The Clothes Make The Spirit

‘I’m not evil, just misunderstood.’

“No, actually, I am evil,” Marik corrected the T-shirt in his hands. Then he shrugged philosophically. “But I suppose that doesn’t keep me from also being misunderstood.”

Malik snorted. “It’s not like it’s something most people are proud of.”

Marik gave him an uncomprehending look.

“Being evil, I mean,” Malik clarified.

“Most people are idiots,” Marik growled.

“True,” Malik said agreeably.

Marik scowled down at the item of clothing in his hands. “And the Pharaoh is especially idiotic, for sending me this shirt.” He wadded the cotton garment up into a navy blue ball of cloth and threw it across the room. It landed in a heap on top of the nearly unoccupied – save for half a dozen empty pocky boxes and a holey dust cloth – trash can.

“True again,” Malik reiterated, flopping down next to his koi on the living room couch. “So, do we get him back? Or go after someone else?”

“How about both?” Marik asked.

“Sounds good,” Malik agreed. A crafty smile came over his face. “I have this one phrase I’ve been wanting to use for Kaiba’s little brother…”

Marik’s indigo eyes lit up. “Do tell…” he purred.