A/N: Well! This certainly took long enough, didn't it? I'm awful sorry... Heh; but anyway! Here's chp. 8! I'm too tired to remember what all I needed to say, so I'll prolly just come back and add something later. Read and enjoy, everyone!
The Media and the Masses
(In Which Questions are Asked and Seto Sings the Blues)
She put in the disc. She turned out the lights. She started the show.
"I got this from the company that did it," the teacher said happily, "so there might be a few slow moments, or a few awkward film cuts. We're getting a free preview, though, so I don't want anyone to complain!" She put the mandatory stern-face on as she gave them the warning. But just as quickly, she reverted back to sunny smiles. "Here we go!"
xXx
I did not want to do any damned interview. I don't do interviews; I don't do people. Is it truly my fault that the moronic plebeians around me have brains the caliber of kindergartners? I can't help nor hide my brilliance. But, of course, the world wasn't made just to cater to the rich and refined. (God... If only...) Everyday I'm forced to put up with those... those... Fools! Idiots! Really, they simply repulse me. No words in any language are base enough! Well... I suppose my rant– though true– is unwarranted. But I do NOT do interviews.
A tall, thin woman with fine, well-dressed hair and a short, rather tubby man in a suit that nearly didn't fit him stood outside a tall, regal-looking mansion. "You sure this is the place?" she asked in awe. The man nodded. "Wow..." With a smile to the camera, the woman gently pat her hair and then rapped three times on the thick, wooden door.
Almost immediately, the door opened with a soft 'creak' and a head of scruffly black hair popped out into view. "Hey! You must be the interview team, right?" Without waiting for– or expecting– an answer, he ushered them inside. Exchanging curiously appraising glances, noting the expensive decor, they were led to a small, comfortable sitting room.
"Well," the woman said, settling down on the couch. "You must be Mokuba. Where's your brother? May we speak with Mr. Kaiba please?"
Mokuba snorted in laughter. "Yeah, sure, if you want to go get in the shower with him. He's not going to be out for at least another twenty minutes."
"Oh." She thought for a moment and then perked up. Well maybe you can answer some questions for me while we're waiting for him."
Mokuba shrugged. "I guess so; whatever."
I should have known it would be a bad day the moment I woke up. Nothing particularly unpleasant happened then, mind you, but I really just should have known. Things never do seem to go my way. They should, of course, but they rarely do.
I've never been a morning person. Never. And I never will be. I sincerely and severely dislike being forced to crawl out of my warm, extremely comfortable bed to do silly tasks that a man of half my intelligence could be taking care of. But you can't ever trust anyone to do something that you want done right– for quality, I'm usually willing to forego a good night's sleep.
On that day, the day those damn people came with their cameras and their questions, I was particularly worn out. I didn't manage to drag myself out of bed until eight. I decided to have a quick shower before they arrived, and I sent Mokuba down to try and ward them off, should they arrive while I was bathing. Of course, I should have realized that he'd be far more likely to help them than to yell at them to get the hell off of our property. Really, you'd think with me for a sibling the boy would be a bit more of a bastard.
It felt so good there– we have excellent water pressure, and the hot water never runs out. (That could be because the staff knows I'll throw a tantrum if it ever it does, though...) I love the feeling that comes with being clean; it seems so pointless to stay dirty when all one needs is a bit of warm water. Though sometimes even a shower won't wake me up: I must have spent a good five minutes groping around the towel bar before I realized I had left my clothes in my bedroom. I pulled on a towel and prepared to dress and head downstairs. Hopefully the interrogators most unwanted wouldn't have arrived, and I could forage around for a quick meal. As is my luck, that was far from the case.
"So..." the woman said, "do you and your brother have any family, or is it just the two of you?"
Mokuba shrugged. "I'm not really sure. No one took us after our parents died, so if we did– or do– they didn't want us. Seto's the only family I need."
The woman smiled kindly, feeling even more sympathetic towards the adorable young boy. "That sounds lonely, though. Both of you must have a lot of friends."
Mokuba, for some reason, began to grin. "Well Seto certainly hates a fair few people. I get along with the general population much better than he does, but aside from Seto himself there's nobody I'm real close to."
The man spoke up. "What about your brother? He doesn't have any relationships either? Rumor tells, you know."
"Ooh, yes!" The woman brightened more. Give us the juicy stuff. Any girlfriends, boyfriends, lovers?"
Mokuba sent her a mild glare. "That's not really any of my business– or yours. But..." He laughed a little, and the woman leaned forward eagerly. "Seto says he doesn't need any distractions. Um... I've only ever personally met two of them– Seto said the rest were little better than prostitutes. Oh, 'cept he didn't have to pay them."
The woman's eyes went wide in surprise. "Oh... Really now?"
"Well yeah," Mokuba continued. "I mean... Seto's never really gone for intelligence or something that could last. He usually goes for the stereotypical bimbo– believe me, you could probably have better conversations with a door. It was funny; Seto said once that whenever those women were made all the stuff that was supposed to be used for brains went into their, t– erm... chests instead. Like this one girl–"
"Who was it?" the man asked curiously.
"Oh I don't know, some supermodel. Anyway, big brother said she didn't even know how to multiply. Seto was probably exaggerating, but... It was funny. He's actually a really funny guy when he's not all angry. Oh, and there was this one girl– DJ. I got to meet her; she was really nice. She and Seto actually went on a date one time to see some weird show thing. I don't think Seto liked it very much; they didn't go out again."
"Well that's too bad," the woman said, discreetly copying something down in a notebook. "What did you say the woman's name was?"
Mokuba thought for a moment. "Um, I don't really know her real name. Seto just called her DJ, 'cause it stood for something else. Maybe... Well, it was like Janet or something. I don't really know."
The conversation fell into nothing for an awkward moment. The woman cleared her throat and said, "It's been about half-an-hour, don't you think? Maybe we could go up and check on your brother– surely he's not still in the shower."
Mokuba frowned. "I'll bet he went to his office to do something for KaibaCorp. And after he nearly promised me, too." He sighed. "Alright, come on; we'll go barge in on him– make him see the error of his ways. Act interested in his company– he'll be more li'ble to talk to you if you bring something about that up."
The three ascended the stairs, headed for the infamous home office of Seto Kaiba.
Everyone has those days. Those God-awful days. Those Murphy's Law, wish you were dead, never getting out of bed again days. For me, they're rare, but when they happen... My one philosophy comes into play: because if you're going to do something, then you really ought to do it RIGHT. After all, if you don't do give it your best, what's the point in giving any at all?
And that seems to be true for everything. I mean really, why should a day just be bad when instead it can be agonizingly, gut-wrenchingly horrible?
The sight that greeted their eyes was such that nothing has equaled it since. Picture this:
Seto Kaiba...
Towel...
Singing.
Oh yeah; it can happen.
Oh... Fucking hell.
I'm standing in the hallway– of MY house, mind you– in nothing but a rather damp bath towel, and my younger brother has brought two cretins to gawk at me. And–
Well. It appears that they have cameras. The world can share this glorious moment with us all.
Fuck! Damn it, this is beyond inappropriate! And I was... Singing, damn it, I was singing! Ruthless business DO NOT sing! Oh God... They're holding back laughter. This is so humiliating. Someone is going to die.
"Oh... my..." the woman said quietly, her eyes glued to the bright-red young man in front of her.
"I'll be," the man said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.
Squeak. (This was Mokuba... trying for all he was worth not to bust a gut laughing.)
"You must be the interview team," Seto said angrily, pretending he wasn't embarrassed. "I'm dripping on the carpet, so if you don't mind..." They didn't move or speak. He glared. "Alright, though it is in poor taste, I'll put this bluntly: unless you're going to come in there and dress with me– and you're NOT– I suggest you go downstairs and patiently wait for me to put on some proper attire." As an afterthought he added, "Or you could get the hell away from me now and save me the trouble of throwing you out later."
They all turned to go, not at all eager to face the wrath of some a fearsome opponent. Seto noticed Mokuba trying to slink away with them, and promptly grabbed his arm. "Yes big brother?" Mokuba asked, trying for an innocent smile.
Seto just glared. "When they leave... your ass is mine."
Squeak! (Mokuba again... out of nothing less than pure terror.)
Seto pulled on something presentable, and angrily emerged from his room. He wasn't happy.
No... Seto was never happy. But his absolute rage seemed to burn into something so deep and fierce that mere words completely fail to scratch at the surface.
Seto was NOT happy.
"H-hi big brother," Mokuba said hesitantly, trying to resist the urge to cower. Seto wouldn't really hurt his only family, but then there were plenty of sharp objects to do the job for him.
"Well!" the woman interviewer said, clapping her hands together. "Shall we begin?"
They all– especially Mokuba– laughed uproariously. Seto just scowled. "It wasn't that funny."
Near tears and clutching his belly, Mokuba shook his head. "Funny doesn't... doesn't... Doesn't even begin to describe it! Seto– they kicked you out! You're banned from that zoo for life! It's... it's hilarious!"
Seto came as close to pouting as was possible. "Is not."
The woman wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "Oh my. Oh my! You and your brother certainly have an interesting life, don't you Mokuba?" The still-chuckling boy nodded. "I think that they've gotten it wrong– it seems like you take care of him."
His bubbly laughter subsiding, Mokuba nodded enthusiastically, his eyes bright. "I've been trying to get people to realize that for years!" He crossed his arms in a show of mock-authority. "I just don't know where Seto would be if I wasn't here to keep him in line."
"Hey," Seto said in a soft rebuke, "I do Ok most of the time, don't I?" Mokuba shrugged in an almost-yes– Seto ruffled his mop of hair, and the brothers laughed together.
"You did everything, Seto," Mokuba said. "Although... Well, it came at a way too high price, but I'm happy and I know that's what you worry about. We just have to work on you!"
"Too high a price?" the man asked. "Embezzlement? Fraud? How exactly did you become so wealthy? Did you have anything to do with the death of the previous Kaiba?"
"You can't ask that!" the woman shrieked, smacking the man's balding head. "How can anyone be that tactless?"
"Yeah!" Mokuba said, standing up. "My brother worked hard to build up what he has! Gozaburo did nothing for him– and Seto would never kill anybody, not even Yugi! We... We deserve this! You don't know how hard it was for Seto; you never had to gothroughall the terrible stuff he did. He saved me! Gozaburo be–"
Seto put a hand on his shoulder. "Mokuba. I think that's enough."
The woman nodded. "Alright. Thank you for your time." She bowed politely, and drug the man and camera man out of the mansion.
"Well..." Mokuba said, upon their departure, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Just so you know... Your coffin's being made."
SQUEAK!
End A/N: (dies) Agh! Well there you go; another worthless piece of nothing. Ugh. This turned out nothing like I had planned. I'm very disappointed. Hopefully, when I don't hate it so much, I can come back and fix a few things. Please review-- I'd really appreciate it.
ILB
