If you were to ask, Marik would say that the arrival of the ticking time bomb otherwise known as Bakura Ryou had woken him from his midmorning nap, in a vain attempt to explain away his position - curled up on the sofa, wrapped in an elaborately knitted blanket with a dopey smile and murder in his eyes.
However, an astute viewer - such as Ryou under any other circumstance - would note the slight prickling noise, flash of white, and the faint sounds of conversations from the hallway that suddenly ceased, all lending credibility to the theory that the TV had recently been switched off. Very recently. Marik had always had good reflexes.
Fortunately, as worked up as Ryou was, he didn't notice a thing out of place, and believed Marik's fabrication in a heartbeat. And so Marik's most closely-guarded secret - that of his devotion to Saturday morning Star Trek reruns - stayed just that, a secret. It wasn't enough to make him any less pissed that he'd been interrupted, though, because Saturday mornings were his, and Spock's, and Kirk's, and if Ryou was having a panic attack, didn't he have plenty of other people to go to, rather than perhaps the most apathetic person he knew? Marik wasn't even the closest to his apartment! What about Bakura?
Oh, right. Saturday morning. As in, the morning after Friday night. Of course Bakura wouldn't be at all sympathetic.
It was not helping Marik's annoyance at all that Ryou was just standing there in the doorway, saying nothing, wasting precious time. Every moment the boy didn't speak was another line Marik missed!
Marik's musings were interrupted by Ryou seeming to realise where he was, and he was suddenly confronted with a very Bakura-like glare. Damn, what happened to Ryou being the cuter, less homicidal one? Bakura was probably asleep and considerably cuter than Ryou was right now. Though, no doubt his dreams were filled with gleeful murder...
"Marik Ishtar, are you insane?" Ryou demanded, suddenly brandishing a pair of pale lilac slips of paper that had appeared from Ra-knows-where.
Without giving the slightly perturbed blonde a chance to react, Ryou barreled on. "I mean, have you gone one hundred percent batshit crazy on us, Marik?" The irony was not lost on the Egyptian.
He interrupted him, having recognised the papers in the one instant Ryou had taken to pause for breath, lest his eardrums suffer anymore damage from Ryou's fury. Poor dear sounded terrified.
"Oh, good, you got the invitations, then?" Marik no less than cooed at him. Even if Bakura was no doubt cuter at this very moment, Ryou was usually cute and not scary, and deserved to be treated as such, Marik decided, somewhat misguidedly.
If looks could kill, Marik would be several layers deep into the Shadow Realm right now.
"And just what makes you think that arming Bakura with projectile weaponry is such a good idea, Marik?" Ryou spat, full of venom.
Malik raised his hands meekly, tentatively offering peace - if such could be asked in such an awful situation - whilst a lazy smirk stretched across his face. Good. Ryou's blanched face seemed to indicate he'd managed to copy Bakura well enough.
Truth be told, Marik had thought this might happen. Perhaps not from Ryou - he wasn't one to act up about something, and usually he'd think things through a bit more, instead of just charging in blindly - but certainly from the Pharaoh.
"Ryou. Shush and listen to me, okay?"
Ryou nodded. Marik prepared himself for a bit of drama.
"Do you honestly not want an opportunity to shoot that asshole..?" He trailed off.
"Aim for the hair." He continued, with another smirk, though this time one that was patently his, as he flopped over the side of the sofa and curled back up against his blanket.
"Now lemme sleep, I was up late!" He snapped, lying through his teeth. He just wanted to see how his Star Trek episode panned out.
Ryou nodded and hurried out, with a very Bakura-esque smirk of his own, suddenly excited about what was going to happen come next Tuesday...