A Day in the Life of Malik Ishtar
Chapter One: The Day Begins
Author's notes: There are some mild spoilers in here, for those of you who don't know much about Battle City. ^^; I won't give away major duel outcomes or anything, and the general plot of Malik's "mission" is more or less going to be twisted for my own purposes. Unless you guys don't care, I'll twist it less and go along more with the original thing. Whichever. o.o His past, however, is all true and will be the only thing that's actually spoiled. So, other than that.. enjoy! X.x
"Malik-sama." Rishido's deep voice echoed throughout Malik's room, waking him up.
"What?" he mumbled, rolling over in his bed to squint at Rishido through drooping eyelids.
"It's five till noon, sir, and I thought you would like to get up now."
Malik sat up, squinting even more at the light coming from the door into his dark room. "Yeah, sure," he said with a sleepy yawn. He swung his legs over the edge and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.
"Your coffee will be ready in ten minutes," Rishido informed him, then bowed and stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door closed.
He put a hand to his forehead, running his fingers through his un- Egyptian-like blonde hair. Today's agenda was going to be a little out of the norm, since his yacht was due to reach the shores of Domino City within the hour. It had been quite some time since he and his followers had seen land, and their cabin fever would finally be abated. But even this joyous occasion was to be ruined by the thought of having a run-in with Malik's sister, Isis Ishtar, who had arrived less than a week before to start her Ancient Egypt exhibit at the local museum. This was explained in her latest letter to him, the twelve page essays she sent about every two weeks to "check up" on her little Otouto, and to give him a thorough and detailed description of her whereabouts. How she continued to get the letters to his yacht would remain a mystery, but honestly, he didn't care. Most of the time after spending an hour pouring over a letter, he would pay a randomly selected crew member to compose one under his name. At any rate, to see her would mean certain doom for his plans. Stupid sisters. they just don't understand a little brother's passion for revenge!
But first, it was time to get dressed and eat. He hauled himself to his feet and slumped over to his closet, randomly grabbing a pair of black jeans and a white, hooded tank top. He put them on without another thought, then went to his dresser to gather up his jewelry. Four gold bands around his neck, four around each of his wrists, and one on each of his arms just below the shoulder. He walked to the door, stopped, took two steps back and looked in his full-length mirror. Was it just him, or were his jeans at least two sizes too small..? And his shirt! It was so short it didn't even reach his waist. And-what was this? Exposed mid-drift?! He blinked in surprise, studied himself in the mirror for a moment, then shrugged it off. He worked hard for those abs, so he didn't see anything wrong with showing them off.
Malik entered the tiny kitchen and took a seat on the stool at the counter. He watched the mini-TV that was hooked up next to the refrigerator, which was turned on to some American station called "CSPAN" (his yacht, of course, had a huge satellite dish hooked up toward the rear of the deck. But even five hundred-plus channels could not keep the crew sufficiently entertained for long, which was why their cabin fever was so severe). He couldn't understand a word they were saying, but Rishido knew quite a bit of English and was probably absorbing the information as he prepared breakfast. It didn't matter to Malik that he couldn't understand the broadcast-it looked like some boring news report, anyway. "And so, the culprits of the fire that was started at a praying mantis farm in Minnesota were caught approximately twenty-four hours ago in a trailer park on the border of Tennessee." the woman droned on in the intricate tongue of English.
"Your Froot Loops, Malik-sama," Rishido presented him with a bowl of colorful cereal.
"Huh?" Malik stared blankly at the sugar-coated substances floating in milk.
Rishido was just about as clueless. "Some of the men went ahead to the docks to search for some food. They found this cereal on an American imports ship."
"Wonderful," his violet orbs rolled in their sockets, complementing his sarcastic tone.
His servant pretended not to notice as he slid a mug of coffee to Malik. "And your latté."
He took a sip, grimaced, and remembered that his coffee had been tasting terrible the whole trip before he lashing out at Rishido for doing such a horrid job. But as he glanced up, he saw that Rishido was mesmerized by the TV. "Rishido?"
"Watch the screen, and tell me what you see," came his reply as he stepped out of the way so Malik could see.
Malik nearly choked on his poor excuse of a latté. Was that live footage of the God Card "tombs" his men had raided..?
"They have no idea who committed the robbery," Rishido translated after a moment. "No need to worry, Malik-sama, they still have no idea that The Gurus exist."
Nodding rather nonchalantly, Malik took the first bite of his so- called cereal. He didn't see what was so "frooty" about them, they tasted like.. well, sugar-coated somethings. However, he found them strangely addictive.
After the boring affairs that were associated with docking, Malik finally set off into the city. Armed with his Millennium Rod (and a lovingly packed lunch, courtesy of Rishido), he made his way through the not-so-crowded sidewalks around the bay. Noting the run-down warehouses and general desolate milieu of this particular area, he concluded it wasn't a very good part of town.
It seemed like he had walked for an eternity (a grand total of seven blocks) until he finally made contact with some of the natives. The first run down car with its shady occupant leaning against it was halfway across the eighth block of his journey.
"Hey," the man said in a gruff voice as Malik approached. "What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a dump like this, hm?"
Malik stopped in his tracks, surprised by the greeting of a stranger. Endless hours of movie viewing was his method of passing the time during his voyage, and also to learn the ways of the Japanese culture and general behavior of people. Having spent most of his life living in the underground taverns under the Sahara, which is in the middle of nowhere to begin with, he was greatly lacking in standard social skills. He searched his memory and remembered seeing this type of person in one of those cop flicks. immediately, he put up his guard.
"You seem to be the shy and quiet type, hun," the man said with a smirk. Malik quirked a brow and pondered. Yes, he recalled the cops having to arrest a man like this for numerous accounts of drug-dealing. Whatever that meant.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Now I'm getting the impression you're just ignoring me, sweetheart." Those strange nicknames. wait a minute, does that guy think he's a girl?! "Come on, baby, don't give me the cold shoulder," the man pouted pathetically.
"You little-" the man was startled to find that his "catch of the day" had a rather masculine voice, and her all but dainty hands were clamped onto his neck.
"I, er-it's just-" stammered the man, his eyes widening as he choked for another breath. Malik shoved him back against his car and stomped off, furious.
Two pieces of Trident and ten blocks later, Malik found himself pushing and shoving amongst a dense crowd of people. Sweet mother of ham, he had never seen so many people in one place at one time! Was all of Japan really like this? ..And did someone just grab his butt?
"Woo!" came a male voice from behind him. Malik thrust his elbow back and jammed it under the guy's rib cage, then hurried on. "I can't believe she didn't *smack* me!..." the man's fading voice cried. He made a mental note to come up with a new outfit for tomorrow's excursion.
City life was overrated. Though he was happy to be off that crusty old yacht, his journey was turning out to be more dull than Spanish daytime TV. However, these thoughts of criticism were poofed out of existence in a split second after Malik spied the most marvelous piece of machinery to ever be created on this wretched planet. There, in a used car lot across the street, was a motorcycle. Without a second thought, and without concern for his personal safety, Malik dashed into the street, dodging around the cars that were (thankfully) at a stop light. Immediately, he static-clung to the two-wheeled mobile monster.
"I.. I've always wanted one of these!" Malik cried, the most enthusiasm he had ever experienced since. ever. "My life is complete!" he rubbed his tanned cheek to the cool, red chrome and closing his eyes. "Four-stroke single cylinder, two valve overhead camshaft engine! Chain driven trocoidal oil pump lubrication, and electronic capacitor discharge ignition! CVT, continuous variable transmission! Automatic centrifugal clutch, and automatic stepless gear change!" he panted, having said all of that mumbo- jumbo in one breath. "Oh, how I've longed to touch one of these babies." blinking, he stood up straight, slamming his fist into the opposite palm. "I *must* obtain it!"
And so, Malik Ishtar has now become side-tracked.
Chapter One: The Day Begins
Author's notes: There are some mild spoilers in here, for those of you who don't know much about Battle City. ^^; I won't give away major duel outcomes or anything, and the general plot of Malik's "mission" is more or less going to be twisted for my own purposes. Unless you guys don't care, I'll twist it less and go along more with the original thing. Whichever. o.o His past, however, is all true and will be the only thing that's actually spoiled. So, other than that.. enjoy! X.x
"Malik-sama." Rishido's deep voice echoed throughout Malik's room, waking him up.
"What?" he mumbled, rolling over in his bed to squint at Rishido through drooping eyelids.
"It's five till noon, sir, and I thought you would like to get up now."
Malik sat up, squinting even more at the light coming from the door into his dark room. "Yeah, sure," he said with a sleepy yawn. He swung his legs over the edge and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.
"Your coffee will be ready in ten minutes," Rishido informed him, then bowed and stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door closed.
He put a hand to his forehead, running his fingers through his un- Egyptian-like blonde hair. Today's agenda was going to be a little out of the norm, since his yacht was due to reach the shores of Domino City within the hour. It had been quite some time since he and his followers had seen land, and their cabin fever would finally be abated. But even this joyous occasion was to be ruined by the thought of having a run-in with Malik's sister, Isis Ishtar, who had arrived less than a week before to start her Ancient Egypt exhibit at the local museum. This was explained in her latest letter to him, the twelve page essays she sent about every two weeks to "check up" on her little Otouto, and to give him a thorough and detailed description of her whereabouts. How she continued to get the letters to his yacht would remain a mystery, but honestly, he didn't care. Most of the time after spending an hour pouring over a letter, he would pay a randomly selected crew member to compose one under his name. At any rate, to see her would mean certain doom for his plans. Stupid sisters. they just don't understand a little brother's passion for revenge!
But first, it was time to get dressed and eat. He hauled himself to his feet and slumped over to his closet, randomly grabbing a pair of black jeans and a white, hooded tank top. He put them on without another thought, then went to his dresser to gather up his jewelry. Four gold bands around his neck, four around each of his wrists, and one on each of his arms just below the shoulder. He walked to the door, stopped, took two steps back and looked in his full-length mirror. Was it just him, or were his jeans at least two sizes too small..? And his shirt! It was so short it didn't even reach his waist. And-what was this? Exposed mid-drift?! He blinked in surprise, studied himself in the mirror for a moment, then shrugged it off. He worked hard for those abs, so he didn't see anything wrong with showing them off.
Malik entered the tiny kitchen and took a seat on the stool at the counter. He watched the mini-TV that was hooked up next to the refrigerator, which was turned on to some American station called "CSPAN" (his yacht, of course, had a huge satellite dish hooked up toward the rear of the deck. But even five hundred-plus channels could not keep the crew sufficiently entertained for long, which was why their cabin fever was so severe). He couldn't understand a word they were saying, but Rishido knew quite a bit of English and was probably absorbing the information as he prepared breakfast. It didn't matter to Malik that he couldn't understand the broadcast-it looked like some boring news report, anyway. "And so, the culprits of the fire that was started at a praying mantis farm in Minnesota were caught approximately twenty-four hours ago in a trailer park on the border of Tennessee." the woman droned on in the intricate tongue of English.
"Your Froot Loops, Malik-sama," Rishido presented him with a bowl of colorful cereal.
"Huh?" Malik stared blankly at the sugar-coated substances floating in milk.
Rishido was just about as clueless. "Some of the men went ahead to the docks to search for some food. They found this cereal on an American imports ship."
"Wonderful," his violet orbs rolled in their sockets, complementing his sarcastic tone.
His servant pretended not to notice as he slid a mug of coffee to Malik. "And your latté."
He took a sip, grimaced, and remembered that his coffee had been tasting terrible the whole trip before he lashing out at Rishido for doing such a horrid job. But as he glanced up, he saw that Rishido was mesmerized by the TV. "Rishido?"
"Watch the screen, and tell me what you see," came his reply as he stepped out of the way so Malik could see.
Malik nearly choked on his poor excuse of a latté. Was that live footage of the God Card "tombs" his men had raided..?
"They have no idea who committed the robbery," Rishido translated after a moment. "No need to worry, Malik-sama, they still have no idea that The Gurus exist."
Nodding rather nonchalantly, Malik took the first bite of his so- called cereal. He didn't see what was so "frooty" about them, they tasted like.. well, sugar-coated somethings. However, he found them strangely addictive.
After the boring affairs that were associated with docking, Malik finally set off into the city. Armed with his Millennium Rod (and a lovingly packed lunch, courtesy of Rishido), he made his way through the not-so-crowded sidewalks around the bay. Noting the run-down warehouses and general desolate milieu of this particular area, he concluded it wasn't a very good part of town.
It seemed like he had walked for an eternity (a grand total of seven blocks) until he finally made contact with some of the natives. The first run down car with its shady occupant leaning against it was halfway across the eighth block of his journey.
"Hey," the man said in a gruff voice as Malik approached. "What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a dump like this, hm?"
Malik stopped in his tracks, surprised by the greeting of a stranger. Endless hours of movie viewing was his method of passing the time during his voyage, and also to learn the ways of the Japanese culture and general behavior of people. Having spent most of his life living in the underground taverns under the Sahara, which is in the middle of nowhere to begin with, he was greatly lacking in standard social skills. He searched his memory and remembered seeing this type of person in one of those cop flicks. immediately, he put up his guard.
"You seem to be the shy and quiet type, hun," the man said with a smirk. Malik quirked a brow and pondered. Yes, he recalled the cops having to arrest a man like this for numerous accounts of drug-dealing. Whatever that meant.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Now I'm getting the impression you're just ignoring me, sweetheart." Those strange nicknames. wait a minute, does that guy think he's a girl?! "Come on, baby, don't give me the cold shoulder," the man pouted pathetically.
"You little-" the man was startled to find that his "catch of the day" had a rather masculine voice, and her all but dainty hands were clamped onto his neck.
"I, er-it's just-" stammered the man, his eyes widening as he choked for another breath. Malik shoved him back against his car and stomped off, furious.
Two pieces of Trident and ten blocks later, Malik found himself pushing and shoving amongst a dense crowd of people. Sweet mother of ham, he had never seen so many people in one place at one time! Was all of Japan really like this? ..And did someone just grab his butt?
"Woo!" came a male voice from behind him. Malik thrust his elbow back and jammed it under the guy's rib cage, then hurried on. "I can't believe she didn't *smack* me!..." the man's fading voice cried. He made a mental note to come up with a new outfit for tomorrow's excursion.
City life was overrated. Though he was happy to be off that crusty old yacht, his journey was turning out to be more dull than Spanish daytime TV. However, these thoughts of criticism were poofed out of existence in a split second after Malik spied the most marvelous piece of machinery to ever be created on this wretched planet. There, in a used car lot across the street, was a motorcycle. Without a second thought, and without concern for his personal safety, Malik dashed into the street, dodging around the cars that were (thankfully) at a stop light. Immediately, he static-clung to the two-wheeled mobile monster.
"I.. I've always wanted one of these!" Malik cried, the most enthusiasm he had ever experienced since. ever. "My life is complete!" he rubbed his tanned cheek to the cool, red chrome and closing his eyes. "Four-stroke single cylinder, two valve overhead camshaft engine! Chain driven trocoidal oil pump lubrication, and electronic capacitor discharge ignition! CVT, continuous variable transmission! Automatic centrifugal clutch, and automatic stepless gear change!" he panted, having said all of that mumbo- jumbo in one breath. "Oh, how I've longed to touch one of these babies." blinking, he stood up straight, slamming his fist into the opposite palm. "I *must* obtain it!"
And so, Malik Ishtar has now become side-tracked.