A/N: Written for the YuGiOh fanfiction challenges Season 11, round 1…though there might be some squinting necessary. I fail at oneshots for unestablished pairings. :)

Eccentric

Seto Kaiba's foot had adopted a new rhythm halfway through his second glass of tea. Wine appeared to be the more popular beverage, however he was still far from the age in which he could legally indulge himself…nor had he any intention to do so. His appearance at the gala was business only; he would shake a few hands, carry out a few useless conversations – perhaps the shards of a meaningful one here or there – and then escape as soon as social obligations loosened their hold on him.

Unfortunately, he had been lacking foresight when he agreed to bring Mokuba along as well, and now the boy was engaged in a game of Capsule Monster Chess with several boys his own age. Some were the children of other business owners – like he himself, but there hadn't been a person yet to grasp his attention for more than a few minutes – and the rest were of the other assortment of guests. Mostly rich people well-content with laundering their wealth…and Seto really could not imagine another reason for their presence.

Maybe pride was a factor too, but it seemed very foolish to waste hard-attained money on rejected items – for most businessmen weren't so kind as to put the pride and joy of their institutions on the auction bench. And yet others payed far more than their worth to attain them.

In the end, he reflected as he shrugged off company as quickly as he dared and abandoned his glass, it really was just an opportunity to show off. But as the adopted son and heir – a fact that Gozaburo Kaiba reminded him of with every hardened stare – the game tables for the younger children were lost to him. He had an example to live up to, one that already disadvantaged him because of the lack of blood ties between them.

He looked over at his brother, now celebrating a newly claimed piece, and wondered how long it had been since he had been able to sit with Mokuba like that, playing and talking about something nonsensical and yet significant…and smiling. But that had been before his little wager with Gozaburo, a wager that had not realised their dreams but shown instead the cold reality they existed in.

He finished his cup, carefully catching the droplets that attempted to roll over the rim and onto his dress shirt. Barely a speck remained behind, and yet he found himself scrutinising the chinaware once again, if only to convince himself of the fact. He kept the cup for a while afterwards; even empty, it was something to occupy his hands with…and a third cup would be frowned upon. He was sure of it.

He drifted with a few of the more popular names after that. Some he recognised from news highlights, others from his so-called father. There were a few he didn't recognise at all, however they spared him a few words and a nod of acknowledgement and he gave the same. He passed Gozaburo too, who managed to pull him away from his solitude company to introduce him, a stern hand upon his shoulder, to an old colleague.

Seto didn't bother committing the name to memory. He would hear of the man again if he were significant. And it didn't appear he was, for Gozaburo waved him off as soon as the introductions were done, and Seto found himself once again by the refreshments. He felt eyes on him though, eyes that threatened to expose the few habits he still had to himself: his impatience, his pride, his tapping foot…

He looked over the tables discretely, finding man who looked oddly displaced at one. His hairstyle was the first thing that captured Seto's attention; he could only describe it as effeminate. It was out of place from the short neat cuts of the other businessmen, or even from the tightly clipped buns of the women. Instead, the straight grey fanned out neatly behind him, the tips arching out from behind his shoulder blades. His suit too was unusual: maroon, almost a flourished red, and cast into shadowed light by the wine glass in his grip. The man though didn't appear to be paying attention to his beverage; instead, his gaze was alternating between a sketch-pad and Seto himself.

The man caught his stare and beckoned with a long finger, and Seto found himself glancing surreptitiously around. It didn't seem as though anyone had noted the brief exchange: Gozaburo was occupied with a different associate – it appeared as though he had gotten bored of the former – and none of the other faces he recognised from several previous encounters were even glancing in his direction. Truthfully, they would have no interest in him personally if they had, however such tycoons would enjoy the opportunity to chip away at a challenger's image…and one thing Gozaburo hated more than anything was a weakness brought upon him.

But everybody was occupied, and the oddly dressed man – or not so odd, but certainly for the occasion… – was a guest as well. Perhaps one from the higher echelons of society, who had the money and the prestige to do as he would without another being able to topple him.

Although he didn't quite recognise the other until he was closer, and the face of the world-famous artist and game-designer was staring back at him.

The thin, almost feminine lips, curved into a smirk, mirrored distortingly in the floating red wine. 'You must be Kaiba-boy,' the man said.

'Seto Kaiba,' the boy replied curtly, a little put off by the casual manner in which the other spoke. Somehow, his appearance before him was very different to the few articles that managed to slip his way. Gozaburo was rather disapproving of almost everything the man did after all, from the gaming industry to dabbles in contemporary art and the public appearance that created a worthless stir in civilisation. Seto kept an eye on his step-father as he added, 'Maximillion Pegasus, I presume?'

'Why yes, although young boys like yourself shouldn't address their elders by their first name, now should they?' There was nothing scolding in his tone as he said this, and Pegasus intertwined his long fingers.

Seto regarded him. Part of him was apprehensive, for the words spoken in such a pleasant tone could only be hiding a dangerous undercurrent. However the other's expression implied no negativity either, and the gaze that watched him seemed more a facet of curiosity than anything else.

It couldn't be helped that the scrutiny would make him nervous; it would make anyone nervous, particularly since the gaze Seto was used to was the hard dictation of his step-father in monitoring his studies. But the gaze he received now was different: not expecting, but…something else. Something he didn't recognise, and he'd been taught all too well to be wary of the unknown.

But then the man laughed: softly, and yet it had the effect of peals of laughter echoing in empty space. 'Come, Kaiba-boy –'

…except this was Maximillion Pegasus and not some old business tycoon.

Seto bit back his retort; that would be unbecoming, even if the man before him chose to hover at the edge of social decorum.

' – we're all friends here, so take a seat and let me admire you a little more.'

Seto declined the seat; he didn't intend to converse long enough to sit, particularly with such a man. He stayed a little longer though, his mind wondering in the background if there was a way to tactfully detach himself from the situation. But, he reflected, the ripple would fade within a few minutes, and he would be released into the tide.

Except the man's fingers twitched towards his pencil and his eyes flickered between the instrument and the subject. 'You have an interesting face,' he commented, 'just like a dear old friend of mine.'

Seto's features remained restrained, although he mentally blinked. The comment, in and of itself was odd, and it was only the context of the one speaking that made it somewhat acceptable. An artist's work was to notice the finer details of their subjects after all, however…

Seto leaned forward inconspicuously, catching a glimpse of pencil tracings upon the paper, holding some semblance to his own image. When Pegasus, as he had indirectly asked to be called, looked back up at him Seto straightened smoothly in a movement that could only be detected with a sharp eye.

It was entirely possible that Pegasus had a sharp eye – particularly since the straight strands of grey hair cloaked the other. It was curious: another curious thing to consider about the man's dress, his speech, and his demeanour.

'Bored are we, Kaiba-boy?'

Seto frowned a little. 'Silence is hardly an entertaining conversation,' he replied coolly.

'Of course.' The man laughed again, and Seto found it grated a little at his nerves. 'But it is very difficult to converse with you standing like that.' He tinkered with his paper a little, before frowning himself. 'No, no no, this simply won't do.' His brow creased, as though he had suddenly been faced with a decision that would put his career on the hinge. 'Perhaps a shade of – hmm, no…'

Seto resisted the urge to tap his foot again; it was a habit unbecoming even when he had no company, and forbidden in it. But it was a straining task, particularly as Pegasus' one brown eye searched his form thoroughly, devouring every detail presented.

Finally, Pegasus shook his head, curtain of hair swaying a little before settling to its previous position. 'A shade too young, it seems,' he lamented, before his eyes travelled past his subject and mouth stretched into a friendly grin. 'Ah, it's my good friend Kaiba –'

Seto would never know if the artist had meant to add the "-boy" suffix to his stepfather's name or not, for at that moment he felt Gozaburo's taut hand upon his shoulder and heard the clipped voice in his ears.

'Pegasus,' was the curt reply that cut the other off. 'I hope you have not been corrupting my son with your nonsense.'

'Nonsense?' Pegasus shook his head again. 'Oh, no.'

Gozaburo stared hard at the other, displaying as clearly as he dared the low opinion he had for the man. 'We'll be taking out leave.'

'A shame,' the artist responded with a friendly expression. 'But dear Kaiba-boy, do sit for me when you're a little older. I do want to admire you a little more.'

Seto was sure he would forget all about the encounter, but it buzzed around like an annoying fly in his head, teased with his step-father's veiled disapproval and a third cup of tea to occupy his body with.