I Dream of Microwaves

Part 3.5 ( Nyeh )

Reviewers are teh pwn. Carrots are not.

TO THE GALLOWS! X3

--;;

...suuupppaaalinebreak...

Ryou Bakura was a composed and compatible Japanese citizen. He knew his way around things, remained calm in tight corners, and had impeccable tact and manners. Most importantly, Ryou Bakura knew how to keep his cool.

And he was currently on the brink of hysteria.

The fire was holding an outrageous parade across Ryou's furniture and possessions, spreading just as swiftly as the newest shipping fad. He gave a startled yelp as an overly-friendly flame glomped his pants cuff.The mop-top bishonen pranced about in a curious one-legged dance, frantically beating at the offending inferno. Another affectionate combustion made its way up his remaining pants leg, turning the dance into more an offbeat hopskip. Or a midseizure can-can.

"Yami!" he squeaked, one pupil generously larger than the other as his eyes twitched. "What are you doing? Help me get this under contr-"

Yami Bakura, apparently suffering from the still-fresh trauma, was in no condition to do anything of the sort. Retaining his upright fetal position, the psycho-savvy spirit was mumbling to himself incoherently. His fingers twitched now and then, as if anxious to strangle the nearest breathing lifeform until it ceased doing so. One eye bugged sickeningly while the other seemed to have lost its pupil. It was decidedly unpleasant.

Jerking violently at the sound of his hikari's voice, the eccentric Egyptian gave the light an incredulous 'Mweh?' look, before charging past with a perverse desire to flee the scene of his horrible experience. And flung himself through the nearest window.

The authoress ponders the possibility that she enjoys bishonen plummeting to their doom slightly more than necessary.

Ryou broke the international record for largest sweatdrop as a vague thump announced the tomb robber's reunion with the ground. Panic somewhat abated by the fact his home was groundlevel, the albino sighed, irritated as he was forced to exit the blazing house as well.

... through the door, that is.

"...I think I broke my leg..." Yami Bakura stated flatly. The sudden tumble seemed to have brought him to his senses, at least. Gravity disagreed with his intent to get out of his half-somersault position against a convenient tree, however, and so the once-feared tomb robber was resigned to scowling expectantly at his approaching hikari.

"Good. Now I've got an excuse to have you put to sleep." he muttered sardonically, half-wondering if his not-too-bright neighbors had developed the sense to call the fire department yet.

Bakura quirked a brow at Ryou's uncustomary brusqueness. "And just what crawled up your ass?"

The albino glanced incredulously at his not-quite-right-with-gravity yami, vein popping. "Hello? Our house is burning down! "

Bakura blinked. "Is that why it feels so effing hot out here?"

As if on cue, a wailing siren tore through the semi-serene neighborhood. A deep red fire engine veered haphazardly on the hairpin turn, skidding rather precariously across the newly-paved road. The tires wailed piercingly as they so often do in crappy American action movies as the hulking vehicle halted, stopping on the other side of the street.

"Move, move, move!" The apparent fire chief barked over the din of commands and exaggerated grunts. A half dozen men toppled out of the truck, faces set as if they were bracing to plunge into the gates of hell. Though satisfied with the men's apparent determination, Ryou couldn't help but notice they were doing nothing to retrieve the firehose from teh back of the truck.

"Excuse me..." he tapped the firechief gingerly on the shoulder, half-expecting the crazed man to rip his arm off. The chief, a wall of a man with a cliched bristling moustache to boot, jerked to face the young man with blatant impatience. "What is it!" Apparently, his speech was in desperate need of a volume dial.

Surpsingly calm and patient in such a volatile situation, Ryou could not retain a grimace. "My house is right there." He gestured vaguely to what once was a building, now blazing merrily in the background ( Bakura was still struggling to escape his uncomfortable position ).

The firechief's eyes seemed to double as he began to shake the bishie psychotically. "ARE YOU INSANE!" he asked rather ironically. "LOOK!"

He forcibly turned the moptop to face his neighbor's yard, where in a tree, mewing rather uneasily at the approaching firemen...

... was a cat.

Ryou facefaulted as the fireman began to sob hysterically. "What kind of person ARE you! Thinking of only YOURSELF! That cat could be in slight discomfort for almost twenty minutes, you sick, sick man!"

A fellow fireman pulled the chief away, whom began to bawl openly on his subordinate's shoulder. The fireman gave Ryou a disgusted look, shaking his head. "First the trick candlestick factory(1), and now this?"

The bewildered bishonen was left in his yard, next to his still struggling yami, in front of his smouldering home, feeling decidedly, royally pissed. A vague thud announced his yami's reunion with his equilibrium as the spitrit regained his feet. Brushing himself off, he surveyed the now ash-and-ember building with only slight interest. "Wow. That was weird."

"Weird?" Ryou sighed for about the umpteenth time that night. "This is bad. Just as bad as the time you tried to join that boxing class..."

"In the red trunks, the intercontinental champion Daitoshu Anko, four-time heavyweight champion of the world! And, in the... er... leather pants and motorcycle jacket...? Er, Touzoku Bakura! Ah, and there's the bell, and Anko opens with a jab and... Bakura's... just... standing there... and Anko throws and misses a right hook, and... wait, where did Bakura get that machete...?"

"..."

"..."

"...never mind. That was worse."

Bakura pouted. "I'll say. Bastard got blood all over my favorite pants."

Ryou scowled. "Yami, how are we going to pay for this? We didn't even have insurance..."

Behind the two, the firemen had cast aside the ladder, deigning it as useless and instead began chopping down the tree. By gnawing on it.

The yami waved his hikari's distress aside. " Relax. You've got a job, right?"

Ryou cast him a flat glance. "Yes, I do. And you're going to get one as well."

The tree began to fall with a crackle; the cat leapt aside as it collapsed onto the firetruck, which abruptly exploded. No one noticed this.

The yami glared daggers of death and pointy discomfort, chest puffing indignantly. "Me! I will not stoop to such a level as to toil senselessly at the beck and call of some tyrannic entity! Straining for some pompous bastard whom has never once felt the yoke of labor, whose pocketbook fluorishes at the price of my sweat and blood, ounce per unjust ounce!"

"Oh, but robbing a blind, defenseless old woman is fine, right?" He grabbed the back of his yami's spiky/fluffy/poofy/fuzzy hair and began to drag him down the street, much to the spirit's protest and growling. "Kudos for the poetry, but unless you plan on becoming the next Shakespeare, you're getting a job."

They made slow way towards the Kame Game Shop; Ryou was pretty sure Yugi wouldn't mind their crashing at his place.

Yugi would be unable to do so, as he had just about lost his mind at the pharaoh's outcry. Gameboy falling from his nerveless fingers, the short-but-'vertically-challenged'-in-politically-correct-terms duelist stared at his yami, speechless.

Yami was a bit more quick to act. "Quick - to the battlestations!" He pointed to the living room closet.

The Batman 'Nanananananananananananananananana' song began to play ( from where, no one is entirely sure ) as the two charged into the mothball and unfashionable coat-ridden closet, each sliding down the two rails that were oddly there.

The authoress grabs a bottle of bleach in order to clean the dirty minds of readers.

( Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) The two had somehow donned Batman and Robin costumes in the 2.203945 seconds they had in privacy, omitting the headwear. The hair, you see.

( Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) Dashing across the lair that was supposedly beneath Yugi's house, but really in a remote part of Schekoslovakia, the two leapt into the open cockpits of a large, so-cliched-it-was-almost-original-but-wasn't mecha robot... thing. Lactose intolerant readers vomit with the cheesiness of it all.

( Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) Each pressing a button in their respective co-cockpits with ample drama, the mechoid robot that was so-cliched-it-was-almost-orignal-but-wasn't erupted from the lair with equally so-cliched-cliched-it-was-almost-original-but-wasn't rocket boosters, blasting through the trapdoor on the streetcorner before the Kame Game Shop, even though the base was located in a remote part of Schekoslovakia.

... shut up.

( Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) The mechoid robot rather anticlimactically... stepped on Trejolielefilleihaveasennenitemthatcanreadmindsandslowdowntimeandimatenthdegreeblackbeltattheageof16whichjustsohappenstobeyouragebutitsimpossibletodothatat16butididitcuzimjustthatgood Smith, who hissed and... melted. Yugi blinked.

"Wow. That was pretty anticlimactic."

"Well, probably just the authoress's way of copping out of some vaguely interesting and amusing fight scene involving pineapple juice and various offensive remarks alluding to our choice of hairstyle..."

"..."

"..."

"... uh... yami?"

"Mm?"

"... where did we get this, anyway?"

"Gundam crossover."

"Ah."

N'ed

...c0w3rb4t3h4nticlim4cticn3ss...

fingers fall off- T-T Ew...

(1) - Shameless reference to TypoNumber5's infamous trick candle factory escapade

Writing Track: 'Spy' - Cowboy Bebop