"Paths, once crossed, remain crossed."
The Watcher King, Act One
Scene Two: The Open Road
In the months following their return, he would never know if he had been relieved or terrified when they realised that the place was empty, with a light coating of dust like the familiar gold box gaping and dark on the bed, its pictures and tokens in shreds. But passing by in the halls between classes or catching glimpses around town he would be struck by both how much and how little the other had changed.
By the time those fleeting glances finally ended and the young man disappeared entirely from them, he had begun to wonder if, just maybe, if those distant past and prophecies came to be if it would be no one's fault but their own.
The celebrated west coast, he decided, was overrated.
Yes, the arts were heralded. Yes, the scenery often bordered on divine. Yes, the surfing was amazing and no, he had not yet tasted a better halibut. And yes, the sea was as wide as the people were left-leaning.
And the neighbours were dicks. And half the great cities gleamed while half rotted. And in the north it never stopped raining, while in the south it never started until it did, and then it came by the bucket. And it was predictable.
Domino had never been predictable. Never mind the actual happenings: suffering from the combination of shore-effect and valley conditions, the day the weatherman was right was cause for real celebration. The usual day could call for sun but then require an umbrella – and possibly a parka – stowed about one's person, not an easy feat for anyone visiting and he missed it the way a netted fish misses water.
Which was probably the depression talking, but there wasn't much he could do about that right now. This would be home. He hadn't fought for all those scholarships just to turn tail and run, especially not back to the place which had hurt him. He needed that the way he needed to be hit by a car. And what way was that to repay the Kaiba's who'd helped him so, raised his spirits, going so far as to fly him here and stay with him for a full two months before classes were to start?
Poor thanks indeed.
But today he was on his own. Ryou had left three days prior to prepare for his own freshman year across the pond in England, Kaiba was off with work, and Mokuba was with a tutor. So he, Yugi, was left to his own devices. He wandered down to the board walk where he now sat (in the rain, thank you very much) wondering what to do with himself. His friends had kept him so busy that even when he wasn't getting ready for the fast-coming semester he'd had no time left to himself, for which he thanked them. The less time he had to think about it right now the better. Not yet time. But what to do now?
He watched people pass by overhead, umbrellas bobbing like deranged fireflies in the flickering street lights. He didn't really want to move – at least it was dry under the pier – but the rain wouldn't let up for at least a few hours, and this was no place to spend a day, what with the sights and sounds and smells of sea lions wafting over him. One caught his eye, darting by the dock, a graceful behemoth under the glassy surface. (Elegant sea cow. Ha!) But then he saw something else, and he wondered.
Maybe he did have something to do.
The house was a large gate and stone affair, but not gaudy. Spare but tasteful and cosy, not spartan, not at all what the people he'd once known would have thought of coming from Seto Kaiba. He padded across the entry seeking the towel he knew Roland had left for him, bless the man. Finding it, he straightened and shouted his hellos to the household.
"Yugi!" The cry rolled to him from some distant corner, followed by the rapidly nearing thunder of the child's footsteps
"Hey, Mookie!"
The young voice drew near: "Where were you? We were worried! You've been gone all day! And don't call me that! And why wasn't your phone on? And - " A ball of black and red filled his vision just before he hit the floor, "And... What happened to your hair?"
A small laugh.
"Hello to you too."
When he'd started high school, a year early and on accelerated courses, this tiny thing with childlike countenance and no appetite for violence, at a school in a bad neighbourhood, he had rightly guessed his status as a punching bag. But, like many youths his age, he had been deluded into thinking that he too could look tough. He was mistaken. He'd dyed his hair and invested in leather and studs. He'd bought magazines and tried things that the kids in high school who didn't live in game shops were doing and seeing and buying. And he'd tried to fit in.
He'd failed spectacularly.
He'd abandoned most of his new accoutrements quickly, with no interest or reason to keep them, but he'd found he rather liked the leather, and had grown fond of the new hair style.
He doubted anyone except Solomon (and maybe the elderly couple next door) remembered his actual hair colour.
Which explained the looks he was getting for showing up with cropped, ungelled and wavy deep auburn hair, shot through with blond. His infamous fringe was in fact, natural, and so survive the massacre, while the rest was now just a marker at the side of the road, pushed aside by a crisis of faith and a particularly violent and complicit stylist.
It was strange. It was different. So like him. So unlike him.
It was worth it just for the look on Seto's face.
The man in the door composed himself and scanned the teen on the ground, sharp blue missing no detail. And dismissed with a glance.
"It suits you."
And that was more than he could have hoped for.
He felt like he was in a Halls tm tube, not crossing the wide central plaza heading to residence.
Damn eucalyptus trees, growing like weeds.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about getting a cold while he was here.
The fog was thick that afternoon over the city, hiding the mountain tops and spilling into the adjacent valleys – the top floors of the larger dorms disappeared from view. His own residence, appearing around the corner, was more 'condominium on the beach' than apartment tower, and the clouds drifted mere meters from the blue slated roofs.
Inside did very little to dissuade the beach house image. It was... white. His floor housed three single rooms and one double, each with their own little bathrooms, and a shared kitchen and living space, while the floor below had three doubles with their own kitchen and lounge. The few people already there peered out of these in fear and awe as Yugi passed with his entourage of Kaibas and attendant Kaiba staff.
"You know, they aren't going to eat me," he laughed back at Seto, who laid the cowering student body with life threatening glowers as he carried Yugi's duffle in, complete with SpongeBob and Dark Magician identifier tags.
Mokuba squeezed by his brother and ran up the stairs, bed-in-a-bag in hand, "You never know Yuug! After all, even I'm bigger than you are!"
"I resent that!"
Momentarily there came the sound of a short scuffle upstairs, of which there was curiously little evidence when Seto reached the landing. Mokuba had found Yugi's new room and both were suddenly distracted by inspecting it. It was, oddly enough, a light bluish-green. (A friend would later call it cucumber, not that they really cared, being teenage boys.) Shelves and a desk were built into one wall, complete with holes for wires. There were two doors leading off the entrance – one a micro-closet, the other a small bath. A simple bed and dresser occupied the remaining walls leaving just enough room for more shelves or a chest, or, if Yugi had his way, a bean bag. And plenty of room to move besides.
Yugi took a stance: "Well it's more than I had at the Game Shop. I'd say it's home." And with that he dumped his bags on the floor and draped over the bed.
An hour later saw him nearly unpacked ("Oh, look, they gave me bins!" "You're such a girl, Mutou") and watching as Seto deciphered the local network for him, a game of mancala open on the floor.
"So that's it? But that made sense!"
"So why are you complaining?"
"I'm not."
"Then be quiet." Seto sighed and leaned back. The chair creaked. He was glad he'd listened to the squirt and left his coat. They'd felt the heat move in after they reached the residence, burning off the heavy fogs. The skies were clear now. "Thousands of people use the networks daily. It has to be simple or someone will complain."
"I know, it's just-"
"They'll catch you somewhere else, I'm sure."
The boy groaned and flopped against his new sheets.
Kaiba started for the door just as a bodyguard in MIB apparel appeared.
"Going already?" Wide eyes faltered. Just for a moment. And then worry. "I haven't kept you, have I?"
The CEO waved him off. "Relax, Motou. Nothing is going to happen without me. But someone needs to meet his tutor."
"Aw, Seto!"
Yugi sniggered softly behind his hand.
"We'll be in town for a little longer. We'll see you Motou."
A suit arrived: "Master Kaiba, your ride is waiting."
Seto gave a crisp nod and faced back to Yugi, flipping something to the boy. "This is yours. If anything happens, call me first." With that, he strode to the door, missing Yugi's widening eyes and startled cry.
"But Seto-"
Mokuba leaned in for a quick hug knocking the air out of him and gave a whispered "No buts." He snitched the phone. "We're already in it, see? And we're your I.C.E. so no worries! We'll take care of you!" He struck a pose. "And you're going to the tournament with us right?" Seeing the shaky nod he tossed back the cell, "Alight. See you, Yugi!"
The energetic boy drove down the stairs, leaving Yugi dazed and confused – and a little winded.
He watched the car; nondescript and black, it pulled away from the building, a second car, backup, following at a discrete distance. His eyes trailed out the window until the motorcade was well out of sight down the road. He sat then, playing with his new phone, trying to distract himself from the growing tightness in his chest.
He'd be a fool to say he wasn't scared. He'd always been attached to the familiar people and places and things in his life, and he'd left almost everything behind when he left Domino after exams. He had not even waited for the graduation ceremony. It had already been over for him there long before then. No rambunctious Téa to cheer him, or Joey to joke with. No spirit to lean on. No family left to speak of. It seemed he was the last of all of them to finally release their once cherished bonds, and that done he'd left, looking for a new start. What little he'd had that he cherished had come with him, the friends he still had only a phone call away. He would walk this path hoping to find the life and the freedom he needed.
It was a lot to ask for, and he knew it. It scared him.
Although possibly not quite so much as the faces in his door had been.
Three heads leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.
"Dude, are they gone? Those suits are freaky."
A.N. I've invented a university in California, Schiaparelli College, named for Egyptologist Ernesto Schiaparelli and his father paleographer Luigi Schiaparelli, since as a rule I try not to use things I don't know about, and if I've written about something I don't know I'll say so. If anyone sees something incorrect in the details (or spelling) just say so and I'll see what I can do.
I'm putting Domino in North America (think Niagara, Toronto, or New York).
Schiaparelli College (SC) is a very prestigious school in Santa Cruz (who doesn't love Santa Cruz? Boardwalk!) which is devoted to history and the arts, and is a hot spot for archaeological pursuits. Yugi worked his tush off to get there, and won a huge scholarship – a single room in one of the nicest residences is part of the package. I've given the Kaibas a home in the same area – it does double duty since it is prime vacation area and it's near Silicon Valley.
Yugi's condo is higher end – privacy and technology and such. They're doled out on scholarships (earned the right to study in peace) and those rich enough to afford it, with priority given to scholarships. As such they're co-ed.
Mancala – A "count-and-capture" game with many variations.
I.C.E. = In Case of Emergency (not hard to figure out, but I didn't know till I saw it on my mom's cell...)