Out of the Ordinary [Marik+Closed]

[Ryou [+Yami] Bakura]

Crowds annoyed him. It only meant people got in his way at every step, and he had no patience for all these commoners, who seemed to hardly ever have an idea of where they were going. The temptation of shoving the next one away pressed hard on him every time, but he refrained, knowing the consequences would result in only more stalling. He had felt quite relieved when he had finally reached the corner he needed to turn into a smaller alleyway, and he had entered into that small space, free to finally pick his course straight once more. Crossing towards another, and then another, he had lost himself in their almost maze-like arrangement, but finally he saw the sheltered spot that they had agreed on for this meeting.

And now he waited for Marik, leaning against a shadow-covered portion of the wall, on the windowless side of a large building with the aspect of a storehouse. They had convened on neutral ground like this to meet today, and none of them had stated any kind of purpose, nor had they mentioned a single thing they would be discussing to the other. Bakura, or likely the spirit of the Millennium Ring in the body of his host, knew well enough what he had in mind, but he wondered what Marik wished to talk to him about. The other had been just as secretive as he. That hadn't been too inconvenient having in mind that, since both seemed to be hiding something, they had compromised and agreed to meet without prying for detail.

With each moment, his irritation only grew more. Was it too much to ask for punctuality from his current ally of sorts? He could hardly be expected to work well with the blond-haired boy under these conditions. The spirit of the Ring was hardly the patient sort. Having to spend a single minute idly, if it served no purpose such as making the effort to pretend he was the harmless host, was not anywhere in his plans. One could only imagine what longer amounts of wasted time did to him, such as the one he had been forced to spend here now. He wondered if Marik was using that motorcycle he had when they first confronted each other for transportation. Maybe he was stuck in traffic; imagining the other's angry face in such a case was a measure of comfort, and Bakura snorted quietly to himself.

Still, that thought, however amusing, only lasted a few moments, and his face soon darkened again, with his eyes narrowing down at a slow pace until he once more looked like the one you wouldn't like to have as an enemy. Marik would at least hear a few words from him, stuck in traffic or not. One should always take enough precautions to be on time for a meeting, especially with how fragile their deal was. Come to think of it, in many ways, Marik was an idiot. Bakura thought he would be much safer playing without the other boy, but they had made their deal and now… His teeth gritted lightly together, and his hands moved to find his pockets, or they would have balled into fists on the spot.

He could not afford letting it show that he was in a bad mood. It was unbeneficial to his own persona, and besides, it would take away much of the effect of what he was about to discuss with Marik. Assuming the blond would show up this year. Banishing that stubborn recurring thought from his mind, the spirit of the Ring forced himself to do what he was best at. Simulate what he wasn't feeling, display a façade. In slow paces, the scowl on his sharp features receded, and the cramped line of his mouth extended into a smooth smirk. The muscles of his face twitched slightly into relaxation, and finally he froze the result like a mask on his face: bored amusement. It was the only thing that would now greet from his side at a first glance.

What to do afterwards… he could figure on the spot. He had tried to plan ahead, only to reach the conclusion it would be pointless to do so. A thousand things could happen in these kinds of situation that would render all of his plans completely useless. He couldn't risk that.

[Marik Ishtar (Yami Marik)]

It could easily have been called a beautiful day had Marik been a person to truly care about it at the moment. The sun shone overhead, a solid blue broken by the few puffy white clouds drifting lazily across the vast sky, keeping the sight from being entirely dull. With very little distractions around, a person could enjoy losing oneself in his or her own thoughts. The sound of birds chipping lightly was floating down the sidewalk against the soft breeze that danced above the earth in nonstop currents, pleasing to the ears and settling to the heart. Relaxing? That was good enough of a word to describe the setting or the feeling of contentment that would fill a person. Truly it was a beautiful place, with a mother duck and her four ducklings paddling through the cooling pond while they quacked happily away. The scent of flowers was permeating the air.

And Marik might have envied the individuals who were enjoying this lovely scenery had he not been shouting curses at the people around him as he tried to make his way through the damned traffic. Honking horns blared loudly in deafening tones as exhaust flooded through the streets. Instead of delightful trees, flowers, ponds, and duckies, there was nothing but overlarge skyscrapers and their glistening windows that reflected the sun in all its glory, along with angry drivers in excess and swearing madly at each other during rush hour. In fact there was nothing peaceful about his surroundings.

If anything, he would have called his situation more stressful than it was worth, even though beneath him was a rumbling motored cycle that normally would cause his head to clear while riding. However, the current setting was one that could not easily be swept from his thoughts despite the constant hum of the engine causing vibrations against his inner thighs from the shaking seat, the calming roar that should have drowned out the world as it was.

No. Just ignore the other drivers’ rants and fist shaking. Forget the pollution he inhaled with each breath of air. Yet do not become so distracted that driving would be dangerous.

But the meeting with Bakura could not be cancelled at any cost. Something had to be done, and Marik realized that stepping down and hiding from the objective of this meeting was a cowardly thing to do and would get him no where. Besides, not finishing a task just wasn’t his character. And rarely ever did Marik stray from his usual persona.

He couldn’t remember quite what had prompted them to plan a meeting. As it was, it seemed they both had something they wanted to say and this was the easiest – no, most convenient – way to express their ideas. Marik knew what his purpose was for agreeing to this arrangement. As for Bakura…he hadn’t the slightest idea of what the white-haired male wanted to speak about. He probably wanted to negotiate their deal again, or tell of a new plan that would help the two in achieving the goal before them.

But whatever it was, Marik wasn’t focused on trying to figure it out. Much more important was getting out of the rows upon rows of cars surrounding his precious motorcycle. “Idiots,” he spat as he abruptly turned a corner, revving the engine and speeding down the street, ready to run over pedestrians on the sidewalk if it would get him to his destination quicker. They were just humans, after all. Mortals. Though he was slightly worried about what the gods had in store for him should he dare try to take their lives before the arranged time.

When he finally reached the prearranged meeting place, it was to find that he was very late and the other person was already standing there. Looking, of course, amused in a bored fashion with that subtle twisted smirk on his lips. It annoyed Marik, his violet eyes narrowing at the sight. But without a comment, not even an apology, he dismounted his vehicle and unbuckled the helmet.

[Ryou [+Yami] Bakura]

Finally, he was arriving. It wasn't difficult for Bakura to recognize Marik as soon as the motorcycle came from around the corner and slowed down to a stop only a few feet away from him. He had anticipated by the sounds it made as it approached even from two other streets away, because there was little in the way of other noise in the area. It seemed to be completely deserted, devoid of even the very last sign of life. As it should be; they had chosen this place precisely because it was so out of the way that the chances of them being interrupted during what was probably going to be a short enough meeting were practically zero. The white-haired figure guessed this paid off for the chilly current that found no escape between the narrow buildings, and kept flitting along the sides of walls. It had made him feel rather cold, especially with his back pressed against stone, but he bore through it, frozen in his place.

"What took you so long?" he addressed the other, who was just taking off the protective helmet and letting loose those strands of blond hair, slightly messier than Bakura imagined they would usually be.

He had perhaps come off as a lot ruder than he intended, having in mind that, the other male now being here, his frustration at having to wait was already waning. He didn't want to make his tone that harsh and disgusted, not necessarily, but for some reason he felt the need to double up his reproach for the simple fact that it was Marik. He didn't care much to think about that, and it wasn't like he'd usually be the pleasant sort, careful with the feelings of others, anyway. Besides, someone would have to be a pretty big idiot to be concerned with how to not hurt Marik's feelings, of all people's, in the first place. To add to that, something about the blond had irritated him from the very first, even though he had set that aside for the sake of their deal. So he didn't waste too much time pondering the why and how question marks of his reaction. He would likely not find the answer pleasing, anyway.

Pulling away from the wall, Bakura took a few steps towards the other, stopping to face him from a much closer distance than before, where he freed his hands from his pockets, only to fold them across his chest. He noticed, as he did so, that his fingers were all frozen and a little numb, so he made sure to hide them among the folds of his shirt as well as he could, to let them start to warm up again. A small shiver threatened to overtake him, as now that he had moved he realized the true extent of how cold it was in this backwater alley, but he was stronger than such minor things and so he suppressed it before it even began at all. A frown found its way to his features, and his brown eyes narrowed again, though not as sharply as before, when he was alone here, but just enough to counter any gaze coming from Marik's lavender own. No sign betrayed how deeply he was pondering on what he should say next, or on whether he should let Marik speak first, but his mind squirmed with quite some difficulty among so many thoughts.

[Marik Ishtar (Yami Marik)]

Goosebumps threatened to rise on his skin as he fought the shiver running through his body at the coolness in the air. He had realized that the meeting place had been chilly when they had agreed on. And yes, he had remembered it as well. But he had braced himself for breaking the barrier between warm sunlight and icy shadows, and did not normally get affected by the cold. So why the reaction? Obviously he hadn’t prepared his mind and body enough for the sudden shift in temperature conditions. Yes, that was it. It couldn’t be anything else. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

Apart from the cold was the atmosphere, which wasn’t something he minded much. It could almost have been called gloomy though some might have preferred the word sinister. Marik never would have used that word to describe the place. It was just dank and dark. The usual alleyway with a large green dumpster looming towards the back against the right wall. Mold crept along the bricks and mortar in musty clumps of orange, gray, and green, smelling of dirt and accumulated moisture. Dented and dirty aluminum trashcans were at the entrance with a faint welcoming stench of filth and month old garbage that had once again been neglected by the dump trucks because the restaurant they belong to had forgotten to pay the bills. Of course, no stereotypical alley was complete without the scattered old beer bottles, some broken and some not, but all of which covered in a thin layer of dirt. The setting had to have them, and so it did. Oh, and don’t forget about the week to year old urine in the back left corner from the neighborhood drunks stumbling about in the night and deciding to relieve themselves against the wall. How was it that every drunk managed to piss in the exact same spot?

Marik wrinkled his nose slightly at the place. Honestly, there were better alleys that they could have met in, so why this one? Right. Because evil masterminds with higher seniority were congregating in the other ones, so this location was the last place available.

Shooting Bakura a glare at the question, he answered with most obvious answer (which, for once, happened to be the truth), “Traffic.”

He hadn’t meant for the response to be as much of a snap that came out. Trying to remain in a good mood was harder than it often was made out to be, especially when one was running late for a very important meeting, and just so happened to be surrounded by blasted idiots who couldn’t drive properly at all.

It was while he tried rubbing the chill from the bones in his arms that he caught Bakura staring. Reason unknown. He half expected a shiver to run down the length of his spine, but much to his relief there was nothing. Nothing at all. So he concentrated on warming his blood until he could take the gaze no longer, and furrowing brow even further, glared once again at the other person, his voice hissing to hide the bewilderment, “What?”

[Ryou [+Yami] Bakura]

So his random supposition of the day had turned out to be the truth. How ironic indeed. It was almost as if someone had suggested that thought to Bakura precisely for the sake of the plot. Nevertheless, imagining how it must have been for Marik to deal with that inconvenient situation almost made the long wait all worth it. A smirk crawled its way back onto the white-haired boy's lips, from where the first one had just faded earlier. The present was different from that one, he seemed less bored and absent, and more ready to tease. However…

"That's amusing," was all he said, with only a small snort that far from made it credible that he found it humorous.

Obviously, the spirit of the Millennium Ring had other things on his mind right now, taking precedence, no doubt some large-scale plot of evil and doom, which would result in failure before people with even more ridiculous hairstyles, like these things tend to do. Or was it? Perhaps, for once in his life, he was thinking of something else. Normally, right now he would be plotting about how to make the deal he had with Marik the most advantageous he could, and coming up with a good strategy to approach Yuugi and duel him for his God card. Then, the next Millennium Item would be his, as per his and Marik's agreement. But for some reason, Bakura was far more concerned with a different subject at the time being.

Instead, he was still lost in his contemplation of the blond, especially of the expressions he saw on the Egyptian boy's face. He wondered about the thoughts that hid behind those violet irises, and stopped for a moment to marvel at how beautiful their unusual color was. Because that's what villains do in their spare time, you know, they admire colors. And other villains in general, especially those they would betray at the first sign of something better. It's only natural, right?

"You know," he continued on an even more serious tone, letting his second smirk die as well. "Despite that, you're not as insufferably inept as the other Millennium Item holders that I've met."

Yes. That was Bakura's idea of a compliment. He would have had so much more to say at the moment, but it just wasn't his style. He almost shifted his weight uncomfortably, but at the last moment he remembered he was too cool to do that, so he just continued to remain motionless in his spot, and finally tore his gaze from Marik's handsome features. Because yes, the other was so very attractive to him that he wondered why he had taken this long to admit this in the first place. Now the only thing that remained to be done, the only obstacle keeping him away from the goal of why he had come to this meeting was finding the proper way to address the matter in words. He'd have to actually speak his mind. Honestly. The horror.

[Marik Ishtar (Yami Marik)]

Surprisingly his neck ached. A dull throbbing of strain in the tightened muscles. Nervousness? No. He wasn’t that sort. Anxiety perhaps, wanting to move onto the next stage of the plan. Or perhaps it was irritation. That was the most likely. Being told that his plight had been “amusing” was not something that he was particularly happy about. Quite the contrary. He was not a funny person.

Not being able to think up anything witty to say in return, a subtle pout crossed his face as he murmured, “Maybe you think so.”

Horrible were those times when he could think of nothing to say. Nothing at all. It felt as though someone else were in control of this situation, god forbid that ever happen. For it was all about control when it came to Marik. But what upset him the most was the fact that he had been, in fact, feeling like he was not the one in control lately. At all. That Bakura was the one leading them around and giving orders, toying with him in that Bakura-ish fashion. He hated it. Despised it. It was almost terrifying. Mortifying. Petrifying. And in the end, he was stupefied by the knowledge, nursing the grudge in his heart against his companion.

It was a strange idea, the blond realized when he finally got around to think about it. Something that made the world a far more difficult place than it had to be. Control was the heart of all battles whether it be between countries or merely family members. But honestly, it was such a wonderful concept that it was no surprise when everyone wanted it. Control: the motivation for everyone to do better.

Yeah right. What bullshit.

Marik ran his long fingers through his bangs pulling them away from his face and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath before massaging his pulsing temples. Calm down. Relax. No, how could he do that when the person who was messing with his head was standing right before him? What an annoying situation. He wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. Alas, such a wish would never be answered without both of them discussing their subject matter…whatever it was. Marik half wondered if he could pull the “I forgot what is was” excuse at this time.

Not likely.

And not knowing whether to take Bakura’s comment as a compliment or an insult to his intelligence, he frowned even further, “Same goes for you,” he replied, unsure as to where this conversation was going to lead.

In the end, he was still feeling like he wasn’t the one in control.

[Ryou [+Yami] Bakura]

The smooth run of those fingers through the strands of light-colored hair, pushing them aside. Time seemed to run slower than ever in the white-haired figure's perception, as he took in every single detail about his interlocutor, the slow closing of his eyes, the small rise of his chest when he breathed in more deeply than before. The violet was gone from his view, the soft lavender irises that made Bakura see the vitality in the other boy, the emotion. Yet Marik looked even more vulnerable to him like that, with his eyes closed, massaging his temple with his fingers and looking for a solution to… what inner turmoil? He felt enticed by the sight, curious to know that. And more; other things, such as, what the blond would do if it weren't his own fingertips that trailed along those lines of his face, but Bakura's instead.

He inched closer, his step compelled by a will that was almost not his own, but that he could identify as such nonetheless. It was what he wanted to do, and at the same time what he held much reluctance for. What merit so great did he even see in the other? There wasn't any, yet still some.

But he gave in. He just staked it all on that moment, refused to think and plan his actions for once.

Bakura kept his gaze fixed on Marik's visage, just waiting for the moment when their eyes would meet again. But the rest of him didn't wait, didn't even register the short reply he had received. Or he did, but found it unimportant now. He had known already that Marik did not truly think him worthless, or they would not work together. He just raised his hand, meeting the other boy's as it was descending, not very far from the blond's cheek. He stopped its progress and just held it there, his own slender fingers slipping with ease into the gaps between Marik's, filling them, until they were holding hands, palms pressed against each other, Bakura's pale skin contrasting the darker tan. It had been a gentle move. He did not force, but at the same time he did not simply ask for the permission to do it, he reserved the right.

Their faces were also close. Closer than Bakura would have imagined they'd ever need to be when he had first met Marik. But yet far enough still for him to not feel any more than the weakest shade of the blond's breath on the sensitive skin of his cheeks.

"Since then," he said, somehow more calm than he had ever been. "Since we've talked that one time. You've been the most prominent figure in my thoughts." His teeth gritted barely, noiselessly, as soon as he was done saying it; perhaps his only protest against having given in, having become so weak. But he was determined to bring this to its conclusion, whichever that would be. He did not like stalling; when he had something in mind, he acted. "I called you here to tell you that; the rest is up to you."

Slowly, his fingers began to let go, his hand to slip from Marik's. He was done making his point, and that was his part. Now it was the other's turn.