Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, its Abridged Series, Moulin Rouge, or the songs parodied in this story.
(1) To the tune of "Your Song" by Elton John.
(2) Toilette means grooming. Douche means shower. This is a pun with French words and what they sound like.
(3) To the tune of "Walk Like an Egyptian."
-O-o-O-o-O-
Joey was up and about later that night, much to everyone else's surprise.
"Well, Wheeler. Didn't think you'd make it," Kaiba remarked as he passed by Joey's dressing table.
"Me, not make it? Kaiba, you just don't know who you're dealin' wit'." Joey zipped up his black jeans and slid a green t-shirt over his head.
Serenity turned from her own table, next to Joey's. She was wiping the glitter off her cheeks and right now, the left half of her face looked normal while the right looked like a variety of Disney fairy. "The duke really seemed to like you," she gushed.
"I know! He's so easy ta talk to, not some snob, like I thought he'd be! And I think I kinda like him too." A faint blush (pink, but a manly pink) spread across his face as he admitted this. "If he likes our club enough to stick around and sink money into it, well…let's say we could write more den just a sub-par romance."
"I have no idea what that means, but this is a den of surrealism, so I'm just going to agree."
Meanwhile, Duke, his freshly washed and scented hands, and Noah hopped out of their purple Cadillac and walked briskly to a Mastodon-shaped hotel.
"Come, Noah, we mustn't keep the Top Dog waiting!" Duke called over his shoulder.
Noah sighed and prayed Duke wouldn't ask him to film his conquests this time. He couldn't bear another critique of his cinematography skills.
Tristan was already inside the Mastodon. Everything about this city was strange. He should have expected this, but it still came as a shock that a building called the Pink Mastodon existed. He was presently making his way to room 101, located in the ass end of the Mastodon—literally. He hoped this wasn't an omen.
He was early, which was good. Or was it? Maybe it was poor decorum to be early for things like this. Maybe early was bad, late was great, bad meant good, up was down…Forget it, he was here and that was all that mattered.
He was looking through the tinted peephole in the door when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He screamed and jumped a foot in the air, then felt like an utter fool when he turned around and saw Joey standing there, grinning at him.
"Where…?" Tristan managed to choke out.
"Came in thru da bathroom window." Joey wheeled off to the bed and bounced slightly on it. "Ain't dis a great place for a poetry readin'?"
"Yeah. It's…really something." Tristan took a few seconds to recover from his mild shock. He needed a few more after seeing Joey from a distance. The man was wearing a green shirt and if his shorts were any shorter, he'd…well, he'd have some issues with coverage and a few other things, that's what.
He caught a whiff of something unfamiliar, a sweet and smoky scent. Perhaps it was some sort of foreign perfume. Whatever it was, Tristan liked it. It made his head feel light and fuzzy, and he felt his muscles unravel like the bottoms of Joey's black shorts.
It didn't take long for him to laugh inwardly at his earlier scare. It was pretty funny, actually, provided Joey wasn't a serial murderer, killing the occupants of every third hotel room in the Mastodon. Were he not so nervous, he probably would've laughed then and there. Hell, had he been in Joey's place, he might have done the same thing. Perhaps that was what drew Tristan to Joey in the first place; under the strobe lights and outlandish costumes, they were more alike than they thought.
Feeling secure that his attraction was not merely superficial, Tristan turned back to marvel at how the light glanced off Joey's posterior as he got up to go to the table by the bed. A lovely chiaroscuro, he thought; it reminded him of the Classical sculptures he'd seen in the Renaissance section of his textbooks from school. The contrast of the black fabric on pale skin was a nice form of juxtaposition, too; it really made the image more dynamic. This, in Tristan's lower mind, translated roughly to, "Damn, he be FINE!"
Joey wasn't the only one making use of the window.
"We can see them better from here," Yami whispered to Yugi and Mokuba as they scaled the left buttock of the Mastodon. The three of them hid on the balcony on either side of the door and peered in through the louver shutters to monitor the progress of the meeting.
"Would you like a drink?" Joey asked, drawing in the condensation on the bottle with his finger. "Maybe some Abysmalinth?"
Tristan shook his head. "I'm trying to quit."
Joey went back to the bed. "Yeah, I don't really care for it eitha."
"To be honest, I think I'd like to jump right into it."
Joey waved his hand. "Oh, yeah, sure. Shoot."
Tristan started to recite, but Joey was more than just a little bit distracting. Whatever effects the "perfume" had on Tristan were wearing off.
"If you don't mind, I think I'll need some time to warm up," he said, taking off his beret.
"Dat's totally fine wit' me." Joey lay back, arms behind his head.
"Okay." Tristan turned around and took a few yoga breaths. He'd never in his life actually done yoga, but what the hell? If breathing helped distract him from Joey's legs and thoughts of what he could do with them…oh, dear god, this wasn't going to work, was it?
"Are you okay?" Joey sat up as Tristan's breathing got louder and faster. "You're gonna hyperventilate."
"I just need some more time. I'm working up the nerve. It's kind of my first time," Tristan gasped. Against his best efforts, his breathing did not slow down. Joey grabbed a paper bag off the wooden spool night table and put it over Tristan's head.
"Breathe into da bag, Tristan!"
Tristan began to calm down once he realized that firstly, he was not hyperventilating, and secondly, the bag would do him no good if he were.
A knowing look passed over Joey's face; Tristan could hear it in his voice. "Oh. I get it now." He heard Joey slide off the bed and approach him. "Maybe I could help."
Tristan found himself flying through the air and landing on the bed with a fluff. The bag was whipped off to reveal Joey grinning like a wolf in a sheep flock.
"Don'tcha wanna make like we're animals?" Joey asked huskily, pinning Tristan down.
"Wait, what?" Tristan tried to shrink into the bedclothes. He was certain he could fry an egg on his face. "Right now?"
"Dere's no time like da present." Joey slid Tristan's black vest off. He gaped at Tristan's toned biceps. "Oh, you dog, you!" He began to howl like a wolf during a full moon in a bad fantasy movie. Tristan tried to get out from under Joey, but shock seemed to immobilize him once again.
Tristan felt a draft on his legs, which was almost welcome, considering the circumstances, until he realized his pants were down.
"Dey don't call me Leatha-Clad Joe for nothin'." Joey winked. And to think Tristan had thought those brown eyes looked so innocent.
The three men watching from the balcony goggled at the scene.
"He's got a huge-" Yami began.
The other two turned to him, still gaping.
"Talent!" Yami whispered hastily. "I was definitely going to say talent."
"Gimme all your poetry, right now!" Joey screeched.
"All right! All right!" Tristan shoved Joey to the side and stood up. He pulled up his pants and recited, "It's real simple, the way that I feel. I'll give it to you straight, 'cause I'm keepin' it real."
Joey cocked his head, thoroughly confused. Tristan matched his expression. "Isn't this what you want?"
He could see the understanding form on Joey's face. "Yeah. Yeah! Talk dirty to me!"
Tristan continued. "I'm not about the Benjamins, but if I was, I'd have you iced out to show all my love."
Tristan paused. Joey, paper bag on head, was rolling around on the bed and moaning as if he were possessed with the god of low budget porn acting. Tristan, not being well-versed enough in acting to tell it was bad, started to smile as he went on.
"I may not be ballin', but just give me the time. I'm accustomed to nickels, you're surely a dime!"
Joey had slid off the bed and was dragging himself, on his butt, across the floor in front of the bed, continuing to terribly fake it.
"If I could just holla, no wait, that's not right. If I was your man, we could really be tight. I'm not usually soft, but whenever you're near…"
Joey was back on the bed, pounding on it and panting, "Talk harda, fasta, louda!" The paper bag was shredded all to hell.
Tristan, on a wave of new energy, burst into song.
"My voice gives me strength!"
Joey was still. The tie-dye bedcovers hung over his face, partially obscuring his surprised expression.
Tristan continued, "And now we're standing here.
I don't care who knows that this song's for you.
I could shout it from the mountaintops, it's just that true.
I gotta tell you, I gotta tell you
What's going on in my head.
How glorious life is because we're not dead."
Joey sat up, mesmerized by Tristan's powerful singing. It was the same effect one would get if they waved a pendulum shaped like a doughnut in front of his face.
"I went to the Lolmart for an hour or three.
But this little ditty just wouldn't let my mind be.
But the greeters sent some new vibes my way.
Gave me inspiration when they said 'Have a super day!'"
Joey stood up, and walked over to Tristan, feeling lighter than air. He, too, knew of the enthusiasm with which Lolmart greeters did their jobs. And here was a man who captured perfectly both their feelings in song! Could it be love?
"I may be forgetful; I'm no elephant.
But I'm quite certain that my memories aren't scant.
What I'm trying to say here is-I've hit a brick wall.
You're much more handsome than I recall!"
Joey and Tristan took each other's hands and twirled around the room. The sky outside the window was a clear dark electric blue and the moon was porcelain white. The stars took the form of blue and white fairies, floating about and harmonizing. The three men on the balcony joined in. A soft breeze blew in, rustling the men's hair around their faces.
"So dreamy…" Joey thought as Tristan's hair refused to yield to the tyrannical wind.
Tristan was singing full voice, not caring who heard:
"I don't care who knows that this song's for you.
I could shout it from the mountaintops, it's just that true.
I gotta tell you, I gotta tell you
What's going on in my head.
How glorious life is because we're not dead!" (1)
Joey stared into Tristan's brown eyes, swearing he saw fireworks. Either that, or the medicinal joint he'd had earlier hadn't fully worn off. That had to be the most beautiful song Joey had ever heard. The fact that Joey's experience with music was mostly with the music at the club mattered not one whit.
"Your voice makes you supa seductive," he drawled, falling slightly into Tristan's arms. "I can't believe I'm in love wit' a talented, handsome, not totally self-absorbed duke."
"Duke?"
Joey opened his eyes. "Yeah, what else would you be?"
"But…I'm not a duke. I'm a writer." Tristan was puzzled. Were they role-playing now?
By the blank expression on Joey's face, Tristan figured he was just as confused. "Er, Yugi arranged for me to give a poetry reading in this room, tonight, and…" He trailed off. Joey was still giving him that dull look, but maybe it took a while for his facial expression to register on his face.
"Durr…what?" Why was his durr face so charming?
"I think there's been a misunderstanding." Tristan nervously glanced toward the door. "I think I've been mistaken for someone else."
"Wait…Yugi set this up?" Joey now looked genuinely horrified. "Please tell me Yugi hasn't turned you into some oh-so-talented, tragically impoverished hipster writer."
Tristan felt a huge drop of sweat beading on his neck. "Well, maybe…"
Joey looked as if Tristan had just told him he was inviting Hannibal Lector for a threesome. "Oh, god, run as fast as you can away from here."
"Why?"
Joey was twitching as though he'd mainlined the coffee on the front desk. "Da musical director. He…does things wit' da ones who disagree with him…" Joey's eyes darted all over the room. "Da last writer was neva found. Da one before dat…" Joey shuddered. "Gorgonzola cheese gives me da creeps now."
Tristan slowly backed away. The window wasn't too high off the ground; he could climb down if needed. He was even gladder that Pegasus had left, hearing this.
"Wait a minute…Duke, Diceland…Oh, no!" Tristan jumped at Joey's voice.
"What.."
"Da real duke! He's comin' here! Tonight!" Joey flew over to the bed to check the clock on the low night table. "He's gonna be here any second! And he's gonna be pissed if he catches you here!"
Tristan barely had time to ask what was going on before Joey dragged him to the table with the black and white checkered tablecloth in front of the bed. "Hide back here. He'll neva think ta look behind da table, wit' da mirror right dere!"
There was a knock on the door. Joey went to answer it.
Duke was leaning against the door's jamb in a way that he must have found sexy. To Joey, it looked more like he was trying to scratch his butt on it. The man's black hair was slicked back into a ponytail with so much grease, you could fry chicken with it. His tight pants revealed that his phone and keys were in his front pockets and his black sleeveless polo shirt with the popped collar revealed his fashion influences. His trucker hat was rotated forty-five degrees, the angle of optimum irony.
Joey swallowed a laugh. This guy had actually once wanted to date his sister. Bakura popped out from behind Duke.
"Isn't that sweet? The Duke got all dressed up for you!"
Joey tried to shape his smirk into a smile. "Sweet. Sure."
"What's inside the clothes is even sweeter," Duke purred to match his Cheshire cat on crack grin. Tristan nearly ruptured his spleen trying to stifle himself.
"I'll leave you two crazy kids to have fun with each other!" With that, Bakura seemed to teleport down the hall.
Duke shut the door while Joey went to the bed. He sat down and began to mentally psych himself up for what was sure to be a very interesting session. At least if Duke was as pompous as the vibes he gave off, it'd be somewhat entertaining. He glanced over at the table and did a double take-Tristan's hair stuck up over the side of the table.
And then Duke saw the bottles in the ice bucket and said, "Ooh, Abysmalinth!"
Joey sprung up to stop him. "Don't!"
Duke looked up. "Don't what?"
"Er…Ya don't want Abysmalinth, do ya?" Joey chuckled. "A classy guy like you probably has a more refined taste, don'tcha?"
Duke looked amused. "No, not really." He turned back to the table.
"Hey!" Joey yelled to distract him.
Duke turned around again. "What?"
Joey sniffed the air. "What's da name of your cologne?" He did his best to look intrigued. "It's really sexy."
Duke stared, wondering why, if Joey thought his cologne was sexy, he looked so confused. "It's Eau de Douche. Sort of like Eau de Toilette, but just a little better." He turned back to the table. (2)
Joey leapt at Duke, who was perfectly calm. He'd been preparing himself for when young women (and men) would throw themselves at his well-groomed feet. At long, long, long last, it had finally happened.
He was very surprised when Joey began to rap.
"It's real simple, da way dat I feel. I'll give it to ya straight 'cause I'm keepin' it real."
Duke cocked his head. It had a certain urban appeal to it. Very fresh. "Yes?" he said, expectantly.
"I may not be ballin', but just give me da time. I'm accustomed ta nickels, but boy, you're a dime!"
Duke felt a small smile forming on his face, despite his confusion. No one had ever thought so highly of him to compare him to currency. Except when Noah told him his cologne smelled like a shower of gold, but that really didn't count.
Joey hoped this last touch would do the trick. He stood up, singing, as he looked Duke dead in the eyes:
"I gotta tell you, I gotta tell you
What's goin' on in my head.
How glorious life is because we're not dead!"
Duke's eyes glowed. Joey jumped.
"Your eyes! Dey're radioactive! Oh my gawd, you're a mutant, aren't you?"
"No, no!" Duke tittered. "Of course I'm not a mutant. I'm just…stunned by your song!"
Joey beamed. "Like it? It's from 'Awesome Flotsam.'" He twirled Duke's black tendrils. "Y'know, bein' here wit' you brings a whole new meanin' to dose words: life is truly glorious when we're not in a box unda six feet o' dirt." He moved in closer, his arms around Duke's shoulders.
Duke wrapped his arms around Joey's waist. "Do you not care for being together in small places?"
Tristan wasn't so naïve that he couldn't guess what was coming next. He quietly crept toward the door. The Duke's attention was fully on Joey.
"Like what kinda small places?" Joey asked, stroking Duke's temples.
Duke rotated his hat another forty degrees. "Ever done it in a closet?"
Joey raised an eyebrow, interested.
"Perfect place to store unused clothes." Duke winked.
Tristan slid over to the door and turned the knob as quietly as he could. Almost there…
Then the door made a sound that might as well have been an air horn.
Joey threw himself on the bed, pounding the mattress and crying, "Brooklyn lust! Brooklyn lust!" Duke, being slightly more interested in the scene he was causing than the door, did not turn around.
"What is this all about?" Duke asked, trying to mask his pride at having reduced the Top Dog to frenzy with just his appearance.
"Don't you 'what's dis all about' me!" Joey cried. Yeah, lay it on thick. " Can't you see da effect you're havin' on me? You're killin' me, Duke! Killin' me wit' ya hotness!" Lay it on REAL thick.
Duke grinned, swaggering over to the bed. "Well, I do try to tone it down, but there are no guarantees it'll work…" He chucked his trucker cap on the table. It landed perfectly on the neck of the Abysmalinth bottle.
Tristan, while trying to suppress his guffaws, had to admit that Joey was a pretty good actor.
Joey sprang up and grabbed Duke by the shoulders. "Let's do it," he whispered, pulling Duke down onto the bed. Tristan scampered past the two onto the balcony and hid with the party of three spies. He stared. They shrugged.
"We had to make sure everything went smoothly," Yugi explained.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "So…You decided to watch me potentially have sex with my best friend?"
"Sounded like a good idea at the time," Yami muttered.
Back inside, Joey pushed Duke away before they could even get their pants off.
"No. We should wait," he said, sliding to the far end of the bed.
"What, wait? Until when?" Duke fixed his ponytail.
"Until openin' night. We can't do it now." Joey smoothed his hair. "I-I need time ta practice controllin' myself. It's like when you need ta work up a tolerance to somethin'." He crawled back over to Duke. "You're like my own personal crack."
Duke raised an eyebrow. "Am I that irresistible?" It was more of a statement than a question, and then, more of a statement rehearsed in the bathroom mirror than a spontaneous one.
"Yes. So we gotta wait until openin' night." Joey wagged his finger, mock authoritatively. "All right?"
Duke stood up. "As you wish." He swaggered over to the door, then out, rubbing his thumbs over his popped collar as he exited.
Tristan came back in, seeing that the coast was clear.
"Jeez, dat was too close." Joey ran his hands through his hair. He turned to Tristan. "Your ass woulda been grass if he'd found you."
Tristan snorted. "That guy, beating me up? Seriously?"
"Seriously." Joey was breathless. "He's much stronga den he looks. You saw him just now—don't act like you weren't watchin'—he damn near wore me out!"
Joey did seem a bit tired, judging by his breathing. And the sweat beading on his forehead.
And the forward, downward direction toward Tristan he was taking.
Tristan caught Joey as he fainted. "Oh, crap."
-O-o-O-
Meanwhile, Bakura squinted through binoculars in the window of the motel across the street.
"So far so good," he commented. The tall man was holding Joey in a rather romantic embrace. Joey just melted into his arms like cheese on a hot plate of chips. They were sure to get a hefty donation out of this one.
Back at the Mastodon, Tristan gave up on trying to rouse Joey and figured he could just sleep it off. He dragged him over to the bed. He happened to trip and fall right on top of Joey just as the door opened and in walked Duke.
"I forgot my cap-whoa, what exactly is going on here?" Duke jumped back when he saw the scene.
"Um, well," Tristan began as Joey regained consciousness.
"Duke! Can't start da party without you," he joked as Tristan scrambled up.
Duke looked from Tristan to Joey. So they were going to have to fight over another Wheeler. He snatched his cap from the bottle and jerked it down onto his head, sniffing indignantly. "It's real simple, the way I feel." He tossed his ponytail for good measure.
"Duke, you gots da flow! And here's da guy who wrote it." He sat up next to Tristan, who had figured it was futile to run away now. "We were just rehearsin' da play it's from."
"Oh, really?" Duke crossed his arms.
"Yeah, really."
Duke narrowed his eyes. "No way."
The balcony doors flew open and Yugi entered. "How's the rehearsal going?" Mokuba and Yami followed close behind.
Bakura in his hotel room saw the room filling up like Disneyworld on New Year's Day. "What the bloody hell is all that?" He grabbed his jacket and dashed out the door.
Duke could only stare as Mokuba fiddled with the buttons on his keytar.
"So this is the creative team?" Duke asked, still a little incredulous.
Mokuba nodded. "Aren't they great?"
Yami was falling asleep. Joey poked him. Yami glared and flicked Joey's nose, and Joey thumped him back. Tristan separated them and banished them to opposite ends of the bed. The two kicked at each other while Yugi grabbed their feet and tried to hold them down. All through this, Yugi and Tristan pretended to be discussing the play they were supposedly rehearsing.
Duke turned back to Mokuba. "They're really…something."
Bakura ripped open the door. "What the devil is going on here?"
"S'okay, Bakura. Duke knows all about da emergency rehearsal," Joey said. "He's down wit' Tristan's script and he wants ta invest in it."
"Invest?" A bell sounded in Bakura's head and it resembled that of a cash register. "Of course! Of course you want to invest."
"Well, maybe." Duke feigned aloofness.
"Why don't we go back to my office to write up the paperwork?" Bakura suggested. He was halfway out the door when Duke cleared his throat and said, "Wait a minute."
Everyone turned to look at Duke.
"Shouldn't I know the story before we start that?"
Bakura chuckled nervously. "Yes, that'd probably be a good idea. Well, it's about…" He drew a blank. "Yugi what's the story about again?" he asked quickly.
"Well, it's a really cutting edge play. It's called 'Awesome Flotsam.' And it probably won't go too over our usual audience's head."
"What is it about, though?" Duke pressed.
"Er…It's about…"
"It's about love!" Tristan piped up.
"Love?" Duke said the word as if Tristan had just told him it was about the mating patterns of box turtles.
Tristan paid him no mind. "Love that passes the test of time." Stars glimmered in his eyes. "And doesn't even have to study for it."
"It's set in Scotland!" Yugi chimed in. Mokuba began to play "Loch Lomond" on his keytar.
Duke cocked his head. "Scotland?"
"Egypt, then, it's set in ancient Egypt!" Tristan quickly put in.
"Yes, Egypt!" Yugi nodded.
"And there's this male courtesan, named…um…Joe-hotep. Yeah. And his kingdom gets hijacked by the Pharaoh's evil brother, who wanted the throne all for himself. He had his own little political faction set up, like the Rebels, only they're evil and-"
"Where is the love?" Bakura reminded.
"Oh, yeah, the courtesan. Well, he has to seduce the evil brother to save the kingdom, but he mistakes a duelist for the new Pharaoh. He wasn't trying to trick him." Tristan glanced up at Joey, who was listening intently. "He was dressed that way because he…he…bought all his clothes at the second-hand bazaar and the Pharaoh goes through them like he goes through tissues."
"Did they have thrift stores back then?" Mokuba wondered aloud. Nobody knew enough to answer.
"I'll play the penniless, riverdancing duelist!" Yami jumped up. "He will duel well, at least, but step! Like a beast!"
"Did they have riverdancing back then?" Duke wondered aloud. Nobody cared enough to answer.
"So the duelist and the courtesan have to hide their love from the evil Pharaoh," Tristan said. "But there's just one problem: one of the monsters, the Dark Magician, likes to come to life. And when he does, he can only speak the truth."
"Sounds like someone's drug-induced fanfiction," Mokuba muttered.
"I'll play the Dark Magician!" Yugi put in. He swept a hand over his face to get into character and walked up to Joey. "You are from Brooklyn," he said in a sonorous voice, wielding an invisible staff. He walked up to Bakura. "You are British," he said in the same sonorous voice. He turned to Duke. "And you are clearly from Bumblefu-" Yami clapped a hand over Yugi's mouth. "He was about to say Bumblefort. It's a really lovely place, perhaps you've been?" Yami quickly explained.
Duke let his sideways glance at Yugi linger a little before turning back to Tristan. "So the Dark Magician rats out the duelist," he deduced.
"Very good, Duke!" Joey clapped.
"And there's music, of course," Yugi added.
Mokuba started a typically eighties riff on his keytar and flipped a switch to add a beat to his chords. Bakura began to sing:
"The dead Pharaohs in the pyramids,
They played the card games, don't you know.
Then it caught on quick (oh whey oh),
They're doing it here in Domino."
Yugi took over as Yami danced in the background:
"All the bizarre hair shields their heads
From shadow magic of the mind.
Gold Puzz 3-D (oh whey oh),
It helps a man win when stakes are high."
Yugi twirled a gold umbrella like a baton.
"Pseudo god with a golden rod
Say, 'Hey oh, Yu-gi-oh, hey oh whey oh.'"
Everyone sang the last line:
"Play like an Egyptian."
Duke looked interested, but only mildly. "And the plot?"
Everyone paused, then scrambled to grab the correct props (not easy, given the setting). Joey wrapped the tie-dye bed sheet around him like a tunic and used a pad of jumbo post-its as a fan. Yami tied his cape-jacket around his waist like a shendyt kilt. Tristan pulled up a chair and sang the story:
"The courtesan and duelist were apart,
An evil plot broke the duelist's heart."
Joey sang:
"But he heard his song (oh whey oh),
And he knew dere love was just too strong."
Everyone sang:
"All the Johns and their hired persons
Say, 'Hey oh Yu-gi-oh, hey oh whey oh.'
Play like an Egyptian."
Tristan continued as Joey and Yami pantomimed the lyrics.
"The lovers hear the secret song,
It helps them to flee the evil one.
He rants and rails (oh whey oh),
But his rage is to no avail." (3)
"I am the evil Pharaoh!" Bakura popped up from behind the table they were using as a stage, wearing his black jacket as a cape and his hair fluffed up like albino bat wings in flight. Everyone began bowing to him to give Duke an idea of his power. "Resistance is futile!" Duke chuckled. He was a fan of the Borg.
"No one plays him better den you, Bakura!" Joey exclaimed.
"And no one's going to," Bakura said, tossing his hair back to reveal a large gold ring dangling from his right ear.
Mokuba played them out as they all lapped Duke's chair, doing the Egyptian walk.
"Generally, I like it," Duke said. Everyone cheered.
-O-o-O-o-O-