Disclaimer: I am a female American. A male Japanese owns Yu-Gi-Oh. That's all you should need to know to figure it out that I don't own it.
'Ding! Dong!' the doorbell rang.
"I've got it," said Sogoroku. He walked to the front game shop door and opened it, peeking his head out. Two men, each slim and a few inches over six feet, stood in front of him. The taller of the two was holding a black pot.
"Hello sir. We're from the Main Street Food Pantry. Do you have any spare change you'd like to give to the needy?" He spoke in a husky accent, and held a collection box.
"Why, certainly." Sogoroku emptied the entire contents of all his overall pockets into the box, always being one to give to those less fortunate than himself (A/N: What a nice guy.). He didn't notice the short, skinny figure slinking by inches away from him, but Honda did. He nudged Jou and they each gave Atemu a subtle thumbs-up before the shorter boy disappeared into a dark, dreary side alley.
"Well, that's all my eighty-eight pockets. Have a good day!"
"Thank you, sir." Sogoroku went back into the game shop, and Jou and Honda sighed as one.
"He made it."
"Yeah. For a second there, I thought he'd spotted Atemu for sure!"
"Let's go finish our community service so we can GET to the concert later." They left in search of more donations.
-With Atemu-
"Phew. That was close," Atemu muttered, pressing himself against the brick of the alley wall and gasping for breath, his heart pounding. "Thank Ra. Now, where did Mai say Ryo's clothes would be? Under this dumpster..." He slid easily under the large container. A secure package had been tucked safely away underneath it. He grabbed at the package and stood up, his backpack and water in hand.
"Okay, left... right... another right..." he mouthed, following Mai's instructions. Sure enough, a sleek black limosine was parked barely three feet from where he exited the web of allies. The window of the limo's passenger seat rolled down.
"Atemu. Get in."
Atemu grunted and gave the young CEO a curt nod. "Why are you doing this for us, Kaiba? I thought you hated me."
"I may hate YOU, but that doesn't mean that your music isn't the hottest thing in town. I... I just wouldn't want you to lose an opportunity like this... a Japan-wide competition..."
Atemu had trouble picking up his lower jaw. Kaiba was being nice? What was wrong with that picture?
"Kaiba, are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"That's really what I should be asking you. You look horrible. You know that, don't you?"
"Everyone looks horrible, according to your standards."
"No, I mean, you really do look ill, you know."
Atemu just grunted indignantly.
"Hmph. Fine. Just get in so I can drive you to your concert. The button for the driver separation screen is on the inside of the door, so you can change."
Atemu got in and pressed said button and got on the clothes, which were very cool. The red shirt was a button-down, alternating orange, red and black buttons with black and orange flames creeping up the front. The black jeans matched that, and Atemu had made sure to wear his black boots that day. No one noticed, because it was normal for Atemu to wear boots. They were his thing, and luckily enough went well with the outfit Ryo had leant him. Trust Bakura to make sure Ryo didn't get completely cut-off from civilizatioon.
Seto slowed and parked the limo in front of the huge concert hall. "Are you done back there?"
"Have been for five minutes." This was followed by a grunt.
"Just making sure I didn't open the door..." Seto walked around and opened the door for Atemu, who stepped out, the backback containing his normal clothes and his water bottle clutched in his left hand.
"Your performance tonight had better be worth it, because I'm going to be there. The judges pick the bands that get in for the first few rounds, but after that, it's up to the fans. Crimson Love has my vote for now, but we'll see how you do." He drove off, leaving Atemu standing before the looming building.
"He likes our stuff that much?" he shook his head at that scary and rather disturbing thought, and entered the hall.
"ATEMU, OVER HERE!" Atemu heard Isis's unmistakably smooth, mystic tone call from across the huge front room, where tons of people were already milling about. Chords sounded, voices shouted back and forth to each other, and everyone and everything seemed out of place wherever they were, so everything moved. This was what Atemu was meant for, the noise, the competition, the exhilarating feeling of getting up on that stage and singing his throat dry. He loved it, all of it.
He walked over to where Malik, Isis, Bakura, Rishid, and Mai had claimed a corner to themselves. Bakura was strumming an aimless tune on his acoustic guitar and Mai was floating through some warm-up scales while Malik rapped away nervously on a small drum pad. A drum set was already onstage, as nearly every band had a drummer.
"How many are there?" Atemu asked in Rishid's ear, gesturing to the many different bands milling about the large front room of the concert hall, waiting to be called backstage in the order they would perform in.
"Twenty-six, counting us."
Atemu sucked in air through his teeth and swallowed hard. He winced as his throat hurt from swallowing, as did his ears (A/N: Anyone ever had that kind of flu thing, where it hurts your whole head to swallow and then you get a headache forever? Not fun, man.).
"Ugh." Atemu rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to ease away the headache that had been nagging at him since the ride over.
"All right hun?" Mai asked, a bit worriedly.
"Yeah. Just a headache I've had for a while. No big deal."
"You don't look too good, you know."
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I came, didn't I?"
"Good point. And we need to warm up, because once we get our seats in the auditorium we can't make a sound to disrupt the other bands or we're disqualified."
"How long do we have until they start calling the bands in?"
"They'll start that in about fifteen minutes, and the crowd comes in at four-thirty. The competition starts at five."
"Okay. Our usual warm-up?"
"Yup," five different voices answered, smiles on all of the voices' faces. Their warm-up was their signature. One would keep the beat -or purposely lose it- while five others would fan off into different snaking scales, round harmony feeding off the love and care of the vocalists. Even Rishid did this one, quite well too. He was actually not a bad singer; none of them were. His voice just wasn't particularly useful in much of their music.
"I'll keep the beat," Rishid offered, "Since I'm not singing much this time anyway."
"Okay," they all answered.
"One, two, three, four, two, two, three, four, three, two, three, four, four two, three, four..."
They became so absorbed in their music that they didn't even notice as the minutes slipped by. Isis began to play along with her voice on her portable keyboard, and Bakura on his guitar. Malik tapped out the decided tempo on the wall with his drumsticks. After thirty-two measures, they came to a halt at a familiar sharp chord, different every time depending on the five that sang. Rishid's voice was a sturdy bass, Atemu's deep and similar, but commanding of a certain respect only a three-thousand-year-old Pharaoh of ancient Egypt could command. Isis's harsh, chilling tone could slice through shadow and cause a cold heart to shatter in two. Mai could dip low to skim the ocean or circle with the gulls above, while Malik's sense of flair in pitch could make a note exist in memory forever. Bakura's voice, scratchy in speech, became a vibrating steel that added a beautiful and terrible, raw, mysterious quality to Crimson Love's songs. That made them special. They were all different, so different in fact that you'd wonder how they survived without killing each other. But their love for music brought them together, and together they would stay.
"ATTENTION TO ALL BANDS AND BAND MEMBERS! WE ARE NOW CALLING THE COMPETING BANDS INTO YOUR SEATS! ANY EQUIPMENT OF YOURS CAN BE PLACED IN THE AISLE NEXT TO YOUR ROW, AND BRING EVERYTHING WITH YOU. BAND NUMBER ONE, ILLUSIONS, FOLLOW ME!"
Crimson Love was number twenty-one, quite near the end. Malik helped Isis bring her keyboard down into the dark seats, and Rishid had his electric guitar. Bakura lovingly carried his acoustic, hissing at anyone who dared accidentally touch it. The bands were all seated in a far left section of seats, an aisle running directly from the middle of the section to the stage. Each band had one minute to set up and break down. The competition was a fast-paced one, and a lot of pressure was on Crimson Love. It was a local favorite, their main rival being Wind, a mainly rock group from the other side of Domino.
Barely five minutes later, people started flooding the seats all around the nervous performers. Atemu, seated between Mai and Bakura, felt his pulse quicken and his heart catch in his throat. Only three bands of the twenty-six trying out tonight would be judged fit enough to carry on with the competition. Three. He coughed into his fist,Isis startling at the sudden noise from Atemu, who had been silent since they had warmed up.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, fine." His voice was terribly hoarse.
"You sound awful. Take a drink."
Atemu fished his water bottle out of his backpack and took a sip. He cleared his throat. "Better," he asked in a much clearer, deeper voice.
"Much." Relieved, she turned back to her conversation with Mai.
"I think that you are a very lucky baka pharaoh," said Bakura, again strumming a bit on his beloved guitar.
"How so?"
"You get the flu and you can still talk. Ryo got it a while ago and we had to invent a new form of sign language just to communicate. At least we were already fluent in it by the time I caught his flu from him." The ex-tomb robber snorted. "You are a very lucky baka pharaoh indeed."
"It's NOT the flu. I'm fine," Atemu insisted indignantly. But his arguement was missing a bit of its usual vigor. His head had begun to spin... and spin... and spin...
"Are you okay? Your eyes look dead." Bakura laughed at his own bad joke. "Three thousand years dead, possibly."
"I'm just dizzy. Probably just all the noise... and the excitement... mmph." He held his head in his hands.
"You love this noise and excitement if I'm not sorely mistaken, Oh Wonderful Pharaoh."
Atemu smirked. "That's right, tomb robber. Bow to your pharaoh." The two shared a laugh.
"I'm glad those times of hate are over between us, Atemu. I mean it. After Ryo, you are my best friend, and the world just seems so much more worth it now that I have friends, and music..." said Bakura, barely audibly. "I'm thankful to you for showing me some light."
Atemu was speechless. He'd never expected to hear such words from Bakura. But he couldn't help but think that the way Bakura had slowly come out of his harsh, cold shell reminded him of something...
He wasn't granted any time to think, though, as the announcer's voice blared through the concert hall's sold-out seats, "BAND NUMBER ONE, ILLUSIONS, WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE THE STAGE. BAND MEMBERS, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT ANY EXCESS NOISE WILL LEAD TO IMMEDIATE DISQUALIFICATION. ALL MEMBERS OF THE AUDIENCE ARE ASKED TO NOT FIGHT IN THE AISLES..."
It had begun.
Bit of a short chappie, I know, but what is a lowly fangirl to do? WRITE!
Electric Fire, Kaiba has his own reasons for anting to help them. Kind of... ODD reasons, but it'll all be explained in time... LONG LASTING time, but time... Oh by the way, in your review of Cry of the Black Magician, which will not get updated for maybe half a week to a week, you asked if he had tb. I say: Sure, why not? BobGod asked the same thing, and it's only gonna take like another two or three colds or a flu to kill this poor dude off, but if you want to... I dunno.. envision it as tb, darn tootin,' it can be tb! I have given up! Yeah, you do end a lot of sentences with '...' but so do I! It's kinda cool, how magnetic those three little dots can be... ARG!
straykitty, don't worry, I won't neglect my coughothercough stories, or Cry of the Black Magician if you care about that too. This one just seems to be going quicker for some odd reason. Heh. Yeah, generally I try to talk with my tongue not bitten... it helps... Oh man, he is going to be in MAJOR trouble if coughWHENcough he gets found out, but by that time he'll have bigger problems on his hands and maybe Jii-chan will be sympathetic, if I'm in a good mood when I come to that part. No, he's gonna be more concerned about his voice actually existing, the way I have it planned... I feel evil!
THANK YOU BELOVED REVIEWERS! CONTINUE TO REVIEW PLEASIES! Peace out-BlackCharmgirl