Decisions, decisions

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Warnings/notes: Malik, Rishid (Odion), major weird/random, shortie.

Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh. I also don't own 'Pinkie and the Brain', after which the beginning of this ficlet is modelled (loosely).

written at 9th december 2004, by Misura, for Nozmo, who replied to my 'Comment and I'll drabble you something for an interest of yours'-post on livejournal. (Interests: Malik Ishtar, destroying the world, stealing souls)

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"I want to do something -fun- today," were the first words out of Malik's mouth after he'd finished breakfast. "Something that doesn't have anything to do with reports that I don't need to read since they all tell me the same, or with stuffy old history-books."

Rishid schooled his expression into one of concern. It wasn't strictly necessary to do so, since Malik rarely bothered to look at his face anyway; he simply expected Rishid to be standing behind him, ready to his every bidding. And, if truth be told, Rishid did a good job of living up to that expectation.

"As you wish, Master." Rishid sighed. Last time Malik had declared he wanted to 'do something fun', they'd gone for a ride on his motor-cycle during the rush-hour in Cairo. The resulting chaos -had- allowed Rishid to smuggle Malik back to their secret base again unnoticed, but that had been about the only positive thing accomplished by the mess that Malik had caused.

He still had nightmares about it.

"Well, how about some suggestions?" Malik snapped. "Come on, Rishid, show some initiative! Do I have to do -all- the thinking around here?"

Rishid counted to twenty, before replying. "We could destroy the world."

Malik had a tendency to discard his first ideas, so he thought it might be best to start with this. That way, the option wouldn't come up later, when Malik might actually consider it seriously.

"Booooring." Malik scoffed. "And stupid too. What could I do -tomorrow- then? You hadn't thought of that, had you?"

"No, master, I apologize." Rishid made a bow, just because. Besides, it never hurt to practice moves like that. He was already able to offer his excuses for anything, no matter how little the situation warranted it, without letting on to his true feelings.

Maybe he should think about taking up a professional acting career after this job. He bet he'd be good at that, though his looks ... well, maybe he could cover the tattoo with a mask or something.

"You could use the Millennium Rod to steal lots of people's souls and make them your mindslaves," Rishid proposed. Thankfully, as expected, Malik shot that down too.

Next on Rishid's list of ideas-I-don't-want-to-have-to-go-through-with was another ride on Malik's bike (he didn't add 'during rush-hour in Cairo', for fear of Malik remembering how much he'd enjoyed that last time, and Malik seemed to fall for that ruse, since he discarded the trip as 'not exciting enough'.)

Rishid launched another dozen of unattractive (to him, that was) activities, and gradually moved from the 'definitely not want to do this, no, no, no, please, Master Malik'- to the 'well, maybe, if you insist, I suppose we might do this'-category.

At last, he reached the end of his list, without any success. (Or, seen from a certain perspective, without any failure, since at least they weren't going to go and invade the White House or trying to make it snow in the Sahara.)

The silence that fell was slightly embarrassing all the same.

"All your ideas suck," Malik complained. "Why is it always -me- who needs to keep everyone happy?"

Rishid remained silent, in a way that conveyed both his infinite unworthiness of being anywhere near Malik and his equally infinite admiration for Malik's brilliance and genius.

"Let me think about this for a while ... " Malik chewed on his lip and tapped the Millennium Rod against his foot impatiently. "Something fun ... something cool ... something -evil-."

Rishid coughed. "Does it -have- to be -evil-, Master?"

"Yes, of course it has to be -evil-, you fool!" Malik snarled. "I -am- evil, after all."

Had this been a bad movie, Rishid reflected, there would have been the sound of thunder now, with lightning flashing across the sky and dark clouds gathering.

"I understand, Master," he said, obediently.

"Good. It gets so tiresome to have nobody who does, nobody who knows how I feel." Malik sniffled. Rishid made no response, possessing too good an instinct for self-preservation. "I am all alone, without any friends. I need someone to love me!"

Malik jumped up and grabbed his dark cloak. "Let's go, Rishid."

"What are you going to do, Master?" Rishid inquired cautiously, meanwhile observing that Malik looked remarkably cheerful for a person who'd sounded like he was about to cry mere seconds ago.

"-We-, Rishid," Malik corrected him. "-We- are going to have ice-cream."

"Oh," Rishid said, managing to swallowed his first reaction. And his second. And his third.

"And after that, we'll go to some nice, private place, and I'll - "

Rishid sighed, quietly but reproachfully asking the one question people all over the world have asked from the Higher Powers for ages and ages, from the beginning of their existence.

'Why me?'

OWARI