Naming the Flame

Naming the Flame

Chapter Two

The first time Ryou ran
away from home, he was six. It had been his preferred choice of mourning for
his sister Amene, who had, in his father’s definition, “gone to join the choir
of Heaven” (1). W his his father drove to the hospital to identify the body,
Ryou left a recording of his own whimpering sobs playing under the rumpled
blankets of his bed and hid in the park for five hours until the police found
him and brought him home.

By the time he was
sixteen, Ryou had run away without the intention of returning a grand total of
thirty times, a record that would have made most American rebels jealous. To
ask what he ran from would be enormously useless, for the reasons he harbored
were no more sensible than the idea of using rudimentary graphics on a
sophisticated game system (2). He claimed to run from himself and who he feared
of becoming, but in truth, he only really wanted attention. His father was
rarely around long enough to notice any of his son’s accomplishments and when
he was, his praise wasn’t enough for a boy who from the age of seven habitually
took care of himself.

On August seventh,
however, Ryou’s reason for running away was a smidgen more practical. Since he
rather enjoyed having his boyfriend alive and privy to all his major limbs,
Ryou snuck the Egyptian out of the basement hatch while his father was upstairs
calling the police. When Malik was gone and ultimately safe for the time being,
Ryou endured a considerably mortifying sermon from his preposterously
homophobic father and planned his thirty-first escape from home.

“Do you know what happens
when teenagers…” Ryou’s father trailed off, cringing visibly at the words he
refused to say.

“Have sex?” Ryou ventured
curiously.

His father blanched.
“Where did you learn that word?!”

Ryou wished he’d had that
plunger right about now.

At length, the teen’s
father ran out of fire with which to scorch his apathetic son and sent the
teenager to his bedroom to think about the distress he had brought upon his poor
elderly father (the candle’s whisper of flame would have tossed in
amusement if it were present - the man was barely y-fiy-five!).

“I’m too tired to deal
with this tonight,” the middle-aged (and not elderly whatsoever, the candle
might have added) man sighed, rubbing his temples.

Ryou winced, feeling guilt
starting to spear through his impassive front. At the age of eleven, he’d
developed a theory that if he stifled his susceptible emotions, he didn’t have
to feel pain when he was attacked. But apparently, his father didn’t apply to
his son’s problem free philosophy. Well, hakuna matata to you, too,
thought Ryou glumly.

His father gestured
vaguely toward the stairs, training his eyes doggedly on the tumultuous water
of the Jacuzzi. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Just…. Just go to your
room. Please.”

Feeling a bit guiltier
than was healthy for his perpetually jovial outlook on life, Ryou exited the
Jacuzzi Room to the sound of his father beseeching God to cure his son’s
bizarre behavior. Little chance of that, Ryou thought dryly. Look who
I choose to date.

When he reached his
bedroom at the far reaches of the hallway, Ryou flicked the light switch beside
his door gingerly and crawled into bed. By now he felt guilty for not feeling
guilty about the near stroke he’d given his father. And guilty for nearly
getting Malik’s head removed from its comfortable home on the Egyptian’s neck.
And guilty for testing his own sanity by hol a g a grudge against a candle. But
he could have sworn the thing was mocking him downstairs. …Maybe he
could break it when his father went to sleep….

A rumbling hum crammed the
hollow wall beside Ryou’s bed and the teen realized exasperatedly that the
Jacuzzi was now being sanitized. “Oh, honestly,” he grumbled. “It’s not like
he’ll catch my sexuality if he doesn‘t decontaminate the stupid thing.”

Sitting on the flank of
his bed, Ryou studied the window longingly. Not even two hours had gone by and
already he missed Malik’s pres nea near him. Idly, he reviewed his father’s
orders in a thoughtful tone. “Talk in the morning…go to my room….” Slowly, as a
happy loophole surfaced, Ryou smiled. “He didn’t say anything about staying
in my room,” he mused with feigned innocence.

Deciding that since his
father hadn’t technically told him he was grounded, Ryou didn’t count
his escape as running away. Thirty had been a nice rounded number to stop at.
He didn’t need “ran away from home forty plus times” on his transcript for
college. Somehow he doubted the admissions office at Cambridge would find that
miniscule detail as impressive as an unachievable “A” in science.

Balanced comfortably on
the windowsill with his feet dangling only inches from the roof of the garage,
Ryou leaned backwards into his room and snatched the pervasive Sennen Ring from
his dresser. After fastening the rope around nec neck, Ryou hid the golden halo
under his sable-hued sweater. The flashes from the streetlamps were sure to
catch on the polished artifact and give Ryou away. That was a lesson he’d
learned after Failed Run Away Attempt Number Fourteen. Okay, so he’d gotten
caught almost as many times as he’d successfully run away. He looked at
it as a balance between cherub and delinquent.

As gauche as the teenager
could be, Ryou had his stronger points. His angelic charm was, of course, one
on the higher portion of the list - and his easy look into a person’s psyche
was always useful. But what he utilized tonight was presently more important
than looking like an angel and reading minds. He could save those for later
(Malik found the telepathy more than a little unnerving, so it was never a lost
amusement when Ryou could tell him what he was thinking).

Tonight he used the sharp
wit he was complimented by his teachers for and began circling the house by
means of the chimneystack. He knew his father was in the basement, but his
neighbors weren’t all asleep, the miserable spies. His best chance for
accomplishing this escape was by taking the route between the backyards of
houses. He’d only tried it once, when he left home to visit Duelist Kingdom.
One of his more pointless trips, yes, but he suspected something must have
happened during that time to have left the dark Sennen Ring Spirit so
frighteningly delighted.

Shadows screened the olive
yards as passing cars clipped the continuous flow of light from the
streetlamps. Reviewing the sketchy map of his exodus, Ryou crept through a
field of narrow fence posts without a splinter brushing his dark clothes. For
all the blather he’d received from Malik and his friends for “starving
himself”, Ryou never once caught his agile frame feathering a narrow crevice.
His “anorexia” was helping him live a criminal life. His yami would be proud,
if he bothered to exist occasionally.

Yami no Bakura, as the
Spirit had come to be named, paid little attention to his host. It seemed the
only times he showed himself exclusively to his hikari were when Ryou was
facing death or soul-crushing. Occasionally, Ryou caught morsels of his yami’s
stream of thought, but mostly he avoided contact with the Spirit’s mind. Yami
no Bakura had very bizarre problem free philosophies. Ryou could tell the
Spirit hadn’t been absorbing concepts while Ryou and his little cousin Katori
watched the Lion King last summer.

Ryou reached the main
avenue without trouble, allowing himself to rest beneath a beam of light to
organize the next stage of his plan. Before he could form anything, however,
Ryou was startled into panic by a loud thunderclap. But it wasn’t the thunder
of the heavens. It was the infamous growl of a motorcycle.

Gingerly bouncing off the
curb, Ryou raced across the vacant street toward the main road around the
corner. As he veered around the bend, he causighsight of a familiar motorcycle
and an even more familiar rider. Grinning elatedly, Ryou waved the Egypts
as
attention to him. Shocked, Malik steered the bike to the sidewalk Ryou lingered
on and quieted the engine with a turn of the key.

“Hey there, sweetheart,”
Malik said with a decadent wink. “Youmma mma know you’re out?”

Laughing, Ryou replied
honestly, “She does (3), but I doubt my father will until morning.”

Malik arched an eyebrow,
folding his arms out on the plane of his handlebars and leaning his full weight
on them. He squinted as if trying to read Ryou’s eyes the way Ryou often read
his and asked, “You ran away again?”

Ryou shook his head,
smiling roguishly. “Running away is leaving without the intent of returning,”
he defined impishly. “This time, I plan on going back. I just haven’t decided
when.”

Malik accepted this as it
came to him, resisting the craving to push a minor interrogation on his younger
koibito. Instead he said, “You want to wait here? I’ll take this home and come
back for you on foot.” He wouldn’t trust Ryou’s life to anybody, let alone a
collection of well-assembled, polished metal - even if it was his.

Unfortunately it was deep
into the brothels of night and Ryou’s grasp on compassionate actions was
fragile. Apparently translating Malik’s concern as patronizing, Ryou frowned
and openly displayed the lesion wounding his soulful eyes. He didn’t say
anything; he didn’t need to.

Malik held his ground
firmly, sharply shaking his head. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

Ryou’s eyes flared.

Oops.

“Oh, really,” the younger
boy growled, stepping off the curb and tilting his chin up so he was nearly
nose-to-nose with the Egyptian. “I’m too much of a weakling to ride a
motorcycle?”

“It’s not that you’re a
weakling, Ry. It’s just…bikes are really treacherous. I mtherthere’s drunk
drivers, oil slicks, other bikers…. It’s not that you’re weak; it’s just that I
don’t want to risk losing you to such a stupid cause.” He italicized this
softened statement with a ginger kiss to Ryou’s forehead.

His charm was off that
night.

Ryou backed away, but
Malik knew better than to think he’d won. Moments later, his patience was
rewarded as he saw the crumbling of the younger boy’s offended front. Oh,
come on, he prayed, Re, don’t let him do that. I can’t stand that!
Ryou sniffled and dropped his defiant pose, pressing crossed, limp arms
into his smooth abdomen. Ugh! He’s going to do it…. I know he will….
It wasn’t loud, nor was it particularly noticeable, but when a single tear left
the sanction of one of Ryou’s fawn-brown eyes, Malik knew he’d lost.

“All right, you little imp,”
he snapped without venom. “Get on and quit the histrionics.”

His koi hadn’t spoken four
words before Ryou grinned victoriously and kissed Malik’s jaw line.

Malik rolled his eyes with
a crumb of flourish. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered as Ryou climbed on behind him.
“Just hold on.”

Uncertainly and more than
a little tentatively Ryou clasped his wrists around Malik’s waist, relaxing his
chin on the Egyptian’s shoulder. Smirking affectionately, Malik corrected his
saiai (4) and drew the younger boy’s arms to wind more securely around his
torso. He could feel Ryou smile against his cheek. “Sorry,” the ivory-haired
boy said sheepishly. “I’ve never ly…uly…uh…ben onn one of these before.”

“Wonderful,” the Egyptian
sighed dramatically and fired the engine with the same turn of the bike’s key.
He nudged Ryou’s chin lightly with a rise of his shoulder. “You’re going to
fall off.”

Ryou frowned and opened
his mouth to rebuff the statement when Malik interrupted, “No, I mean you’re
not holding on tight enough.”

“Oh,” smiled Ryou shyly,
“oops.” He locked his wrists closer together, aligning his chest and abdomen
with Malik’s back. Smiling nervously, Ryou asked over the starting din of the
engine, “You wouldn’t let me fall, would you?”

Malik turned his head and
towed Ryou’s lips into a comforting lock. Then, with a stunningly sinful smile,
the Egyptian whispered into the younger boy’s ear, “No more than you let me
fall.”

Left partially confused
but overall comforted by Malik’s puzzling comment, Ryou squeezed the embrace he
continued to hold around his koi’s chest. “Keep in mind that if I fall off,
your next date will be with a hospital bed,” he called back, smothering Malik’s
unprepared lips with a kiss full of his own transgression.

Malik smirked against the
kiss and cooed mischiely, ly, “I won’t let you fall, kojika (5). Why would I
risk a mouth like that?”

Before Ryou could dredge
up the words for a lengthy reproof, the motorcycle roared in a voice like a
wounded tiger and whipped into its full speed as though it was racing time
itself. Ryou couldn’t hold back his horror and squeaked, clinging desperately
to Malik and hiding his face in the Egyptian’s neck. Immediately reacting to
the jolt of his Ryou’s fear, Malik slowed the bike to a more manageable speed.
Then he moved his focus to changing the location of his lungs from his chest to
his stomach as Ryou seemed currently determined to shatter his ribcage and
every major organ contained there within.

Finally, after a few
millennia elapsed, Ryou dared to steal a look over M’s s’s shoulder and was
met, astoundingly, with a bowl of glistening eye candy he never thought he’d be
so exhilarated to see. Taki Hi (6) - the sanctuary of contemporary nightlife
and where the light of today’s youth hid their most cryptic faces.

Ryou might have never
known such a place existed had it not been for Malik. His short life thus far
had been strictly monitored by his father and what fun could be found outside
of said parent’s deluded Disney world was, in a word, outlawed. But then,
dating a former criminal and unverified kleptomaniac probably wasn’t what the
former monaof Dof Disney Films would have dubbed appropriate for a G-rated
movie. Especially not with a vocabulary like Malik’s.

Taki Hi was in actuality a
small island, surrounded by a manmade channel filled with what appeared to be
fountains spurting licks of flame. Three bridges led straight into the heart of
Taki Hi, but only one permitted motorcycles. And it didn’t look as though Malik
was planning on taking that one.

“Malik!” Ryou yelped disbelievingly.
“They’ll pull the bridge up!”

Malik shouted back,
“They’ve never done it before!”

“Before!? YOU’VE
DONE THIS BEFORE!?”

Several throngs of
teenagers shrieked as though imitating doomed extras in another Godzilla
remake and crumbled away to make a pathway for the roaring bike. Ryou thought
he felt one of Malik’s ribs crack but couldn’t find it in him to loosen his
grip. Ahead, the bridge stood stolidly, taunting as a magician does right
before snatching a cloth from underneath an assortment openspensive china. Ryou
clenched his eyes shut, returning his forehead to the refuge of Malik’s neck,
groaning.

The bike let out a
horrible, animalistic howl and lurched onto its back wheel, smearing a single
black skid mark rebelliously into the concrete. The security guards rushing
forward to stop the motorist saw this jin tin time to retreat and scream to the
crowd to do likewise. It was a shame Ryou hadn’t watched, Malik would reflect
later, or he would have seen how capable a driver Malik was.

As Ryou predicted, the
bridge’s pulley wrenched the plank at its middle, tipping one end underwater
and the other reaching for the clouds. Unfortunately, there was one teeny flaw
in this plan. The motorcycle soared a bended arc, as if riding over a bridge of
air. The teenagers not occupying their intelligence - or lack there of,
in some cases - by scrambling around the entryway like spasmodic kuribo gaped
in transfixed awe as the bike’s front wheel splintered the lip of the bridge
and landed in a guttural crunch on the other side.

Malik reacted quickly to
the impact and swerved the bike parallel to the “moat” below. There might not
have been crocodiles down there (7), but he’d seen more than a few drunk
teenagers halfway over the fence posts after one too many bottles of their
parents’ Sake (8) to assume that there was only water in the channel after
sunset.

From all directions,
applause broke out, girls catcalling and guys whooping enthusiastically. Malik
pulled a few tangles from his hair and addressed his admirers smugly. His smile
was dripping with sarcasm, as if noiselessly singing, “I’m too sexy for my
bike, too sexy for the moat, too sexy for spazzed hair….”

Apparently, though, Ryou
didn’t get the memo that the bike had stopped. “I’mgonnadieI’mgonnadie.
I’mgonnafallandI’mgonnadieandthenI’mgoingtobreakmyheadopenandthen - ”

Malik coughed discreetly
then, half out of amusement and half out of desperate need to prevent Ryou from
squeezing his vital organs into creamed corn. “Koneko (9), as comfortable as it
is having an internal meat grinder mincing my insides, I thought you’d like to
know that we’ve stopped and that, coincidentally, you’re not dead.”

The senseless ma
pa
paused and a snowy head shakily detached from Malik’s neck. When the Egyptian
turned his head to grin at his shaken koi, he was tersely thrown into hysterics
at the flagrant terror marring the younger boy’s usually complacent features.
It didn’t help, either, that Ryou’s hair was currently hooked on a malady known
as “Tongue-in-Socket Syndrome”.

Slowly, Ryou recognized
the real world through terror-slicked eyes and shook all the harder.
“Y-y-y-you-y-y! Y-you BAKA!” he screeched, smacking Malik’s blameless shoulder
with the force of ten PMS-stricken kick boxers.

Malik yelped and massaged
his lamenting limb, looking all the world like a confused five-year-old.
“What’d I do?!” he whined, brought unexpectedly to the days of his youth when
Isis would slap his shoulder for being, as she tactfully put it, “conveniently
brainless”.

“What-WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Ryou shrieked, quivering in fury. “You know I’m petrified of heights,
aho (10)!”

Malik scratched his neck
sheepishly, smiling though anxiously. “Sorry?”

“Wha - WHO DID THIS?!”

Taking that exclamation as
their cue to exit, Malik ignored Ryou’s stammered protests and kicked his foot
off the ground. In some remote corner of his ear, he heard Ryou cursing him in
Japanese. With a wry snicker, Malik pulled Ryou’s reluctant arms around his
chest and tore through the praising throng of teenagers.

With a suspicious air of
negligence, Malik stashed his precious motorcycle in a darkened alley, chaining
it then to three rather bulky spikes embedded in the concrete wall. When the
Egyptian reemerged from the shade, he found Ryou gazing at the heart of Taki
Hi, the sculpture of Eien An'ya, eternal dark night. Though he was immensely
amused by the disbelief on Ryou’s face, Malik could sympathize with his koi’s
awe. The first time he’d seen the sculpture, he’d exclaimed an ancient Egyptian
vulgarity so loud he’d made a group of ogling girls giggle.

To a newcomer who had
never ventured this far into Taki Hi - in this case Ryou - Eien An’ya was the
pinnacle of absolute fascination. In truth, the sculpture was actually a
combined work of two enormous statues. The first, Eien, was a towering scarlet
dragon whose tail and clawed hind legs were deeply submerged in the red lit
pond. Its front claws rested on the back of a reared Pegasus whose colossal
wings were of the glossiest ebony. This creature was An’ya, the beast of dark night.

With an entertained grin,
Malik draped a lax arm over Ryou’s shoulder, tapping the hanging jaw shut with
the other. While Ryou gawped at the statues, Malik lazily caught and dragged
the knots from the younger boy’s hair. Once he’d restored the ivory locks to
their former silken appeal, Malik comfortably curled both arms around Ryou’s
neck. “The outside is unbelievable, ne?”

Ryou found he couldn’t
quite wrench his gaze away from the gargantuan creatures and asked vaguely,
“Outside?”

“Hm? Oh, well, yeah. This
is the outside. Eien An’ya is a nightclub.”

Ryou narrowed his eyes and
studied the details of Eien’s scales, finding, to his surprise, that every
other scale was a ruby-tinted window. And on An’ya, the wings of the giant
horse were supporting a broad expanse of balconies and alcoves. The sheltered
boy gaped.

Malik was absently
admiring the club even after Ryou turned in his embrace to ask him, “Why didn’t
you ever take me here before?!”

The Egyptian shrugged and
drew his eyes from Eien An’ya to Ryou. He grinned. “Because you have to be
seventeen to get inside.”

Ryou frowned. “But I’m not
seventeen until September.”

“Eh. I got tired of
waiting.”

Ryou rolled his eyes,
muttering, “Oh, well of course.”

Malik laughed and dragged
Ryou mercilessly toward the tail of Eien. Ryou quickened his pace to keep up
with the Egyptian, still stunned by the size of this club. Taki Hi had
always been a favorite haunt of theirs, but Ryou had never even seen
Eien An’ya. But that explained why he incessantly heard teens talking about the
“dragon club”.

Malik passed directly by
the line casually, ignoring the curious and in some cases, annoyed looks of the
waiting patrons. Ryou made to ask Malik how he intended to get a minor into a
club for older teens, but it proved to be a wasted worry. With merely a wolfish
dir directed at one of the bouncers, Malik was admitted in, and therefore,
Ryou.

As they ascended the
winding, lightning-streaked staircase, Ryou asked, “Why did he just let you go
in?”

Malik dropped his hand
from Ryou’s wrist to his hand and squeezed his palm lightly. With a roguish
smirk, the Egyptian said calmly, “He’s met my yami.”

Ryou decided to hold back
on questioning in the future.

Eien turned out to be the
club and An’ya a cluster of small lanais overlooking the whole of Taki Hi. When
Ryou exhibited more interest toward the lanais than Eien, Malik hid a knowing
smile and tugged Ryou in the direction of the Dragon’s Wrist, the walkway that
led to An’ya.

At the mouth of the
walkway, Ryou froze. For not only were the scales of Eien tinted - its very
body itself was. Standing on that catwalk was tempting death. After explaining
this to Malik, however, Ryou was promptly laughed at.

Miffed, the ivory-haired
teen muttered, “You don’t hear me laughing at you, you ataxophobic.”

Malik hesitated in his
gala of amusement. “Ataxophobic?”

Ryou smiled, though it
seemed the corner of his mouth seemed to be arcing in a suspicious angle. Sweet
gods of fruitcake…was Ryou Bakura smirking!? “Fear of untidiness, love,”
the diamond-haired boy said sweetly.

Malik feigned a look of
affront and folded his arms. Ryou realized with amusement that the older boy
had a tendency to jut his hip slightly when he stood that way; he made a mental
note to remind Malik that he could be, for all he knew, a basistasiphobic - one
afraid of standing up straight. Now if only he could find the name for fear of
the opposite sex….

“Dear Re, it’s Anzu!”

Oh, that’s right….

Malik snatched Ryou by the
arm and both hid behind a rather thorough hefty pillar. The panicked teen
pulled Ryou against his chest, peering over the smaller boy’s shoulder as the
ninth Egyptian plague prowled by in a style so last year it made Malik’s
stomach churn. “If I ever mix hot pink and lime green - even if I’ve contracted
some rare African disease and am too blind to see my own striking reflection -
just shoot me, all right?” he whispered to Ryou.

“You didn’t see the worst
of it,” said Ryou in a shuddering tone. “She was wearing sandals with socks.”

Malik screamed but was
luckily muffled by both the loud thrumming of the music and Ryou’s
accommodating hand before the sound could carry to Anzu’s ears.

While Malik began to
meticulously dig his knuckles into his eyes, attempting to scour away the image
of the early 90’s era style of green and pink, Ryou tilted his head slightly
and caught sight of a window half ajar. And in that window was a perfect view
of at least five lanais, only three of which were occupied. Curious as to what purpose
these balconies served, Ryou absently trailed away from Malik to the window,
squinting into the shaded area.

Whoever designed Eien
An’ya must have purposely hung a wing over the dragon’s head, where the club
was located, for Ryou couldn’t make out anything more than the lanais
themselves. Although….

“Malik!” he called, waving
urgently. When he sensed the Egyptian presence closer to him, Ryou said, “Is
that…?”

Frowning, Malik spun his
gaze outside, systematically picking out various lanais until he spotted the
one Ryou’s eyes were trained steadfastly on. “Oh, my….”

“They…is that them?!”

“It looks like them,
doesn’t it?”

The objects of Ryou’s and
Malik’s stares were only a dozen feet away and two stories higher. Even with
this distance, however, Ryou and Malik could hear every word they said.
Despite his conscience’s grumbling, Ryou paid strict attention to the scene
above, disbelieving.

“I didn’t even know they
were dating!” he cried quietly.

Malik shook his head in
agreement.

The couple were arguing in
a tempestuous flurry of biting remarks and angry tears. Apparently the pair had
been keeping this relationship burrowndernder the blankets and one of them
didn’t have the desire to hide it anymore. Finally, one had enough and stormed
from the balcony, in tears and barely holding back profanity it was so obvious
he needed to let free. Moments later, the other followed.

Malik broke the awkward
silence following the scene by kissing his saiai vehemently. After a few
moments filled with nothing but a very deeply compliant Ryou, Malik broke the
connection between lips and electric surf. He then took to toying with Ryou’s
hair, nimble fingers sketching the texture with elegance.

“What was that for?” asked
Ryou breathlessly.

Malik shrugged and twirled
a strand of ivory around his index finger, slowly letting it unravel into a
spell of flowing whorls. “Testing a theory of Jounouchi’s.”

Ryou’s demeanor flashed a
spasm of fear. “Please tell me you’re kidding,” he said slowly. “What theory?”

“He seems to believe that
if someone kisses you too hard, you’ll swallow their tongue.”

Ryou, the poor dear,
looked desperately lost. So, to ease the younger boy’s obvious confusion, Malik
decided to test another theory of Jounouchi Katsuya’s - a kiss can last no
longer than a minute without air.

Thirty seconds later, Ryou
was doing his koibito proud. The boy hadn’t even showed the vaguest of hints
that he needed air. Forty seconds…. Forty three…. Forty eight…. Fifty six….
Fifty eight -

Ryou broke off in a
torrent of gasps, his face flush with exertion. Malik groaned. “Ryou!”

“Wh-wha-what?!” panted
Ryou, leaning against the pillar behind him gratefully. “Do I look like I have
gills to you?!”

Malik cursed. “Perfect,”
he huffed. “N-now I owe the…male cheerleader…his card back.”

“Wha…what c-card?”

“That stupid pocket watch
that looks like the mascot of a cereal box.”

“The Time Wizard?”

“Yeah, that thing.”

Ryou pulled in another
breath and assembled a proper reproachful glare to aim at his koi. “You’re not
serious. You’ve been stealing cards again?” He adapted also a rather injured
frown. “You promised me you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I didn’t steal anything!
I simply intercepted it at a point of time when he wasn’t putting the thing to
good use.”

The expression he received
in reward for his tact was purely acerbic.

Malik shrugged and reached
‘round to pull said card from his back pocket. With a frown, however, he
revealed not only the card but a rather familiar vanilla-scented candle. “What
the…? Ryou, how did this get here?”

To be Continued…

1 - Ryou’s sister (Amene)
who died in a car crash.

2 - Personal note. I’m
pissed at the Zelda creators for making the newest version of Link look like a
doped up version of Kirby. *Cringe*

3 - As far as my knowledge
goes, Ryou’s mother is dead. And following both Egyptian and Christian belief,
she’d still look over him even after she passed away.

4 - Saiai (beloved)

5 - Kojika (fawn)

6 - Taki Hi (Fire
Waterfall)

7 - Medieval times.
Royalty would put vicious creatures in moats to keep out trespassers…or thrill
seeking Egyptians looking to scare the color back into their kojika’s hair….

8 - Japanese alcohol.

9 - Koneko (Kitten)

10 - Aho (dumb ass; ditz)
*Snicker*