little boy to the one that everyone is lusts for...?
Rating PG (hehe enjoy it while it lasts young people...)
1st Set of Pairings takes BIG breath Bakura/Draco, Jou/Mia, Heero/Relena (TEMPORARY!), Yugi/Tea, Marik/Ryou, Yami/Seto. (All of these are going to change more then once, by the end most pairing will be SLASH, so if you don't like the beautiful mental image of two hott guys getting it on, you should probably just skip this story and read a nice PG story now.) Oh yea...um I'm kinda mixing Gundam Wing, Harry Potter, and YuOh together along with some other of my favorite characters so I'm just hoping you guys all know who I'm talking about.
Disclaimer I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THIS STORY! I could go and list every character and every name that I do not have absolutely no claims to but that would take WAY to long so lets just assume that well... I don't own shyt.
Oh yea the Prologue is gonna be in 1st person, the rest of the story is in 3rd .
Prologue
When I was young, my mother once told me that airports were a place for new beginnings. That they were a place where once you passed through the metal detectors, ID scanners, and exit ramps, you were able to forget the mistakes you had made in the past and could put them behind you. Passing though airports to her, were like crossing into other world and starting anew in a place where no one knew about you.
I wouldn't know.
The irony about my mother and her little philosophy is that it was her love of flying, her passion for passing through her different worlds is what got her killed. Yep, a terrorist for one of the colonies had smuggled onboard and had succeeded in making sure that each and every person on board had died. No one really knows what happened or why he had picked that ship, but whatever the reason, I'm sure he would be happy, he successfully ruined my life.
Thanks.
My father never got over it. At first it seemed he was in denial. My mother's sister had come to comfort us, but father would refuse to see her, I played with my blonde haired cousin while she screamed for him to come out and talk to her. He refused to have anything to do with her and I could tell he had hurt her as she picked up Draco and carried him away from the house and had a shuttle arrive to take them away from our hills.
I heard him more then once muttering to himself, thinking he was talking to Mother. He would hug me and cry every time I passed him in the hall. Dinners were unbearable. He would sit at the end of the table while I would sit across from him, the only comfort was the distance that put us at. Father would always have the servants set a place for her at the table as if he expected her to come back. Every night I would finish my dinner and pray that tonight would be the night where he would take a bite of his food.
I know, not something your everyday sevenold worries about.
But he eventually got better. Well that is, if by better you mean finally excepting that the woman you had loved was gone, and that you now had a bitter hate burning in you. My father started having men over more often, they would all meet in his office and discuss politics. They seemed to get really worked up about it and before I knew it my father was having large balls and parties for his new organization. I was never aloud to go anywhere near it. I only knew from the servant boy that stayed with his grandfather.
My only friend.
When I confronted Father about the balls he hosted, he demanded I tell him where I had heard about them from. After calmly explaining that I had merely woke one night and after ringing for a glass of water and after getting no response, had found my way to the kitchen in my slippers to wet my parched throat for myself only to find the boy no older then me dressed elegantly and carrying a large platter of gourmet foods. After enquiring about his attire and platter, he looked at me dumbly and responded that he was serving for the ball that Father had been planning for months.
Needless to say, the servant boy was sent away to school soon after that.
I never even knew his name.
My father had changed for the better. Or so everyone around me said. The only person who seemed concerned for Father was my tutor. Mr. Mouto. The servant's grandfather. He taught me every day the fundamentals of science and math. He tried to make me knowledgeable of our world's history, the history of the colonies and the problems that he assumed would soon turn the world to war. He never went into detail about what he thought was wrong, but I could sense when he was talking about the upcoming war, he was extremely disturbed. My father and him had never gotten along. I remember mother telling him before she died that Mr. Mouto was the only man she ever wanted to teach me, needless to say, Father had always respected her wishes. Even though I could tell that they disapproved of each other they held civil conversations.
Well in front of me.
As I grew older and grew more aware of what was going on in my house I was shocked to see that I had not even been to every wing in our residence. On the third floor next to my fathers room, there was a door. I discovered it one night after tucking Father in after dinner. The redwood door was distinctly different and to me seemed to mock me that it held all the answer to my questions about my Fathers secret life. Every afternoon I would always check and see if it was unlocked, and every afternoon I would discover that the handle on the door was still locked. Father soon started to travel more and more. Leaving me with the company of Mr. Mouto. His endless wisdom kept me occupied for years, until I turned fourteen and suddenly realized that I had not one friend my own age.
I never had a real friend.
No one to ever talk to except my million year old tutor.
After my discovery, I had begged Father to allow me to go to school. A normal school with children my own age. He always reminded me of the promise that he had made my mother, that no one was to ever to put knowledge into my head except for Mr. Mouto. Finding a loophole to the situation, I had begged Mr. Mouto to try and get a job at the local high school. Reluctantly he agreed. Even though I think that Father was the one that got him to do it in the end. Father never could deny me anything for long. I reminded him to greatly to the love he lost.
Good for me right?
Wrong. School was nothing like I had imagined. The children in my class were dirty and smelled of waste, yet they still seemed to think they were above me. The taunted me as the boy who lived in the mansion in the hills and threatened to steal all my money. I had never touched more then a penny in my house and saw their threats as stupid words. Seeing that teasing me about my money was worthless, the began to poke fun at my hair.
My white mane had never been something I was ashamed of. I wore my hair like my Mother did in the pictures I had of her. I had always loved the way the locks of my bangs fell in my face, almost hiding mylight blueeyes from others. Father's friends had always called me stunning and their wives would always complement my Father at how beautiful I was growing. I had never saw theses words as unkind .Now these boys that were stained with mud and filth pulled my hair and called me a girl. They made fun of my appearance and how I dressed. The girls all whispered and would giggle at me as I walked by. I thought that they were making fun of me too until one day an ugly girl came up and kissed me on the lips. She had licked my face while she held my cheeks between her chubby fingers as if she was trying to devour me. I had screamed, pushing her off me and running to Mr. Mouto and demanded he took me home that instant.
I was disgusted with the female population.
My mother was the only woman I could ever love. I swore to myself that I could never marry and would never produce vile children like the ones that had taunted me at school. Mr. Mouto told me that I would change my mind when I grew older, but I refused to.
I would never let one of them touch me.
Father was more then happy to have me back in the house all day. He started eating lunch with me and Mr. Mouto more and more. He had also started hugging me whenever he saw me again and I realized that it had been seven years cense Mother had died. Father started looking sad again and I was beginning to grow worried about him again. I tucked him in that night and tried the large redwood door again. It was locked again.
When wasn't it?
The weeks passed and my fathers friends would always stop by. The smoke that came from the cigar room always bugged me as I passed. Father began to stop having the depressed look in his eyes again and had began to travel more. He would be gone for weeks, months. I would always greet him at the airport when he came home I noticed that more and more nights were being used for my fathers exclusive parties. When I would ask Mr. Mouto what they were for he had always told me to forget about them and to concentrate on my work.
What else was there to do?
At fifteen, I had grown out of all my old clothes and Father had hired a tailor from Egypt to fly and make me fine clothes of Egyptian cotton. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes upon. He was no older then twenty and had flown to fit me in the most exclusive materials that could be found on Earth. He had wild blonde hair that seemed to defy gravity and frame his face in spiky locks.
He touched me with his hands and his measuring tapes. I had never felt so alive as when he would come near me and place his hands on my body. He would always stand me on a stool as if putting me on display and then get on his knees and wrap the tape around my waist as he looked up almost shyly at me with his enormous purple eyes. I knew I must have turned red a million times in his presence. When ever he had completed an outfit, he would make me put it on and walk around the room. After I had finished my turn he would always tell me how beautiful I was, and how my grace was something he had never seen before.
I was in love with his presence.
Everyday after my lessons with Mr. Mouto, I would skip to the dimly lit fitting room waiting for his hands to be placed on my skin, even if it was through my clothing I loved him to touch me. I knew it was foolish to be in love with someone's touch, but he never said anything but how wonderful and how beautiful I was. He always made me smile and always had something to say that would make me laugh. I loved it when he would run a hand though that tan blonde hair as he looked me in the eyes and smiled.
I knew that I had enough clothes to last me for the rest of my life but I still insisted that he made me more. By the end of six weeks I knew that he had long ago memorized my sizes. He stopped pretending to read the tape for my measurements at the end of the forth week. He looked into my eyes and melted me as his nimble fingers ran over my body. It was his excuse to touch me, and the thought alone filled my dreams, bringing thoughts that had once been foreign to my mind to surface. I had an instinct to touch him. I needed him to do more then just touch me.
And one day he did.
Standing on the stool in the center of the dimly lit room with my arms hanging limp at my sides, I watched as he stalked me in circles, each revolution brought him closer to me. My heart had started beating the moment he told me to stand on the stool and hold still. For some reason, the tone of his voice had excited me to the point where I was almost shivering in pleasure as his gaze never left my body.
When he had finally stopped he stood directly in front of me. Looking down into his purple eyes made me shiver as he just held my stare and looked straight back at me. Finally he reached out a hand and touched my hair and began to stoke it gently. My eyes had felt heavy and they suddenly closed as the hand fell lower to cup my cheek.
"You are so soft."
My eyes had opened in shock form the closeness of his voice. He had somehow managed to fit on the stool with me and was now leaning in close to my ear. I felt a gentle weight being placed around my waist and I knew from the touch that he had wrapped his hands around me. I suddenly felt warm all over and waited in anticipation to look back into his eyes.
I never did get to look him in the eyes at that moment.
A shiver went down my back as something warm and wet gently touched my neck. The feel of lips on my soft skin was so unexpected a soft moan of pleasure had escaped my lips. He had made a trail of warm wet kisses down from my ear to my mouth until he reached my lips. He softly placed his feather soft ones upon mine and another moan escaped me. He kissed me softly four times. Each time I was about to open my laden eyes but was stopped as I felt his lips touch mine again. He seemed to be smiling as he repeated his actions that were causing my body to resist my demands to look upon his beautiful face.
He pressed his lips to mine again but this time he pressed harder against my mouth. One hand that had hung around my waist reached up and gripped my neck. My hand instantly went to steady myself, it rested on his chest, the other snaked up and reached around his neck. Pressing even harder against my lips, he started to coax my mouth to open as his was. Soon he had my lips doing a dance with his own. When he had coaxed it open once again, I felt a warm muscle reach out into my mouth.
Initially I had hesitated and become stiff.
The hand that rested on my neck, gently twisted a strand of my hair and I relaxed and began to imitate what his tongue was doing to my own. He invited my tongue to play with his and soon we were both moaning in ecstasy as our mouths did a dance of passion. The arm around my waist pulled my closer to his frame and powerful but foreign feeling flooded my mind. All I was aware of was him.
He was a sin and I craved him.
We parted for air and my chest heaved as I sucked in the much needed air. My tailor slowly stepped off the stool, the arm around my waist that had been supporting my weight tried to pull me down with him, but he removed it and motioned for me to stay still. I rocked gently trying to regain my footing, with an amused look in his eye he let his eyes break contact from mine and they trailed down my body once again. I was aware that I was blushing but when I noticed that his gaze was resting on . . . one of my more private parts I turned a brilliant shade of red.
Who wouldn't
He leaned close to me and told me that he thought it was necessary to measure me again due to a certain problem that had just popped up. I looked down and my blush brightened as I saw a small bulge in my trousers. My eyes must have widened considerably because he chuckled to himself and stretched on his toes to kiss my lips softly. He placed both hands on my waist and rubbed them down to my thighs.
My whole body quivered as he leaned forward and kissed my stomach through my shirt. He slipped two cool hands under the shirt that I had been wearing and ghosted them over the whole of my chest, stopping ever once and a while to tease the two nubs that had hardened considerably under his ministrations. I could feel his gaze on my face even after my eyes glided close and the fact that I was the only thing that was keeping him here made me shiver again perking my already hardened nipples even more.
Lucky for me I deal well with disappointment.
Not long after the first button of my trousers had been teased open did the door open and Mr. Mouto announced to me that dinner had started five minuets ago. I swear I didn't breath or listen to a word he had just said. The only coherent thought that was going through my head was a silent prayer of thanks that I had my back facing the door. My tailor seemed to take the interruption well and as soon as that interrupting old fool had left he reached a hand out to assist me in stepping down from the stool. He just smiled at me and gave me a small kiss on the side of the mouth.
"Tomorrow."
There never was a tomorrow. The fine silks and cottons were packed by the door the next day as I skipped to my favorite room in the house. I stared at the trunks in disbelief until Mr. Mouto found, and told me that Father had sent him home and that his things were going to be sent to Egypt this evening. Holding back my tears I had ran out of the room to the loft above my room. I sat there in the dark and cried until I no long had anything to cry about. I had been delt with loss before, but this time I had know exactly what I had lost and it crushed something inside of me.
The next few weeks I hardly spoke a word to the pestering old fool, I was sure with out a doubt in my mind that it was he who had ratted on us and had sent my love away from me. I found out later that the reason was that his family had called for him and had sent a price list on the fabrics that I had been drawn to. Father had looked at my clothes after dinner on that evening and had concluded that the amount of clothes that had been produced were indeed enough to last me at least until I had inherited enough money to bye all of Egypt if I desired.
I pretended to laugh after he told me this little story. But inside I had sobbed.
Every morning I would allow the silken fabrics to run over my skin and it reminded me of his gentle touch. My sixteenth birthday had come around and Father seemed to be gone more then ever. The war that Mr. Mouto had been expected had broken out during my affair with my Egyptian price. Yes that is what I had decided to call him. I was never good with names. I sensed that Fathers insolvents to the war were far greater then anyone in the house would let me suspect.
Whenever I did see him he looked very warn and tired, we would always great him at the airport and have dinner, then he would disappear and a humming buzz would start outside. The guesthouse had been reconstructed to some sort of garage. The constant humming of machinery was always heard whenever Father returned home. One night I watched from the hall as he took a chain from around his neck and carefully bent down and put the ornament in the lock. The old redwood door creaked open and as soon as it had opened the red glow flooded the hallways. As soon as the dim light had fallen on my face I knew I had to go in there.
My fathers secret life was beginning to interfere with mine.
My sixteenth birthday had just passed and Father had not been home with me to celebrate it. Mr. Mouto and the servants had tried to thow me a cheerful party, but the only showed me again how alone I was. I still ached for the loss of the young tailor that had made me happy last year and cried for myself after I had pretended to enjoy the cake and songs they had blessed upon me. The weeks had passed and Father had yet to even send word Everyone in the house constantly reminded me not to worry about him, that he will surly come home to me soon. I believe them, but sometimes I wonder...
Did they said that same thing nine years ago while I was crying for my mother?
Two months passed and the servants still brought me no word from their master. My lessons with Mr. Mouto passed uneventfully and he would not tell me about the war that was going outside of our castle on the hills. I had seen the village that I had attended school at be attacked and almost destroyed until a giant stained with black had fended off the attackers, I swear it stared at our home on the hills for longer then I felt comfortable with, but, as quickly as it had come it had left and I was only able to ask the unhelpful tutor who's only words were that the gundam's missions were one of peace.
Until a few weeks ago, there was always a loud thunder clap that could be seen in the night sky indicating a battle going on outside of my own private world. I ached to know what was going on outside in the world, but even the more careless servants seemed to be deliberately keeping their mouths shut around me.
One morning I woke up to the smell of burning gun powder. I ran to my window to see that in fact, the whole sky seemed to be filled with smoke. But in the distance I could make out beautiful patterns of light. Fireworks. The war that I had been inching to hear of was over. Even the servants could be seen with smiles on their faces and as they walked by me, some would kiss my cheeks and tell me that my father would be home soon.
How I wished they were right.
Until yesterday, I had thought that I would never see my beloved father again. The cheerfulness that had spread through the house at the new that the war was over had vanished and sad looks greeted me whenever I entered a room.
I ignored Mr. Mouto's lessons, even though I knew that he was having a hard time still having the energy to try and teach me. My fencing lessons had been passed onto a squat looking man that seemed to have an objection to everything I did and I missed the kind words of encouragement that the old man had always given me. The spark that had always been in his eyes was slowly dimming, he could hardly walk without his cane. I had felt a heart wrenching fear when the thought of not only losing my father, but also my mentor had sprung to mind. I refused to have that happen and I reminded myself that Father was coming home.
My prayers were soon answered.
A maid that I had never seen before called me to Mr. Mouto's office at five in the afternoon. I politly sat down across from him, separated by a richly crafted desk as he indicated to me a letter that was folded slightly on his desk. I raised my brow and inquired if I was to read it. After a quick nod of the head, I extended the letter and read it though twice before I allowed myself to sink into the chair behind me and beam a smile of relief.
Father was coming home.
So here I stand with my mentor and only friend, at the ramp of the airport waiting to see the long awaited return of my father. I can imagine the announcements coming on and telling me that the flight had crashed, or highjacked, or had a bomb on board. My life was full of disappointments, why not add another one. The exit that Father was coming off of suddenly started too poor out people into the airport's lobby. I stood up anxiously looking for the shine of Father's brilliant hair.
Countless dull people passed me, a few kept their gaze on me and made suggestive motions with their hands. I ignored them and continued searching for the brilliant sheen of my fathers locks. A man wearing a dirty brown hooded cape suddenly approached me and threw their arms around me. I instantly started to struggle and cried out for Mr. Mouto's help. The person holding me laughed suddenly and pulled down his hood to revel the wondrous head of platinum blonde hair. My eyes lit up and I grabbed him around the waist, burying my face in his chest.. Everything would be alright.
As we walked out of the airport base I couldn't bear to let him go, people looked at us strangely at the picture of me with my arm wrapped around his waist. My fine expensive silks contrasted horribly with the brown wool that he had scratching along his silken skin. Father was normally a proud rich looking man that always had a look of power that most people strived to achieve. Even though he did not reach past six feet, I still had to look up to see him smile at me. I had always been short for my age, but I now I had grown to reach his shoulders. We did not look exactly alike, my hair was far fairer then father's platinum blonde. I had inherited my mothers snowy locks and small frame.
All the people seemed to give us a second glance as we walked by. It was not everyday they saw someone dressed as fine as I was, and to see them hanging on what looked like a beggar seemed to cause quite a commotion. I blushed when an old couple grumbled about homosexuals having no respect for other people. I pulled away and apologized for acting like a child. Fathers rich laughter echoed through my ears and he pulls me closer. Mr. Mouto is still walking behind us quietly, I can tell he is there by the soft tapping of his cane as he struggles to keep up with Father's long strides.
The smile never leaves my face as we sit in the car silently in the car Father had hired. The small conversations that pass between are about me and my studies. When I ask where he had gone he gets a sad look in his eyes and finally turned towards the window and leaves my question unanswered. I sit in an uncomfortable silence until we approach the entrance to the house.
Without so much as a smile of goodbye, Father exits the car and up the stairs to the elegant doors that are being held open for our arrival. I simply stare out the window watching him leave me. Mr. Mouto's coughing increases so he doesn't notice the tears that had been forming in my eyes slowly fell. Something is wrong with Father, and no one will tell me what it is.
-
Dinner had been served in front of me for several minuets now. I refuse to take a bite of mine until the man that has become a stranger to me decides to take one. He just stares out the window in a daze. Long after dinner had gotten cold, he looks towards me, and after giving me a forced smile and bidding me a goodnight, he stands up and leaves to go towards his room. I drop my head and stare at the napkin in my lap, fighting the stinging sensation in my eyes. Mr. Mouto's coughing echos threw the house as I gather my nerve and head to the master bedroom, fists clenched tightly at my sides.
"Father?"
The bedroom where my father sleeps is empty. The wool coat he had worn today is balled up and tucked in the fire. After tonight I'm sure I will never have to see it again. Walking to the bathroom I find that it to is empty, the soft brushes he uses for his ethereal hair are laid out on the counter. They look as if they had not been used for months and I fight back tears at the notion that he has not. Looking over the empty room once more, I make my way to the door way. After a quick glance over the elegant room, I closed the door and make my way to my own bedroom. As I pass the redwood door, a thin line of red light falls across my face. With a sharp intake of breath, I slowly make my way to the door. I can hear the light tapping of nimble fingers typing over a computer. I place both palms on the heavy door and push it open.
The door is silent and Father dose not look up from his position in the corner hunched over a labtop. Looking around the room, my breath hitches. Covering every cream colored wall are pictures. Pictures of Earth, the colonies, buildings, machines, mobile suits and millions of faces covered every inch of the walls.
Directly above the computer father is working on is an almost human size blueprint, a blueprint for the gundam that had saved the valley months ago. The quick typing continues and I am left to study the walls, five other less detailed blueprints hang on the wall across from me. One ginning and four frowning faces meet my gaze. The rest of the room is covered in maps of colonies, cities and bases.
My breathing increases as I see a red jacket laying on the counter. An officer's jacket. I can tell by the golden fringed shoulder pads, it is exactly like the ones I have seen on his numerous guests. I look over to him and see the gun that is resting in the case attached to his white pants. His black boots are not his normal ones, but again the ones that the father's officer friends had worn. I suddenly did not want to know what had happened to my father. I would rather have him wearing the disgusting wool coat then this. I turn my back to him and begin to exit the room.
"Ryou..."
My hand that was resting on the steal handle of the door suddenly grips around the metal tightly. I freeze for several moments until I slowly allow my body to turn and face the man that I had called my father my whole life. His icy blue eyes look tired and his hair has lost some of it's shine. He looks at me as if trying to solve a puzzle, I stand with his betrayal written all over my face and say nothing waiting for some sort of explanation for the condition of this room. He says nothing for what seems like hours and then, giving me a look of defeat, turns around and continues to type at a much slower pace on his laptop.
I continue to stare at his profile until I notice a single tear rolling down his cheek. Suddenly I realize that everything is too much. I make my way out of the traitorous room, slamming the door close on my way out. I race up the stairs to my room, trying to block out Mr. Mouto's contentious coughs. Throwing myself on the bed, I allow dreams of the past when I was seven and everything was perfect, to lure me into a deep sleep.
The next morning I woke after dawn, this itself was unusual. Mr. Mouto would never allow me to be late to a class, let allow sleep threw one. Changing out of my clothes and into a new pair, I raced down to the room where my lessons were always instructed. Upon finding it empty, an all to familiar feeling begins to tug at my stomach. Steadying my breathing, I walked quickly to my mentor's room. After I had knocked on the door, it was immediately opened by a maid. Mr. Mouto was laying in a bed, IV's sticking out of his arm and breathing slowed and uneven. I stood in the doorways suspended by the shock of seeming him like this. I didn't even notice that Father was in the room till he approached me and laid his hands on my shoulder. He whispered words of comfort in my ear as I wrapped my arms around him in a hug.
The next few days passed bye slowly, Solomon Mouto's future looked dim. Father had called a specialist that had set up the room full of equipment and said that if he was a fighter he would survive. That was enough for me. Mr. Mouto was one of the stubbornest people I had ever met. Not that I had met many of corse. But none the less, I felt much better knowing that he had a change. The fourth day of his sickness, I had been in the middle of an extremely dull fencing class, where Mr. Teacher had criticized my footwork for about the fiftieth time when the hall struck with the sound of the door bell.
We never had visitors.
I quickly excused myself from my lesson, and against the wishes of my instructor, I left to go see who would visit this boring place. Running down two flights of stairs, I came to the foyer and after finding it empty, followed the voices to the drawing room. There sitting in the pale blue love seat was the servant boy that I had befriended years ago. My face instantly broke out into a smile and I approached the chair quickly. He stood up and bowed when he saw me coming towards him, I laughed at his formalities and seated myself next to him, asking why he had come here.
The violet eyes that I had remembered being as shiny as Father's hair had dulled and a distressed look fell upon his boyish features. He brought his knees to his chest and mumbled something into his thighs. I leaned closer to him and asked for him to repeat himself.
"My grandpa."
Chocolate eyes shot open as I remembered that this was Mr. Mouto's only relative. I wrapped my arms around him to comfort him and he jumped slightly but soon allowed himself to be soothed by my embrace. Father soon entered and after making his presence know, told the boy that Mr. Mouto would see him. I released him from my grip and smiled as he stood up. He had barley grown cense the last time I had seem him over five years ago, the uniform he is wearing even looks a few sizes to big for him. The only thing that seemed different was his hair. The tri-colored locks seemed to stand up even higher then my own. A chill went down my spine as I suddenly remembered the only other person who's golden locks could compar to it.
I stood up shaking those thoughts from my head and began to follow the boy out of the room. Father loosely grabbed my arm as I walked by and pulled me to the sofa. He allowed me to sit down then sat next to me in a chair that seemed to suddenly appear for him. His face twisted like he was looking for the words he was trying to say until he finally opened his mouth to talk.
"Ryou."
"Father."
"Mr. Mouto's condition is not going to improve any better then it is now."
My face must have lit up with horror, because he instantly put a hand on my shoulder.
"The doctors have stabilized him, he will be fine... but the doctors don't think... they don't want him to... they say he can't teach you anymore."
I raised an eyebrow at his words. Mr. Mouto, not teach me? That had been something that had ever crossed my mind. He had to teach me. Mother had said so.
"But Mother said..."
"I know what your mother said." Father raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his elegant nose. "But again, the doctors said that if he continues his activities around the house he will not last much longer."
What? What is father saying? Who would ever teach me besides Mr. Mouto? Father had to do business, and the servants all are stupid. Mr. Mouto has to teach me. That is what he dose.
"I have consulted several tutors in the last three days, none of them would have been executable to your mother."
I can tell talking about Mother hurts him. Every time he says something about her I can see his eyes sadden. His words had slurried into a very solemn voice that I had not heard cense I was seven. He broke the eye contact we had and began to dust off some imaginary dust of his black trousers.
" Last night when Solomon awoke, he summoned me to his bed and told me what the doctors had told him about his condition. I had already assumed that you would be needing a new source of education and I think that he has the right idea."
What? A new source of education? What is Father going on about? He looks back up and I can see unshed tears being forced from his eyes. My eyes widen and my heart begins to speed up at the look he's giving me. As if he's about to feed me to the girls that live in the village by the bottom of the hills.
"You will be leaving with Yugi Mouto in a weeks time, maybe less. You will be attending the school where Mr. Mouto taught your mother. This decision has been reached and I expect you to have your things packed by that time."
What the...? The shock has ruined my ability to speek for several seconds. Leave? Leave my home? That's not what Father is asking me is it?
"But...?"
"Ryou, please do not make this any harder then it has to be." He removed his hand from my shoulder and quickly leaves the room. I know that my mouth is opening and closing like some sort of fish, but I can't think. Leave my house? Go back to school? Oh God no!
Rising from the sofa, I search the room where Father had exited to. He can't be doing this because I went into the redwood room . . . could he? Is he just mad that I betrayed his unspoken trust? I have to find him and apologize! He can't send me away! I make my way up to the stairs to the room where Mr. Mouto lays. Upon entering, I am summoned to his bed and he asks me what I am doing.
"Looking for my father. I have to apologize to him! He wants to send me away!"
Mr. Mouto looks at me thoughtfully for a moment.
"Did he tell you what I thought was best for your education?"
"You mean sending me away to school? Yes."
"He is not sending you away Ryou. He is sending you to the finest school on Earth. Not even the school on L4 can compare to this one."
What? Why would I care how fine a school is. Nothing could ever compare to home. Why are they doing this to me? He turns his attention away from me and call for Yugi. Yugi, that is the servant boys name.
"Tell Ryou what a fine school St. Agnus' is."
Yugi's pale cheeks turn a light pink that I'm sure that Mr. Mouto missed. How could a school make a person blush? He looks at me and tells me of the teachers and the lessons that he has revived at this private boarding school. Sure it sounds interesting, and the prospect of meeting people my own age has always been something that I had wanted to do, but... how could I live with out... How could I live without...
What would I have to live without? Father had changed, my mentor was now bedridden, and no one in the house could hold my interest for more then a moment. But my home . . . It held my childhood, it was everything I ever had. I had never gone further then down the hills and every memory I had, had originated inside these walls.
Mr. Mouto beamed at his grandsons description of the school and requested that Yugi would spin and show Ryou the jacket that was part of their uniform. I forced a smile and excused myself after all the stories of how wonderful St. Angus' were told. I went to my room and stood in front of my mirror pulling my snowy white hair in frustration.
Why did every God out there hate me so much?
The days passed and my bags were packed. I avoided Father as much as possible, the only time I had to stay by him for more then a moment was at dinner where we both kept our eyes on our food and tried refrained from looking up at each other. Yugi continued to tell me stories on the lessons that the 'oh so wonderful' school had to offer. I listened patiently for him to finish each one and I began to be able to tell when he was about to carry onto another. I would always excuse myself just before he was able to start and would leave to soak in the tub that I knew I would miss horribly.
The doctor had left and Mr. Mouto was ordered to stay in his room until he had said otherwise. Yugi was getting anxious to get back to school, and every time I would bring up the courage to endure another on of his stories and ask why he wanted to get back so bad, he would always blush and say that he left his books in his room. Whatever his real reason was, was a mystery to me. The day before we were planned to leave Father called me to his office.
He handed me a stack of papers, clipped on top of them was a picture of me, one that I had not even know was taken. I unclipped the stack of papers and set the picture on the desk. The first words that caught my attention were 'Ryou Bakura.'
My name was not Ryou Bakura.
"Father... there must be a mistake..."
I look up at him to see him examining a pen almost nervously.
"These papers do say my last name is Bakura, not Merquise."
Father looked down at his lap and then back up at me.
"You will be called Ryou Bakura at St. Angus' son. Merquise is not a name that goes unnoticed, you would not want to deal with the recognition of my name."
I blanked and simply stare at him.
When ever had he told me not to share my name proudly? My fathers name was one that was highly respected and worldly know. Why would I ever want to hide my ancestry?
"I,... I do not understand..."
He looks at me and I can see fire flashing behind his eyes. Whatever happened to father is changing him.
And not for the better.
"You ask too many questions child! You will be called Ryou Bakura and inform no one of your real identity at school!"
Fathers harsh words tore gashes at me. I could feel my eyes narroring into dangerous slits as I glare into fathers icy blue eyes. I grip the chair's handles tightly turning my knuckles white as I let out a ragged breath to try and calm my approaching anger. When had I ever asked him a question regarding his whole secret life? When EVER had I asked him what he had going on in his secret little room by his chambers? When did I ever ask him what his involvement in the war was? He tells me I ask too many questions?
Father seemed to sense that he had said something that had offended me greatly, and just as I was about to explode, he stood and scooped me in his arms. I could feel my anger slowly fade away as he whispers words of thanks for my strength into my ear. He thanked me for pulling him through his depression over mother, and how sorry he is in that his decisions will effect me for the rest of my life. I unclench my hands from the chair as he mumbles and trails off about how he was sorry about the war and how he was never there for me. His body begins to shake and I am compelled to rub him awkwardly on the back as I tell him that everything is alright.
Everything that happens to me is so complicated.
The next day the whole house was ecstatic. My bedroom looked as if a bomb had gone off, and bags were still laying on the floor, clothes that I am leaving behind can be found hanging on the ceiling fan. I must say, I have expectations that I am trying to meet here, clothes make a big statement...
Right?
The servant boy, who was never really a servant, had raised an eyebrow when I appeared at the bottom of the steps with a row of maids carrying my bags. He shook his head and gave me an amused smile. I swear I heard him giggling as I motioned for things that I wanted to take with me and had the servants add them to my bags. He told me that I would fit right in at St. Agnus'.
Father accompanies me to the airport, and for the first time ever I was the one that walked down the exit ramp waving goodbye to him and my old life. As a woman with a fake looking red smile holds out her hand for my ticket, my heart rate speeds up.
I'm really leaving.
I'm getting on the death machine that killed my mother and it's taking me to a whole new world where I will have to start a whole new identity.
Not even having my Father's name to build it on.
I can see Father watching me. He is barley visible due to the walls that separate the exit ramp from the lobby's waiting room. He holds my gaze and gives me a forced smile. I can tell by the unenthusiastic wave and the glistening unshed tears in his eyes that he is not just sending me away. That he will miss me, and that he really is sorry for the things he told me in his office. I fight the urge to run and embrace him and hesitantly hand the women my ticket, taking one last look on the man I had lived with for fifteen years.
So here I am, sitting next to a smiling Yugi Mouto . . . crossing into another world, starting anew in a place where no one had ever heard my name...
I take a deep breath and put on a face that is somewhat resembling a smile.
TBC..
I donno...maybe you could tell or maybe you couldn't. Ryou's father is Zechs Merquise. I'm just gonna pretend that he never was king of the world, and that he was only seeking revenge on his wife's death instead of for his father and his homeland. So basically, he's just an older Zechs, still had the gundum, still fought in the war and still knew of Heero and Duo, plus, he has a son. And Relena's also not his sister... But somehow Draco's gonna be related to him... yea, leave me alone!
It made sense a minuet ago...
(P.S.) I don't really know the whole GW story, only what I've read online so if I really messed something up, feel free to e-mail me or IM me... Sn's OxBeachFlirtxo
