Sometimes, when I'm not sure what to do, I fall back on an old mainstay.
Have Seto yell at a jackass.
.
"In all my life, I've never been treated like this!"
When it came to the Kaiba Corporation, Kisara followed Seto's lead. She was his bodyguard, after all; having her take charge only worked in so many contexts, even though Seto never seemed to mind when she did. He was still the one in charge, regardless, and she preferred to stay quiet and observe whenever she was in his building. She tended to learn a lot more, that way.
Seto was not the one to respond to this outburst, though.
Mokuba was.
The young Kaiba was dressed in a suit, not unlike his brother's, and his hair had been worked into a smart braid. He looked less like Seto's precious baby boy, and more like a knight's squire: a warrior-in-training.
Mokuba said: "I'm going to have to insist that you lower your voice, sir," in a tone that suggested arguing would be the last mistake this idiot would ever make. "As you can see, there are numerous people here going about their business, and would rather not be distu—"
"Don't you talk down to me, you little snot!"
Seto's glare cut over to Kisara; she caught the look and sent a sharp little nod his way.
Mokuba's face turned cold; his eyes were flinty. "Be quiet, sir."
Seto did not smile; his expression was cast in iron. He calculated, quickly, and cut in when the blustering fool opened his mouth again. "Speak to anyone in this building with that tone again," he said, "and I will have you removed from it." He paused for drama. "Speak to my brother with that tone again, and I will make sure it isn't gentle."
"How . . . dare you?!"
"How dare I?" Seto asked, almost gently. "I've a reputation, Mister Lindelof. If you haven't acquainted yourself with it . . . and given your behavior today, I can only assume that you haven't . . . I'm not sure how it is you think you've any ground to be insulted." He turned. "We're done here. I've heard enough."
"Don't turn your back on me! We are absolutely not done her—"
Lindelof took one step forward, arm outstretched, clearly intending to grab Seto by the arm as he walked away. The man's challenge choked off when Kisara announced in front of him, her thin fingers clasped around his neck in an iron grip. She lifted the man from the floor and let him dangle there.
"You do not listen very well," Kisara said. Her tone was crisp, but quiet; curious. "I would think that this would be a problem in . . . big business. Would you not agree?" She didn't bother waiting for an answer and dropped Lindelof like a sack of wet grain. "Move," Kisara snapped. She followed her prey as he scrambled for the elevator.
Mokuba watched them disappear, then fell into step beside his brother. He pouted. "I had that," he said.
"You did," Seto agreed, and now his tone really was gentle. "There wasn't any need for me to step in. But I've been itching for a fight lately, and this is as close as I'm going to get to one without a night in a cell." He winked. "Sorry for being selfish, kiddo."
Mokuba sighed, then waved. "Next one's mine."
"Agreed."