Sorry for the delay, and many thanks for the comments!
See chapter one for the disclaimer.
Chapter Eleven
(In which the ring spirit is rather modest.)
Ishtar was insane.
He'd always known that, but he hadn't yet had to acknowledge just how insane. The happy, maniac grin spread over the man's face as he lazily span a long silvery necklace on his index finger – it had been silver, more precious back in his Egypt than gold, and it made him uncomfortable that they'd both thought of it – and walked down the street, head high, back very straight, did nothing to weaken that perception.
The street itself was crowded and loud; the shops on each side of it were all expensive ones. A few people turned round to look at – Malik, most likely, not him, he looked inconspicuous in sweater and jeans, white hair hidden away under a scarf – as they walked by, but most ignored them, rushing past.
Malik finally caught his eye, and let the necklace wind itself around his finger, then made it disappear in a pocket of the long coat he was wearing (showy, that, dark lilac, with a hood, but at least it did mostly hide him – and Kaiba couldn't be everywhere). He followed the movement with his eyes, and Malik grinned again.
"You were right, you are rubbish at it," he said.
He found himself grinning back; no need to kill off Malik's fun, he became broody and doubtful whenever he had the occasion, and while he assumed that Malik was too compromised by now to go back to the pharaoh and offer his help in penance, there was no reason to take the risk; and playing back came very easily, more so than refraining from it. He couldn't tell if it was his host's influence, bits of him unshakably carved into the skin he wore. It didn't feel like it.
"I don't need to be good," he threw back, showing teeth; the millennium ring glowed beneath his thin shirt, for emphasis.
He hadn't had to rely on petty theft for a very long time; and even back when he'd been alive, he'd been much better at violence than at subtlety. When he'd come to this life, he'd had the ring to deal with all the new electronic security; he'd never learnt to get around it with natural methods, and the two of them hadn't managed now. Which was fine by him. Like he'd said, they didn't need to. And for all his teasing, Malik didn't look like he minded overmuch either. The millennium rod, hanging on Malik's hip, was still emitting a faint glow. He wasn't sure Malik was even aware of it. It had been, still was irritating, but the boy did seem quite good at controlling this one item.
They eventually reached a more remote area, between an abandoned playing-cage with broken basket-ball basks and a few public recycling containers. He leant against the wall, while Malik stayed beside him, looking around. The spoils of their expedition, hogged by Malik, didn't make a reappearance, but he didn't ask after them.
He turned back towards his companion when he heard him whistle through his teeth in appreciation; he was almost not surprised when he saw Malik standing by a motorbike that was chained to the cage. He didn't move, while Malik ran reverent hands over the engine; to him, the thing looked old and battered and not particularly worthy of admiration, but he admitted that he knew little about the subject.
He had to wonder about Ishtar though. The man could in no way be called spoiled, considering how he'd apparently spent his childhood, yet the entitlement he displayed was unbelievable. He was almost tempted to let out Ryou with instructions to tell the man about the poor person whose possession he was about to steal – because there was mistaking Ishtar's intentions, and someone so imminently capable of suffering from his conscience that he once created a separate entity to bear his own darkest thoughts and emotions couldn't possibly go around happily stealing without suppressing the thoughts of hurting anyone by it. Not that Malik had ever been innocent, but then, he was different from the person he'd been before Battle City, or at least wanted to be. It took a certain amount of mental acrobatics to cling to the notion of not being in open war with his pharaoh once again even while stealing from him and helping along his enemy.
"Can you steal that, at least?" Ishtar asked him, voice dripping with condescendence, and motioning the bike with his chin.
Bakura narrowed his eyes; he had no wish to give in to Malik's obvious attempts at manipulation, but his superior air could was getting annoying. Time for something showy then...
"Of course," he said. "Step back."
Malik looked confused until he took out his deck; then his eyes widened in realisation and he quickly obeyed, stood a few feet away from the engine, and crossed his arms.
"Man-eater bug," he said softly, even as he summoned the creature, and smirked wider when he saw Malik flinch and grab for the millennium rod. "Go on," he added aloud, unnecessarily, and purposely vague.
The creature obeyed, marched towards Malik and the motorbike, and snapped the chain that tied the engine with a single, quick gesture; Bakura had it turn to Malik briefly – the tombkeeper didn't flinch back, he had to give him that – before he made it vanish. Using shadow magic ate at his reserves, and while they were large, that was no reason to waste them.
"Show-off," Malik mocked; Bakura pushed himself off the wall easily, and only gave a thin smile in answer. "Come on then," Malik then added, while sitting on the bike, and caressing over the handlebars lovingly, and smiled back challengingly. "You can ride behind me."
That did take him by surprise: he'd expected Ishtar to drive away at once, maybe only briefly; Ishtar should know, he thought, that he wasn't going to expose himself to the man's crazy driving when he didn't have to. A car was bad enough. He said as much; Malik got a mulish expression on his face.
"Are you scared?" he tried.
Bakura snorted in answer.
"Of course I am," he said easily. "This body is fragile."
"Trust you to blame it on your host," Malik threw back. "Come on, Bakura. I'll be very careful, promise."
The attempt at goading was obvious, but he itched to give in to it all the same; the tombkeeper's air of superiority whenever he didn't was difficult to bear, as much as he told himself that it didn't matter, that the arrogance could even turn out to be useful to him.
Still, he crossed his arms.
"No," he repeated.
Malik sighed deeply, got off the bike and was in his personal space briskly.
"Come," he repeated, coaxing and a bit mocking still. "What if I get you a helmet? It's safer with a helmet."
He narrowed his eyes; Ishtar's face was only inches away from his, and he could feel his breath caressing his face, very fast from excitement; he hesitated, then gave in; he could feel his host at the very surface of consciousness, and pushed him back; it wouldn't do for them to switch during the ride, the brief disorientation could be fatal.
"Fine," he snapped. "Forget about the helmet."
Malik grinned brightly.
The world was flying by at high speed.
He had his arms wrapped securely around Malik's waist; at first, he'd sat back, holding his head up and feeling the wind wipe against his face, making the body's eyes water; now, however, he had moved to letting his cheek rest on Malik's back, and the lack of a helmet came in handy after all, while he saw houses and shops and park-fences pass him.
It would be lying to say that he wasn't a little worried – this was hazardous, he knew – but it was pleasant too. He thought he understood better now why Malik loved this, loved speed; the enthralling and completely illogical feeling of power even from being a passenger was wonderful. Like magic, only less goal-oriented, and wasn't that just like Ishtar.
His host was again hovering very close to consciousness, and this time he let him, hoping to share the feeling; it paid off, on the long run, to keep the host relatively happy.
They were in a less dense area now, with tall, thin houses instead of apartment buildings, and caged trees left and right. Malik took yet another turning while barely slowing down in the process; he shouted something at him too, but Bakura couldn't hear him, his words lost between the robe rolled up over his mouth and the wind. Bakura ignored it, and simply held on, until suddenly the bike slowed down, then came to a halt near the entrance to a playground, creating a huge sand cloud in the process. There was a strong scent of bark mulch in the air.
"What are we doing here?" Bakura asked, even as he climbed off the engine, and felt himself stagger as he did.
Malik smirked at him, and shrugged.
"Just wanted a pause." He flexed his fingers, then pulled the robes down from his face, freeing his mouth. Despite the disguise, Bakura could see the hair sticking to his face because of the sweat. Malik looked very alive and mischievous; it was a good look on him; he had to admit that he liked it much better than the culpable air he sometimes got, even if his preference was self-interested.
"We should be going back," he answered. "Do you think you'll find the way?"
He wasn't worried; the ring would find Pegasus, if everything else failed; and through all the pleasant haziness, he had paid attention to the way, and he had good orientation skills.
Malik smirked again and let the motor roar up, once, briefly.
"Would you?" he asked.
Bakura shrugged; if really Malik meant to strand him here, he was sure that he could hijack a ride, though it would be a hassle. But he'd found that letting others underestimate you could be more useful than the contrary; he had to admit, if did indulge in playing this game of boasting and intimidation with Malik, it had very little to do with practicality. And lately, he'd been thinking of very pleasant ways in which it could evolve – or be safely deviated.
"You're no fun," Malik complained, when he saw that he wasn't rising to the bait. "I would leave you here, but I couldn't do that to Ryou."
It was strange, the ease with which Ishtar had settled for this name for his host; Bakura wasn't sure if he liked the idea of his host having his own, separate name. It wasn't worth arguing about though, not when "Ryou" himself seemed not to mind overmuch.
"You wouldn't do it to me either," he said confidently; frankly, he had the feeling that Malik had no idea what else to do with himself; not that it was very wise to goad him.
"You trust my driving now then? Since you don't want to be left."
An amused half-smile was his only answer to that, as if the notion itself were a jock; because really, he could hardly deny that, if he didn't trust Malik, he did at least take the risk of acting as if he did.
He wondered if Malik knew that they were flirting, in a sense; he had to be careful; taking him by surprise with any gesture would only spook him.
He tried stepping closer, up to Malik, who, sitting down, was smaller then him now; he'd memorised his scent by now, though it might be a while before he stopped associating him with the smell of gasoline. But maybe that was fitting.
Malik threw his head back and looked up at him listlessly, still smirking faintly, and the robes slid down, liberating his neck. Inviting, Bakura decided. Dangerous too, though the area seemed deserted.
He reached down and, in careful gestures, making sure to graze Malik's skin as much as possible, drew the lilac robes back up, over Malik's forehead and up to his chin; beneath them, Malik was wearing a simple, white shirt that left little of his skin exposed.
Malik let him; he was very still, and followed his movement with his eyes.
"Could I ride it?" he asked. Malik blinked, confused, and Bakura tapped against the front wheal of the bike with his foot for clarification. "Could my –" He interrupted himself and corrected: "Ryou?"
Malik sat back up and raised his eyebrows at him.
"Doubt it," he said, with less condescendence, Bakura guessed, than he would have if he hadn't mentioned his host. "But I can take us back."
He turned away briskly. Bakura nodded, still internally cautious, unsure whether Malik had caught on.
End of chapter eleven.
It was fun to write a little more from Bakura's point of view – I hope that it was somewhat believable. As always, comments are greatly appreciated.