Chapter 6: We Started This Artsy Shit! (Part 1)

-GeneCo Tower, 11:22 am-

Bakura slapped the crude memo on the desk before his employer. "Who is responsible for this?" he seethed through clenched teeth.

Cool amber eyes flickered to the fuming Necro Merchant. He delicately sipped at his glass of merlot, "Who else do you think?"

Of course, he had neither the position nor the courage to display his boundless anger at such a memo that he had received, along with every other GeneCo employee, "This is outside of Repo contract. You cannot issue a request like this."

The aging business man rose, reached for his cane and tottered over to where Bakura stood, "Need I remind you, that the Repo contract is unique among others. It is liable to any and all amendments I wish to make."

Bakura turned from his employer, "This was originally my assignment. I alone should have the right to attend to this matter if it is indeed so very important to you."

Pegasus scoffed, "Why? Your failure before was a disgrace. A pity too, since you've never had a blemish on your record before." He lowered himself back into his chair, "Never mind it. I'll expect you at the Exhibition tonight, don't forget. I'm hoping that your department will be able to give the foreign branches visiting a little…demonstration of how things are properly executed here in the central branch. Consider it your chance at redemption."

Seeing there was no more he could do to rectify the situation, he turned to leave.

"Remember, I expect you there," he smiled knowingly, "My son Malik, he asked me to send along his personal invitation."

Bakura shuddered.

-King's Game Corner, 3:00 pm-

Yugi Mouto, formally dubbed 'King of Games' leaned back confidently in his chair before the poker table.

Draw.

Flip.

Smirk.

His opponent sighed in resignation, "I fold."

"Thanks for the game," Yugi responded, cleverly masking his inner gloating. He had a perfect right to do so. Yugi had never been universally loved before receiving his title, even if had deserved nothing but affection. Since winning that fateful tournament (hosted my Pegasus himself) Yugi found himself moving among the upper circles of society. He eventually converted his late grandfather's game shop into a game parlor, where he competed against anyone looking for a sound thrashing in a game of their choice.

He gathered his winnings and set them aside. He didn't even look up when he heard the chair across the table gain a new occupant.

"What game?" he asked, counting his chips.

A familiar chuckle, "Aw, is that any way to greet your pal?"

Yugi's head shot up, "Jou!" He leapt from his chair and tackled his friend in a frenzied hug. The blonde laughed, and embraced the smaller of the two with equal vigor.

"The usual game I presume, Mr. Katsuya?" he asked, putting on a professional air, walking back around to his chair.

"But of course, Mr. Mouto," Jou responded, flashing his deck of Duel Monster cards.

They both shuffled, and the game began.

Jou moved first.

Baby Dragon, defense mode.

"So, the Exhibition is tonight," Jou remarked casually.

Yugi inwardly flinched. "Yea, it is. Are you going?"

Draw. Celtic Guardian, attack mode. Attack on Baby Dragon.

"Well of course I'm going. Haven't you heard who's going to be there?"

A nervous shudder. "That Malik Sweet guy is performing, right?"

Yugi could practically taste the disgust radiating from Jou at such a notion.

Flip up face-down. Trap Hole.

"Don't tell me you haven't been keeping up with the tabloids. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you weren't there when his flight docked…I'm sure he would've been happy to crash with you…"

Draw. Flame Swordsman, attack mode.

"Will he even want to see me? Things change…he's changed, Jou. You remember last time."

Draw. Kuriboh, attack mode. Two cards face down.

"So he's a little more world-wary, so what? He's still your buddy. Things like that don't change, Yug."

Attack on Kuriboh.

Flip trap card, Sakuretsu Armor.

"I hope so Jou. In this city, you never know."

-Yugi Mouto-

I didn't always live here. I grew up in a small, rural town in Northern Japan. It was the sort of town where nothing ever happened, but the families were friendly and happiness came easy. It was situated right at the edge of the mountains.

My father owned a grocery store. I was always very proud of this, and snuck extra helpings of pickled fish when no one was watching. After school I would help stock and list items in the store.

That was the first time I saw him.

He was wearing the strangest outfit I had ever seen, made of strips of orange and yellow fabric. His hair was similar to mine; misbehaving strands of blonde that stuck up in tiny cowlicks everywhere.

He was filling a basket with fruits and vegetables. I asked him if he needed any help.

He turned up his nose and glared at me with irritated violet eyes, "I'll do it myself." He stuffed the basket, squishing the poor oranges in his hurry.

I made the mistake of complimenting what I thought to be his dress.

He huffed, "It is not a dress you silly boy. These are the sacred garments of my order. After I become a fully sanctioned monk, I'm going to be enlightened." He leaned forward towards me in a condescending manner, "Are you going to be enlightened?"

I answered no, but that it sounded cool.

As a seven year old, the only logical solution to jump to was that he was a magician that was blessed with all the secrets of the world. He laughed at my simplicity, but explained to me his order (the clan of monks living in seclusion between the mountains) that had raised him, and how he hoped to know the purpose of his life.

In my mind, the purpose of life was to brush your teeth, get A's and buy trading cards. I was seven. That's what we all thought.

Atem was his name. If he had a last one, I don't think he really cared what it was. He was Atem, and that was enough for anyone, because once you met him, you couldn't let yourself forget him. The second day he came, he asked me If I had read 'Lost Horizon'. He explained that he felt his life was a lot like the book, and said he lived in a place very close to a Shangri-La. I hadn't a clue what he was talking about, but I listened just for the sake of hearing him talk.

He always did have a way of speaking that didn't demand your attention, but was so naturally authoritative that you wanted to listen anyway.

Such was the nature of our friendship; he came down from his magical mountain home three times a week to tell me stories, and we would play games. Sometimes the games were silly and childish (I admit I liked them the most. I think the only reason we played them was because Atem knew they amused me), other times they were more complex and strategic.

These were always very difficult for me. I could never, ever win. Atem refused to purposefully let me win; in his mind that was worse than cheating. Many of the games were ones he had invented. Some of them were mild…others were to an extent very dark.

Our favorite game was 'Chicken'. We would both go into the mountains at night without flashlights or conversation. It was about who would get scared first and go back. Of course, it was always me.

This frustrated me to no end. Why was it he bothered coming to play with me if I never even presented a challenge? This was the base of our first fight. Well…fight from my perspective. Atem was more bemused than angered.

"Silly Aibou," he teased, addressing me by my nickname, "You really think there's nothing about you that entertains me?"

I wasn't in any mood for his riddles, and demanded he go and play a game with himself, because then he might actually have a competition.

I guess, to appease me, he agreed to teach me to think like he did, then I might win against him. The very next day he entered the store with a book nearly the size that he was (we were both very small for our age, but Atem always appeared more imposing by the way he stood) under his arm.

Picture a small seven –year- old lugging a copy of 'The Origin of Species'. Did you laugh? I sure as hell did.

I would have had no reason to think I couldn't be as smart as he was. I was at the top of my class, after all. I wanted to prove that I was just as good…that our friendship wasn't unbalanced.

Day after day: History, Psychology, Biology, Algebra. Each book he brought, they just got thicker and thicker until my eyes got sore from reading. My fingers had paper cuts from turning page after page.

He tried to share his love of literature with me: Wuthering Heights, To Kill a Mockingbird, Great Expectations…countless volumes all containing the passions and trials I wanted above anything else to understand. I wanted them to mean to me what they meant to him…but they didn't.

It was a foolish ambition of a silly little boy who wanted to be a prodigy. You can't be like Atem. You can only be his friend. And that is what I had resolved was enough.

Unfortunately, luck had never been on my side.

My dear father died from a stroke one month after my 10th birthday. My mother drowned in the river, after she filled her pockets with rocks. She had been selfish.

I was being sent to America to live with my Grandfather. Atem came down from the mountain on Tuesday. I was due to leave Saturday. When I broke the news to him that we only had a week together, his handsome face contorted into the most heartbroken expression I had ever seen. He begged me not to go. He told me he would hide me away in the temple where no one would ever find me, and I could become a monk like him, and we could both learn the secrets of existence together.

Both of us knew that this couldn't be so. We knew we could only pretend in our game world for so long. I more than anything wanted to keep playing, to keep pretending, to be friends in this small town forever. How happy things would be if our lives could be as they were now!

But stronger than my desire for happiness, was my desire for passion. Atem had found his passion in the form of knowledge; his love of literature, philosophy and the mystery of life…it was stifling when you heard him speak of it.

I wanted something that I could love at that magnitude, and I couldn't find it there.

I think he understood perfectly why I chose to leave, but for the first time in his life, allowed his emotions to overpower his logic. He didn't come down from the mountain the day my plane left. He never said goodbye to me.

I didn't hear from him for over eight years. I hadn't heard from him, but I had certainly heard of him. Nearly six or seven years after our falling out, his first book had already reached top sales in America. It was a first-person narrative of a remarkable adventure he'd had in Siberia, climbing mountains. "The Snows Unrelenting" it was called. I was not the least bit astounded upon learning he had done so, knowing all too well how easily he mastered all sorts of things.

In the mean time, I had found my passion: games. Grandpa had merely boosted along a love I had had all along. There had been a Poker tournament hosted by Pegasus Crawford, who surprisingly had a bit of a gambling streak.

Keep in mind I had worked for years to master the skills Atem had taught me to employ in games of strategy and chance. I was nowhere near perfecting them, but I was close enough that I could demolish any opponent I faced. Even Seto Kaiba couldn't defeat me!

I won that tournament.

Pegasus awarded me my title 'King of Games', and offered me additional wealth, status and a bladder surgery for my Grandpa who had been ailing with his, with the agreement that I would promote his company. Who was I to say no?

To me, however, the most eventful part of that evening was when I discovered Atem's presence.

He had flown in to promote the newest book he had published, 'Beauty makes a Beast', his opinion on the dangers of vanity. Unbeknownst to Jou (who I had befriended shortly after settling in) and Grandpa, I read every one of his books.

Atem had not competed, but had stayed to watch me. I was proud; proud to have been able to show him that I had found my passion! I had found my great love! I was hoping I could congratulate him on his success as well.

Atem was a very different person. The man who then stood before me was not the brilliant and good-natured boy I had spent countless afternoons with. This man was stern and harsh, tall and imposing, thin and rigid. His hair was not the mop of blonde, as mine still was, but a dramatic jolt of hair standing on end with deep black and red dye streaked strands. His bangs remained golden. The bright colored robes of the monks had been traded for leather pants, muscle shirts, studded belts and metal jewelry.

We talked a little, but there was very little to say. He would not tell me what possessed him to leave the temple, where he had traveled or even why he had so violently altered his appearance. His normal boisterous and confident smirk had vanished. He expressed no emotion at all. The only indication he gave for any remembrance of our friendship was his affection nickname for me, "Aibou".

He left the next day without another word to me.

I can only imagine that whatever he had found in Nepal was something awful.

-Kul Elna Graveyard, 8:28 pm-

Nathan had gone to bed exceptionally early, giving his son the perfect opportunity to steal a few hours of freedom. Touzokuo had promised, after all, that he would return to see him. Ryou had completed his painting of the koi fish, and was hoping to present it to the elder as a kind gesture of friendship. Truth be told, the painting's meaning had been relatively simple: balance of good and evil within the cycle of life. He didn't see Touzokuo as a man of philosophy, but hoped he would appreciate the meaning all the same.

His spirits soared when the metal door rattled on its hinges. The red-robed graverobber slipped inside.

A wide, enticing smile was pulled taut across his lips as he addressed his smaller friend, "Hello, Ryou."

Ryou rushed to embrace the taller, careful of the bandaged shoulder and ankle. "Are you alright, Touzokuo? What happened?" he slipped his hand under the fabric of the robe to gently rub the padding.

"Just took a little tumble down the stairs, no worries." He noticed the large canvas lain atop the tombstone. "What's that you've got?"

Giddily, he snatched it up and displayed his painting, "I made it for you! Do you like it?"

He did. He liked it very much. Artwork had never been something of abundance where he had grown up, that being in the filthy slums of Cairo where the wall paint was spotted blood and the air freshener was excrement. The colors were muted; soft water colors intermingled so as to be easy to the eye. The figures were smeared with few defined lines, appearing natural and abstract as opposed to direct and concrete; just a woven mass of color to distinguish it from the cerulean blue of the backdrop.

No knowledge of the intended ambiguity was necessary to absorb the surreal utopia feeling expressed in each minute brushstroke. 'Damn, kid. Way to lay on the guilt.' The thief thought sullenly.

"This is real pretty, babe!" he enthused, disguising the sorrow it gave him.

Ryou blushed cutely, "You think so? Oh, thank you! There's not much else to do but paint silly pictures when you're stuck in a room all day." He gushed, flattered.

While silently berating himself for the inevitable evil he would have to do to the boy, he formulated the plan with which to do it. Ryou had supplied him with the prefect tool to deceive, crafted by his own unsuspecting hand. Poor thing.

"You are too modest! In fact, this is SO beautiful, we could enter it in the Art Contest at the 'Genetic Exhibition' tonight! Want to?"

Ryou's smile died, and the color drained from his face, "Go outside, again? Well, that sounds fun…but I…I mean, are you sure it's safe? There's going to be so many people…I'm not sure…"

Gripping the concept like a life line, he coaxed further, "You worry too much. Just pack a couple med shots, and you'll be fine! Don't you want to spend time together, Ryou?"

He debated in his head. This was very dangerous. Sanitarium Square was intimidating enough empty, but completely packed? He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Formula for disaster, this was. But…Touzokuo might think little of him if he couldn't show some semblance of a spine with such a meager request. Touzokuo wouldn't leave him there; he'd already proven that much. Touzokuo was his friend.

"Ok. Let's go together, then."

AN: I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I've got the next chapter written already, it just needs to be typed, and it'll be ready to go.

This is the turning point of the story, so what I'm going to do is break the Exhibition into three parts. I've got it all figured out, but honestly, I'm really having a hard time figuring out how things are going to happen after that. I don't want to end the story too soon without giving enough time to the characters and ambiance. I'm doing my best to make the story work so that it satisfies everyone.

At any rate, if it pleases, while I figure it out I'm going to work a little bit on 'The Hatter Went Mad'. Rest assured this story will not be neglected. This is like, my BABY. Relax.

Soooo…next chapter will be up in an estimate of a week and a half.

Review, my lovelies! Review!