Feel on the Dark
written by RL.Angstshipping
say goodbye to the hindering past;
Author's Note: Originally started on April 5th, 2007, this fan fiction was edited on March 2nd, 2008. Despite what you may believe, it will be completed.
This originally started as a roleplay and was then rewritten in an actual story. It is alternate universe so the names used will be as follows: Ryou (Bakura Ryou), Malik (Malik Ishtar), Bakura (Yami no Bakura), and Mariku (Yami no Malik).
P A S T )
Not Quite Humble Beginnings
The thief Bakura had always seen himself in a godly light. He'd survived raid after raid, fight after fight, that eventually, as his companion, Mariku, would put it, he'd let victory go to his head. While he had the stealth and agility expected of a thief, he preferred more showy tactics, things he could boast about later in times to come. Perhaps this attitude of immortality was what led him to the less cautious approach in which he dealt with tonight's raid.
Too busy fishing through drawers, Bakura barely paid any attention to the woman screaming on the bed beside him. Woman? Perhaps girl was the more appropriate word -- she couldn't be older than seventeen. Then again, his companion (currently pinning said 'girl' to her position) was barely eighteen, so perhaps Bakura was simply catering to sex among children. Either way, it kept both the girl and Mariku out of his way.
"Stop screaming, you dumb bitch," Mariku purred, tone silky smooth, the ideal (as strange as that was) background noise for Bakura's heist. "This will be easier for both of us if you just relax."
Mariku barely finished his sentence when the room was filled with a gunshot, the sound of which startled (even the great) Bakura, causing the normally composed thief to drop the bracelet he'd been holding. It hit the floor with a loud clang (though quiet in comparison to the shot), causing Bakura to wince. Never in all his years of thieving had he dropped something. Slowly turning around, the sight that greeted Bakura chilled his blood. Mariku had collapsed atop the girl, blood seeping through his previously sandy blonde hair. It splattered the wall behind them as well as the girl, too busy sobbing to do the sensible thing and climb to her feet.
Bakura's lips parted, waiting for words to surface. The barrel of the gun was pointed in his direction now but that seemed almost meaningless. Expected, as he knew the outcome, so why play through the pointless events? 'Mariku, you whore, your worthless hormones are going to get us killed one day.' Ironic how that common statement had become an earth-shattering reality. The Egyptian, his Egyptian, was dead, face first in the nightgown-covered chest of his vi-- No, she had yet to become his victim. She was simply the stupid broad who'd gotten his Mariku killed.
The man holding the gun, the dumb bitch's father best he could tell, was shouting at him, words even more meaningless than the actions occurring before him. In response, the thief only smirked, bending down to retrieve the dropped bracelet. The action hardly pleased 'father-dearest' as he recocked the gun. Now snarling, Bakura faced him head on. "Go ahead, old man," he offered, tone strangely calm given the situation. "Try as you may, I am immortal."
The next gunshot seemed to prove otherwise, piercing Bakura's chest and causing the thief to stumble forward, collapsing to his knees. A cough caused a spurt of blood to bubble up from his lips, spilling over his chin. The man fired again and Bakura fell face forward, clutching the bracelet tightly in his hand (he wouldn't drop it again). The smirk, though pained, never faded. Brown eyes locking with those of his killer, Bakura sputtered, "Fool. Darkness never dies."
P R E S E N T )
The Worst Class Trip
It was no secret that Malik Ishtar didn't like ghosts. He'd made that fact clear from the moment the class decided to take their spring trip to a 'haunted house'. Between Isis' urging him to be more social and Ryou's constant pleas, he'd given in and signed up for the trip, but only after making it known that he didn't believe in ghosts. If anything strange happened, it was rigged. That statement was more for himself than Ryou.
Looking up at the house now, Malik wore a bitter expression. It was a stock horror home, kept in poor condition purposely to keep the effect (Malik could only assume that drew more customers). One foot still firmly planted on the bus step and the other sinking into the mud, the reluctant blonde further examined the estate that would serve as his home for the next five days. The windows were caked with years of dust, some cracked. Few were lucky enough to be graced with shutters and the shutters that had remained were barely hanging by their hinges. The wood siding was rotten and decaying, making the home look anything but fit to stay in. Malik couldn't help but wonder if the entire house would collapse during their stay.
A gentle nudge on his shoulder served to remind him that he needed to move on, needed to quit staring the house down as though he were waiting for it to start doing tricks. Hesitantly, his second foot met the ground with a sickening shwiick -- mud had to be one of the things Malik hated most -- and he quickly looked back over his shoulder.
Bakura Ryou, with his excited smile, wasn't exactly the reassurance that Malik had been looking for. Of course, his best friend was the complete and polar opposite of him. Where Ryou was timid and shy, Malik was vocal and gregarious. Where Ryou made a point to always be polite, Malik's point was for people to know exactly what he thought about them. Most relevant to the situation, however, was the fact that Ryou adored everything occult, the one interest (putting it lightly -- Ryou was practically obsessed) that made Malik feel awkward around the other. This field trip was practically a dream come true to the paler teen.
Playfully tapping on Malik's shoulder, Ryou filed off the bus after him. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, the silver-haired boy motioned for Malik to follow, words bubbling energetically from his lips. "Let's get up front, Malik! I want to be the first one inside."
Though reluctance was still planted on his face, Malik obeyed, following the other to the front of the group. Closer to the house, his enemy. Narrowing his eyes at the ratty building, he once again tried to convince himself that ghosts weren't real. When that failed, he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the class. Most were busy chatting about the house and the week before them among a few other pointless topics.
Beside him, Ryou took his hand, a tender motion that made Malik blush slightly. "Malik?"
Waiting a moment (hoping the blush would fade before Ryou saw it), Malik turned to Ryou, "Hmm?"
A grin crossed his friend's face, "This will be fun, I promise. I'll protect you." He chuckled as he attempted to look brave.
Malik snickered, "No thanks, Ryou." He squeezed the pale hand. "I can handle a ghost."
Ryou bit his lip, horror story on his tongue. Now wasn't the time to convince Malik otherwise, despite how tempting it was.
Thankfully, their teacher, Mrs. Kinomiya, interrupted him in time by stepping up to the top stair of the porch (at only 5'0", she was hard to see otherwise). Voice shrill, she began to explain the rules of the week -- basically the trip was 'free reign' with certain times for meals. It would be two to a room and she'd assign partners privately. That said, she hopped down from the stairs.
To Ryou's delight, she spoke to him first. "You and Malik are together. No surprise, I'm sure. You're in room 17 which will be at the end of the hall." Then, leaning in further, possibly because of her shared interest in the occult, she whispered with a grin, "That's the room the ghosts were supposedly murdered in."
Ryou's eyes lit up, hand tightening once again on his bag. One glance to Malik, however, stalled his excitement. Despite his attempt to stay calm, disdain still lined the Egyptian's face. "… We might as well unpack, right?"
As much as Malik wanted to protest, he nodded. He hadn't bothered trying to sleep on the bus and if he was lucky, he'd be able to finally get a nap.
Forever In Death
Mariku watched from the attic stairs, arms folded across his chest. Despite the years they'd spent together in life, in death Bakura and Mariku remained mostly apart.
"What is it?" Bakura's gruff voice was laced with a thick hatred; time didn't heal all wounds.
Mariku smirked, never hesitating to show pleasure at another's distress. "I told you, didn't I?" The manipulative tone only further increased Bakura's agitation. "… Oh, I must have forgotten. Pity."
Hateful tone replaced with nonchalance, Bakura gazed at his companion, "Are you going to tell me or continue your pathetic attempt at a taunt?"
Mariku ran his tongue over his bottom lip, drawing their time together further out. Like Bakura, he was stubborn, but unlike the pale thief, he had patience. Drumming his fingers against his thigh, he began, "Well, it could have been… mm, two days? Or… was it three?"
Bakura slid off the suitcase that served as his seat, approaching Mariku and cupping the other's chin. Leaning in, lips barely apart from the Egyptian's, he smirked, "Does time matter?"
The slight chill was all that Mariku could feel, though his fingers increased their pace -- a distraction, and gods, he needed one. Closing the gap, Mariku kissed Bakura, an agitated gasp escaping his lips. In death, their was no release from lust. Breaking away, hateful gaze on Bakura, Mariku hissed, "We have company."
Bakura's hands fell from Mariku's face. "Hmm." Shoving the other from his path, Bakura walked down the flight of stairs. "Are they here?"
"Yes, they were piling off the bus, last I checked," Mariku answered, following closely behind his companion. Bakura didn't have to turn around to know the other was smirking, "I only caught a brief glimpse, but I believe my guest," his because she was staying in the master bedroom (the teacher's always did) which had become Mariku's main place of dwelling, "is quite worthy of my company."
Rolling his eyes, Bakura rounded the corner that led to the next flight of stairs. "I'm afraid I couldn't care less." Reaching the bottom, he headed to the front door, peering out the window. He was silent a moment before cursing. Slamming his fist against the window, the amount of emotion behind the action actually shattered the window. "Those fucking cunts!"
Unphased, Mariku leaned against the stairwell, eyebrow raised. "Is there a problem?"
The question seemed rhetorical as far as the thief was concerned, bitter, brown eyes focused on the two boys in the front -- mirror images of what they had once been. "The gods are punishing us. As if they haven't enough already, they--"
He was cut off as Mariku approached the window, lips curved into a grin. "Punishing us? So sacrilegious, Bakura, dear. Can't you see this is a favor?"
End First Sight