A Whore By Any Other Name

Fickle's Note: None of the warnings really apply to this chapter, since it's basically just exposition meaning that it sets out the scene and has foreshadowing for later. It's semi-AU, since it's set after Battle City and assumes the yamis never left as well as got their own bodies. (don't ask how, it'll be explained later).

Yami no Malik = Marik
Yami no Bakura = Bakura
Yami no Yuugi = Yami
Ryuuji Otogi = Duke Devlin

Ryuuji is the manga version incidentally, so very ruthless with an abusive father and strong background in magic, but he doesn't show up for a while. Yami no Yuugi stays out of the story for even longer but I just wanted to get that out of the way. Anyway, enjoy the fic!

A Whore By Any Other Name.

Hands in his pockets to protect them from the cold night air, Marik wandered idly down the streets of Domino. As his surroundings grew steadily grimmer and poorer, he found himself having to resort to the Rod occasionally to discourage people from seeing him as a target, but he didn't mind. Just walking around and musing was fun. So was killing people. So really, it all worked out in the end.

On a street corner, away from where anyone that knew him would be at, stood Bakura. Had he not been doing what he was doing, he wouldn't have been wearing what he was wearing; risking his health and everything else along with it. But he had his reasons for standing there. Had his reasons for waiting for someone to pick up on the hint and ask him how much he charges. *Something.* *Anything.* Never mind the fact that he didn't know exactly how to do what he was doing at the moment, but he could pretend he did...

If he had been anyone else, he would have realized that he was close to lost and just turned back. Being Marik, he simply continued deeper into the shadowed side of the city, brushing past whores, thieves, dealers and beggars with the same deadly lack of concern. Leaving a trail of destruction in his wake without even thinking about it, a flash of familiar silvery-white hair caught his eye suddenly, forcing him to stop and do a double-take.

Realizing that he had yet to be seen, he smirked and faded back into the shadows, taking a longer route to get to the particular street corner he was aiming for, so that he could have the advantage of arriving from behind his prey, and thereby maintain the advantage of surprise. As he walked up behind the other, he gave a low laugh and asked mockingly, "Bakura, reduced to selling yourself on street corners? What happened to those much-vaunted talents as a thief?"

It was his own fault for mentioning that he was bored to someone; usually, he'd keep it to himself and go find something to do. Instead, he decided to tell someone. "Bastard..." the thief mumbled under his breath as he watched a few lookers, but no one approaching him. Had someone seen this, it probably would have been a little pride damaging. Okay, *very* pride damaging, but for a few reasons...

There were so many people, so even if Bakura had expected to see someone he knew there, he probably would have missed them. No matter. No one, except one person, knew he was there; they had better not tell anyone. Nearly jumping at the oh-too-familiar laugh, Bakura turned around to see Marik standing behind him. Surprise was written all over his face as he stood there registering that not only was the Egyptian there and seeing him doing this, but mocking him as well.

"... What are you doing on this side of town?" was the only thing Bakura seemed to be able to say as he gathered his thoughts. Truth? Excuse?

For an answer, Marik smirked and held up the Rod which glistened red with blood. Succinctly, he answered, "Killing people." By way of explanation, he added, "I was bored." His eyes roved up and down the body of the boy in front of him, a mocking smirk growing on his lips as he took his own sweet time examining what Bakura was apparently offering for sale.

Arching an eyebrow, he pointed out in a languid drawl, "Your turn. Why are you whoring yourself out ? So unsuccessfully, may I add. Since nobody seems to be finding you to their tastes..."

"Of course." 'But did you have to come out *here* to do it?' Bakura mentally complained. Had it been (nearly) any other situation, he would have replied with 'you too?' or something similar to the fact that Marik had been bored as well. With his left hand on his hip and his right loosely at his side, Bakura remained as casual as he could about the entire situation; attempting to pay no attention to the expression that Marik had.

Until Marik had to mention the, what seemed to be, obvious... so far. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bakura hissed, "Does it really matter why I'm doing what I'm doing? And how would you know? You don't know how long I've been standing here..." Bakura began to mentally curse himself for saying that after he did. 'Great, sound like you do this all the time...Perfect...' he sarcastically thought to himself.

The pose Bakura had adopted made Marik's smirk widen slightly. There was something very amusing about how ...fishwifey Bakura looked with his hand planted on his hip like that. Ignoring those thoughts in favor of concentrating on Bakura's words, Marik arched an eyebrow.

"Please," he began in a mock-horrified, pitying tone, "Don't tell me that you've been here for all that long. It would be so embarrassing to not only be a whore, but an unpopular whore to boot. You're supposed to be evil. Having sex with anyone who can afford you isn't evil, just humiliating." Unbidden, the thought snuck into his mind if he could afford Bakura, but Marik instead concentrated on figuring out what Bakura was doing there.

"As for why it matters, I'm curious. I didn't think you were the type to resort to something that like - and that's despite everything the Pharaoh mentioned." A faint look of distaste crossed his face as he mentioned the Pharaoh, but was soon replaced by the mild curiosity and vague amusement of before as Marik leaned against a wall, licking the blood off his fingers as he did so.

When this was over, he was going to have a nice little 'talk' with a certain someone. A certain someone who managed to convince the thief to do this as a challenge... A challenge he would never do again.

Hands still over his chest, he decided to roll his eyes on what Marik said, instead of hissing or growling or anything similar. "As a matter of fact, I have not been here *that* long. Besides, I do have a reason for doing this...and I am evil..." Again, he had to resist something else. Sulking or pouting. Maybe the behavior of people around him was contagious? He shuddered at the thought.

"If it's because I need the money, it's not that. I am quite capable of getting money and anything I want in other ways besides... this." With a pause, Bakura slid his hands into his pockets; which wasn't an easy task with how tight the article of clothing was. "I'm glad you find this so amusing..." Bakura half-mocked.

Coolly, eyes half-lidded and the amusement not disappearing from his face, Marik replied, "Whores aren't evil. Merely pathetic." His tone was casual, slightly pitying. Which Marik knew very well Bakura wouldn't like, hence his reason for employing it. To Bakura's denying that he needed the money, Marik merely smirked, pretending to inspect his fingers as he did so.

Without looking up, he spoke, "So, just for the sex then? I wouldn't have thought that you'd have such difficulty finding a partner that you'd resort to walking your streets - and again, you would appear to be having enough difficulty finding a client that it should be evident this method isn't very effective. After all, if nobody would be willing to fuck you for free, why would they pay for it?"

Restraining the impulse to mockingly offer to take Bakura into his bed if he was really *that* desperate, Marik instead laughed and asked in the same arrogantly pitying, mocking tone he had been using through the whole conversation, "Why wouldn't I find it amusing? The Pharaoh would find it even more so if he were here to see his nemesis reduced to a common street whore. Though, rest assured, I don't have any particular reason to delight in your humiliation. It's merely a novel sight."

The entire time Marik spoke, Bakura stood there *waiting* for him to finish. He knew there was more. There was always more if it came to the opportunity to humiliating someone. Of course, had it been someone else, this wouldn't have been a bad thing. This wouldn't have been pride damaging. This wouldn't have been a lot of things that it was.

His right hand, hidden beneath his arm, was balled tightly and allowed him to have his frustration shown that way without anyone knowing. Not that pretending that the entire situation was something to be proud of or even something to act casual about. Either way, truth, denial or continuing the delaying of what the reason was, Marik was going to be amused. At least, he probably would. Which would still result in damaging Bakura's pride. Joy.

Bakura was unsure which was worse. The mention of the Pharaoh or saying that no one seemed to be willing to for free... Pushing that aside, Bakura smirked. "You don't know what people were and were not willing to do. As for right now, I'm talking with you - not trying to get customers. Besides, how do you know I didn't get offers and declined them for my own reasons?" Not that he did...

"Now, if you're done, why don't you go back to killing people? You said you were bored..." Bakura suggested. Again, not that it completely mattered. Marik saw and Marik was *not* going to forget.

The smirk on Bakura's lips didn't go unnoticed, but Marik didn't care. For him, the facts of the matter seemed obvious enough really. Waving the Rod airily, he laughed again, obviously highly amused, "I was bored Bakura. *Was*. Watching you try to attract people seems to me to be a more entertaining proposition than killing random people who don't even appreciate it properly."

The smirk on his lips took on a more mocking edge, seeming less amused and more cruel now. "As for your own reasons to decline offers, you still haven't told me why you are doing this in the first place. Even if the Pharaoh was telling the truth about your past in Egypt, that is still no reason to return to old habits." Were he anyone else, Marik's continued inability to drop the topic might have seemed like concern. As it was, it seemed more as if the yami was simply enjoying being able to torture him.

"If I was trying to attract people right now, I would be." The fishnet shirt, not of his choosing, started to rise up some; casually, he tugged it back down and wiped his hands over his pants. The black material was good at hiding the small amount of blood that had gathered on the thief's hand from digging his nails into his skin.

"Before I tell you, I want you to tell me *what* the former Pharaoh told you..." Bakura didn't resist hissing this time. The more amused and cruel Marik got with the situation, the more angry and frustrated Bakura got.

"Of course you would..." Marik drawled, clearly not believing a word that Bakura said. Though to himself he admitted that the outfit at least had been well-chosen, exposing the slender, muscled body of the thief and his soft skin without being too blatant.

At the remark about what the Pharaoh said, Marik shot Bakura a quick, pitying look again before shrugging casually. His tone one of light contemplation, Marik didn't bother choosing his words carefully as he replied, "Hm? Oh, nothing much. Just that he was talking to my weaker self about the past after looking at the Ishtar family's markings, and he mentioned something about you whoring yourself out back then as well. Though, I doubt that he knows you're continuing that now, does he?" He arched an eyebrow at Bakura by way of accenting his inquiry.

Shrugging, Bakura added, "Believe what you want..." 'You'll do it anyways...' Leaning back against the lamp pole, Bakura glanced at a few people who were walking by. Instead of trying to attract them, he glared at the few who looked like they were going to approach him.

"He did WHAT!?" Losing his temper might not have been the smartest, but he didn't care. He also didn't care, much, on how the metal against his back made him even colder. "First, he doesn't know exactly what was going on back then. Second, he needs to keep his fucking mouth shut about that! And, no, the former Pharaoh does not know what I'm doing right now, Malik does!" Losing ones temper, wasn't always good, but at least he was managing not to hit anything.

Marik smirked at Bakura’s reaction to people trying to approach him. Not only was he not having any luck attracting people for the most part, he seemed to be intent on scaring off those that were actually interested. In fact, had Marik far less respect for himself than he currently did, he might have even attempted to show Bakura how it was done, but the thought of how it would be equally humiliating to actually succeed as it would to fail, prevented him from making any rash gestures of disdain.

The eruption of anger from Bakura made the other yami’s smirk widen, wicked amusement evident in the curve of his lips. Tilting his head to a side, dark golden locks of hair spilling over his shoulders as he did so, Marik pointed out, “It wasn’t as if I believed him anyway, Malik was the one who wanted to know more. Why would I care about what you or he did – or what you did for him – several thousands years ago? As for keeping his mouth shut, I doubt he meant to mention it. He seemed to regret it afterwards, and the only reason he elaborated was that my weaker half practically begged him do to so.”

The distaste that Marik felt for Malik’s nosiness was obvious, the yami having not liked at all how eager Malik had been to get information on the thief. It wasn’t just the issue of Marik hating the Pharaoh and wishing that that his weaker self wouldn’t cooperate with him at all, it was also that it didn’t strike him as particularly fair of Malik to attempt to delve into Bakura’s past. Not to mention the shame of having Malik humble himself so in search of information…

At the mention of his weaker half knowing why Bakura was out there, Marik scowled, disgust dripping from his tone as he spoke, “What, you’re allowing my weaker half to whore you out? I’d almost prefer to blame the Pharaoh for this – at least he’s strong enough that it wouldn’t be quite so humiliating to be his fuck toy.” Apart from the fact that I would quite gladly rip him apart with my bare hands of course. Still, I’d rather lose to strength that I hate than weakness I tolerate.

Before Bakura got to reply, he received a tap on his shoulder from someone that had caught him off guard. Somehow, he managed to not turn around and rip the arm off whomever was touching him. Before they could say anything, Bakura mumbled, "not now" and turned back to Marik. He didn't care what they were going to say; even if it was what he was waiting for. Then he would be able to go home. Forget as much as he could... or try to. Unfortunately, with Marik there, the thief wasn't even trying to complete his challenge. 'Damn. Him.'

Wrapping his arms around himself, Bakura listened to what Marik had to say; considering it concerned him, he wanted to know. Quickly, he shifted his arms so that they were crossed loosely over him, rather than what appeared to be hugging himself. "Why would Malik even go to him to find out..." Pausing, Bakura then accused, "He just wanted to find something to mock me with, didn't he?" Though, if Malik knew the whole story, he wouldn't be mocking him. Would he? "I did nothing for the former Pharaoh. Nothing besides rob and raid his father's tomb and various other things. But nothing like... that." He couldn't even pull himself to suggest anything so... disgusting. Yes, he hated him then and he still hated the former Pharaoh. How the former Pharaoh even knew about his past, was beyond the thief anyways...

"Malik is not whoring me out."

About to tell Bakura that he really should not be turning down offers since he didn’t seem to be getting all that many anyway, Marik instead was taken back by Bakura’s accusation and misinterpretation of the situation. Giving Bakura an exasperated look, Marik slowly and carefully explained, as if talking to a child, “The stupid Pharaoh visits us occasionally to talk about the markings on my weaker half’s back since it helps him get his memories back. For some reason, they started talking about you once and Malik basically made the Pharaoh tell him everything they knew – and as for why my weaker half did it, how should I know? It isn’t as if I spend all my time toying with his puny little mind. I do have better things to do...” Glancing down at the Rod, he smirked and added, “Like kill people.”

Getting back on topic, he shrugged and easily admitted, “I didn’t even listen to most of it really. I usually try to be out of the house when the Pharaoh is there – it tends to save the trouble of having to deal with a yami no game, being banished to the Shadow Realm, getting out of the Shadow Realm, telling my weaker self never to let him appear in the house again, and having the other three all disagree.” Living in a place where you’re hated is no fun at all.

At being told so emphatically that Malik wasn’t whoring Bakura out, Marik looked relieved for a few moments. “Good. Having to listen to him brag about it for the next week or so would have got extremely tiresome. My weaker self really does not know how to shut up about his little conquests – as if I even care about who warms his bed and his pathetic attempts to catch Ryuuji’s attention by flaunting his armors. Not as if he even has a chance with that mortal without the help of the Rod… and I am not lending him the Rod to use for his pathetic little love affair. It’s too amusing to watch him fail.” Just because Marik was no longer trying to kill Malik didn’t mean that the two of them were friends after all.

Lowly, and almost too quiet to be heard by anyone else, Bakura stared down for a moment and murmured, "Heh. He probably was trying to find out what he could anyways. Luckily for him I don't know any of his secrets and he still doesn't know my full ... history..." Looking up to Marik, Bakura shrugged, "It doesn't matter now." The damage that had been done could not be erased, only worked with.

"Besides, why don't you send Malik over to his house, instead of letting him in yours?" Bakura questioned at the mention that the Pharaoh seemed to 'visit' fairly often.

Lowering his head slightly at the mention of Malik bragging, Bakura casually stated, "It's another reason that he knows..." Raising an eyebrow, Bakura smirked, "Bragging about his attempts? Really, now?" He chose to make no comment on the mention of Malik trying to get with Ryuuji. Still.

Marik shrugged at Bakura claiming it didn't matter. He didn't care after all, so it certainly didn't matter to him. At the question about sending Malik over, Marik made a frustrated sound. "Tried that, but my weaker half's sister practically worships the Pharaoh. It's the highlight of the month for her when he drops around. Not to mention that Riishid thinks of him as a God for having helped banish me the first time, and my weaker self is being all 'I have repented and must help the Pharaoh!'..."

Lightly, almost self-mockingly, Marik complained, "You'd think that if he hates someone so much that he creates a whole separate person just to deal with the hatred, he wouldn't switch sides quite so easily. Then again, he is my weaker half. Strength of conviction is probably too much to expect from him."

"What's another reason he knows?" Marik asked, not sure what Bakura had meant by that, then pointed out, "And Malik brags about his successes and whines about his attempts. Repeatedly. Without shutting up. It's as if he believes that all he has to do is talk about it enough and I'll use the Rod on Ryuuji for his sake." The contempt in his tone made it quite clear that Malik had absolutely no chance of ever getting that to happen.

Bakura simply rolled his eyes at how the Ishtar family seemed to act around the Pharaoh. It was disgusting and disturbing. Especially for Malik. It was a good thing Ryou didn't seem to have a fascination with for the former Pharaoh. He hardly cared to be around anyone, actually. If he was there, he was. If not... Well, Yuugi & co didn't really seem to care anyways.

"Heh. Perhaps he's in denial that he still hates the Pharaoh," Bakura shrugged; anything seemed to be better than talking about his past or what was going on right now.

"The reason that Malik knows why I'm here is not because he's whoring me out." At that, Bakura mentally cursed himself for saying anything. Especially since it seemed that Marik seemed to have temporarily dropped the subject. 'Damn. It.' "Does he whore himself out or something!?" Perhaps this could be interesting... maybe that's why he was able to pick out the location and the clothing for the thief? Shifting his weight against the poll, Bakura used his leg to help balance him some; shivering slightly.

“Or perhaps he has lost his mind.” Marik added, then laughed darkly. “Not that I’m the best person to talk about that…” The dark spirit reveled in his insanity, loving the label of psychopath that was so freely applied to him. To him, it really did not matter that most of the population of Domino feared him and thought him to be quite insane. After all, it was true, wasn’t it? Even if he had more control over himself than formerly.

“My weaker self whore himself out?” At the very idea, Marik gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Quite apart from the fact that his sister would die of shame if he did, and Riishid would most likely stalk any of his customers and kill them for him, my weaker self knows better than to do that. After all, I’d kill him for demonstrating such… weakness. He has no reason to anyway. Money he has a plentitude of, and for sex I believe that he goes to those things called ‘clubs’, though no actual clubs are involved.”

At the memory of a certain time that he was dragged to one of them, he let a pleased smirk twist his lips. “Though those places can be quite interesting…” Again, looking Bakura up and down, the look on his face suddenly changing into a more predatory one before turning to mocking amusement, Marik pointed out, “Though not as interesting as your reason for deciding to adopt a different profession, to put it politely.”

"Not that the former Pharaoh is exactly 'sane' to begin with either..." he frowned slightly and then shrugged. "Lost his mind. Perhaps. Lost his mind and denial...." Bakura pushed himself away from the post and stretched his arms out above him; arching slightly as well. Maybe he could just accept defeat and see what Malik would win? It couldn't possibly be worse than this...

Bakura laughed at what would happen if Malik was indeed whoring himself out and was caught. Not that he knew anyone that cared whether he did or didn't. Then again, Ryou didn't know what he was doing right now... so the thief had no idea how Ryou would act... Not that it mattered since Bakura wasn't taking this seriously.

Bakura mumbled, 'slut' at the mention of Malik going out to clubs for sex. Yes, the thief was definitely making mental notes of anything about Malik he could; if the Egyptian was doing it to him, he had every right to be 'prepared' as well.

"You going to a club? Oh, well that had to be interesting..." Bakura trailed off, partially curious as to what had happened. "This is not a profession, it's... a challenge." There. He admitted it. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he admitted to why he was there. Even if it was just the simple reason.

Marik’s sharp hearing picked up on the mumbled insult to his hikari, but since he rather agreed, he didn’t bother commenting on that, instead just arching an eyebrow at Bakura’s stretch. Perhaps it was an attempt to attract more people? It certainly emphasized the fine, sculpted lines of the thief’s body, the fishnet top being more for the purpose of simply catching eyes than actually concealing anything…

Dragging his attention back to Bakura’s words and away from his body, Marik took a second to think about what Bakura was referring to, then smirked. “Mhm, it was rather interesting. Suffice it to say that Malik was rather upset with me for interfering with his agenda for the night.” He didn’t give more details than that though, his line of thought broken off by Bakura’s words. Giving the other yami an incredulous look, Marik harshly demanded “A challenge? Why in the name of all that gods would you accept any challenge that had anything to do with whoring yourself in the street? You could easily end up with AIDs or something equally fatal – what could possibly be worth dying for?”

The sudden vehemence on his part was surprising when contrasted with his earlier, coolly amused demeanor. Truth to be told, Marik himself wasn’t quite sure he had reacted so strongly, apart from the obvious fact that it was just embarrassing to lumped in the ‘evil villain’ category with someone who was selling their body on the streets.

Sliding his hands back into his pockets, Bakura tilted his head, "Interfering? Stopping, scaring and... being your psychotic-self to do so, yes?" It was obvious on what Marik could do to most people, especially to those he didn't like. Or those who happened to come across his path while he was bored; the bloodied Rod was simple proof of that.

The outburst caught the Yami off guard. He was actually expecting more mocking words or even something insulting. Not... that. Why accept a challenge? Besides pride and the fact that if he won he could pick whatever he wanted as his prize? Sounded good at the time... "A challenge to see if I can pick someone up and who the highest 'bidder' was. A double challenge of sorts for the prize..." Shaking his head, he added, "I don't have to accept any of them. I'm not a whore." He paused for a moment at his last statement. Okay. So he appeared to be one currently... The male quickly added, "Like hell I'd do this for a living..."

“Yes, interference. Something about his chosen bedmate for the night tortured to death disturbed him and made him not want to continue with his clubbing.” The mock-innocence on Marik’s face contrasted with the cold, dark amusement in his eyes at the memory of the writhing girl and Malik’s poutiness the next morning. Even having Isis serve him cold breakfast didn’t faze the psychopath. After all, it wasn’t as if they could actually do anything to him for that. Besides, Isis didn’t approve of Malik’s hedonistic lifestyle anyway.

The comment about the likelihood of Bakura doing it for a living made Marik snort, then smirk. Obviously Bakura wasn’t off the hook yet though, as evidenced by the slightly contemptuous manner in which Marik pointed out, “Seeing as you have yet to pick anyone up at all, I wouldn’t think that you’re likely to win – besides, what prize could possibly be worth your subjecting to yourself to such indignity?” Pulling the leather jacket a little more tightly around him, and wrapping his cloak over him as well, Marik gave the fishnet shirt a pointed glance and asked, “Aren’t you freezing in that thing? I’ve got on three layers and I’m still cold. You’ll probably end up falling sick in your attempt to win this bet if you don’t get inside and get somewhere warm fast. ” The question was rather pointless, Bakura’s hardened nipples making it clear the yami was feeling the effects of the cold weather, whether or not he’d admit to it.

"Hm. I'm surprised he hasn't brought you someone he doesn't like just to have you torture them..." surely that would have been amusing for Malik? Never the less, hearing that Malik was on the hunt for sex through clubs seemed to slightly amuse the Yami.

"It's because I'm not currently trying..." Bakura murmured; he was giving people glares and pushing them off for a reason. Again, his own reasons. "And I will win..." Bakura stated; determined with a slight pout on his face. Not that he had to tell Marik, but he'd already said that much... "No one was supposed to see me here... I get to pick whatever I want as a prize. And Malik has to get it or do it or whatever I choose. It was a challenge..." Malik being persistent that he didn't think Bakura could do it didn't help either. What he hated even more was that Marik was pointing out what Bakura was trying to forget. The humiliation. At the mention of being cold, Bakura shrugged, "Hmmm? It doesn't really matter..." He trailed off; losing was not an option. Being sick wouldn't be that bad if he caught a cold... Maybe.

“He’s tried. Not that it works – he’s not good enough at dissembling to be able to fool me. Lying to someone who used to share your mind isn’t easy after all…” Marik explained, arching an eyebrow at how Bakura kept insisting that he simply wasn’t actually trying to get any clients. The pout made him smirk though; it just looked strangely cute. Kind of disturbing really, considering whose face it was on. Though, obviously, Bakura was nowhere near as evil-looking as usual since he was attired like a whore.

At the mention of Malik having to do whatever Bakura if Bakura won, Marik tilted his head to a side, mind suddenly racing. Not only would it serve his weaker self right to have to obey Bakura as a punishment for continually bring the Pharaoh home, it would also prevent Malik from roping Bakura into one of his wild schemes to catch Ryuuji’s attention. Not that Marik actually cared about Ryuuji; it was the idea of being able to thwart his weaker self that appealed to him.

Smirking at Bakura as he leant back against the wall casually, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping the Rod parallel to the inside of his arm, Marik spoke in a tone of dark amusement laced with more than a little sadism. “Fine. Then I’ll hire you – I should be able to bid high enough that my weaker self will lose the bet, and it’ll fulfill the condition of you actually having someone approach you. If nothing else, at least it’ll get us off these freezing streets.”

Marik could have walked away on his own obviously, but his curiosity wouldn’t have let him do so. Now, curiosity sated, he wanted to see how the next act of this scene would play out. Not like he had anything better to do, after all. Besides, it would be interesting to see how Malik would react when he realized that he had lost due solely to his darker half’s interference.

Curious on what the relationship was between the two Egyptians, Bakura asked, "Would he actually ask you to torture or hurt someone for him?" 'And if he did... would you...' Noticing the smirk, Bakura questioned, "What's that for?" Really, Marik's expressions could mean nearly anything...

'And there's that smirk again...' It wasn't something easy to miss. Upon hearing Marik say that he'd hire him, Bakura tilted his head to the side in disbelief; almost waiting for a 'catch' or to hear the laughter pour from the other's lips. Considering it would be against him, it wouldn't be nice to hear, but he was still expecting it.

This was an interesting twist to the challenge Bakura had received. Interesting, indeed. Walking over to Marik, and ignoring the numb feeling he was beginning to get in his legs and fingers, Bakura tilted his head once he was directly in front of the other. "And what do I owe you?"

"He has a few times. Usually because he can't do it himself since he lacks the technical knowledge and the ability to see what happens to them when they're tortured." Marik shrugged, waiting for Bakura's reaction to his offer. At having his personal space invaded by the other, Marik arched a dark golden eyebrow, but gave no other outwards reaction. Calmly, he pointed out in an entirely neutral voice, "Why would you owe me anything? As you managed to finally explain - after stalling rather annoyingly, might I add - you aren't actually a whore and do not need to follow through with anything."

'Besides, the knowledge that you owe me a favor that I could call in any time ought to drive you insane enough that it'll be worth not asking for anything immediately.' Marik mentally added, keeping his indigo gaze locked with the bitter chocolate eyes of the other yami as he continued to lean against the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Bakura sighed, "Yes, though I might not be a whore, I doubt that you would simply do me this... favor without wanting something in return." Whatever that something could be? Could be close to anything. This, of course, did bother the thief. Being in debt to someone without knowing what it was and when it would be due, was not an idea he liked. Crossing his arms over his chest, he took one step back as he waited for an answer; ignoring the cold as he decided on if he would accept the Egyptian's offer or not. Though it seemed more than likely that he would.

Marik merely smirked, indigo eyes glittering dangerously as he tipped his head back and waited for Bakura's answer. The yellowed light from the lamppost near Bakura just barely touched Marik, stopping at his feet and leaving him mostly in shadows. The dark gold of his hair seemed tarnished as he stood in darkness, and the smirk on his lips was edged with cruelty. When he spoke, the amusement in his voice was mixed equally with malice, and each word of his floated out into the still night air like a dying butterfly.

"I want nothing from you at the moment - and even if you were a whore, I doubt that I would anyway." The insult was obvious, and so were the implications that Marik was only doing this because he pitied Bakura. Pity was one thing that Marik knew the proud thief would be unlikely to accept - as was the slur on his sexual prowess.

Losing his patience, Bakura shifted his weight and waited; even if Bakura delayed telling Marik why he was there, he expected answers quickly. If he wasn't cold and dressed as he was (and caught), then he wouldn't have been so quick to lose his patience, either. The yami turned his head every so often to make sure no one was approaching him; as he did earlier, still glaring at any that started to step towards him.

The combination of the words and the tone used by Marik, left Bakura growling lowly. Had the insult not been added, he would have pointed out the 'at the moment' part of Marik's statement. This, of course, led to him knowing he would have owed something eventually.

Bakura remained silent for a moment. 'Fuck you' was the first thing he thought of, which he then would have gone back to what he was doing. Then, he was tempted to almost give Marik a challenge of his own to point out that if he was a whore that Marik would not regret it. Neither of those (for his own reasons) worked for the thief, so instead, he hissed, "I don't need your pity. I can win this challenge on my own." Shame, he really wouldn't mind getting out of the cold.

Well, that was predictable. Growing bored, and more importantly, cold, Marik rolled his eyes at Bakura then shrugged in an exasperated manner. This time, when he spoke, his tone was more annoyed than amused, the psychopath not being pleased that Bakura had decided to turn down his more than generous offer. "Of course you can. In that case, I'll just leave you to it and send flowers to your funeral once you die of frostbite."

Smirking as light snowflakes began to drift down, almost as if on cue, Marik held his hand out to catch a few, then delicately licked them off the center of his hand before casting Bakura a pointed glance. "If you are serious about winning this bet, I'd suggest you do it fast. Most people wouldn't be interested in necrophilia, even if the cold does preserve your corpse well." With that, he turned to walk off, cloak flaring out dramatically behind him as he did. The soft, fat flakes of snow caught in his hair and melted, forcing him to stop a little way from Bakura and pull the cloak up to cover his head, almost as if it were a hooded robe.

Either way, the situation continued to look bad on Bakura. It already seemed to bash his pride on more than one occasion. Including pity, having to pretend to whore himself out, being caught, insulted and that was only to name a few. One would think that no matter what happened to him, not much would ever go right; even if he did deserve some things to go right. None-the-less, at Marik's mention of frostbite, Bakura shrugged and then quickly added, "I'm not going to die of frostbite." Like hell if anything that was going to kill him, it was not going to be something as pathetic as that. Especially looking as he was. It wasn't that he looked bad, it was just that he was dressed like a whore... enough said.

The mention of necrophilia made the thief shudder. It wasn't the cold, not this time. Bakura held his hand out and watched as a few flakes fell over the small marks on his skin that was still bleeding. Shoving them into his pockets, he walked back over to the lamp pole and tilted his head to Marik. "Damn it..." Bakura murmured, "Damn him..." If Marik hadn't arrived, he probably would have already had someone. Then to top it off, Marik managed to insult him more than once; the thief was highly tempted to accept the offer just to win and get himself out of the cold. He didn't like the cold much.

"If I'm not already damned, I doubt that your pathetic efforts to wish me ill would do the trick." Marik tossed over his shoulder at Bakura as he walked away from the other boy. The silence was near absolute, the hour being too late for harmless pedestrians to be walking, and the darkness was only broken by the soft, flickering lights of the streetlamps. It would have been almost peaceful really...

Were it not for the sudden harsh, jarring sound of police sirens headed their way.

~End of Chapter One.~