Part 2: Kaiba
Seto Kaiba is...
A hunched figure over a desk. The clock reads one in the morning, but it has been placed face down so the annoying neon glare will not continue to remind him of the ticking seconds, the deadlines slipping ever closer, and other things falling further behind.
He doesn't like to think about those other things.
He has a million-and-one tasks ahead of him that night, and he knows that he has to attend school tomorrow, because that is what people do. That is what he'll do, and he'll get qualifications, the best, of course, and then he'll devote himself entirely to the running of the business. He knows this, in the same way he knows the sun will rise tomorrow, that grass is green, that the earth is round. People say that you cannot dictate your future, but he has his in an iron grip, and has already placed it on the tracks to success. All he has to do is follow through.
It doesn't bother him, not as such. He doesn't resent his workload, his job, or his position. He loves it.
His chest feels empty, his thoughts flat and dry. He needs a drink, a coffee perhaps. Whatever. It's not important. What is important is that he completes the data analysis for the new batch of prototypes, that he set up the agenda for the next meeting, that he goes through the applications and decides on who will be the lucky new Head of Marketing.
His eyes hurt, and his head is starting to ache. The light is perhaps a little too dim, but any brighter and it would make him feel uncomfortable, reminding him of what any normal person would be doing at this unhealthy, unfriendly hour. His lifeless gaze falls upon his computer. He blinks, once, twice, shakes his head slightly, dislodging ancient thoughts and feelings that don't quite fit with the Seto Kaiba Mindset, and leans over the keyboard. It has been this way for a long time. It will always be this way.
-
Seto Kaiba is...
A raging lunatic. No, I mean it, he's frickin' crazy. Just look at him, standing there like he's this big powerful dictator, or a king, or something, I don't know. He's laughing, I don't know why. Not a chuckle, either, a full blown megalomaniac laugh, it's frightening to hear, if it was written down there'd probably be lots of 'Mwa's and 'Bwa's and suchlike and the whole thing just reeks of a confidence I can't even begin to fathom.
It's not as if anything funny has happened, anyway.
Just a duel, what's so funny about that? He seems so powerful, when he's standing up there. It all seems right, and fitting, as if it were carefully choreographed beforehand - he'd stand like that, legs akimbo, arms folded, then he'd move there, and toss his head that way, then he'd do that, and throw back his head and laugh like the freaky psycho that he is.
But I know this isn't choreographed because it's too natural. He certainly is in his element. It's like everything is set up just right for him. The duel disk that mirrors the sharp angles of his face and posture, the bony strength in his arms and legs, the wind that whips about him like an obedient servant, the trenchcoat that billows out behind him like an emperor's robes, the ominous black clouds that give him the perfect backdrop. it's as if nature herself is at his beck and call, there's nothing he can't control. I believe it now, standing here, facing him.
This world is his for the taking, it seems, if he hasn't already taken it. And so is this duel, though I suspect he'd had that won from the outset. I'm going to lose.
And he terrifies me.
-
Seto Kaiba is...
A doting brother. Everyone says. Mokuba is his only weakness. Seto resents that, but what can he do?
The ride back in the helicopter was joyful, and fierce. Seto didn't care about anything else, not then, and he clutched his little brother to his chest tightly, his thin fingers grasping the cotton of Mokuba's jacket. He wouldn't ever let go. He wouldn't ever let anything happen to Mokuba, not again. His chest burned, his throat hurt, like it was being wrung out by a vicious washerwoman, and he felt sobs rising up inside his ribcage like unstoppable and horrible bubbles through tar.
"I'm sorry, Mokuba." The words were odd-sounding and choked, charged with so much emotion that they almost seemed to take on a life of their own.
"Big brother, please," Mokuba said with a half-smile, his voice muffled by Seto's chest. "It's not your fault. We're together now, it's over, we've won. We can go home."
"But I should have saved you. I should have been the one. I was too weak." He didn't know if he was saying these things or thinking these things, but they were prickly in his mouth and their construction in his head set off a flow of sadness and misery, dousing the brightness in his heart and his eyes. "I failed you."
"Oh, stop it!" the child replied, a touch of exasperation seeping into his tone. "I'm just happy to be with you again, I don't care who made this happen, I'm only glad that it did! Can't you just forget about all that?"
"Yes, of course. I'll try to." No, I can't. I was too weak, I didn't save you. I don't deserve you. Seto Kaiba's fingers went slack, his head fell forwards onto his brother's shoulder, he screwed his eyes shut.
Seto Kaiba hates himself.
-
Seto Kaiba is...
Very busy, so please, just go away. Don't you people realise I've got work to do?
---
Jealousy sounds like such a petty thing. It sounds like a silly little boy envying his friend's toys. But this kind of jealousy hurts. In a world where everything's new, the bad things just had to come and introduce themselves first, didn't they? Unwelcome visitors who won't leave despite the subtle hints I've been dropping.
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