They sat at the table, drinking coffee. Bakura stabbed at a piece of toast with his finger, half asleep and uninterested in his breakfast. Marik sat across from him, already dressed, groomed, and eyes lined in Kohl; however, he also played with his toast, ripping it into small pieces instead of eating it.
"I want to go back to bed," Bakura muttered.
"My sister wants me to visit this afternoon. She's going to cook and then we'll probably play cards – she always loved doing that."
"Have fun." Bakura took his butter knife and carved a little Pharaoh shaped doll out of his toast. He grinned as he stabbed it with the knife.
Marik wrinkled his face when he noticed what Bakura was doing. "Really?"
"What?"
"That. What you're doing to your food."
"Come on." Bakura bit the Pharaoh's head off and chewed with triumph. "It is way too early in the morning to be mature."
"I want you to come with me," Marik blurted out.
Bakura raised an eyebrow. ". . . back to bed?"
Marik rubbed his temples. "I wish. No. To my sister's place."
Bakura pushed himself away from the table. His chair scratched across the floor. "Uhh – that's a bad idea."
"I don't care."
"Does she even know I'm alive?"
"No . . . you'll be a surprise."
"Ha. I knew you could be cruel, Marik, but you're really outdoing yourself with this one."
Marik stared at the crumbled bits of toast on his plate. "She keeps asking when I'm going to bring a girlfriend over."
Bakura laughed.
"It's not funny."
"Yes it is."
"Then you can laugh all the way to her apartment, asshole."