Mystic Muses: Em-hotep, khenmes-ii, khenemset-ii, er Pir ne "Muse"! Welcome, friends, to the House of Muse! My Egyptian grammar is next to nill!

Marik: "Muse" is not an Egyptian word, fool!

MM, ducking a whack from the Millennium Rod: That's why there're QUOTES around it!

Marik, chasing MM with a toy dagger: Mystic Muses don't own Yugi-Oh but do own this excuse for creativity that they deem is fit to be a story!

Chapter 4

Whimsical Waves

"Come ON!"

Burrowing his fingers into the fledgling crack threatening to snap its jaws closed, Marik Ishtar wrestled against the uncompromising lid. A lone corner from a plastic bag stuck out its tongue, jeering at him as Andromeda watched patiently, waiting for the rescue of her purchases. The hinges croaked in amusement as Marik's face brewed a violent rose, his knuckles turning white as he shook the thing back and forth. The catch rattled, still clenching its teeth tight.

"FINE!" Taking two steps back and rubbing the seething lines of pink temporarily scarred across his prying fingertips, the boy cast his most despotic smile at his unoffending motorcycle, eyes gleaming with malice and hatred at his formerly beloved vehicle. Pivoting in a smooth curve, he wrapped one arm around Andromeda's relaxed shoulders. Tilting her head, she gazed into his merry lavender eyes, the upset frown furrowing her brows reminding him to not shove his motorcycle into sea with her new clothes still trapped inside, though it would make a fine spray, complete with screams from a desperate engine.

"Don't worry, Andromeda," he murmured, squeezing her shoulder and giving a glance at the yacht that had returned for its second load of passengers. "Go on the yacht and pour yourself some juice. I have an insane driver, so be careful not to make it too full." Coughing lightly to suggest that she didn't have the wits to remember this piece of sage advice, he cast a smile brighter than a chandelier's upon her. The zephyrs tousled her hair, leaving one strand to cling to the cloth that covered her collar. Her smooth hand dwelt at her slender waist as her foot tapped out a chant of annoyance at him.

"What, you going to have your employee return everything that I bought to the mall?" she asked, a sliver of hurt sliding over her tone. She caught a glimpse of the leviathan sea, encased by a spherical sky that bled, showering the earth with scarlet snowflakes. The wind kissed the ocean, its curious hand ruffling the watery hair up into thousands of rippling wavelets. An albatross lifted up, a blot of ink against the remote sky, its sharp eye scanning the yawning abyss of fluid below for a sign of food and sustenance. The trees along the road shook their heads as Marik paled mockingly in horror at Andromeda's words.

"Oh my! Living without new cloths? The pain is so unbearable!" Smirking at the evil light dawning in Andromeda's scheming eyes, he added, "See, you are so overweight that when you sat on the lid of the storage unit on the motorcycle, the lid jammed!" he explained happily, catching her elbow as it aimed itself at his ribs. "I'll bring the motorcycle in and join you, okay?" His hand carelessly ruffled her full russet locks, leaving her to blow it out of her eyes.

For a second, the sun-kissed teen stood still as marble upon the concrete, watching her retreating form stalk down the pier, aiming its violent toes at random pieces of gravel. A few leaves, yellow and withered with age, floated past in absolute tranquility. Sighing, he closed his eyes, savoring the negative image carved upon the back of his eyelids. Gripping his golden Millennium item tightly as it suddenly appeared to dangle from his belt, he held his breath. Momentarily, the earth stopped in its spin and time halted in its perpetual tracks, so that his mind could grasp reality. So that the falling leaves may rest in midair, like a star in the light of the sun—waiting to be found out.

With a screech, the wheels of Time groaned back into action. In two steps, he stood beside his motorcycle, fingers running under the smooth leather seat. His keen eyes darted around the apparently empty dock, searching for a whisper of someone else. Gently, his thumb pressed down upon the knob by the hinge, and the lid-seat popped up without protest. He quickly lifted out the mall bags, dumping them in a trash heap upon the ground. He reached in again when Andromeda's things lay on the dock, fingers searching for another item. The warm, parched edge of an envelope met his touch. Drawing it quickly out, he checked the address and walked toward the gleaming warehouse.

Robed in shadows, the gaunt figure quickly sprinted down the street, hidden in darkness by the shade of taller buildings. Scanning the address in dripping violet penned in perfect cursive that reminded him of ancient hieratic, the Rare Hunter narrowed the eyes hidden beneath his hood, searching for the correct house. A grin flitted across his face as his eyes rested upon one. Gliding up like a ghost, he skipped onto the roof by a little boy's bedroom window. Curled into an unnoticeable pinprick, he tucked the letter into a pocket and waited.

As the yacht skipped upon the waves and the sun succumbed to the tug of the horizon, Andromeda glanced up from the couch to see Marik in the doorway, each finger looped through the handles of a bag.

"I really ought to return these," he drawled, barking a short laugh and stalking in while peeking into one of his shackle-sized sacks. With the sunset gone and the window a plain sheet of indigo, the orphaned girl bounced up to him, hands outstretched for her precious bags like a child at Christmas.

With a sudden flex of arms, the bags shot up to the ceiling, swinging wildly as the boat continued its rocking passage.

"What the—" Jumping up, Andromeda's hands snatched at the treasures that now laughed down at her, far from her reach.

"I'll just pick out the items for Derek and leave the rest with the yacht captain. He'll return everything tomorrow." Bumping Andromeda out of the way, he stalked into the room, leaving her to jump at him in vain. She stood a head shorter than him, and didn't fair much better on tip toe, especially as the sea punished the boat for its intrusion with extra swings of its fluid fists. Turning around with a sudden teasing smile lighting up his face, he lowered the bags.

Leaping forward, her fingers scraped a plastic bottom just as his arm pulled back, leaving her to stumble forward with eyes held wide.

"OWW!"

Hopping on one foot, she danced away from the coffee table, clutching her soaked and bruised knee as the pool of orange juice trickled onto the wooden floor. The pain soared up like a disturbed dragon, fangs tearing at her tendons. Growling, she sank onto her rump, picking up a napkin to dry out the trails of dark wetness licking at her pants and legs.

"Oh, Andry! I didn't know that you were so easily distracted." Backing off, he took a dangerous step toward the porthole. "If you give up, then out all these go…"

With a smirk, Andromeda climbed to her feet. Something in her hardened at the challenge, twisting to be let free at the look of arrogance clouding the Egyptian's vision. "And you'll be wasting all that money…"

"Ah, but the moan of pain from you would be priceless." Vipers suddenly danced in his eyes again, rising up in an ecstatic frenzy as her face paled, then reddened. "Come and get them, if you really care."

Sparks flew out from her scintillating face as the demoness fully awakened from its recent slumber. "Why, you little…"

A blur of russet and tan shot across the cabin. Marik felt the air flee from his exploding lungs. The rug disappeared from under his feet and the doorway vanished. A paralyzing shock ran up his spine, devouring his senses with a monstrous appetite. A warm bundle stayed glued to his chest and the bags pinned his hands to the ground. Screeching in shock, the boat shuddered its flanks, jolting his already stunned bones.

"What the hell!" Curling one stinging leg, he released his death grip upon the bags. Immediately, the heavy warmth trying to throttle his breath departed. He sucked in fresh air and sat up, rubbing his shoulder blades as they chastised him with waves of numbness.

"Don't mess with me, Marik!"

Opening one eye as the back of his skull throbbed dully, Marik caught sight of the girl looming over him, bags deposited safely on the couch nearby. He climbed to his feet, eyes shifting between the floor, her face, and the now-filled couch. Amusement, mixed with something else, writhed across his silent face. His mouth clenched. A shadow crossed his face, twisting his handsome features. Suddenly, all emotions dulled as if a switch had been flipped, and only the vipers of hatred whirled in his eyes. He walked past Andromeda without a word, a calculating stare masking the anger twitching his hand. His thoughts focused on the dagger inside his Millennium Rod, its gleaming blade perfect for slicing her velvety skin.

Confused, Andromeda turned toward him, watching his back as he neared the doorway. Horror washed over her as her senses took control again. Why did I tackle him! With the thought lamenting itself over and over again in her mind, she stumbled forward, her jaw dropping open at the words refusing to leave her throat. Rasping, she hurled out his name as his hand twisted the doorknob.

"Marik…"

Deafly, he pushed the door open, not even turning around to acknowledge the gaze clawing his back. His quiet figure slid out into the hall and left Andromeda with the echoing bang of the slammed door.

Locking the entrance to his private cabin, Marik fell into the couch, burying his face in the first cushion that presented itself for the honor. His hand clutched the Rod convulsively as the impact of his body against the floor throbbed faintly again. His back still tingled, each line of the age old scar there stabbing his heart with the memory of that vivid nightmare…

"Father! Father! Please!"

Flying through the air, the boy slammed full force into the ground, his spine screaming from pain. Oblivious, he crawled toward his stud desk, arms reached out for support as two looming shadows hastened toward him, calloused hands outstretched for the softness of his silky arms.

Tears streaming across his young cheeks, Marik clung to the leg of his desk, stories of a brilliant blue sky, golden sand, piping bazaars and fleeting mirages crying out for release from his wistful mind. His father's hands dug into his shoulders, and the helper's hands clutched at his ankles, jerking until the boy felt his joints groan, loosening at the pressure exerted upon them.

Through the muddle of his tears, he could see his fingers slip from the wood of the desk. His ears picked up the faraway banging of Rishid's fists upon the walls. Marik's palms burned from the firm edges of the wood, so he bit his lips, choking down the sob threatening to escape from his mouth. His wide lilac eyes darted in pure horror around his chamber, ignoring the sheets in a tangle upon the floor, the chair lying on its side, and the extinguished candle lying inert a few meters from him. Terrified, his gasps of breath darted out like cheetahs, his gaze unable to find his beloved sister.

"Ishizu! Sister! Help me!"

Screaming, he felt his strength leave his arms through his words, and the triumphant tug from his father. Immediately, he stumbled to his feet, his ankles throbbing from the grip of his father's helper. Each grown up held one of his arms, dragging their panting victim, a mere rag doll dangling from their iron grips, out the door.

Milky bangs swinging in his rheumy eyes, he tumbled along with his captors, watching the dark stains of his tears upon the brick floor and the hurrying shadows of Rishid and Ishizu. Too tired to cry out, he sensed their presence behind him, turning fainter and fainter as he left for his doom. And with them, the stories faded. The blue skies crumbled to dust, the bazaars grew silent with the ruins, the mirages vanished with a sputter as the deserts cooled into slabs of stone, buried forevermore in the darkness of a tomb. The figs and palms dried, browning leaves and desiccated fruits littering the dusty ground, where thin insects crawled, trying to find sustenance to deliver them from eternal slumber. The moon glared down through their dried well, its cool gaze turning crimson with Marik's blood unshed, blood soon to clot the stones and cloak the knives.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, listening to the ragged shiver of the air rushing in and out of his lungs and the execution song tapped out by the thumping of the two adults' feet upon the ground. Each leather shoe hit the hallway with a light, dulled scratch, barely audible to a normal ear. But to Marik, the sound grated against his eardrums, claws tearing into his life and ripping out his heart, his will, his soul…

A flare of orange speared the floor, and he caught his breath. Right on cue, the threesome turned into the ritual chamber. Lifting his quivering eyes off the ground, he saw the flicker of the hungry candles, the slab of stone, the rough yew ropes…

Afterwards, all he could recall was the pain exploding along his ribcage, his hip smashed against the stone, sending shocks that grayed his vision and numbed his brain. His face lay against something cold, so cold that it bit his tender cheek and drew out his life force. His father's voice droned on behind them in ancient Egyptian as thoughtless hands grasped his limbs, tying on the fiber that sank into his flesh and drank his blood.

"Piraa, maa-wi, maa-sa-ii."

The fire sizzled and leapt up, licking at the blade offered for its starved tongue.

"Peri, peri, kheftey er Piraa."

He struggled with the last of his strength, his tiny frame immobile against the thick cords that held him down.

Then the fire. The fire exploding over his back, sending his whole form writhing in mania, his legs kicking like trapped cobras. The sharpness stabbing into his back, tearing his flesh, the ink hissing through his wounds. The screams ripping his throat to tatters, the dryness engulfing his mouth, the silent cries and unheard howls shooting through his forever opened mouth…

"Father!"

Cringing to himself, Marik Ishtar snapped out of his memories. His back tingled once more, the hot knife embedding itself into his preteen form. Softly, he sighed, one hand reaching up to finger the scars under his eyes. Slowly, another memory drifted back, that of an innocent little girl, her touch like an angel's against that same scar…

He sat up. Truly an angel, that Andromeda—tackling him like his own brutal father.

"That witch…"

Swearing, he took to his feet, quickly realizing that the yacht had stopped. Only the whimsical waves beat against the vessel's side, its mind just as fleeting as the tides of Marik's own moods. Quickly disembarking to avoid seeing her sorrowful face, he snapped out an order for Rishid to take her to her room and stampeded into his mansion.

Flipping on the lights to his room, he shivered in the cold, remembering how he had forced himself to adjust to it in an attempt to forget the unbearable heat of Egypt. Closing the door, he walked quickly to the dresser, hoping that a long shower and immediate sleep would crush the memories on his mind. Unless, of course, they came back to haunt his dreams…

He grabbed the nearest pair of golden boxers and slammed the closet door shut. Strutting around his bed, draped in desert-colored sheets and warm colored wood, he let his toes caress the softness of the carpet as he made his way to the restroom. Closing that door, too, out of habit, he pulled his shirt over his head and hung it on a rack, eyes glimpsing with revulsion the scars revealed upon his back, scars that reflected so well from that mirror over the sink. Still, he didn't mind having a lean body, and the pride in that took away some of the pain engulfing his stomach.

Tossing his belt, the khakis he had borrowed from Derek, and his boxers in a pile, he turned on the shower to lukewarm. The ghost of the pants that Andromeda had purchased for him flitted through his mind, and he quickly jumped into the blast of water, letting it pound his rock hard stomach. Scrubbing himself with mad vigor, he winced as felt the water trickle across his scars. The rivulets coursed over his body, meandering and exploring wherever it would. Andromeda's hand on his knee, rubbing his "wound" raw, returned to him as a close memory. A snarl curving his lip as his imagination called back knives and blood and cords tightening around his wrists, he doused his head in the water, letting it pound his face and brain, washing away the surface of memories for a moment…

"These rivers cut too deep…only by destroying the rock upon which they thrive and gorge, can I do away with the past that they bring…" Dashing shampoo roughly through his hair, his fingers automatically massaged his scalp, each press sending his brain into sleep that blissfully clogged the channels from his childhood.

Breathing deeply, he let the deluge drown his mind.

Half an hour later, Andromeda sat upon her bed. The room's mellow golden interior cast a warm, gratifying light upon her throbbing heart. The curtains shimmered strangely in the light of the impassive moon, whose cool eye spied upon her from over the tops of the brooding forest below. Her plush bed sank beneath her weight, the pillows all fluff and ready for her fatigued head.

The washroom attached sparkled with marble and gold, and the water from the showerhead had pounded out a soothing whirl against her skin. The towel clung to her lithe form like a dress tailored for a queen. The night gown laid out upon her bed enhanced her every curve, its tanned golden sheen melding in with the coffee gleam of her skin. She lifted her head, glancing into the mirror as her hair finally dried. Each eye sparkled like a jewel in the warmth of the light, a jewel embraced by the encroaching desert sands.

Still, washing up had not comforted her. That expression in Marik's eyes tugged at her conscience. Opening up the shopping bags, she suddenly didn't understand why she had teased him so much over such trivial things. She had never valued extra new clothing. Unfolding each item, she studied it, remembering his discouraging remarks. Fitting each over a hanger, she piled them into the sandy colored closet and folded the bags in after them.

Nothing pleased her. With one last sigh, she gave in to her screaming guilt and climbed to her feet, the slippers a perfect fit for her. Closing her door with a soft click, she wandered down the hallway until she found Rishid in a living room, reading a newspaper.

Blinking up at her, he smiled; the genial light warming his face comforted some of the tumultuous waves pitting her stomach. "Do you want to see your brother?" he asked.

Letting a mournful grin tug at her lip, she shrugged her shoulders. "Him, plus Marik. Can you please tell me where their rooms are?" Noting Rishid's raised eyebrow, she quickly added, "I need to apologize to Mr. Ishtar quickly. That's all."

Nodding in haste, he explained, "Derek's is in the West Wing, the third door on the left. Marik's is in the East. The whole East Wing is his; there's only one bedroom: the room at the end opposite the entrance. You're bound to find it."

Giving a quick thanks, Andromeda slipped out. The empty hallways whispered her guilt to her, and the lamps shook their brilliant heads. Wondering bitterly if she had broken Marik's spine, she slipped into the East Wing. At once, the simple grandeur dazzled her senses. The parlor's sofas and satin covers, the silk rugs and the hieroglyphs and paintings in gold frames across the room screamed power. On each side, a pair of doors opened, leading off to some part of the Wing. And across from her, the mahogany doors rose, its gentle aura breathing words of safety into her ear.

With hesitant steps, she crossed the room, each footfall muffled by the softness of the carpet. Quickly, the sturdy wood loomed before her, its gold handles suave in the candle-light colored glow bathing the room.

Reaching up, she knocked on the door.

Marik, wide eyed: Waaaait a minute! She's invading MY bedroom! Get out!

MM sweat drops, typing chapter 5: Kick her out on your own time! I hate writing romancy scenes because I'm not good at it. She should just jump in the shower with you and I can leave the rest up to the audience's imagination!

Marik, puking into a bag: NO! Send her off a cliff!

MM, still typing: Anyways, please excuse Marik. He's having a bit of a break down today. So, please, be a nice audience and suggest/review/recommend for his sake. Thanks and see you next time in the House of Muse!