Ch. 3

Of Rain and Selling Your Soul


Kaiba had stopped working. He was listening to the rain.

It was some time around 7 o'clock, he guessed, but it was too dark to see anything, much less the clock in his office; the glow of the computer didn't penetrate even a centimeter beyond its surface into the night. And his inner clock had a margin of error that spanned about three hours, so he really had no idea what time it was. Anyhow, about half-an-hour ago (more or less) came the great clattering of what sounded like a thousand sweaty rhinoceroses charging from the building amidst choruses of 'Thank God it's Friday!', leaving the place in silence until the weekend was over, when the temporarily freed buffoons from the hectic zoo Seto sometimes thought he was running would return reluctantly amid groans of 'Goddamn it's Monday'. The only people working in the offices during the in-between time were himself, one or two employees with deadlines to meet, and his security staff, of whom at least one walked around sucking on hard candy and leaving the wrappers lying behind the odd potted plant.

Today however, the rain made it sound like his workers hadn't been so eager to leave. The falling liquid pattering endlessly against the roof and windows was the sound of the hundreds upon thousands of moving keyboards, voices all merged into one chaotic thunder. The occasional screech of a skidding car was the yawn and creaky stretch of somebody who'd just finished an assignment and was enjoying a brief lapse before they were loaded with more work. The rush of planes ascending leisurely from the nearby airport were the whoosh of elevators as they went up and down and up and down; an endless cycle of repetition lived in vertical shafts and numbered, light-up buttons, chipped black paint slowly peeling away.

The fact that he had an entire ghost labor force on his hands right now amused Kaiba and comforted him at the same time, enough so that he didn't feel he was abandoning a somewhat time-consuming pet when he decided to leave for home earlier than normal. Mokuba would be happy, no doubt, and he might be able to sleep in peace with the fact that his over-active imagination was watching over his life's accomplishment. Not that it couldn't take care of itself, of course, he'd made sure of that. But still.

The CEO stood and caught a yawn in the middle of his throat before descending through the deserted hallways of the building. Everything was empty, quiet, and dark–it was a nice contrast to the bright lights and fumbling employees who usually yelped, tripped, and ran into something upon seeing his shadow.

Seto entered the garage and walked towards his limo, feeling slight amusement as he watched his chauffeur hastily swung his feet off the dash and threw the racy magazine he'd been looking at into the glove compartment when he saw his master approaching. Scrambling awkwardly, he just managed to jump out of the limo in time to open the door for his boss. The boy reclined in the back seat comfortably. Today had been relatively productive, and he felt reasonably content.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked, buckling his seatbelt and beginning to regain his nerves from the sight of his employer's unexpected and early appearance.

"Where do you think Kent, the candy store?" Kaiba replied. Aramaki Kenta peered over his shoulder to see the brunette smirking as he leaned back with closed eyes. He turned frontward and gritted his teeth–usually when an employer new all his staffs' names and referred to them by them, it was a sign of friendliness and a refreshing un-assholiness. But Kenta new from long experience that this kid just liked being able to single out his servants and torment them. Seriously. 'Kent'.

But he still had to put up with it. "Home, sir?"

"You're growing brighter by the minute, Kenty." And the man wondered why so many servants had attempted assassination. Kenta wondered vainly why he'd ever accepted this job as he pulled out of the lot.

Seto grinned. He didn't usually pick on his personal staff like this (depending on your definition of 'usually'), but Aramaki was so like Jounouchi it was funny. He could imagine the chauffeur's reaction to him if he wasn't in his service. It would probably be blind fury. The brunette's mind wandered to what it would be like if he had the mutt working for him too, unable to resist degrading remarks for fear of being fired. It would be hilarious to hear Jou call him 'sir'…

Then he remembered the look on Jou's face at lunch, and his good mood evaporated. He scowled as the unfamiliar knotted feeling took hold of his stomach again.

He prevented himself from growling; he was not a hypocrite. He was not feeling even the faintest signs of sympathy. And he did not care about that damned dog.


Jou leaned against the rough bark of one of the trees adding to the scenery of the picturesque bridge that connected Domino's quaint town shopping center to the scenic park over the river, feeling numb. Though it looked like a charming but unnecessary structure, the bridge actually spanned a deep, fast river. The blonde considered jumping in, but quickly discarded the plan; it was just an idle fancy. He could never do something like that.

Instead, Jounouchi watched his father through hooded eyes. It was too dark and wet to see anything but his shape. He could see the figure tugging at his hair, itching his nose. Occasionally he would stand up and twist around, searching, before sitting back down again and taking refuge from the rain in the bus shelter in front of the coffee shop. Katsuya had lived with the man all his life; he could tell he was nervous. That was bad; his father viewed getting drunk as a cure for nerves.

Finally, Jou stuffed his apprehension and cautiously walked forward to meet his Dad. As soon as the man saw him, he jumped up, overwhelmingly relieved, and crushed his son in a back-breaking hug.

Jounouchi Sr. was very capable of giving back-breaking hugs. He'd used to play football for his high school, before getting kicked off the team because he'd been caught with alcohol too many times. He was easily just as tall, maybe taller, than Kaiba, with brawny features and uncombed, sandy hair a shade or two lighter than his son's. Like Jou, his wardrobe was made up of old, ill-fitting clothes. The boy thought that their scraggly appearance didn't mesh very well with the endearing, family owned shops that lined the streets. If he remembered correctly, Yugi and his family lived here above their game shop, though more out of the thick of things. Most of the shops' lights were out; he'd been very slow in coming.

"Ya' scalawag!" Ichiro exclaimed. "I've been waitin' hours! Ya' tryin' to give yer old man the slip?" He grinned.

Like always, his father's voice made any ill feelings Katsuya had about him dissipate. He wasn't a bad man, really, he just drank a little too much. And he seemed pretty sober right now. "Course not," he laughed. "Just think a' the trouble you'd get into without me!"

The elder of the pair grinned again, and released his son. "M' glad yer here, anyways. Been gettin' lonely."

"Mm," Jou agreed, suddenly reminded of the situation at hand. "Uh, Dad?" he asked. "What're we gonna do?"

"What are 'ya talkin' about? We'll be fine! We just gotta make some loose ends' meet, is all!" The older man's face had taken on a darker cast. The blonde stopped himself from flinching. Ichiro was not one for dealing with problems; mostly he chose to ignore them. Back in high school, when his father (Jou's grandfather) had abandoned their family and his mother had started giving him a hard time, drinking had helped him do that. For a brief period after meeting Jou's mother he had started getting help and they were happily married. But when their relationship had started hitting some crags, he'd gone back to his old way of dealing with life, which only made things worse. Finally, Katsuya's mom left, taking his sister with her, leaving him with a defective father who had a dangerous habit of ignoring reality.

"Dun' worry, it won't be hard," he said assuredly. Jounouchi noticed he'd started to sweat. "We're just gonna get rid of some old crap we don't need, 'kay?"

"'Kay," the boy said cautiously, watching his dad fish around in the two trash bags that held all their possessions.

"Here," he said, handing some stuff to his son. "These first. There's a card shop I saw, Turtle shop or somethin', you can sell 'em there. I'm gonna take this stuff to a little pawnshop I saw in that direction–"

Jou didn't hear the rest of the sentence. He was staring at the familiar objects his father had placed in his hand so nonchalantly. It was his duel deck, and disk, along with some other dueling accessories given to him by his friends. Oh no, he thought, oh no, no, no, no no.

"I can't sell these," he said abruptly.

Ichiro looked up. "What d'ya mean, you can't sell 'em?"

"I can't," Jou repeated. "Don't ask me to, because I can't." He didn't know what was happening to him. He felt so numb and separate from the whole situation. This was his life right here. The first time he met Yugi. The first lessons Grandpa had given him, setting the pathway for his entire game. The time he'd jumped off a cruise ship after Yugi's cards. Meeting Mai. Winning his Red Eyes. Defeating Bandit Keith. And then witnessing Kaiba's human side, and then his sister's operation, and then being humiliated by Otogi, and then meeting Malik, and the Battle City finals, and then his friendship duel with Yugi, and… everything. It was all here. His whole life. And his Dad wanted him to sell it?

But Ichiro was oblivious. "That's bull. Yer sixteen years old, why don't ya' start actin' like it?"

"But I've won money with dueling!" the blonde cried desperately, choosing to ignore the fact that it was actually Yugi who'd done that. "I got three mil, once. I could do it again. Dad, you can't–"

"Three million, ya' say? Well I never saw it. Face it Jou, this whole thing is just a fad, and yer to caught up in it to realize it. I dun' know why I didn't stop this before, it's just a waste a' time…"

"Dad…" the blonde whispered pleadingly.

"No, don't start. Git on out a' here, and grow up. Unless you think games are more important than havin' a house to live in, a' course…"

For a short second, the blonde stared uncomprehendingly at his grumbling father, then turned down the street and walked slowly onwards, as if to his own funeral. What'd I do? he wondered numbly. What'd I do?


Oh wow. Sadnesses upon sadnesses. What will happen next?

Oh, right the accomplice knows. Because the accomplice is writing the story. Tee hee.

(note: the accomplice is choosing not to capitalize hereself because the accomplice is having some self-esteem issues. Feel bad.)

the accomplice thanks seto'swifey for reviewing. What willl happen to your poor Jou indeed! the accomplice apologizes, it gets no better.

Lady Psychic, once again you have awed the accomplice with that word. Shall. So awsome. And it wasn't soon, butthe accomplicedid update. And it was fairly long. For the accomplice. Anyway, the accomplice will try for speed next time.

FanFicFanGurl101: Wow, that was a mouthful. Keyboard full. Whatever. Once again, it wasn't soon, but the accomplice tries.

Lady Laran:the accomplice feels that it is in Kaiba's nature to be mean, at least in this story. the accomplice may well right one in which he's a big softy. That's the thing with Kaiba, he masks his true personality, so you only have hints at what he's really like. So the author is free to play with his personality. That's why writing him is so fun.As for Jou's friends, the accomplice hasn't quite figured out how the accomplice will incorporate them, though she knows she needs to because there a big part of Jou's life. If you've got any ideas of that...

Anyway. So yeah, the accomplice is done. For now. the accomplice shall be updating as soon as time will allow. So goodbye. And review, please! the accomplice enjoys your thoughts.