Please Leave a Message
Chapter Seventeen
Tristan stared at the wall, trying desperately to think like Joey and decide who Joey might decide that Tristan might decide that Joey might decide that Tristan might decide that Joey did not call. Unfortunately, it gave him a headache greater than Joey's and he promptly gave up.
Tristan hit his head against the side of the phonebook (with which he was on better terms with than Joey with his), which was therefore knocked onto the floor. It lay on the ground in all of its glory, proclaiming the words "Espa Roba". Tristan eyed the phonebook. The phonebook tried to eye Tristan, but lacked the eyes to do so.
Why not?
He picked up the phone, craned over to see the numbers, and sent up a prayer. Not that he was the religious type, but it was better to have back-up plans... just in case.
The phone rang once... twice... three times...
And just as all hope was lost...
"Hi, Tristan." Tristan almost fainted.
"Espa! Are you really there?" he asked excitedly.
"Weeell…if you're looking at it technically, then yes. However, spiritually, my mind is in the ethereal world, seeking answers to those deep, unanswerable questions."
"Right. So I was wondering if-"
"Something about a phone number?" Espa cut in.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"
"I'm psychic, didn't you hear already? Anyways, I can divine the number for you if you'd like."
"YES! I mean, um, sure." Tristan grinned happily, scribbling down the number Espa rattled off. Hahahaha. He one-upped Joey this time around. Take that, dogface.
Tristan hung up the phone, an expression of evil glee marring his face.
He dialed the number eagerly, waiting expectantly to hear Serenity's sweet voice on the other end. The phone rang once.
The phone rang twice.
It rang a third time, and Tristan felt his heart sink. Then at another thought, he brightened. At least he had the number now.
Unfortunately, for him, it was the answering machine that picked up. Even more unfortunate was the fact that the voice inno waycould have ever belonged to Serenity. Unless she was having a bad cold and was currently being mind-controlled. Doubtful.
He got Marik's fifth answering machine message.
"You again? Well, I have escaped the danger of the scythe and am currently braving yet another game of life and death and 156 regular playing cards...I didn't even rig the deck this time around, not that it would have mattered. Most difficult to play, Mao. How to play, you ask? Can't tell. No, I'm not trying to be a jerk...that's just the rules...wait...Reaper, I didn't break the rule...don't fine me a card...Drat. Said too much. Fine. Have a nice day."
Bakura could then be heard saying 'have a very nice day', followed by the Reaper saying 'have a very, very nice day'. "Have a very, very, very nice day." Marek continued.
Bakura, again, could be heard saying 'have a very, very, very, very nice day', followed by the Reaper with 'have a very, very, very, very, very nice day'.
Marik sounded smug when he announced, "Have a very, very, very, very, very, very nice day. Wow. I'd hate to take that nice day."
Bakuratacked on yet another very. So did the Reaper.
"CRAP." Tristan could hear adeep inhale, followed by a deep exhale.
"Thank you for the very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very nice day. I take the petty nine cards. And the fine for calling them petty. I'll get you back, Reaper, just you wait. And the fine for threatening Mao. And the fine for saying Mao's name...twice. I'll just shut up now..."
A click, followed by a beep, during which Tristan could hear lots of swearing accompanied by maniacal laughter.
Stupid Espa Roba. Stupid Marik. Stupid Joey. Stupid, stupid day.
End Chapter Seventeen