Long hair floated in the breeze, lifting white locks and tossing them as it pleased. Ryou's eyes wandered aimlessly over the forest in the distance, hand propping up his chin. From behind him, he heard snaps and barks of an arguing conversation, usual insults and curses tossed about. Nothing would come of it all, of course. Nothing ever did.
He listened to light footfalls advancing toward him. He felt a smooth hand reach up, leaving a firm pat on his head. "What'cha' looking at?" Malik asked, peering in the same direction as the teen.
"Leave him alone," Bakura yelled from further back in the tower, probably sulking from the fight he'd just had.
Ryou looked up at the dark-skinned male who popped by frequently, for no reason except to bicker with Bakura. "The trees," he replied, pointing out a certain one which held his attention. A squirrel was bobbing on a thin branch, imbalanced. "It's going to fall off."
"What is?" Malik squinted, leaning dangerously forward. Ryou jerked his arm out on instinct, pushing the blonde back. "What's falling off?"
"There's a squirrel," Ryou explained, pushing Malik back even further. "You're going to fall."
"I don't see it." Malik pulled back, wandering off toward Bakura's direction.
Finally left alone, in quiet, Ryou fiddled at his hair, watching it pool over the edge of the one window in the whole tower. There was no door, just that one window, at the top of the tower, with the only way in climbing Ryou's mane of hair. Inefficiency at its zenith.
After several minutes, Malik and Bakura came out, Malik bouncing, Bakura's countenance set in a soft scowl. "We're going out," Bakura said, eyeing Ryou's hair with a grimace. "Be good while we're gone, Ryou."
"Of course I will." Ryou scooted aside, tossing down piles of hair. Bakura shuffled forward, awkwardly starting down the make-shift ladder.
Malik followed the example, shooting Ryou an apologetic look. "Ra, Bakura," he said about halfway down, probably thinking Ryou couldn't hear them. "Can't you just get a ladder?"
"Do you have the money to get a damn ladder? 'Cause I don't."
"Well, using Ryou's hair doesn't seem like a great way to get up and down."
"This place was cheap, okay? Being a mage doesn't make as much as some people think and I don't see you chipping in anything, even though you practically live here, too."
"Oh, shut up! Who's always inviting me over, like, 'Malik, Malik, I'm so lonely!'"
"That's not what I say at all!"
Their dispute faded away as they headed away. A smile tugged at Ryou's mouth, involuntarily. For all his life, those two had never changed.
Once the pair disappeared into the distance, Ryou grabbed a hair-tie, shoving his tresses into a messy bun. He walked around the room, looked back out the window, then went into the kitchen.
There was a board that he could lift, revealing a set of stairs that led to the ground floor. There wasn't actually anything on the ground floor, or any of the floors above that (except this top-most floor), but every time they left, he looked. He was looking for a way out.
Ryou started down the stone stairs, the scent musty enveloping him, dust motes clouding his hair. Each step was uneven and steep, but the boy'd become used to it, and he actually quite enjoyed these trips. It was like diving into the unknown, trying to discover something no one had ever known existed.
It took three minutes to reach the bottom, where he lit a candle, illuminating moths and slumbering bats in the rafters, the sound of vermin scurrying away reaching his ears.
Ryou went to each wall, feeling with his hands. If there were to be some secret passage, he'd feel it better than see it. However, he'd been searching these walls nine years now and yet found nothing. There wouldn't be a way to his true home today, or tomorrow, or ever. He was stuck here, clinging to something as vague as hope.
After a few hours of checking walls and floors and playing with moths, Ryou got up, blowing out his almost exhausted candle, brushing dusts of neglect from his clothing. A bat shifted above him, muted flapping of wings alerting him to the fact.
Back up the stairs he went, fingers trailing over the walls as he went up. He hummed a tune Bakura'd mumble under his breath sometimes, when he was in a good mood, listening to the eerie echo of his own voice pulsing around the walls. Even though this place was no good for anything else, the acoustics were amazing.
Back on the top floor, the sun was at its zenith, signifying lunchtime. Good. Bakura and Malik probably wouldn't be back for another few hours, at least. That was plenty of time to do as he pleased—keep checking for a way out, maybe even try to get out the window.
Using a spoon, Ryou spread butter over his bread, having a difficult time of that. There were no knives, scissors or any other sharp things in the tower, so that Ryou couldn't cut his own hair and just escape whenever he pleased.
With the butter somewhat distributed, Ryou began nomming on the bread, sitting at the window. The tower was about six metres high, giving an excellent view into the desolate, middle-of-nowhere forest that brought plenty of creatures to the tower.
The single window had no covering, not a curtain or board or anything at all. It was a large hole cut attractively into the tower—letting in plenty of cold and rain during their seasons. Actually, the lack of people was helpful, because there was zero privacy without a curtain. The squirrels got a good view, at least.
In the distance, a figure was moving toward the tower. Ryou leaned forward, frowning. They weren't supposed to be home yet. They never came back this early.
It was a solitary figure, though, meaning either one of the pair had come back alone, or it wasn't Malik or Bakura.
Opting for the earlier, Ryou pulled the tie out of his hair and putting it in his pocket, letting his tresses fall onto the floor. He began gathering it up and heaping it on the windowsill, ready to let the enormous amount of hair fall down, acting as a ladder.
Yet, as the figure kept approaching, he seemed to look less and less like either of the two parent-figures in the boy's life. Eventually, he got close enough for Ryou to say with certainty that he was not one of them.
The stranger's hair was a sandy, piled mess atop his head, sticking straight up. His skin was dark, like Malik's, but this man gave off more of a threatening aura. Ryou's heart started beating faster. This was the first time he'd seen someone other than Bakura or Malik, someone who could possibly rescue him and return him home. He waited impatiently, leaning out the window, nearly tripping over a pile of his own hair.
The man looked up, now standing directly below Ryou. Just barely from this height, Ryou could see two scars on his face, one beneath each eye, the same ones Malik wore. The teen bounced on the heels of his feet. This was perfect. This stranger was more than he had expected him to be. Even though he wore ratty clothes, the scars belied who he truly was.
"Sir," Ryou called down, leaning further down to try to catch a better view of his face.
"Yo," the man called back, head tilting up slightly.
"Have you come to rescue me?" Ryou was already throwing one leg over the windowsill, prepared to jump down. Locks of hair spilled over his shoulders, dripping down toward the ground.
The man touched one of the strands of hair that had fallen close to him, its length enough to climb up and down. He looked up again, yelling up to Ryou, "Yea, of course. Come on down."
"You'll catch me?" Ryou hesitated, suddenly not sure if dropping that far would be able to kill or seriously injure either one of them.
The man said something indistinct, fingers twining the hair around his fingers. Both stared at each other blankly.
"I'm jumping now," Ryou yelled, slipping off the windowsill, with plenty of trepidation. He wasn't falling long, but those seconds were a thrill, his hair billowing behind him, wind in his eyes, thinking oh, Ra, he's not going to catch me, is he?
But the man did catch him—well, sort of. He put out his arms, and Ryou landed straight on him, a yelp of pain coming from both of them as they hit the ground. Nearly six metres of hair drifted over the two like snow, catching over briars and plants.
Ryou rolled off the man, digging his hands in the ground, head thudding from the jolt of impact, limbs shivering. "I'm alive," he said, exhaling slowly. He beamed, glancing back at the man who'd rescued him. Remembering his manners, Ryou brushed himself off, standing with a wobble, left ankle shrieking at him. "Thank you, sir. Though I must say, I expected to be sent for sooner than this. Or at least, that there would be more of you."
"The hell are you talking about?" The man sat up, shaking his hand and touching his stomach gingerly. Up close, Ryou could see the colour of his eyes—light violet, threatening to fade into indigo.
"I," Ryou said, with some pride, drawing himself to full posture, "am Prince Bakura Ryoupunzel."