Chapter 5: Mark It Up

-Bakura-

The strangest thing seems to happen when you realize you fancy someone. You start comparing them to every other person you know, and coming up with reasons why they're better.

I can remember my younger years when such an infatuation was rare, but exciting all the same. From the time of throwing rocks at the pretty girls, to flipping up their skirts and earning a fist in the stomach, the concept of romantic tension has always remained the same: You like them, but you'll die before you let them know how much.

Perhaps this is why I'm so frustrated with me feelings now, because they aren't precisely that of infatuation. It's been so long since I've been able to feel very much at all. Shame and anger seemed to be the most frequent emotions for the longest time, but they have long since been purged from my conscience.

The only reason I won't turn in that child is because he made me feel something.

Love? No. I'm convinced that I've sacrificed my right to partake in such a thing as love.

Surely I'm not at all attracted to him. Never before have I felt inclined to men in such a manner, much less a boy who must be at least three or four years my junior.

Who knows…Who cares…Nothing like that matters.

Never the less, something must be done. I'll not allow my curiosity to divert me from my…assignments.

And yet…Perhaps an introduction…Ridiculous, what a bloody absurd notion. Still, it has been awhile since I've made any new acquaintances. It's not exactly an asset to your social life when you mention you're a psychopath that rips bloody body parts from people for a living.

Maybe that's all this feeling is, a craving for positive attention. The boy's appearance simply accentuates the impression that he is highly approachable. That's all it is.

I might just be able to arrange an outing…'The Genetic Exhibition' seems promising. But there's no guarantee that he'll agree…Posh, all that can be arranged by a little incentive for that graverobber…

-Crawford Estate, 11:12 am-

"All work and no play makes Seto a dull boy, all work and no play makes Seto a duuuuull booooooooy!" Malik squawked into his dedicated brother's ear. For everything that was wrong with Seto, he was the only one of his three brothers that made any effort to better the company one of them would one day inherit. It wasn't that he cared so much for the survival of millions of dying people. To say it was his want of affluence that drove him would only be a mere additive to his true design.

His rampant ego wouldn't stomach the idea that anyone could possibly be more intelligent or successful than he.

While Malik strutted around the media scene thrusting his genitals at any slob with a camera, and Otogi puttered with his faces and chased skirts, Seto ran numbers and made phone calls. All with the occasional 'accidental' murder, of course.

Malik leaned over Seto's shoulder at the report he was reading, "Blah, blah, blah, really brother dearest, come with us to the exhibition tomorrow night!"

He scoffed, "Just to watch you prance around a stage and pretend you can sing? I think I'll leave that to the 16 year old girls…"

The report was snatched from his hand, "I'm asking you to come with us! You're lucky I'm even inviting you, you prick!" he waved the paper teasingly over his head when Seto rose to retrieve it.

"Give me that paper and get the fuck out!" he bellowed as the blonde dashed out of the room with the report still held playfully aloft. Seto bounded recklessly after him down the corridor.

"All work and no play makes Seto a dull boy!" he chanted over and over, running faster still.

"Malik!" Seto's tolerance was rapidly disappearing.

The blonde flung himself at Otogi's bedroom door and pounded mercilessly, "'Togi! 'Togi! Help me!" he shrieked, stifling his laughter. Seto pounced just as Malik curled himself around the paper.

"Give it to me, NOW." Seto hissed. A raspberry was his only answer.

Otogi's door opened wide, causing Malik and Seto to fall inside. He was concealed only by a sheet slung across his hips, and two giggling ladies were looped around each of his arms. "Uh-oh, have you too been playing nice?"

Malik hid himself behind his dark-haired brother, "Seto won't go to the exhibition with us, so I stole his report. Make him come with us, 'Togi!" he whined in a falsetto.

Otogi rolled his eyes, "Just give him the report back, you knew he wasn't going to come anyway." One of the women stroked Malik's hair and moaned softly in invitation. The teen only grinned cheekily and walked around to Seto.

"Alright, fine. Take your ball and chain," he sighed as he thrust the paperwork into his brother's expectant hand.

Otogi looked down at Malik's feet, "Oy, what do you think you're doing wearing those?!"

Malik lifted his booted foot, "What?"

"My boots, Malik! You're wearing MY boots!"

He shrugged, "Fine, take them," He pulled them off and clunked them near the door.

Otogi released the two girls and picked up his boots, "NO, I don't want them now! You've been traipsing around in them doing god knows what!"

At this the blond turned and glared, "Oh and I suppose you've been knitting sweaters all night?" he sneered sarcastically gesturing to the women now rummaging through the pile of sheets for their clothing.

A pillow was seized from the bed and brought down on Malik's head, "At least I only had TWO!" Malik grabbed a pillow of his own and socked his brother in the stomach.

"Two more than I had!" Another whap in the stomach.

Seto, who had been watching the exchange, grabbed the wood of the door, "You're both whores!"

The door slammed shut.

-801 Cheapside Street, 1:01 pm-

'Beauty, in its rawest form, cannot be found within one finite being. True Beauty is that which is not concrete, and is not tangible by any mortal form. It circles us forever in an eternal dance of splendor. The entire world can know it and the entire world can see it, but not all the world can understand it. Beauty can be found in life, always. It is exceptional when it is found in death.'

Ryou closed his well-worn book with a sigh of contentment. Atem Akuna was his favorite author. Was it his word choice, or his insight? It was most definitely a combination of the two. For one who was well-read, Ryou could see that Akuna was plenty wise, and plenty experienced in worldly affairs.

Most of his novels were based in philosophy, and he rarely (if ever) wrote fiction. Most recently he had authored a new book of poetry, which the teen had requested his father purchase for him for his birthday.

He placed his novel upon the coffee table beside him, and resumed his work on a painting he had abandoned. The painting depicted two koi fish; one black, and the other white. They swam in a circle around one another within a pool lighted by the moon.

Ryou smiled. He touched the very tip of his index finger to the black koi fish; a loving gesture.

-Orichalchos District, 5:27 pm-

Darkness was falling, and Touzokuo was uneasy. Marik had splinted his shoulder and ankle, so moving faster than a hobble was out of the question. Besides that, the Repo-man had said he would be back.

The Zydrate needle, which he had so graciously lost, had been replaced. Stolen. Right from a boutique. In broad daylight. If Touzokuo would ever be remembered by anyone for anything, it would be for his skills in theft.

He leaned against a toppled over dumpster, and waited.

"Hello, Touzokuo." That same, rich voice made its presence known.

The graverobber didn't reply.

A dark chuckle, "I am impressed with your unique powers of perception. Very clever, indeed."

"What do you want with Ryou?" he asked.

The Repo man feigned surprise, "What makes you think I want anything to do with him at all? How are you sure that it isn't you I want something from?"

Touzokuo struggled to his feet. "He didn't do anything wrong." His tone remained even.

"Oh, I know that, Touzokuo. You, on the other hand, have done plenty of wrong." He pulled a battered file from the confines of his coat. "Touzokuo Zuka. Age 20, Immigrant from Egypt. Your juvenile record states you committed first-degree murder at age 12, along with multiple counts of theft. You immigrated here with two unrelated persons: Bastet Halima, and Nailah Metit. Medical records of Bastet Halima show she has a pancreas on a payment plan from GeneCo."

Touzokuo froze at the mention Bastet. "No! Please, you can't take it from her!"

He smirked, and placed the file back into his coat. "I wouldn't dream of it. She hasn't missed a payment…yet. Considering your financial situation, things do happen you know…" Touzokuo's blood boiled at the implication.

"But, this is your golden opportunity. I'm willing to write off her pancreas as bought and paid for. I just need you to do something very small for me. Involving the person you have already assumed."

He took a deep breath.

He lowered his head.

He cleared his throat.

"Sure."

A/N: I apologize for the wait, and I apologize even further for the little amount of payoff. This was the most awkward chapter I had to write, because all it is is a bridge to the exhibition. Which, need I remind you, is the turning point of the story. Well, now that everything is set up, you can look forward to 'The Genetic Exhibition!'

As a side note, the small excerpt at the beginning of Ryou's part is from a Philosophy book that I'm working on. I can't wait until next chapter…Atem comes in! Oh, he is such a delight! I promise, you'll have fun reading his part.