Well, I'm glad I got such a good respone to "In This Game Called Love" Woot! Chapter two is ready to be posted, but first, some thank yous are in order.
KentouKurige: First to review, Shouri. Thanks! I'm glad you liked. It was either Duke be a evil bishie or Tristan be a evil...semi-bishie. You pick.
Elusia: Thank you for the compliment. -.- I love to write, so when I do, I write with my soul and heart. The DDR thing was something I've wanted to do so...whoop, there it is. I hope you enjoy the rest.
ChibiMaouIwa: Think of the first paragraph as what I'd like to see you doing someday Iwa...::WinkWink:: Ya know I love ya, Iwa-kun. Thanks for reading and I'm glad it was up to your approval.
MouHitoriNoSai: Don't worry...Chapter 10 will come as soon as I can get through 3-9. XD! Anyway, more will be on the way soon, just for you tomodachi...oh...and Ryou...say another word and Malik is punished.
Yume-chan: I'm updating! And consider this just for you and the other four who read it. I love you all.
Anyway, here's chapter two of "In This Game Called Love"! Enjoy and please leave your comments! I love reading them!
DISCLAIMER: ::Malik walks out with a set of headphones, listening to the DDR song, "Little Bitch":: Hey...um...Kei doesn't own DDR, YGO, or any of the music mentioned...::Sings along as he trots away::
Chapter 2: Little Bitch
The scene had changed, the days drifting by into weeks, each week more awaited then the last. The cold winter blossomed into a beautiful spring, accompanied by a flowery sanctuary and a chorus of peaceful birds. Along with the scene outside, the arcade seemed to shift as well.
When the former ruler's reign was in the fullest effect, certain rules, thought left unsaid, were strongly and strictly enforced.
All challenges made to the champion must be presented written, alone with your average dance score. Anything below a B will be overlooked.
Proper shoes must be worn. If the champ's board is scuffed, so will your face.
The board, at any time, must be cleared if the champion feels the urge to play.
You must maintain a B average or higher. A list is posted on the machine. If your average is any lower then the aforementioned, you will have to play on the back board.
The back board was as a punishment to any Dance Dancer. One of the more earlier versions of the game, the back board featured no more then fifteen songs, those of which dubbed 'undanceable' by the players. On either side of the board, the only buttons that worked where the up and right, so the highest grade anyone could get (if they didn't fail within the opening seconds) as an E. Basically, it was a Dance Dancer's worst nightmare personified.
Those were the rules and for some reason beyond anyone's comprehension, they were obeyed, until the monarch of the arcade came crashing down in a haze of loud music and hysteric applause. When Malik was crowned 'King', he abolished all of the preset, idiotic rules, tearing 'the list' off the wall and shredding it. The board was now free.
Along with the abolishment of the rules, he improved the arcade for the better. He fixed the dreaded back board himself, along with giving free lessons to beginners. Everyone loved the new king, except for the one who hide amongst the shadows, eyes tracing every movement, ears picking up on every sound. A set of cold, chestnut orbs eyed him with an oddly enticing interest.
"B-bakura?" A voice from behind the shadow meekly whimpered.
"Shut the hell up!" Snarled Bakura, shooting a glare towards the voice's owner, who shuddered when those eyes were locked upon him. He looked away from the one who towered over him, the 'Enforcer', Bakura.
He was more commonly called 'The Enforcer' because he was the one who made everything listen to Duke's ridiculous rules and made them follow the outrageous dictatorship. When his voice that matched the roaring thunder and eyes that challenged a roaring flame, no one dare appose or question him, especially that one who loyally stood beside him, as a puppy who had been found in the pouring rain, shivering and lonely. This puppy would gaze up to the sky, praying to whatever God is up there that there will be a refuge, a savior to extract the pain from his heart. God wasn't listening, and sent him the cruel hands, the cold eyes of Bakura.
Were they involved? That could be said, for the meek one never left the side of the sentry, standing tall and strong. Were they in love, a question that could not be answered without a scoff and a snicker. If anything, it could be classified as a sickening obsession on one end and a fearful respect on the other.
The quiet one would constantly reevaluate his life and the choices he made, or was made for him. His silence was his weakness, which is what made him easy to be taken advantage of. He was a quiet boy which a gentle heart, a disposition so kind, though a tormented soul. Behind his dark eyes, an untold story of frightened screams, crystalline tears, and a trembling touch frozen in time. Silenced forever were his hopes.
Ryou didn't speak, for he thought words weren't necessary and rather bothersome. Ever since he was a child, living with his two parents (Workaholics) and his twin sister, Amane (Younger sister, to be exact, just about four minutes), he felt, no, he knew his words were just muttered syllables of utter annoyance.
"Daddy?" He would whisper softly, tugging on his father's t-shirt as he turned, exhaustion interlaced within his gaze.
"What?" He would snap bitterly, his voice stinging the child's ears. Swallowing all his fears, he would meekly speak.
"I-I'm hungry..."
Cocking an eyebrow, he'd give an inquisitive look to his son, saying nothing for a shirt while as juvenile eyes gazed up endlessly. "You're what?!" He finally hissed his voice one of a dictator who heard a ridiculous request.
The little boy repeated his innocent request. "I'm hungry, Daddy."
In moments, the lean, powerful frame of his father would be pressed up against his, his hot breathe consuming the little boy's pale face. Eyes of solid ice would stare down, not at him, but through him, as if he wasn't worth the time to be looked in the eyes, which was where Ryou got that idea from, even now.
"You ungrateful, little bastard." His strong fingers wrapped around his son's slender shoulders, digging full nails into the virgin flesh. Letting out quiet whimpers of pain, the little boy closed his eyes tightly, hoping it would be over soon. The yelling continued, and Ryou continued hoping that all the screams would fade away, and in a pile of twisted metal and broken hopes, the screams did eventually fade.
Both Ryou's parents and his little sister died one night in a car crash. Ryou was left home alone one lonely, rainy night when the other three traveled out, never to return. The little boy stood outside in the pouring rain, the tears cascading down his pale face. A neighbor tried to explain what happened in soft, simple words, but Ryou wasn't listening. From that night on, he kept his lips tightly sealed, except for the occasional him when he nodded. He felt that now, even though his family was cruel and ignored him, he still loved them, and without them, he had no reason to speak. Words meant nothing to him.
"Ryou?!" A slap on the back of his head sent him hurdling out of his reminiscing as he looked up into the cold orbs of Bakura. "Ryou! Dammit, do you ever listen?" Thinking the question was directly intended for him, he nodded in reply. Bakura snarled and struck Ryou again. "I don't need your smartass attitude, Ryou." He hung his head in shame, nodding in understanding. "Listen, get your ass over there and do what I told you to do...now!" Ryou's mission was clear to him as he made his way through the gaggle of mesh clad boys and pierced girls, brown eyes scanning the area for Bakura's somewhat flamboyant prey.
Target locked.
Taking a deep breathe, Ryou approached the champion, who was in the middle of giving a clumsy brunette her daily lesson. Her legs seemed to melt under her as even the easiest of Light mode songs gave her considerable trouble. Malik had rock solid patience, that he did, as he placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Don't give up, girl. You can do it. Just remember, feel the music." The girl nodded stupidly, engulfed in Malik's immense handsomeness. She left his presence, which left Malik and a rather plain looking, ashen haired boy, so quiet that he barley faltered even as he breathed. The blonde turned and gasped, jumping a bit at the form standing before him.
"Whew!" The blonde chuckled to himself, that same grand smile on his face. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" He let out a soft chuckle before looking down at the disgustingly normal looking boy, no older then twelve he would think; though he was the same age was the tanned one, crisp and young at nineteen. He said nothing did the silent one, as he did nothing more then hold a paper out to Malik, expressionless and unblinking. "What's this?" Malik asked curiously, taking the paper from his hand. His lilac orbs traced over the chicken scratch in dark, thick black letters. It turned out to be one of the old CC forms, created by Duke. (CC, by the way, stood for 'Challenge The Champ')
Name: Bakura
Age: 23
Sex: Please...
Average: AA
Why Challenge The Champ: To kick his ass
Favorite Song: Afronova
Mode: Heavy
Malik's eyes reread the words over for a few moments before lifting his eyes to look curiously at his thought to be opponent.
"Listen, if you wanna challenge me, just say it. It's no bi--" He was interrupted by the shaking of Ryou's head. "Not you?"
Ryou nodded.
"Then, who?"
The ashen haired one lifted his slender finger to point to nothing more then dark amber set in satin darkness. The hazy lights of the arcade caressed the darkness's lean, muscular frame in an eerie, cloudy glow. With soft steps that echoed endlessly through the dusty annals of time, the darkness being slowly drizzled with the dim lights, revealing Malik's next opponent, and if Bakura had his way, his last.
"I challenge you, Malik Ishtar!"
For once, some of the playfulness drained from Malik's face as in a low snarl, he replied, "You're on..."
Clash of the Dance Dance titans. King Vs. Bitter Minion, Champion Bs. Challenger, all the bets are off. They stared each other down, sized each other up, a smirk on the challenger's face. As different as they seemed, great minds do think alike.
He's going down...
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You tried but you never quite carried it out
You only wanted to die in order to show off
And it you think it's gonna bleed all over me
You're even wronger then you'd normally be
"Little Bitch"
::The Specials::
