A/N: OMIGOD, SHAMELESS PLUG!

Not sure if we're ever going to finish this? But anyway, this is an excerpt from chapter six of the fanfic I'm currently co-writing with Cameron Kennedy. (And yes, it actually does have to do with the life of Yami Marik. Don't worry; I'm not that much of a promotion whore.)

For your reading convenience, "Yami Marik" is actually being called "Mariku" in this fic. "Marik" is the one who I usually call "Malik," AKA the hikari. Just because. STFU.

Premise for Plot: (Because it actually does have one.)

"Marik has an awesome plan where nothing can go wrong. Well, nothing except for the stuff that does. On the plus side? Marik makes a much prettier girl than the pharaoh ever would. And with Bakura in the picture... things are going to get interesting."

The title of this chapter was taken from a Jonathan Coulton song with the same name. Lookitup. I don't own it, or Yu-Gi-Oh!, unfortunately for my wallet.

"Remind me why we're here again?" Mariku muttered into his drink. Or tried to, anyway. He couldn't really tell where the drink was anymore, and it was kind of complicating things.

This, of course, meant that he needed more tequila. Because everything could be fixed with more tequila.

Yami snorted in a very un-pharaoh-like phashion. Er, fashion. (See? That's exactly how much tequila Mariku had had already.) "Dunno, but it's kinda nice that we can actually have a conversation without trying to kill each other isn't it? Or is it? I don't know anymore. It's like... I dunno what it's like. I don't know!" He inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. "No! No, I don't wanna forget again! Help me, Mariku!"

Mariku clapped a hand over Yami's mouth. "Breathe, you asshole. No, you idiot, through your nose, how the hell do you expect to get air in through my palm? Gods, you're fucked up. Are you quite finished now?"

Yami finished hyperventilating, and Mariku took another sip of tequila. "Yeah," Mariku choked out, continuing their previous conversation, "We can only do this because only because we're so drunking fucked! ... Er, wait... I meant fucking DRUNK, that's what I meant! Yeah!"

Yami laughed. "This makes no sense!"

...Actually, none of it really made any sense. Mariku wasn't technically old enough to be drinking, even, being only about ten years old, but for reasons he couldn't explain he was now at a club. Drinking. With Yami, of all people! Drinking! And getting drunk! With Yami!

WHAT THE FUCK?

Alcohol, meet Mariku. Yeah, everybody can already tell that you're going to be great friends.

"So how's Marik doing?" Yami asked. He took another swig of vodka and let out a belch. "I bet she's still pissed off over losing her penis and all."

At that, the bartender sent the pair of them an extremely odd glance, but neither of them noticed. "Actually," Mariku continued, oblivious, "she's dealing really damn well. I keep giving her shit about penguin bras - " Yami snorted again at that, " - but otherwise it's like nothing's changed at all! Well, except for the whole boobs thing, but other than that, nothing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Plus, now she actually has a teeny teeny teeny teeny teeeeeeeny tiny fucking shot with Bakura, so I really think - "

Yami spewed his vodka across the bar, much to the dismay of the poor man sitting next to him. "Come again? She wants to sleep with BAKURA?"

"Oh my God, Yami has ears! That actually work! No shit, Sherlock, that's what I just said!"

"And you think she has a chance?" Yami almost fell off his stool as he laughed at the thought, which probably would have been bad, seeing as nobody was actually sure what the floor here was made of anymore. Some said it was just gum and old peanut wrappers. Others said that it was made up of the people who laughed too hard and fell off of their stools. You never knew. "Bullshit!" Yami said, holding on to the table to keep himself from falling on to questionable floor. "Gods, what have you been smoking?"

"She does too have a shot!" Mariku retorted angrily, pouting. "Have you seen her? She's like, sex on a stick now. Which I really shouldn't be saying, 'cause I live with her and that's just creepy, but still! She's like Barbie now, only hotter and less likely to die of malnutrition."

"Hah! I bet you my fucking deck that they don't end up together anyway. The world doesn't work that way, Mariku. That's like, soap-opera material. In fact, we should just get a patent on this and call it a day-time TV show, 'cause that's about as likely as it is they're gonna hook up."

"OH YEAH?" Mariku bellowed. "I bet my own Ra damned deck that they get in each others' pants by next Sunday!"

"You're on!" Yami shouted. "You're so on that fucking Brittany Spears couldn't get you off! YO, BARTENDER, CAN WE HAVE A PIECE OF PAPER AND A PEN OVER HERE?"

Mariku woke up Thursday morning with a ginormous hangover. Why the hell did he have a hangover, exactly? And what the fuck was the red X on his hand for? And was he gonna hurl, because it sure felt like -

Before he finished that thought he had dashed into the bathroom and wasted no time in worshipping the porcelain god. "Aww, shit," he muttered. Knowing that in a few minutes he'd probably have to puke again, he rolled over on the floor with a sigh and put his hands in his jeans for the wait.

"...What the hell?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and frowned.

Don't forget that we bet our decks by next Sunday! Call the bartender from Domino's Downtown Club if you have no idea what this is about the next morning! Which is really likely, since you have the brain capacity of a freaking goldfish. Seriously, man. You only drank, like, a million shots, and you couldn't even walk. What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously.

-Yami, AKA the Awesomest Pharaoh Ev-ar

For a brief moment, Mariku really did consider calling that number, but then he remembered: that bet with Yami on having Marik get into Bakura's pants... "Really?" Mariku questioned offhandedly as he slipped the paper into his pocket again. "Next Sunday? Tch. Too easy."