3rd Person P.O.V.

Mako's apartment was adorned with a cheap brown couch and a cheap blue couch, a TV that had Satellite, and a few lamps twisted like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. The kitchen was connected to the funny bone—I mean the living room. Splitting off from the living room was a dark hallway, where one could reach the bathroom, (where you could use the John while having a dead fish stare at you from a plaque) the bedroom (where a plush fish could be found next to a teddy bear), and another room… a trophy room, filled with fishing trophy after fishing trophy. There were also several fishing shows recorded on VHS in a stack in the corner. Now that's just sad.

But who cares? Time for what Bakura has to say! Wooooooooo wave your hands in the aiiiiiiir! Like ya jus' don' caaaaaaaare! Ungh! Ungh! …Ok, I'll stop that now.

And now, for our feature P.O.V.:

What the heck is with all the fish1!1111!

Fred dragged me two blocks down the street, into a dingy-looking apartment building. Then I climbed three flights of stairs while Fred helped by grabbing my arms and practically carrying me. All the while, I left a nice trail of red clues for any homicide investigators to… investigate, like they're supposed to. After all, this Fred guy is pretty pushy. I bet some prison time could fix that.

His apartment is filled with fish. Not live fishes in aquariums, but gutted trophy fish preserved and staring and glossy-eyed and scaly and creepy and dead. Fred has really loused up the interior decoration with all of these… dead things. Not that I don't like dead things, but usually, I gouge out their eyes. Maybe he wants people to know they're fresh; I've heard you can tell by their eyes.

Mako seems really proud of all these fish, though. He has some harpoons on plaques right above his TV! He should be proud of those! Sharp, stabby-stabby things! Hoorah! …Boy I feel light-headed.

Fred pulls out a futon for me and tells me to lie down. He gets out plenty of bandages and then comes over and tells me that I need to take off my pants. I'm like, "I don't think so." So he sighs and tells me to roll up my pant leg. I don't know why my leg is bleeding, since I got hit in the head, anyway… Oh yeah. I scraped my knees. But I mean, geez? Are the darn things falling off? Why are they bleeding so much? And what kind of PG story has this much blood? Man…

So I roll up my pants leg. Why Fred works on my leg, I look at his hair. It's dark-colored and pointy. It looks like a wig. :-D I bet it is! So I tug on it.

"OW!" Fred grabs his head. "Don't do that!"

"I'll do what I want, Fred!"

Fred stands up. "My name is Mako Tsunami," he says proudly. "I am not Fred. Do not call me Fred."

"…What kind of a last name is Tsunami, Fred?"

Fred sweat drops. "A dumb dub name," he confesses.

I am so glad my host didn't get a dub name. Seeing as how much of a girl he is, they'd probably give him some kind of softy Toontown name, like Ginger Gigglefidget Cream Puff Daddy. … Yeah. Something like that. I'll just let that joke sink in for awhile…

Cream Puff Daddy. Snort. –I did not just narrate my snort, I swear! -.- Why did I only bring a pen wth me outt hear?

"So…" Fred looks at me with some concern. "Let me just finish putting these bandages on you, and then I'll get you some food and drink, ok?"

"Sure," I say. I add, silently, that of course I deserved food since this guy is really my kidnapper!

"I didn't kidnap you!"

Ok, so maybe I added it not-so-silently.

"Look, just stay still. Then I'll feed you."

"…What kind of food?" I ask. Fred runs one hand through his dark, clown-style hair. And he kneels there, thinking about what he's going to feed me after he fixes me up—meanwhile, don't mind me I'm just bleeding to death while sitting on your white carpet. SOMETHING SMELLS FISHY HERE BESIDES YOU—and all of the fish.

"…This carpet is quite nice" I say in an attempt to intercede this fishbrain's mindless thoughts. It works; I see a flicker of, y'know, rational thinking stuff in his eyes. "Shame what I'm about to do to it."

The flicker grows into a flame. "What do you mean?" Fred inquires, perturbed. I point to my knees. A droplet of red liquid is rolling off to the side of the small pool of blood resting on my right knee. It oozes ever so slowly and ever so dramatically downward…

"Noooooo!"

O.O I have never seen someone grab a paper towel so fast. That droplet never stood a chance!

"Must—save—carpet—" Then why did he set me down here? Mako dredges multitudes of paper towels in what I call my knee-puddles. (Hey, it's not a funnier word than knickerbockers.)

"Make sure he uses some anti-septic," Ryou reminds me. I didn't know my host didn't like Jews. "I said anti-septic!" Ryou exclaims exasperatedly. Oh.

"Make sure to use anti-septic," I repeat. Fred nods. I lean back.

"Lean back," Ryou thinks, "lean back, lean back, lean back."

Gaspeth! Is Ryou reciting da Rap? In my mind? That's awful. MAKE IT STOP!

"I stopped quite some time ago," Ryou says to me.

Oh.

"Mako's staring at you. You were speaking out loud."

"I'm speaking out loud?"

"Uh, yeah you are," Fred claims, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Oh again.

…Why am I an embarrassment! Fred looks at me oddly.

"So… uhm… what kind of food?" I ask again.

Fred/Mako looks at me. "How 'bout fish?" he suggests lightly, as if maybe all of the fish is going to be too much for me.

"Sure."

"Who's 'Ryou' and what's wrong with him?"

"Wha?"

Mako stands up. "You said something about Ryou reciting some rap music. Who is he?"

"Oh… he's…" I think fast. "He's my ex-wife."

"What?" Mako looks at me very oddly.

"WHAT!" Ryou screams.

"Just kidding," I correct suavely, "he's actually my brother."

"Um…"

Thinking fast again, I add, "I sometimes get those words confused."