Twelve signs

Well, you
like it, you get it-fluff, I mean. Really, it’s very hard to write dark, sick,
twisted stories, when outside the cherry trees are blooming, the sun shines and
birds tweet..anyway, on with this one..Ja ne!^^

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

His white coat
swirled around his long legs, as he strode down the halls of the new-build wing
adorning Domino City’s Children’s Hospital. Flashlights erupted, cameras
whirred, even as audience and reporters followed him suit.

“To the
left, a neuro-cardial research center, with the most advanced equipment,
including it’s own technical laboratory. Straight ahead, the combined day-care ward/dining
room, and the entire second floor will contain mostly patient’s rooms and
nurse’s offices, and the two top floors will be designed especially for PR,
complete with sauna, swimming pool and gym hall.”

Again, the
audience roared it’s applause, twice as loud even, when Kaiba politely, but
fevershly refused, to have a memorial plate with his name installed.

Basking in
the admiration of the people, he entered his limo and drove back to the Kaiba
Corp. building.

For a
while, all was quiet, and then Mokuba, who had been with him all the time,
asked hesitantly:

“So, why
don’t you let them put up the bronze plate, huh? I mean, it would have only
been just, to let everyboy know, what you’ve done for those kids, ne?”

His elder
brother smirked.

“Believe
me, Mokuba, I have already memorized myself within that building, in a way, which fits me far better than some cheap metal ornament ever could.”

It was the
truth, he had the architect to put his sign on every single floor in the entire hospital. The strange golden lines joining in the center of each room read, if
shrunk to regular size, the letter ‘K’ for Kaiba.
But since the letters were equal to each room’s dimensions, chances were scarce, anyone would notice.

And even
if, what could they do about it?

Mokuba
blinked a few times at Seto’s explanations, then shook his head and laughed:

“Nii-san,
you’re incredible!”

Seto’s
smile grew wider.

“Yes, I
fully agree on that.”

The next
week, newspapers were filled with pictures and comments about Kaiba’s generousity; his desk was flooded with thank-you cards, invitations,
honorations and, of course, fan post. Sighing, he systematically sorted them out, most of them would be answered by his secretary, if at all.

The few
important ones, he had to deal with personally, wandered on his desk, before he
went in search for some much needed coffee. All in all, he was rather pleased
with himself; not only was hospital founding totally tax-deductable, but it had also raised people’s opinion about him, and flushed out a few rather promising business partners and clients.

Seto walked
into the kitchen and frowned, when he saw his outoto buried chest-deep inside the large fridge.<

Crossing
his arms, he asked sternly:

“What have
I told you about snacking between the meals, Mokuba?”

Raven locks
shot up and grey-blue eyes widened in realization, making Seto smirk inwardly, at the cute picture the pre-teen involuntarily gave:

In his
left, he held packages of rice snacks and yokan, his right clutched a can of soda, and his mouth was crammed full with what appeared to be either a thuna
sandwich, or a huge chunk of fried tofu.

Cocking a
brow, Seto tsked disapprovingly.

“It appears,
you have been spending time with Yugi and his friends, particularly the mutt, again, ne?”

Mokuba
wanted to defend himself, but then remembered, that it was impolite to speak with your mouth full, besides, it would have been useless to deny the truth: he
did spend time with the ‘pathetic bunch of losers’ as his brother called them.

So,
instead of replying, the dark-haired boy pointed to the kitchen counter.
Seto’s eyes followed his finger, and then his heart leapt into his throath. How
had that particular letter gotten down here?

And why did
it upset him so much?

It was not
like it was something extraordinary special, although the writing was beautiful, and the paper the kind of wich he would have chosen himself, if he had
to write a letter of such a personal matter.

Outside as
cool and regal as always, the elder Kaiba crossed the kitchen and picked up the sheet, inspecting it from all sides, before turning a questioning glance at
Mokuba.

His brother
had finally managed to bite off and swallow a piece of his sandwich, and answered:

“I’ve no
idea how, but when I got home, it was in one of the inside pockets of my jacket. Must have happened, when I was at the arcade with-my schoolmates”, he
ended lamely, not really wanting to confess, that he had met Jou, Honda, Anzu, Otogi and Yugi at the ice-cream parlor.

Seto cocked
a brow, then smirked.

So, obviously one of the Yugi gang had the hots for him, huh? His mind instantly cross-checked the personalities and abilites of each member and decided, that it was most probably Yugi’s alter ego, Yami, who had sent him those lines.

Choosing a
steak knife, he slid the blade underneath the clasp, and ripped open the enveloppe.

His long
fingers nimbly took out and unfolded the paper, blue eyes scanning across the
page.

And then
Seto’s gaze filled with hatred, as he reread the poem again.

He threw
the letter on the floor, before turning on the heel, hissing:

“That
little, no-good, self-sufficient..bastard!”

Mokuba
stared puzzled at the slightly swinging door, his brother had just stormed out, then went over and picked up the letter.

His eyes
widened, whe he read, what had caused Seto’s anger:

Who is
it that says most, which can say more,

Than
this rich praise, that you alone, are you?

In those
confine immuréd is the store,

Which
should example where your equal grew.

Lean
penury within that pen doth dwell,

That to
this subject lends not some small glory,

But he
that writes of you, if he can tell,

That you
are you, so dignifies his story.

Let him
but copy what in you is writ,

Not
making worse what nature made so clear,

And such
a counterpart shall fame his wit,

Making
his style admiréd every where.

You to
your beauteous blessings add a curse,

Being
fond of praise, which makes your praises worse.style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Whoa, long
chappie, how’d that happen?°-° Anywho’s, I’ll be back with more,
sometime…^^