He stumbled blindly, into old cracked concrete. A vibrant taste of pure
scarlet made itself clear on his quickly swelling lip; he barely noticed.
His head was pure chaos at that moment, in living in the painful realization of being entirely alone.
The boy had seen so much, done so little, and all the while losing pieces of his mind, sure bit by agonizing bit.
A stray silver lock twisted tauntingly around his face.
His face was raw with cold tears. ~Cold~. A hundred times worse than cold sweat, because he was so far beyond nervous. He was terrified.
Squinching up his face, he took a long breath that made his head spin, but at least succeeded in calming the sobs of hysteria that haunted him for what seemed like forever.
The dry throat in his neck instinctively contracted in a swallow, but only forced more icy chill through it. Everything stung, but of course, Ryou Bakura had become quite used to it.
The tranquil presence of the full moon loomed over him in the otherwise darkness, staring at him openly without emotion. He stared right back, catching his breath in awe as a cold breeze fluttered his eyelashes.
/Please help me. Anyone. ~Please~./
No answer. He still knelt, still believing somehow that his plea was being considered.
That's when a single snowflake drifted out of blackness.
He was being mocked. Mocked by the gods. So, Ryou ran.
Far away from Bakura: ~himself~.
~*~*~*~
"Yami! Pawns can only move one space!"
"You know," he replied, idly twisting the wooden figure in his long fingers "Even the smallest soldier can change to course of a war. Remember that Malik."
". . .Okay. I think you should stay away from Isis' 'Lord of the Rings' DVD."
His other gave him an insane grin that many had readily learned to hate.
Malik had been attempting to teach his Yami how to play chess for the past week or so, but without much success. This particular set had been a house- warming gift from the ever joyful Mutos, and was quite handsome with the hand-carved mahogany and pine pieces. Yet currently, it was only used as a bulky bunch of junk in their rather shabby apartment, for Isis hated to play, and his yami, obviously, was not very constructive.
"Not from the 'Lord of the Rings' sonny!" he explained tauntingly with a wiggling finger. "I learned 'to-ma-toes' from there. Or Bakura maybe. . .I'm not rightly sure."
"Ryou you mean."
"Same thing."
"~No~." Malik gave an icy glare to his deranged facial expression. "They are ~not~ the same, that's like saying that you and ~I~ are the same person."
"But we are."
Silence. No matter how hard he tried, he could never deny that truthfully, though he had attempted numerous ways to stay clear of a completely undeniable statement. He winced as this one snuck up on him.
"Anyway, I know for a fact that kings don't move nearly as readily as servants (the spoiled idiots). I mean, take the pharaoh for example. . ."
Malik sighed, running his fingers through his golden hair before interrupting.
"It's the queens that move farther."
"Oh?" his violet eyes seemed impossibly large as he peered down at the polished, wooden set. "Well, that doesn't make sense! Women--"
"Isis wouldn't like you saying that."
"Pft."
The young Egyptian truly hated his yami, but he was after all, nothing more than himself. And it wasn't as if he could kick him out of the apartment or anything, so as long as he didn't do anything morally unacceptable, he stayed. And though he not doubt the hatred that no hikari should ever be trusted to carry, having him there was better than him raising havoc on the streets, he reasoned.
/Psycho. Probably would kill anybody he could get his hands on./
"I heard that!" the dark allowed a few longish bang tendrils to fall over his eyes in a pout.
"It's true though." Malik said without remorse "Why are you insane anyway?!"
"Because you are."
Malik glared icily with him only smiling widely, finally letting his temper snap.
"Screw it. I'm taking the trash out." His chair grinded unpleasantly into the cabinet behind him, but he didn't even care.
//Oh, and aibou?//
/Don't call me that./ "So sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all //What's the difference between a king and a pharaoh?//
~*~*~*~
"Ra, I wish we had more trash this week." Malik muttered, angrily shoving the said garbage with more force than really needed. He sniffed in a disapproving manner at the handful of snowflakes dancing around his nose. In Egypt, they never had to put up with this crap, the seasons there were simple; hot, and hotter. The climate change in the Ishtar's move was probably the thing he hated most about Domino.
Isis was supposed to come home late from the museum that night, and Malik was beyond unhappy in having to deal with 'Mr. Happy-Mad-Dead-Man' for longer than needed. Though there was nothing else to it, the situation's unfavorable reality replayed in his mind, in fast forward. It was one of the only things he managed to think about.
That, and the fact that the moment he stepped out of the door, he could easily sense the uncontrollable glee as his other slipped his king piece into the microwave. . .
/Why is it that whenever he comes across any sort of ruler, he immediately makes a connection with Yugi's frickid yami!/
Just as he was dragging his soft-soled feet back up the worn steps with regret, he noticed something amiss.
Not ~quite~ silence.
Malik swallowed, narrowing his eyes and becoming quite conscious of his physical self. He could barely make out the small sounds of pure sadness, mingling eerily with the yellow street lamps, haunting the darkness.
The suspicious blonde instinctively readied himself in a defensive position.
Pause.
Ryou stumbled out of a nearby bush.
Malik retreated from his fighting mood at once, with his first glance at his white-haired-friend. Ryou Bakura was the gentlest person he knew.
But his appearance reflected otherwise.
It was startling for Malik to say the least, seeing him bruised, battered, and obviously frightened to madness, however temporary. He was trembling violently, muttering things that didn't make sense, all the while maintaining the transformed look of his normally steadily calm gaze.
"Ryou, what. . .?"
He only now seemed to notice that Malik was there.
"Please. . ." he whimpered ". . .help m-me."
Then he collapsed into the blonde's arms.
The tanned teen was rather spooked at this, but he had no intention of refusing action when he heard his friend's plea. Cradling the rather thin boy in his arms awkwardly, he marched back up the steps to good ol' home sweet home.
/My gods Ryou, you're freezing!/
~*~*~*~
Okie dokie my friends and fellow writers, my first chapter of my first YGO ficcie is now UP! I may have some romance in it later, though it's hard to tell if I should go with a yaoi storyline. . .or not yaoi. So if anyone reads this, and cares about that, tell me, for I will make your comment worthwhile. Don't forget to R+R, I'm not sure if I should continue this. Thankies! *blows kisses*
giggle
His head was pure chaos at that moment, in living in the painful realization of being entirely alone.
The boy had seen so much, done so little, and all the while losing pieces of his mind, sure bit by agonizing bit.
A stray silver lock twisted tauntingly around his face.
His face was raw with cold tears. ~Cold~. A hundred times worse than cold sweat, because he was so far beyond nervous. He was terrified.
Squinching up his face, he took a long breath that made his head spin, but at least succeeded in calming the sobs of hysteria that haunted him for what seemed like forever.
The dry throat in his neck instinctively contracted in a swallow, but only forced more icy chill through it. Everything stung, but of course, Ryou Bakura had become quite used to it.
The tranquil presence of the full moon loomed over him in the otherwise darkness, staring at him openly without emotion. He stared right back, catching his breath in awe as a cold breeze fluttered his eyelashes.
/Please help me. Anyone. ~Please~./
No answer. He still knelt, still believing somehow that his plea was being considered.
That's when a single snowflake drifted out of blackness.
He was being mocked. Mocked by the gods. So, Ryou ran.
Far away from Bakura: ~himself~.
~*~*~*~
"Yami! Pawns can only move one space!"
"You know," he replied, idly twisting the wooden figure in his long fingers "Even the smallest soldier can change to course of a war. Remember that Malik."
". . .Okay. I think you should stay away from Isis' 'Lord of the Rings' DVD."
His other gave him an insane grin that many had readily learned to hate.
Malik had been attempting to teach his Yami how to play chess for the past week or so, but without much success. This particular set had been a house- warming gift from the ever joyful Mutos, and was quite handsome with the hand-carved mahogany and pine pieces. Yet currently, it was only used as a bulky bunch of junk in their rather shabby apartment, for Isis hated to play, and his yami, obviously, was not very constructive.
"Not from the 'Lord of the Rings' sonny!" he explained tauntingly with a wiggling finger. "I learned 'to-ma-toes' from there. Or Bakura maybe. . .I'm not rightly sure."
"Ryou you mean."
"Same thing."
"~No~." Malik gave an icy glare to his deranged facial expression. "They are ~not~ the same, that's like saying that you and ~I~ are the same person."
"But we are."
Silence. No matter how hard he tried, he could never deny that truthfully, though he had attempted numerous ways to stay clear of a completely undeniable statement. He winced as this one snuck up on him.
"Anyway, I know for a fact that kings don't move nearly as readily as servants (the spoiled idiots). I mean, take the pharaoh for example. . ."
Malik sighed, running his fingers through his golden hair before interrupting.
"It's the queens that move farther."
"Oh?" his violet eyes seemed impossibly large as he peered down at the polished, wooden set. "Well, that doesn't make sense! Women--"
"Isis wouldn't like you saying that."
"Pft."
The young Egyptian truly hated his yami, but he was after all, nothing more than himself. And it wasn't as if he could kick him out of the apartment or anything, so as long as he didn't do anything morally unacceptable, he stayed. And though he not doubt the hatred that no hikari should ever be trusted to carry, having him there was better than him raising havoc on the streets, he reasoned.
/Psycho. Probably would kill anybody he could get his hands on./
"I heard that!" the dark allowed a few longish bang tendrils to fall over his eyes in a pout.
"It's true though." Malik said without remorse "Why are you insane anyway?!"
"Because you are."
Malik glared icily with him only smiling widely, finally letting his temper snap.
"Screw it. I'm taking the trash out." His chair grinded unpleasantly into the cabinet behind him, but he didn't even care.
//Oh, and aibou?//
/Don't call me that./ "So sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all //What's the difference between a king and a pharaoh?//
~*~*~*~
"Ra, I wish we had more trash this week." Malik muttered, angrily shoving the said garbage with more force than really needed. He sniffed in a disapproving manner at the handful of snowflakes dancing around his nose. In Egypt, they never had to put up with this crap, the seasons there were simple; hot, and hotter. The climate change in the Ishtar's move was probably the thing he hated most about Domino.
Isis was supposed to come home late from the museum that night, and Malik was beyond unhappy in having to deal with 'Mr. Happy-Mad-Dead-Man' for longer than needed. Though there was nothing else to it, the situation's unfavorable reality replayed in his mind, in fast forward. It was one of the only things he managed to think about.
That, and the fact that the moment he stepped out of the door, he could easily sense the uncontrollable glee as his other slipped his king piece into the microwave. . .
/Why is it that whenever he comes across any sort of ruler, he immediately makes a connection with Yugi's frickid yami!/
Just as he was dragging his soft-soled feet back up the worn steps with regret, he noticed something amiss.
Not ~quite~ silence.
Malik swallowed, narrowing his eyes and becoming quite conscious of his physical self. He could barely make out the small sounds of pure sadness, mingling eerily with the yellow street lamps, haunting the darkness.
The suspicious blonde instinctively readied himself in a defensive position.
Pause.
Ryou stumbled out of a nearby bush.
Malik retreated from his fighting mood at once, with his first glance at his white-haired-friend. Ryou Bakura was the gentlest person he knew.
But his appearance reflected otherwise.
It was startling for Malik to say the least, seeing him bruised, battered, and obviously frightened to madness, however temporary. He was trembling violently, muttering things that didn't make sense, all the while maintaining the transformed look of his normally steadily calm gaze.
"Ryou, what. . .?"
He only now seemed to notice that Malik was there.
"Please. . ." he whimpered ". . .help m-me."
Then he collapsed into the blonde's arms.
The tanned teen was rather spooked at this, but he had no intention of refusing action when he heard his friend's plea. Cradling the rather thin boy in his arms awkwardly, he marched back up the steps to good ol' home sweet home.
/My gods Ryou, you're freezing!/
~*~*~*~
Okie dokie my friends and fellow writers, my first chapter of my first YGO ficcie is now UP! I may have some romance in it later, though it's hard to tell if I should go with a yaoi storyline. . .or not yaoi. So if anyone reads this, and cares about that, tell me, for I will make your comment worthwhile. Don't forget to R+R, I'm not sure if I should continue this. Thankies! *blows kisses*
giggle