***Foie gras is fatty goose liver. I've never tried it, and I think the method of fattening the goose (or duck) is abhorrent. People cram a tube down their throats and force feed them, but I don't think that would stop Marik from trying a delicacy, however, so he eats it in this drabble anyway. Ug, so glad I'm eating bbq'd tempeh for dinner. Oh, and plating is how you arrange the food on the plate.***

Bakura leaned across the table and hissed at Marik. "What the hell are we eating? Is this cat food? It looks like cat food."

Marik rolled his eyes. Their plates sat on meticulously pressed table clothes near crystal stemware filled with water and champagne. Marik didn't often eat meat, so when he did he made sure it was high quality. "It's foie gras."

"I'm pretty sure they just dumped a can of Fancy Feast on a plate and charged you way too fucking much for it."

"Oh shut-up, your steak will be out soon."

"Their plating isn't even that good. The colors are too bland."

Marik chuckled at that. "I'm surprised you even know what plating means."

Bakura snorted and stared at the candle center-piece.

Marik waited for Bakura to say something, but he'd become quiet. "Well?"

"What?"

"When did you become such an expert at plating?"

"I never said I was. I only pointed out that we're eating cat food."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Where you heard the term. I'm interested."

Bakura thumped his elbows on the table and rested his chin between his hands. Marik winced at Bakura's manners but kept quiet because he wanted to hear Bakura's response before they jumped into a new argument.

Bakura only muttered, "Ryou."

"Your old host?"

Bakura nodded.

"What about him?"

"He liked to cook, and we shared a body for a long time."

"'Shared' that's funny."

"Whatever. I picked a few things up. Cooking and computers mostly."

Marik blinked at Bakura. "You know how to cook?"

"Kinda . . . I guess. Probably not as good as he was, though."

"And all this time you've never once made me dinner?"

"I've made dinner."

"Rice and chickpeas doesn't count. I mean something different."

"Why the hell would I make you dinner?"

Marik shrugged. "It'd be nice."

"Why the hell would I be nice?"

Marik leaned across the table. "Because I suck your dick, asshole, now get your elbows off the table. You're embarrassing me."

"I don't give two shits about what any of these stuffy pricks think of me. Elbows are staying on the table, and I'll cook you dinner after you start cooking me fancy dinners."

Marik snorted. "I don't know how to cook. Men weren't allowed to learn. Ishizu had to do all the cooking."

"Are you still underground?"

"You're a fucking asshole, Bakura."

"But am I not an asshole with a valid point?"

"Fine. I'll learn to cook, but tomorrow you're making dinner."

Bakura scratched the back of his head. "Hope you like cream puffs. Ryou made a lot of desserts."

***I need to get Bakura's back on this. It's okay to be an asshole as long as you have a valid point. The "I can't do it because of my childhood" excuse is no excuse when you're an adult.***