You know, Charles Dickens wrote Nicholas Nickleby as a weekly serial, just like I'm writing this fanfiction. I think it's a useful tactic-sometimes having to write a whole book without knowing who you're writing for is unearthly discouraging, hence why it's a lot easier to write this fanfiction than my novels... 'Course, to put them out on fictionpress would scrap that first copyright law for publishing.
If anyone gives a care . . . I could use someone to read the progress of the first draft of my novel by email or something private as such. It would really help. I'd feel more need to get chapters out.
The designated day to travel the city promised to be an exciting one, a promise not broken by the events of the early morning. Kisara, having awoken from that odd dream once again, found Bakura absent from her presence, and guessed that he must have gone back o the cave, in the absence of horrendous monsters.
Having absolutely nothing to do to possess her time, she sat by the cave's mouth and waited for him. For a moment she considered going in to see the full length of the cave herself, but decided against it. She was still frazzled from her ka's recent appearance in the previous chapter, and felt hardly prepared for another ordeal. This perturbed her slightly, knowing that, for at least a short while, Bakura had no incentive to act kindly to her as a means of self preservation. A slight fear leapt within her at this, a happening that was swiftly answered by a dog.
A dog, yes- it came trotting out the cave with its shaggy golden fur and smartly curved tail, and it regarded her with a look of dignified contempt, an expression that reminded her insistently of someone . . .
She met its stare in blank disbelief, and a wonderful, impossible idea crept into her mind. "Ba . . . Bakura?" she said hesitantly, squinting as though in hopes of seeing past his new canine identity.
"What is it?" came the prompt reply. It seemed to have a bit of an echoing ring to it, as though it weren't actually there.
"Bakura!" she shrieked, taken suddenly aback at the confirmation of her hypothesis. "Wha . . . what happened to you?"
"Nothing much," the thief returned in a casual drawl, and she noted that the eeriness of his voice seemed to have reduced greatly in this last moment. Curiously, she tilted her head to the side and found that she heard a swift patter of footsteps, and moments later Bakura emerged, fully human, from the cave as well, apparently just as frazzled about their new animal friend as Kisara was. She looked between the two and realized with some amusement that it was not really the dog who looked like the thief, but rather Bakura who possessed a bit of an uncanny canine attribute about his face.
The dog trotted over to Diabound, half of which rejected him with a show of fangs and the remaining half of which welcomed him with a warm and encouraging smile. The dog succumbed to the human half's gentle yet clumsy shows of affection in hopes of recruiting from him some sort of delectable nourishment.
"Strange," mused Bakura, "I found him wandering about in there. Seems like he'd have to have been in there for months, even if that doesn't make any sense. Must be some sort of food stash in there he's been stealing from all this time, I'll be off looking for it when we get back. Diabound!" he called, turning his attention suddenly towards his ka. "That'll be enough of that, before you kill the poor bastard. Now, hurry up. I told you to get ready two hours ago, and I'll be damned if you've so much as moved from the spot. Considering that I woke up before daylight today, I would find it MOST convenient if we could reach the city before nightfall, thank you."
The human Diabound cast a pleading glance at Kisara, as though expecting her to explain to him what a dreadful thing it might have been to move from his sleeping place and arouse a lady, but having no idea how to speak to the thief king under such circumstances, she mutely shrugged off the responsibility.
Gradually, Diabound put his master's orders in to action (though the human half only with the certain assurance that the dog would still be there when they returned), and within the time frame of five minutes Bakura declared the mission ready to commence.
Kisara was about to inquire as to exactly how they were going to get there but found her question already answered.
"Over here," Bakura called to her, though Kisara found it impossible to come 'over here' as Bakura had already grabbed her arm and pulled her over there. From 'there' he hoisted her up onto Diabound's back- the human half had bent over considerably to make this a relatively simple task- and instructed that she manage the rest of the way up until she came to rest on the monster's shoulder.
This would have been perfectly fine and well with Kisara had not Bakura given her an extra push upward by the rump while saying this. Now, given the thief's preceding interactions with Kisara, which could be considered certainly clean, if not neglectful, one might consider the fact that he had done this with no true intention of being touchy, but Kisara's heart pounded with sharp, writhing fear regardless.
Hence why Bakura's curiosity was occupied for a good while when, in climbing up to occupy a seat near his captive, he found Kisara staring, terrified, at him out of the corner of her eye, as a deer in the headlights.
"What's wrong with you, girl?" he snapped, as though her stare was a liberating gesture that had to be put down immediately.
Kisara, unaware of just how vulnerable she appeared at that moment, squeaked and said, "Oh . . . just . . . something in my eye is all." At which point she turned away, apparently unaware that Bakura knew she was still looking at him, though subtly.
It was clear to her that Bakura was not convinced, but he dropped the subject and made a sharp call out to Diabound who, upon hearing this, hoisted himself into the sky, spreading his numerous sets of wings as he did so.
Presently, the human half gave a little distressed groan.
"He says he doesn't like you clinging onto us like that," interpreted the snake, who, not being in the process of flying or keeping two passengers upright, eyed Kisara disapprovingly as she dug her nails into the human ka's shoulder flesh in fright. "And frankly," he added, "I don't, either."
Not wanting to put Diabound in any uncalled-for harm, she attempted to release her hands, but found a fear of heights mixed with the impending doom of falling far too much, and found herself clinging to the ka's white skin once again.
Bakura groaned. "This," he assured her, "is the reason you keep getting attacked, isn't it? You make it bloody easy for them." Kisara was not really sure what to say of this. "Listen," Bakura continued, "for the sake of my ka . . . This is pathetic." Having said this, he put his arm around her to stabilize her.
This did not only help her let go of Diabound, but it also kept her from making nearly any movement at all. He's touching me, she thought. And this thought nearly automatically translated into, He's going to rape me.
As with the rump incident occurring previously, Bakura appeared to either ignore or become totally unaware of the nature of his actions. And as usual, this was partially due to the fact that he was plenty preoccupied with other matters.
"You really seem to be recovering from that wing injury," Bakura commented casually, casting a sideways glance toward Diabound. His ka said nothing, but somehow this seemed to be taken as a thank you.
"Yes," continued Bakura, "you just seem able to fly higher and . . . higher . . . and higher . . ."
There was a short pause, during which a think layer of clouds passed below them.
"Diabound, just how HIGH do you intend to go?"
The human half blurted out something that Kisara, and almost definitely Bakura as well, could not understand, so the snake translated. "He says just a little higher," he shouted. "Just in case of some other flying ka."
Bakura sighed. "Fine, but if you go any higher you'll cause a solar eclipse. Plus, it's getting hard to breathe up here."
There was a short silence as Diabound reached his cruising altitude. Kisara really had no intention of breaking the silence as she was plenty preoccupied with not collapsing for the collective fear of Bakura and the wind.
Diabound seemed to sense her tenseness. Drifting up until he was level with her, the snake half cocked his head to the side with a curious little expression of something that might have been sympathy (it was hard to tell, really). "You look right pathetic, love," he observed.
"Diabound. . . ." cautioned Bakura.
"Oh, shut up, Bakura. Bet you need something to cheer you up there, dear." He paused to shout up something to the other half of himself. "Hey, Diabound, do your Lenny impression for the lady, would'ya?"
"Oh, for gods' sakes. . . !"
"Bakura, keep out of this. Whad'ya say, girl? How'd you like that?"
Kisara didn't answer. Diabound would be terribly distressed to hear that his attempt to cheer her up was really having the opposite effect.
The human half of Diabound succumbed to its other half's orders, and adjusted its flight patterns so that it could shift its position slightly without averting or blocking coming updrafts. Then, lifting up one of its arms just enough so as to not disturb his two passengers, he brought his great hand above the two of them (effectively blocking out the sun). The arm around Kisara tightened slightly. To see what he was doing, she had to tilt her head considerably upwards, just in time to see the hand come gently down on her captor's head.
"Can I pet the rabbit, George?" said the human half of Diabound in his deep, friendly voice. "Can I, George? Can I pet the rabbit?" He stroked Bakura's hair affectionately as though he were a small mouse in his hand.
Bakura had gone quite red, and it was only after a second of this that he had enough. "Oh, shut up!" he snapped, slapping his ka's hand away and ruffling his hair back into a reasonable arrangement.
Diabound seemed slightly hurt that Kisara seemed unaffected by his performance, and a relentless wave of guilt passed over her. She felt sorry for the poor ka, having such a seemingly humorless owner. If she had even the remotest of strengths to stand up against him, she certainly would have told him off for it, if she told him off for anything.
But as if fairly obvious, she was in no such position to protest any of his actions. The extent of her power lay in her ability to not chuckle slightly at the expression on Bakura's face when he was petted. But even that was but a momentary relief from the penetrating fear of the man.
A sudden, petrifying (if it was possible to petrify her further) thought wriggled her way into her brain. It was not so much a disturbing one as an eerily contemplative one, and it caused her to take a considerable pause. And the thought was this: What was it, really, that caused her to fear Bakura so much? It seemed silly at first. Why! if she could only count the ways. Highest of all being his open treachery against the Pharaoh, he and his great ka-
Who was currently doing curious impressions to cheer her up. This prospect gave her the first warm feeling she had felt in days, deep down in her breast so that even the howling wind could not penetrate it (though it was penetrating most everything else). How, she wondered (and surely she had wondered this many times before), could someone (thing?) So gentle in appearance be known for such terrible things?
There was a certain paradox to this fact (was it called a paradox? Kisara could easily admit to having not been raised in so formal a society as to understand much of such words.) Although his ka appeared greatly softened with Kisara, his owner showed no such affection. She had taken it for granted that such a villain would be incapable of such loving emotions, and she was probably right. Still, he was not so hostile as to deserve a significant amount of fear from her, so why did he . . . ?
Well, his past crimes, of course, answered another part of her. Just look at all he's done! Slaughtered all those people!
. . . of course, she hadn't actually seen any of this, but she had taken what she heard indirectly from Set to be fact.
Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was something else, but, well- something inside of her made her question. Why fear Bakura, and not Set? They had both- and in Set's case she admitted this to herself grudgingly- They had both kept her purely for the purpose of using her, and they both had something of a black record. Though surely Bakura's was blacker, was it not?
But was deceiving and showing false loyalty truly better than out and committing the deed, especially when you were, at some later date, fully prepared to betray, to slaughter, to do everything Bakura had done and worse? Could it not be considered cowardly to do so, and, to some extent, brave to oppose a greater force openly, as Bakura had done? And, when and if Set would revolt, would he not be denounced, denied of having ever been part of the circle of priests, condemned to the second death in writing? Set would be the monster, the most terrifying demon to ever have walked the earth, Bakura's abominations would seem insignificant in the eyes of the royal . . . and when Set died, erased from all records. The priests would not want to let anyone remember that they had been fooled by him. He would not exist, he would never have existed. [1]
She blinked rapidly, not at all fond at the direction this train of thought was leading her. She let it be, but kept it in the back of her mind. She felt herself relax slightly, and the arm around her didn't seem quite as unbearable.
The dark mass that was the city grew larger as the minutes wore on, but just as they were nearly upon it, Diabound slowed his pace, coming as close to a still hover as his wings could muster.
"Diabound," cautioned Bakura. "You can bring us down now. Make it nice and gradual. Not to dynamic." (Diabound began preparing for a nose dive.) "Diabound. Diabound! I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare even consider-" But apparently he did consider, for even before his master could finish the sentence, Diabound flung his wings straight up into the air. The result was not unlike applying a particularly large boulder to a parachuter. He plunged straight down and, after a few milliseconds of inertia-induced doubt, the two passengers followed suit.
Kisara was screaming, screaming, falling helplessly through the air a few yards above Bakura. She tried to catch hold of something, anything to keep her from falling, but it was of course useless.
I'm going to die, she thought, I'll die and it wouldn't even have been Bakura's fault, but I'm going to die, I'm going to die and thank the gods I remembered to put on my underwear this morning, I hope no one below's peeping.
And then with a sudden thump, it was over. Apparently Diabound had caught the both of them, pleased with the result of his mischief.
"Diabound." said Bakura, appearing to be quite collected so as to hide the fact that he was quite frazzled over the whole matter. He contemplated something to say, but recalling that any physical harm made to Diabound would also effect him, he found no threat suitable. Needless to say, there was a certain air of defiance about the ka, yet again entirely contradicting what Kisara had heard about during the great battles.
She took this defiance for commonplace mischievousness.
Bakura, who having effectively been rendered into a more foul mood by this prank, ordered that he and his captive be put down at once, and that Diabound had best make himself scarce before he changed his mind about no hurting him.
She took this to be a shallow threat.
"Bakura," she whispered in the most self-denouncing, respectful manner she had ever known, "excuse me, but why are we stopping here?"
"What do you think, stupid girl?" scoffed the thief, "You think no one will recognize the great ka of their enemy? They're stupid, but they're not that stupid." And at that he whistled off into the distance. Kisara looked around briefly in hopes of discovering the purpose of such an act and caught what it was almost immediately- appearing from a think cloud of sand was a beautiful, dark horse, approaching at a speed she thought not possible. Within seconds it was beside Bakura, a look of calmness if not contentment coming about it as he stroked its mane and neck with a certain affinity that was quite becoming of him.
"Is that . . ." Kisara asked slowly, and thought the question was directed at Bakura, she intended it for Diabound, "the one you stole? From the palace, that is. During the battles. . . ."
"Nah," replied the snake, "This one's much prettier. Didn't do any commandeering to get it, either. The boy has a way with animals, you know."
Judging by Bakura's expression, the force of the compliment was overrun considerably by the concept of being talked about behind your own back. "Diabound," he snapped, "would you kindly terminate your pleasant little conversation with the girl? Some of us have work to do." Diabound glared but slowly faded into nothingness as he was told. Having that finished, Bakura addressed Kisara. "Come over here." he said.
I am sure you are tired of hearing this, but Kisara's fears of rape flared up in her anew- again. But again she felt that she could not resist his command.
"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.
"Ah . . ." Kisara blinked in embarrassment. "Na . . . no, actually. . . ."
"Supposed as much." he sighed. "You've got 'fragile' written all over you, like one of those boxes with expensive wine cups."
"Oh?" Kisara said this particularly quietly, in hopes of pattering out the conversation.
"Obnoxiously so." continued the thief, in a matter-of-factly manner. "It's no wonder you're always getting beaten up like- look, if you can't get up on the horse yourself, don't insult her by just flailing about like that." Kisara braced herself for his touch, remembering the little helping hand she had received previously. She was only slightly relieved that he gripped her by the waist this time, hoisting her up near the back end of the horse and mounting after her with the grace of some great wildcat. From there he shifted slightly to look back at her. "And I suppose I'll have to give you lessons as to how to stay on a horse as well?"
"Oh . . ." she looked down, thoroughly uneasy at having to withstand his gaze. "No . . . I understand that."
"Thank the gods." He paused for a second. Then, "Grab hold of my waist."
"What?" blurted Kisara, starting suddenly.
"Just hold on so you don't fall bloody off." There was a definite sense of growing annoyance about him. "Good gods, girl, what is wrong with you?"
"Ah. . . ." she said, still averting her eyes, "I. . . . I . . ."
"Oh, come on," he groaned, "It's not that difficult of a question." He looked over to his ka. "Would you look at this, Diabound? Bloody obnoxious. Bet you're glad you don't have to deal with lady kas, eh?" Bakura seemed to think this to be a terribly clever thing to say, but Diabound, quite evidently, did not. Seeing this, he abandoned the line of thought and went back to pressuring Kisara into an answer.
"I, um . . ." she murmured, "I . . . don't think there's anything wrong with me. . . ."
"You don't say?" He turned his head to Diabound in a rather bemused fashion. "I do believe that one of our number is in a bit of denial, don't you agree?" he mused. Diabound nodded in affirmation, but it a way so as to suggest that the person in question was not Kisara at all. "Listen, girl," he continued, "if you'll excuse my concern, I would much prefer a confirmation that you can indeed defend yourself in the presence of offenders should the need arise. I'm not going to let you remain as some inconvenience whom I must watch every fleeting second to make sure you're not killed, much less run off. Why, if that were the case, I daresay it would have been much simpler to leave you back at the cave, hmm?"
Kisara knew what he was suggesting, and she knew what sort of mood he would be in if he had to hold to his word and take her all the way back, losing a great deal of time on his part. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down, "but I can't."
"Can't?" repeated Bakura, in a way that made the word sound impossibly foolish. "Can't what, dare I ask? Come now, surely it is no great dishonor to be asked a simple question. That is, unless I am so terribly inferior to Set that you are ashamed to look at me."
Kisara squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, then directed her gaze straight into her captor's eyes, and for a second she was surprised. The terrible thought of his demon eyes seemed enough to blind her, so that his actual gaze seemed not to frighten her as much. They were no particular color, she noted, yet still well-saturated in whatever hue they were. They were also thin and narrow, which above all seemed to inflict upon him a demonic appearance- such unusual shaping seemed surely foreign, though she herself having blue eyes and pale skin, she was not one to complain about something looking foreign. Their clearest blemish was, of course, the long scar that ran from his brow to his cheek on his right eye, though there were a good deal insignificant scrapes and cuts that were inevitable in the thieving business. Perhaps it was these scars that made his appearance more human, it showed that he was not immortal, not some great demon. And though it was unlikely, the thought that he was not invincible gave Kisara some sense of lightness in her heart.
All these realizations she experienced in a split second, and these were soon replaced by her intimate fear for the man. She struggled to keep her gaze, but seeing his slightly bemused but moreover scornful look about him, she felt a small fragment of her fear turn to anger. "I beg your mercy," she pleaded, "but I am not one so strong as you. I am weak- I find no use in trying to hide it. Surely you cannot expect the same standards from everyone that you expect from yourself-you do not know what it is like to face such discrimination!" And at this point she clapped a hand to her mouth, for this was boldness by Kisara's standards, boldness too strong for the situation.
Bakura's expression was quite unreadable, but he flicked his white mane of hair so as to suggest his point. "Oh I don't, do I?" he asked, seemingly amused. "Or is it that I am one not to make it so glaringly obvious?" And he said no more on the subject, issuing the horse forward into a calm walk, which startled Kisara into silence. With another clucking noise, the horse accelerated into a trot, which gave her an unnerving feeling of falling off as well as an unpleasant one to her already-abused-for-the-day bum. A whimpering, sniveling sound escaped her lips, and she was sure she must have gone more pale than usual. The noise from her throat grew louder, and it wasn't very long before Bakura addressed it.
"A vital rule," he barked, "is that if you can't so much as defend yourself, then at least keep your bloody mouth shut." Kisara let out a final little cry and clenched her teeth to keep herself quiet. "And hold on tight so you don't fall off, I'm not slowing down just for you." He seemed to wait a few seconds for this to sink in to her, then with one movement forced the horse into a flat-out gallop.
Kisara was frozen with fear. With that first thrust she felt as if she were being thrown forward and would surely go flying off at any moment. There was, at least, not the awkward thumping that had come from trotting, but she found herself desperately clinging onto whatever she could- in this case, Bakura. It was hard to say how long they rode- probably an hour, at least, so that the sun had shirked off to the East a bit by the time she saw the city gates approaching- and oh, how she had longed to see those great doors, to at least return to a captivity she was more accustomed to. She had prayed for it feverishly, dreamt of it endlessly in her sleep-
Oh, wait a minute, no she hadn't. She'd been having that odd dream about trees and grayness before dawn- the thought of it sobered her for any fanciful thoughts of being rescued for the day. What did it mean? She had never once been there before, so surely it was not some daunting memory of her past. In all honesty she had experienced a perfectly lovely childhood, right up until she had entered the city. In any event, there was certainly no business with these trees. Though this time she seemed to recall something more- a shimmer on the trees, draping from them. She had tried to figure out what they were, but she had to give up.
Bakura dismounted the horse and petted it affectionately, apparently expecting Kisara to be able to come down by herself. She managed- well, frankly, fell off, but managed to get back up in something resembling composure.
"It's not even dark out yet," observed Bakura, squinting so as to observe the position of the sun. "I really ought to give you more credit." Kisara was puzzled about this statement until she realized that he was talking to the horse. "Well," he continued with a sigh, "There's only one thing to do while we wait." And leaving no opportunity for Kisara to fret over what that one thing might be, he curled up next to a large stone and fell asleep.
[1] Whoops, sorry, 1984 lapse there. God, that's a bloody depressing book. Whoever bitches that omg all books have happy endings!!!!!1 my book is so realistic because every1 dies and it's a sad ending omg im a rebel!!!!!1 (not to mention any.... Cirque du Freak) has much Orwell to read. And lots of stuff to read, come to think of it. The world needs more happy endings. goes off to read Jane Austen and happyhappy British humor (humour?) books