1.
The elder Kaiba swept into the front parlor of his estate, black coat billowing out behind him. He removed that coat like a matador preparing for the fight, and hung it on a peg. With a quick jerk, he removed his tie and tossed it over the coat. He slipped out of his jacket, found another peg, and undid the top button of his black shirt. This he did with the quickness of long habit. He sat down on the couch and let out a long-suffering breath.
A young woman entered the house, dressed smartly in a black skirt and cream-colored turtleneck sweater, holding a series of folders in one arm. She used her free hand to fish out a particular document and brandished it like a weapon. "You won't be able to ignore this forever," Akiko declared, sending a sardonic smirk over her shoulder.
This was met with a Kaiba's signature scorn for the mundane. "I'll get to it," was the eventual reply.
"Mm-hm."
Before any semblance of calm could settle over the room, Roland Ackerman announced his arrival; he saw the newly-arrived occupants, and bowed his head. "Master Kaiba," he said, "Miss Yoshimi."
Mokuba Kaiba groaned through clenched teeth, flung his head back against the couch, and stared at the ceiling. Without any kind of prompting whatsoever, he said: "What's he done this time?"
"Ah . . . there aren't really words for it, sir."
Akiko smirked devilishly. "Did Bocchan dismantle the microwave again?"
"He insists he put all the parts back this time, but it still doesn't work properly. But no, that's not what I'm talking about. He's in the backyard." Roland waited for a long moment. Then he said, ". . . Ready, sir?"
Mokuba sighed, forced himself back to his feet, and smoothed out his shirt. "All right, fine. Let's survey the damage." And thus, Roland Ackerman began his daily tour of the Kaiba Estate, and Seto Kaiba's latest improvements.
"Just out of curiosity, Roland," Mokuba said, "whatever it is Seto got it into his head to do this time, why didn't you stop him?"
Roland shrugged self-consciously. "Honestly, I didn't think he was serious."
"Well, now you know better, don't you?"
"Uh . . . yes."
The first place Mokuba checked was his brother's room. As expected, the place was an archaeological dig site, and he half-expected to see Seto pop his head out from under his bed with a spelunker's headlamp.
Roland showed him the kitchen next. The microwave only seemed to work for fifteen seconds at a time, and the clock was set to Greenwich Mean Time. Mokuba didn't know what the toaster was supposed to do anymore, but it involved eggs.
"So I think the cleaning staff needs a raise," Mokuba said, after extricating himself from the refrigerator. Akiko looked like she was about to have a stroke from trying to hold in her laughter, but she managed to make a note.
Mokuba went straight into the backyard without even bothering to look at any more rooms. He didn't think his sanity could handle an overdose of his brother today, so he engaged in his usual coping method: obstinate denial.
Contrary to whatever he'd turned his home into, the tortoise's outdoor enclosure was immaculate. A'Tuin was currently meditating on the nature of the universe, nestled in his conservatory, and Mokuba actually smiled when he saw the offering of greens and flowers that Seto had prepared. It looked suspiciously like a professional arrangement, and Mokuba wondered just how long it had taken the boy to make it up.
The young genius of the Kaiba family sometimes forgot to eat because he found it superfluous and boring, but he never forgot to feed his prized companion.
"Welp," Mokuba muttered, "at least some of his priorities are in order."
Then he made the mistake of turning his head, and finally found his brother, currently seated cross-legged on the pool's diving board with a notepad in his lap. He was scribbling something with wild abandon, and his face was a picture in Spartan concentration.
Mokuba slowly approached, with the bearing of a man about to face a firing squad.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, gesticulating only semi-randomly with his other hand, Mokuba said:
". . . I'm only going to ask one question. Just one. Why—and please understand, this is an important question and I need an answer this time . . . why is the pool filled with lime Jell-O?"
Seto blinked, turned, and smiled. "Moku-nii! You're home!"
"Yes. I'm home. Sharp observation. Pool. Jell-O. Why?"
Seto blinked again, looked back at the pool, then back at his brother.
"The warehouse store didn't have enough grape."
2.
"I'm not gonna ask how long you've been stewing on this one," Joey Wheeler said, once he'd managed to control his giggling, "but . . . I mean, okay. How do you get that out of him?" He gestured to Seto, who was seated in one corner of the shop, near the counter, studying a newspaper.
Mokuba leaned back in his own chair. "Don't question me. I've made calculations. Kiko knows about psychology and stuff. She's studied child development, and she helped me figure this stuff out. If Niisama was my little brother, I'd prob'ly end up with a stomach ulcer, or at least I'd be an alcoholic, by the time I turned thirty. He'd be, like, a miniature Tony Stark. Without the beard. He'd drive me crazy."
Yugi was still laughing, and Seto was doing a remarkable job of ignoring him.
Joey raised an eyebrow. "Any thoughts on this one, Kaiba?"
Seto glanced up from his paper.
". . . He's not wrong."
So. This was inspired by a series of fan art pictures I found, drawn by a fantastic human being. Look for kintatsujo on Tumblr or Golden-Dragon-Girl on DeviantART. Seriously. But anyway, these pictures I found were a very simple premise: what if the Kaibas' ages were swapped?
Suffice it to say, I was unable to let this idea go, and this is the first honest manifestation of it. Is anyone interested in a more expansive glimpse into this idea? I know I am.
As it is, I had to get this out of my system. It's weird and ridiculous and I love it to pieces.
Hope you enjoyed it, too.
