zodiacal_light: Humour: Because angst is not jolly. (Default)
Something was going on with Niisama. (Well, that was an understatement. Wasn't there always something going on?)

But he'd been acting just a little ... off, since waking up from that coma. At first, Mokuba had just chalked it up to, well, to the coma, and rebuilding his heart, and getting stuck in a card by a soul-stealing jackass, and all the stress Niisama had gone through when trying to make sure the fallout from Duelist Kingdom didn't wreck KaibaCorp, too.

But stress doesn't generally cause people to lapse into speaking long-dead languages. Or absently put on eyeliner in the morning, before freaking out and washing it off.

Mokuba, not being an idiot, had a pretty good idea what was going on, especially after seeing that tablet at the museum and meeting that weird Isis lady. Niisama being able to read the text on the Ra card only proved to him what Mokuba already knew.

...Not that Niisama was likely to admit it, anytime soon.

But Mokuba was a Kaiba, and while whatever was going on with Niisama could be explained by reincarnation, given all the weird shit the Items had caused, and the fact that at least one of the Items clearly had reacted to Niisama, he was ... keeping possibilities open.

Until the morning he walked into the kitchen to find Niisama sitting at the table (surprisingly), staring blankly into a bowl of oatmeal (which he hated), and and muttering what sounded like a half-remembered prayer to himself in a language with some damn weird consonant clusters.

"Niisama?" Mokuba asked timidly, hanging onto the doorframe.

Niisama turned to look at him, eyes blank and unrecognizing, and Mokuba shivered. "You look like Nefernebet," he breathed, looking ever-so-faintly bewildered.

"Who?" Mokuba asked, really truly trying not to freak out.

"Nefernebet. My willful daughter. Are you a relative?" Niisama asked, and the question seemed to flip a switch inside of him, because the next thing Mokuba knew those blue eyes sharpened into a familiar piercing stare.

"Mokuba? What's wrong?" And that was his Niisama, back from wherever his mind had taken him.

Mokuba did something he'd sworn never to ever do again. He burst into tears.

Niisama was at his side in an instant, wrapping long arms tightly around Mokuba's shoulders. "What happened?" he asked softly after Mokuba managed to calm down some.

"You don't remember?" Mokuba asked, almost more worried about this than the incident itself. Was his Niisama possessed by some wayward spirit, too?

Niisama was frowning. "Remember what?"

"I came down to find you and you were doing that thing again, you know? Where you're not speaking Japanese anymore? And then you looked at me and didn't recognize me," and damn it all to hell, he was tearing up again, "and asked if I knew someone named Nefernebet. Your-"

"-Willful daughter," Niisama breathed, and his eyes were distant again, but the normal distance of someone recollecting something, not the eerie distance from the kitchen. "Damn it all. Mutou was right. Damn it, and damn him while we're at it."

Mokuba smiled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. That was his Niisama, all right.

Niisama's hands were still gripping his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Mokuba," he said, staring intently into Mokuba's eyes, and that was so typical of Niisama, apologizing for things that weren't his fault.

"It's ok, Niisama. Really. It was a little freaky, but it's ok now."

Niisama stared at him as if looking for something, then nodded slowly and released him. "Come on, then. You're late for school."
zodiacal_light: Humour: Because angst is not jolly. (Default)
"Bakura?" It still felt odd to call him that, Ryou thought. That was his name, dammit.

"Hm?" Bakura looked up from where he had been intently peeling an orange.

"How did you get here, anyway?"

Bakura smirked, turning back to his orange. He liked oranges. He'd stolen one from an Indian caravan, once, and had been pleasantly surprised when he'd woken up a few years back and discovered them in the markets here.

"Bakura?" And now Ryou was looking really suspicious.

"Let's just say it's a good thing we know Malik Ishtar."

Ryou blinked.

Bakura's smirk widened. "He got into the country illegally while completely off his rocker. I'm sane," he glared when Ryou snorted, "and much sneakier. It wasn't all that hard." Bakura sat back, grinning at the peeled fruit in triumph. "And then I just pestered Kaiba until he broke and agreed to forge the necessary paperwork for me. Good thing most 'paperwork' these days is electronic..."

"You are entirely too smug about this, you know?"

Bakura grinned again. "Yep."

Ryou was looking at him with a resigned expression. "I don't want to know how you got into Kaiba's office in the first place, do I?"

"Probably not," Bakura agreed, smirking again.


"I climbed through his window."

Ryou spluttered. "That's thirty stories up!"

"Yep. Took a while."

"And do I even want to know what his reaction was?"

"What do you think? He tried to shove me back out the window."

Ryou started laughing a kind of helpless, disbelieving laugh.

"So I told him if he didn't knock it off, I'd prove to him that I really do have enough blackmail material to last a lifetime and start telling Yugi every embarrassing story concerning him that I remember."

Ryou stared at him. "You barely spoke two words to him until this." Then paused. "Oh."

Bakura's smirk turned nasty. "I told you, didn't I? And I was right." He started to laugh. "Oh, just wait until everyone else figures it out."

And Ryou was grinning now, too. "Does Mokuba know?"

"Given how he was pestering me for those stories anyway... I'd guess yes."
zodiacal_light: Humour: Because angst is not jolly. (Default)
When Bakura showed up on Ryou's doorstep, Ryou sighed, shook his head, and let his former yami into the apartment, slipping the knife back up his sleeve* and hoping that the ex-thief hadn't noticed.

By Bakura's smirk, he probably had.

Ryou busied himself by getting out the spare futon (that they'd never had to use for years - it wasn't like people ever stayed over) and tried not to wonder just how the former spirit had gotten himself a body.

And it was pretty clearly Bakura's body, or a decent replica thereof - tall, tan, muscular, with chopped-short white hair and eyes that sometimes seemed blueish and sometimes reddish, depending on the light. And one hell of a nasty scar that probably should've ruined that eye.

Ryou hadn't been in the Memory World, hadn't actually seen Bakura's real form, but the way the thief moved was just too natural for it not to be his body. Even at the end, after all those years of sharing Ryou's body, he'd always been ever-so-slightly hesitant when it came to actually doing anything. Ever-so-slightly off on his timing. Not so as anyone would notice, but enough that Bakura hadn't felt up to really resuming a life of crime.

Thankfully. He'd caused enough trouble as it was.

And now Bakura was looking at him funny, and Ryou realized he was staring.

"Yadonushi?" he asked, and Ryou noted idly that while Bakura had obviously retained Ryou's knowledge of Japanese, he'd somehow acquired an accent.


Bakura was not by nature a hesitant person. But he was hesitating now, hovering in the bedroom doorway, looking like he was getting ready to bolt, and Ryou realized that for all his assured confidence at the front door, Bakura really was unsure of his welcome.

Ryou smiled faintly, unsettling Bakura further, and motioned to the futon. "You don't mind, do you?"

Bakura shook his head, leaning warily against the doorframe.

"It'll be interesting trying to explain you to Father, whenever he next bothers to drop by."

"Nn," Bakura said, still warily watching Ryou.

"And Bakura," Ryou said as he drew even with him, "if I find you sticking souls in my figurines again, you're out on the curb." He graced the skittish thief with his sweetest fake smile.

And Bakura laughed.


zodiacal_light: Humour: Because angst is not jolly. (Default)

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