Yes, I know. . . . .I really shouldn’t.

But, you know, this idea was so fresh in my mind I couldn’t help but write it!

I know you want new chapters for my other stories, and you know they’re only going to come out slower because of this, but you know. . . . .

SCREW IT! Here this is.

Chapter One: Do yourself a favor.

Hi.

My, my. So few of you. What’s the matter? Doesn’t anyone like a dark horror nowadays? Ah well.

My name is Malik Ishtal. Gender—Male. A few of my old friends would have said “both,” but; you know, screw them.

They’re long dead anyways.

Descent—Egyptian, of course. ‘Ishtal’ should have clued you in. Age—I dunno. Lost track. I was seventeen, until. . . .

But I mustn’t get ahead of myself. I’m here to tell you a story. Not that I like story-telling, or anything, but I feel I have some knowledge to pass on to my fellow men.

Men, if it’s October 31st, and you go into a tavern and meet a Gothic-looking young man who wants to talk with you; do yourself a favor:

Leave.

“Who are you?” The voice is cold, and sends shivers up my spine.

“Malik. My name is Malik Ishtal,” I state, holding out my hand. The white-haired boy I have run over looks at it wearily, and then proceeds to ignore it. I lower my arm uncomfortably down. Okay. . . . . .I guess I wouldn’t shake his hand. Jerk.

“Bakura.” I wait for more. None comes.

“That’s it?”

“Bakura.” He repeats, nodding his head sharply. I shrug my shoulders. Apparently, he isn’t a people person and I decide to get out of there while I still have a head. Not that I over-exaggerate, mind you . . . Besides, I can’t quite see his face in the light of the club (or lack thereof) and it kinda spooks me.

“Well, sorry I ran into you. Have a nice night,” I said merrily, and start to walk away quickly.

Until he grabs my arm. “Huh?”

He pulls me back. “Wait,” he commands.

I really don’t like taking orders, but I decide not to say anything. I was only his first offence, so I’ll let him get away with it.

“Yes? Can I help you with something?” My voice has somehow become much icier. He doesn’t look fazed, though.

“Come have a drink with me. You’re the first person I’ve talked to all night,” he says, and drags me over to a nearby table. I don’t get the chance to resist before I am shoved in a booth, and he sits opposite of me.

I am in a bit of a daze, and—instead of focusing on the white-haired boy—I idly wonder why my favorite drink is already waiting for me . . .

Then there is the sudden light that I am thrust into. The culprit is a lamp hanging over our table; one of the only sources of light in the whole club.

I am now fully able to see my new ‘friend.’ He is Gothic; wearing a black tank top with fishnet sleeves, tight black pants with slender silver chains wrapping around the legs, and large black Army boots. Instead of laces, the boots are tied with more of the slender chains. The boy’s face is sallow and pale, and sunken eyes outlined in black eyeliner peer at me unblinkingly. A single Gothic-looking earring hangs from his left ear, and many silver rings adorn his bony fingers.

I shudder, feeling his piercing gaze even if I’m not looking at him directly.

“So. . . .uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?” I stutter nervously, taking a long swig from the bottle of German vodka my ‘host’ kindly provided for me. Something tells me I will need every single drop.

The boy looks down for a minute, stirring idly at his glass of an unknown red substance; probably wine or something.

“I wanted to know more about you,” he says, looking at me with those piercing burgundy eyes again. I look at him oddly. Okay, that is certainly NOT something you just go and blatantly tell someone, especially if it’s only the second complete sentence you’ve said to them in your lifetime.

“Wha--? Why?”

Bakura shrugs. “You intrigue me.”

I intrigue him? What a lame answer. In other words, “I think you are pretty so I want to act all nice to you, invite you back to my house and then have my way with you.” Some of you are probably grimacing, and others want to know why I said that, and I will tell you truthfully that I know all this because it’s happened before.

Yes, that’s right. No ‘Mary, Mother of God’-ly innocence for me. I was young, easily fooled, and paid the price for it. He was a smooth-talker, and apparently a fast-dresser, too.

I shake my head, and stare at the white-haired boy for a long while. I decide that it is a relatively harmless subject if I approach is cautiously, so I start to tell him about my life.

“Well, my name is Malik Ishtal. . . . . I just turned seventeen, though I haven’t got my permit yet because Isis won’t let me go. . . . I have a sister named Isis, by the way. . . . I’m Egyptian, but I live in Japan now. . . . . I absolutely love rabbits, but never have had a chance to own one. . . . . I’m a vegetarian but I hold my alcohol well. . . . . .Wait, that didn’t make sense. . . . . I’m a vegetarian AND I hold my alcohol well; there . . . . . . . and. . . . .That’s . . . about it,” I state officially.

The white-haired boy’s mouth is slightly open, and he is staring at me with an unbelieving look in his eyes.

Inwardly, I snicker. Well, he wanted to know more about me, so there he has it! Hopefully, he will see me as a boring person and get away from me.

Unfortunately, he does the opposite. He breaks out into a grin. “You’re funny. That’s a change from the usual. It’s a nice quirk to have,” he says. Now it’s my turn to stare at him with my mouth open. It makes him laugh, to my despair.

He suddenly becomes more serious. “Laughter aside now, I want to know . . . more important things about you. Like . . . your family life. Do you have a father? Mother? Where do you live? Do you like it there? Who are your friends? Where do you go in your spare time? Can you paint? Or dance? Are those contacts, or are your eyes really that color? Are you from the Orient? Can you—”

I am overwhelmed. “Whoa whoa whoa! Slow down, Bakura. I can barely understand you! If you want question answered, give me time to do so before asking another. Okay. No father. No mother. I have an older step-brother, Rishid—and my sister Isis, as I said before. Where I live is none of your business, but I like it there. I can’t draw worth crap, but I can dance. And, finally, my eyes are truly lavender. I was born with them,” I answer.

Bakura is like a sponge, absorbing all my answers. Yet another attribute that thoroughly creeps me out.

“Favorite color?”

“Yellow.”

“Favorite flower?”

“Lotus blossom, from my home country.”

“Favorite music?”

I have to think about that one. “I like Electronica, I suppose, but nothing can beat the soothing sounds of the lute and drum from Egypt,” I answer, sighing as an imaginary lute started strumming a tune in my head. The bliss, however, is interrupted by more interrogation.

“Favorite food?”

“I’m a vegetarian. What the hell do you think, Einstein?”

Bakura is confused. “Einstein? Who is that? Is that some sort of insult?”

If this were an anime show, I would have fallen flat on my face. “Um . . . . . never mind.”

“Favorite animal?”

“RABBITS!”

Bakura’s eyebrows rise at my enthusiasm. I shrug.

“I’ve always wanted a rabbit,” I say. Bakura rolls his eyes.

“Buy one.”

“Don’t have the money.”

“Then steal one.”

“WHAT! Don’t you have any morals?”

“No, not really.”

I can defiantly believe that.

“I’ll steal one for you,” he says simply, but I freeze.

What did he just say? He’d steal something . . . for me? Aw, shit! Am I sitting with a criminal?

Am I insane?

“N-no, that’s okay. I’m just as happy rabbit-free. Besides, I think my sister is allergic, anyway,” I mutter. He shrugs.

“I’d do it for you,” he says again. And I suddenly decide I’ve had enough of him and his creepiness. I take another swig of Vodka, and get up.

“Well, I’m going to take off now. Isis will be up waiting for me. Thanks for the chat—err, I mean the interrogation—and the Vodka,” I say, and he laughs somewhat. “Goodbye, Baku-chan,” I say, and he freezes. I hear him take in a sharp breath.

“Did . . . you just call me . . . ?”

“Baku-chan. Yeah, like a nickname, you know? I do it for everyone. Sorry if it offended you. See you later.” I start to walk off.

However, my stomach sinks dangerously low in my body as his pale arm shoots out and takes hold of me once again. I hear him get up, and soon his body is right up against mine.

He whispers in my ear; the breath tickling the lobe and making my spine tingle with these words:

“You aren’t going anywhere anymore, Ishtal. . . . .”

I get over my fear very quickly. “Excuse me? You can’t tell me where I am or am not going! Now take your hands off me at once!” I yell, trying to wrench out of his grip. I can’t.

He takes my other arm in the same hand, and pins them both behind my back. “No. I want to . . . . . talk some more,” he says that same, sultry voice; leading me back to the booth and sitting me down.

He sits next to me this time.

“What more could you possibly have to ask me?” I snap, this time successfully tearing my arms away from him. He smirks, and I decide I don’t like where this is going.

“Hm . . . let’s see now . . . I could ask you . . . what is your sexual preference?” He asks, grin widening.

I gasp. “Women! Women!” I yell, making sure he understands me completely.

“Well, you know, in the Christian Bible it says women were created from the rib bone of a man. So they’re kind of the same thing,” he says matter-of-factly. I have another sinking feeling in my stomach.

“I’m not Christian,” I say quickly, but somehow I don’t think it will help any.

I’m right. It doesn’t. “That doesn’t matter. And now, another question. Do you believe in vampires?”

I momentarily forget my situation. “Are you insane? There’s no such thing,” I state.

He grins again. Funny how I never noticed his inch-long fangs until this moment. . . . .

Oh god . . . Oh god! Oh god! Oh god! This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening! I must be dreaming!

Or else fucking drugged! This situation sounds like something out of a manga novel! I’m being hit on by a fucking vampire!

He curls his upper lip, making sure I see the twin blades shining eerily in his mouth . . .

“Have I made you a believer?”

Of course not . . . idiot. “W-what do you w-want from me,” I ask coldly, but I think it lost it’s affect with all my stuttering.

“The truth? I want you,” he whispers in my ear again, wrapping his arms around my waist. I gasp, and pull away sharply.

“No! You can’t have me; I’m taken,” I say, thinking of my darling Kamiah back home.

He growls. “You don’t have a choice. I’m stronger than you,” he cries, and grabs my wrist; hard enough to bruise.

“Ouch!” He starts to drag me to a door in the back; me fighting all the way. “Let go! Help, someone! LET GO!”

No one lifts a finger to help me. They simply sit there as he succeeds in getting me out the door. We end up in an alleyway behind the tavern, and he slams me up against the wall.

“Now, don’t resist me. . . .It won’t hurt that much if you don’t move. . . .” He has my arms pinned behind me again, and I watch in confusion as his other hand sweeps my hair away from my neck.

My mind finally registers what he’s about to do. “NOO!” I struggle wildly, in attempt to get away. I can’t die! I don’t want to die! Hell, I’M TOO PRETTY TO DIE!

Annoyed, he slams his body down upon mine, crushing me against the wall and preventing movement. “Stop struggling!” He bends down and places his mouth on my neck.

My eyes close tightly. I don’t want to see it. . . .I wish I’d never gone out tonight. . . .this is it! My last moments on earth. . . . .

His tongue flicks across my delicate throat skin. “Mmmmm. . . .what a beautiful neck. . . . .I almost hate to spoil it. . . . .”

My voice only comes out as a desperate whisper. “Then don’t. . . .”

I feel him laugh against my neck. “Never.”

Then he bites.

It was lovely talking to you all, and hopefully more will join us next time. Hopefully I’m entertaining you, but this is torture for me! This is messed up as it is, but you just wait!

It gets worse.

Just one more thing before I go ‘out’ for dinner. Men, remember what I said about taverns, October 31st, and Gothic boys. . . . . .

Do yourself a favor.

That wasn’t so bad, now was it?

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