(Hello! I saw RP accounts and decided to try making one of my own, so sorry if I’m bad at it. Also, this post is prone to change !) (Used to be winter-mink) The tag: //#quoth the jay // is the mun speaking, btw! Activity times
Other blogs:
Rules (Read Before Interacting!!!)
Open RPs (always open unless stated as ‘closed’)
AU Sol Versions
Info below the cut:
Different Text Colors in RP:
Red - Sol (in whichever rp) is still HYDRA, for whatever reason (alternate universe or flashback/past Sol) or in a state like the Winter Soldier state
White - Sol is out of, or has been out of Hydra. (The main version I’ll be rping as)
Green - this AU where Hemlock (@variousvossivixens in the family post) kidnapped adopted them :D
The faint clanging of templar armor in the distance gently roused Na’tali from her dream. In an instant, what transpired in the Fade melted away from her memory. Yet the warmth and joy of the dream radiated through her. She found herself lying on her hot bed in a tangled mess with her sheets. The hair on the back of her head stuck to the nape of her neck. The warmth of the summer night was oppressive. As she flipped over her pillow, she heard the templars footsteps draw nearer. This wasn’t unusual. She knew that those night time footsteps usually meant that some apprentice would go missing for a time or would go to breakfast with a bruised face.
She sighed and buried her face in the cool pillow and readjusted her sheets so she could cling to them. The footsteps suddening stopped and the faint glow of a lantern creeped through the crack of the door. She could hear faint whispering but she couldn’t make out the words. She clutched bedsheets.
“Andraste, preserve us. They’re finally going to do it. They’re going to try to make Kathryn a tranquil.” Anxiety racked through her back, warm tears filled her eyes, and her breathing quickened. Then the door creaked open. Three templars attempted to creep in with their armor. All at once her thoughts became scrambled. Her stomach felt like it rose into her throat and her head pounded. It had been years since she’d felt a templar’s nullification magic. She froze wide-eyed in the lamplights.
[Test thread with shadow-bakura that spawned arbitrarily from a skype conversation with Beaky. We decided to post it on Tumblr, along with some of the ooc commentary we made along the way. It was fun~]
Beaky: S.Baku will be like
Beaky: I brought you a creme puff 8D
Ryou: .... I haven't had one of these in years. They…. don't taste as good as I remember.
S.Baku: You don't like it? >8
Ryou: .... Its good.
S.Baku: *lights up in a way Y.Baku never did*
"I really am losing my mind.” Ryou said.
Elle: (Lies because of s.baku's expression)
Elle: (Doesn't like it because he no longer likes sweets)
Beaky: (I'm surprised he ate it)
Beaky: (S.BAku coudl be a fae for all he knows)
Elle: (Ryou spent the past four years in Ireland, he can handle the Fae)
S.Baku: I have more cremepuffs if you wanna come with me!
Elle: (At this rate, very little scares him)
"I'll... pass, thank you. Besides I have things I still have to do here."
"B-But wait!" S.Baku drops his voice to a whisper "you're in danger."
"I'm not surprised. I can handle myself just fine." Ryou pauses."... In danger how?"
S.Baku looks about suspicously before continuing, "okay, somewhere out there is a Ring parasite that is coming to get you."
"Ring parasi - you mean Bakura??" Ryou just laughs. "If that's all I have to worry about, I might actually get some sleep tonight."
S.Baku starts back surprised, "I, uh, I mean the parasite spirit, the ring worm." Holds up his hands in a circle to explain.
"Ringworm? The spirit of the Ring, right? ...pff ring worm , I'll have to remember that one."
"So you already know about it, then you know it's not safe!" *earnest concern*
"Know about it?? Hahaha I've known about that bastard for too long. But don't worry you little... shadow thing. The 'ringworm' is dead and gone."
Shadow Bakura blinks, "...wait... really?"
"Yes. Schemed his way to his own grave and left me here alone. The selfish son of a bitch..." he mumbles.
S.Baku's quiet for a moment, thinking. "You seem sad."
Ryou laughs bitterly. “He got what he was asking for, and didn't listen to anyone who told him to think twice."
"I'm not sad, I'm... resentful, I suppose."
"But isn't it good that he's gone?"
"Is it? I'm sitting here talking to a figment of my imagination wearing his face. It'd be good if he didn't take my sanity with him."
"Hey!" affronted "I am real and also this is my face."
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. What are you anyway? Aside from a not-hallucination, I mean."
Proudly with hands on his hips. "I'm Ryou Bakura~! Or Shadow Ryou Bakura to be exact."
".... what. "
"I'm the shadow born from my Master's (Ryou's) deepest secrets, fears, and desires. It is my duty to protect him, and thus every 'Ryou' of every world~!"
Ryou throws his hands up in exasperation. ".... Okay. Okay! Its official; I have lost my god damned mind."
"No no no, you're perfectly okay! You're Ringless!"
Ryou flops face down on the couch in an undignified manner and groans loudly into the cushions.
S.Bakura sets himself on his knees, in front of Ryou's head. "Hey, heeey! What's wrong?"
"I must have a personality disorder. Or hallucinations," he mumbled into the cushion.
S.Bakura pouts, "hey, I told you already I'm real!"
Ryou lifts his head to glare scrutinizingly at S.Baku. ".... There's no way you're me."
"Well, I'm not you you. I'm from a parallel universe." Says this in a playful 'duh' tone.
"..... That makes even less sense"
"It's okay, usually this part is hard for the other Ryous to understand."
"Are you telling me there's an army of Ryous spanning the multiverse?"
"Yes! Er well, not an army. Uh..." looking thoughtful "not yet anyway."
"Don't get any ideas. I don't make a good foot soldier."
"No no no, you wouldn't be fighthing, that's what I do."
"A one man army? That'll go far." He scoffs. Ryou sits up and squints at S.Bakura. "You're not me," he says in a tone of finality.
Still looking at Ryou from his knees, he clenches his hand, looking a little uncomfortable. "But I am Ryou."
"No, you think you're me. Or that you're Ryou. But I've had enough time for self-contemplation to know who I am. And I am no foot soldier. I don't dash head on recklessly. That is something he does." Ryou taps his chin. "You're not him - not exactly. A very corrupted version of him, perhaps. Or a byproduct of his."
"Eh, w-wait!" standing up, "you not comparing me to that parasite, are you?"
"That's precisely what I'm doing."
"No, I told you already!" S.Bakura places a fist over his heart, "I'm Ryou Bakura, the shadow of my Master who I serve in homeworld."
"Shadow. Yami. Not too much different if you ask me."
"It's a very big difference! I come from Ryou Bakura I'm not some parasite ghost thing."
Ryou places his feet on the floor and leans forward, resting his arms across his knees. "Let me tell you a story, little Shadow. Once, there was a man who believed he was a boy. This boy went through a lot of hardships and, in retaliation, the man would punish those who harmed him. He thought himself to be the boy's darker side of his personality, manifesting to protect the boy from danger. The man believed this because he didn't know any better. There was nobody he could be but the boy. But as time went on, he slowly grew to realize that his consciousness wasn't the repressed pieces of the boys personality, but rather he was an entirely different soul altogether."
Ryou clicked his tongue. "Turns out he was a long dead Pharaoh who had a tendency to jump to conclusions and who liked being in the wrong place at the right time."
Shadow Bakura stood and stared for a few moments, biting his lip. "B-But I'm just Ryou. I don't know about this dead Pharaoh guy, but he's got nothing to do with me."
Ryou took a hard look at his self-proclaimed shadow and sighed. "It’s the moral of the story. Regardless, it’s not something you'll realize overnight."
S.Baku stomps his foot, oblivious to his immaturity. "I'll prove it to you!"
"Oh really?" Ryou smirks and leans back. "Alright, tell me my least favorite mode of transportation."
Crossing his arms. "Cars."
"What did I name the stray cat that I used to feed?"
"Which one? Salem or Artemis?"
"Mark me impressed. Last one - how old was I when my uncle died?"
"Thirteen"
Ryou's smile widens. "I don't have an uncle."
"Well, not everything is aligned between worlds." S.Bakura mutters, a little embarrassed.
"All of your knowledge of me is implied. Cars, the obvious answer. Amane died on a car crash so I assumed that you'd make that connection. The name of the cats was a derivative of my interest in the occult – there’s only a few names that would be applicable, that a child would know. And thirteen would be an accurate guess, seeing as if I were to have an uncle it would be on my father's side, and my father is an older man so the possibility of me having an uncle who passed away from a more common illness would place him at having passed when I was roughly in my early teens. I don't know how much you really know of how my mind works, but perhaps there's more guesswork involved than you realize."
Elle: (Gomen my Ryou is kind of an asshole)
Beaky: (no no it's great)
"Hey! My memories are real! And when Uncle died it was shitty!"
"Mmm. Coincidence, then." Ryou stood and began to make his way through his small apartment and into his kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"
Beaky: (whelp, apparently there's a dead uncle now)
Elle: (I'm sorry for the passing of your cool uncle)
Surprised at Ryou's sudden polite offer, "... do you have sugar? ... wait."
"Hmm?"
S.Bakura didn't move much from the spot in the living room, "you said, your father is an older man."
"Yes, he is. At this point especially. Not too much older, but it stirred some controversy when he married my mother."
"He... he's alive?"
"Is he not for you?" Ryou says, stirring in the instant coffee. "Sorry, this stuff generally tastes terrible. But if you put enough sugar in perhaps you can dilute the wateriness."
S.Bakura locates the sugar bowl fairly quickly and without tasting the coffee dips one, two, three, four, five...
Ryou grimaces and takes a sip of his own coffee. He then grimaces at the mug. "I should really invest in non-instant beans."
Finally stirring the coffee with his finger, S.Bakura looks down at his own cup contemplatingly. "No, he's not." Dips his tongue into the coffee to taste, his abnormally long forked tongue.
Ryou stares at his tongue briefly before clearing his throat. "Well I'm sorry for your loss. Of both your father and the uncle I do not have."
Doesn't notice that Ryou took notice. "It was a long time ago."
Ryou hums. “Was he a good father at least?"
"Well... he wasn't around a lot but, he provided for us."
Ryou chuckled softly. "Well that isn't much different then."
"... Does he ever come see you?"
"No. I haven't talked to him in years. I don't even think he knows where I am, but that was purposeful on my part."
S.Bakura gasped. "But... why?"
Ryou drums his fingers against the side of his mug before gently setting it down on the coffee table. "Sometimes, when something really terrible happens... you just want to get away. Disappear from every person and place that had to do with that event. And sometimes, you do it to protect them."
"But he's your father... he's family." S.Bakura's voice was already cracking.
Beaky: (he's like BUT WHY)
"Some things end up being more important." Ryou shrugged.
"...No."
"Another reason why you're more like him than you are me."
A flat "what?"
"Bakura valued family. Deeply. Far more than I ever could."
"That monster doesn't care about anything!"
Ryou laughed. A sudden and bitter sound. "Honestly it'd be easier if I could continue to fool myself into thinking that."
You wouldn't have to fool yourself, it's the truth."
Ryou’s eyes flash. "Tell me, who would know him better - you, with the biased outsider opinion, or me, who had him stuck in my head for ten years?" He speaks slowly, his tone cold; Dangerous.
Sensing the change in the air, careful, " ....... he's never good."
"I never said he was good."
Beaky: (i like this, Ryou's so bitter)
Elle: (More bitter than his shitty black coffee)
"Not understanding why you won't talk to Father doesn't make me like him."
Ryou takes another sip of his coffee, grimaces, and goes to pour it down the drain. "Me not talking to my father was a byproduct of Bakura's shiftiness, not an endorsement of the fact that he still had some sort of a withered heart. I cut contact with my father to protect him from the fact that the boy he considered his son had effectively died, replaced with someone bitter and cynical and probably not completely sane."
"... he probably misses you."
"Who? My father? He'd miss who I used to be more. At least I didn't shatter that impression he had of me."
From behind Ryou, there's a quiet sniffle.
Ryou turns to look at Shadow Bakura, brain not entirely sure of what he's seeing. As if it wasn't weird enough to see Bakura's face looking anything but vaguely angry or devious, but now its.... Sniffling.
"I... I just... I just can't believe Father's alive and you're not even talking to him!" And now that face is crying.
Beaky: (spoiler alert: S.Baku is a cry baby)
"......" Ryou is at a loss for words.
Shadow Bakura sniffs, taking one hand to wipe at his eyes. "I-If Father were alive... I'd be so happy."
Ryou walks over to Shadow Bakura and hesitantly places a hand atop his head. "I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that."
Shadow Bakura pauses at first, surprised at the contact and then his whole body shudders. He peeks up at Ryou from his bangs, big teary eyes.
Ryou quickly removes his hand and takes S.Baku's mug. Turning on his heel, he goes to wash it.
"Ah," a tiny gasp as he loses the mug. He watches Ryou go to the sink, silently.
Ryou shuts off the water and stands there, watching the facet drip steadily. He tries to sort through his thoughts. Should he feel guilty about cutting contact with his father? No, its for the best, he knows this. Who is this "Shadow Bakura" anyways? He certainly isn't who he says he is. The problem lay in whether or not the shadow really believed his own words or if he was just an incredibly convincing actor. Bakura always had sucked at acting but if he really was from a parallel world...
Beaky: (pffff)
Beaky: (i love this)
Beaky: (what do you think about ryou and his father tho)
Elle: (Ryou’s like this is bullshit this guy is fucking bawling at my kitchen table about family while his aura is threatening to fucking smother me)
Elle: (In general? That Ryou resents his dad for being a shit father.)
Beaky: (i love how he doesn't believe s.baku in the slightest)
Elle: (Not in the slightest)
Beaky: (and meanwhile S.BAku is just like THIS IS SO SAD)
"........." then in a small voice "thanks for the coffee."
"You're welcome. I'd be ashamed of myself if I lacked the remaining courtesy to at least be a decent host.” Ryou said.
"You're a good host... and a good person." Still whiny.
Beaky: (god, S.Baku is so dramatic)
"A good host...... Perhaps. I'm not a good person though, but you're... kindly delusional for thinking so."
Sniff. "Thank you."
Beaky: (a little gone to realize that wasn't a compliment)
Ryou just looks at him and slightly shakes his head. ".... So what now? I doubt you just came here to inquire about my problems and drink my coffee."
"...Oh, oh yes!" clears his throat, making an effort to pull himself together. "I came here to take you home with me."
"Not happening."
"But my home is fun! There's food and desserts and no evil spirits around."
"Yes, but it’s your home, not mine. Besides I can't leave. I have something important I have left to do."
"Yeah well.... the original idea was to protect you from Ring Spirits too..."
"Well it looks like your mission has been declared null."
Scratching his head, "mmmh... still that I came here must mean... there is some other need for me instead!"
"As in?"
"Maybe..." looks at Ryou "you need some help getting in touch with your true emotions."
"Oh God no. No. No thank you I'm completely fine."
"I may be born from my Master but I can instinctually sense the emotional needs of every Ryou." Shadow Bakura says this in a boasting manner.
"I don't have any emotional needs because my emotions are dead."
Deadpan. Shadow Bakura looks at him excitedly.
"...what?" Ryou asks hesitantly.
"..." Shadow Bakura clasps his hands together taking it all in. "That's it... that's what I'm here to do."
"What, restore my emotional capacity?" He scoffs. "Good luck."
Moves forward to grasp at Ryou's hands. "To fill the gaping festering wound in your heart torn out by that devilish monster with love~!"
Beaky: (fuuuuuuck i'm sorry 8D;;; )
Ryou stares at him in shock before doubling over in peals of laughter. He pulls his hands from Shadow Bakura’s grip and holds his stomach, laughing hard enough for tears to form in his eyes. Ryou pauses his laughter, rubbing his fingertips together.
Odd.
"Fill my heart with love? That's hilarious." He looks up and grins at the Shadow, masking the unease in his mind.
Cold. Really cold. Like a corpse. Was the shadow a reanimated body?
Ryou puts it on his growing list of "things this guy might be aside from myself".
"While my strengths lie in the role of the defender, I think you'll find that I can also be quite...tender." And at this S.Bakura tries to make the sexiest face he can... it's not very good.
Ryou looks at the shadow and makes a face. Extending his pointer finger, he places it in the middle of the Shadow's forehead and sharply pushes him away. "No."
"Waaah..." His eyes close at the contact, though the push only pushes back S.Bakura's head, somehow he's able to remain upright on his feet despite leaning way back.
Ryou resists the temptation to just nudge him and watch the shadow topple. Barely. Honestly the fact that S.Bakura is still on his feet is impressive.
"If your plan is to shoddily seduce me,” Ryou continues, “you should give up before you start.”
"Ahhh, but how, that always works!" It doesn't.
"It doesn't,” Ryou affims.
"Hrmmm...." Confused and in need of a moment, S.Bakura decides to let himself fall back... and into a small somersault until he's curled into a ball, just sitting some distance away from Ryou.
Ryou raises a brow at S.Bakura's show of acrobatics. He leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms. "Tell me, Shadow Bakura, how many 'Ryou's' have you managed to quote unquote 'save'?"
"Well..." he peeks up, "there's Master, I save him lots of times."
"I mean of the parallel Ryou's. Have you ever been successful in this mission of yours?"
"Well..." he glances away. "Not... yet... I... finding a way to vanquish the Ring worm is difficult." Makes a frustrated grunt as he rocks back and forth.
Ryou sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Listen... I don't think the ring worm is the problem. Your problem is that you assume that every iteration of me has had the same experiences, or feels the same way, or even needs saving. And perhaps a lot of them do. But not all."
"Well of course we do, everyone has problems." Still rockin.
"But they're not all problems you can understand or solve."
"Sure I could understand. If there's anyone who could understand it's me, because it's us."
Ryou frowns. "It's you. I'm not you."
"Well, what is your problem then? Maybe I can help. And also I am you."
"You are not me." The words are snarled. Above, the kitchen light flickers. The room seems to vibrate. "You are not me and you never will be. You never understood me and you never fucking tried. Why won't you just leave me alone? " He's shouting now, his eyes full of rage.
"Ah?" S.Bakura's eyes widen, alarmed both by Ryou's aura and his words. He hadn't expected the possibility for the other Ryous to have latent magic as well but… "I... don't say that..." his voice is weak.
"Don't say that? You're telling me what not to say? I'll say it all I want because it's the damn truth. You are not me and I pity the one who has to deal with your delusions. You're a parasite. " Ryou hisses the last word. The lightbulb above begins flickering faster. Shadows claw at the corners of the kitchen walls.
Beaky: (ahhh, so mean)
Beaky: (so great)
Beaky: (wait, how do you do italics)
Elle: (He's very mean)
Elle: (underscore on both sides of the word or sentence)
Beaky: (thank)
"No...No! _No! No! No!_Argh..." Shadow Bakura clutches at his head, staring downwards no longer able to keep Ryou's gaze. His fingers twist his hair, his horns hurt. "I'm not a parasite, I'm not! I'm Ryou Bakura, I'm Ryou Bakura, I'm Ryou Bakura..." he practically sobs, shaking. The air immediately around him goes frigid.
Ryou bristles at the shift in the air. He stares down impassively at Shadow Bakura, one hand snaking down to rest on the knob of the counter drawer behind his back. "You are not me."
"Nnngh..." a near inhuman whine. "... But I am." His voice is warped, growling.
Ryou's eyes widen and his grip on the knob tightens, easing the drawer open slightly. "No. You are not."
S. Bakura shifts down his arms until he's holding himself, still shuddering, not looking up. "I am. I am. I am. I am. I am.... I just .... How could you say that?"
Because that moment felt too familliar. Because he knows that aura, that energy. Because he has a fairly good clue what this thing was a spawn of.
"Because I know myself. And you are not me."
"Y-You're wrong!" And suddenly he's on his feet. And he's shorter but he's glaring up at Ryou, glowering, and if it was lost before in the doe eyes and the tears it was there now. His eyes flashed yellow, his mouth full of razor teeth, "my name's Ryou Bakura and it always has been!"
There it is. In a flash, Ryou has the knife pulled from the drawer and held in front of him.
Shadow Bakura recoils a little at the sight of the knife, snapping out of it a bit.
"Listen very carefully to me." Ryou's voice wavers - he swallows. "I will not go with you. I do not need nor desire any 'help' you could offer me. You do not know me and you do not know what it is I need."
Shadow Bakura eyes the knife, slowly holding his hands in front of himself.
Beaky: (he's not really afraid of the physical damage, just... EMOTIONAL)
Beaky: (EMOTIONAL DAMAGE)
Ryou readjusts his grip. "Do you understand?" He speaks slowly and evenly, staring straight into Shadow Bakura's eyes.
"I..." Shadow Bakura’s voice returns, normal and small. "I'm sorry..." He slowly reaches forward.
"Don't touch me!" Ryou reacts without thinking, the blade in his hand flashing as it sliced through the air.
"Ahh!" A small whelp as Shadow bakura flinches back, the cut across his palm oozes black... ooze.
Elle: (does it smell I feel like it smells)
Elle: (like ozone or sulfur or something)
Beaky: (oh... you know what I never really thought to that)
Beaky: (i did think that regular S.Baku smells like baked desserts)
Elle: (im laughing omg)
Beaky: (it's not like super potent, but if you get close enough it's like... who brought sugar cookies?)
Beaky: (i guess it would make sense for it to smell like something tho, hrmmm)
Ryou eyes widen at the sight of S.Bakura's "blood". The knife clatters to the floor. The sense of wrongness washed over Ryou, stronger than before, almost threatening to overpower him.
Shadow Bakura hisses, covering up his hand as he draws back. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Uh... don't worry, even if it gets on your floor it'll disappear when I leave."
Ryou didn't hear him over the ringing in his ears. He clutched his head, trying to keep his balance as the room span. Ryou's knees buckled, and he fell to the floor.
Elle: (first impulse, hmm I'm not sure what's going on with him)
Elle: (guess I'll find out)
Beaky: (oh noooo)
"Ah... ahh..." S.Bakura reaches out on instinct but pauses, remembering what just happened. He eyes the knife and awkwardly tries to kick it away with his foot. "Uh, Ryou?" S.Bakura stares at him, sensing the energy fade from Ryou but not really sure what to do about it. "Uh, um... shit."
He bit his lip, Ryou said not to touch him but... he reaches down, attempting to scoop him up.
Elle: -is scooped-
Beaky: (Awww)
Seeing that Ryou really is out of it, S.Bakura makes his way back into the living room, gently placing him back on the sofa.
Elle: -is sofa'd-
Beaky: (pffff)
S.Bakura takes a moment to watch Ryou.
hmm... The trouble was, if he left now than Ryou would certainly think this was all a dream. But Ryou also wanted him to leave, ahhh...
Alone by himself, S.Bakura made a few frustrated growling noises.
He was also still bleeding.
After a few more minutes when it became apparent Ryou wasn't going to wake up... S.Bakura returned to the kitchen, tried to make some coffee and brought a cup out to put on the living room table for when Ryou revived. He also took a post it note to stick on the handle with "I'm sorry >:"
... Not quite satisfied but realizing this is about all he can do, he claps his hands, getting his interdimensional door to appear and turns this exit.
This could've gone better.
Its very early morning when Ryou wakes up, the sunlight shining in from the window directly onto his face. He groaned and blinked in the harsh light, his head pounding from something akin to a hangover. Weird, he didn't remember drinking.
Blearily, he sat up and surveyed the room. Sitting on the coffee table was a single mug, filled with cold coffee. A post it note was stuck to the side. Ryou picked up the post it note and read it, suddenly remembering the night before.
He frowned, and then grimaced as the action worsened his headache. Reaching over, he picks up the mug and takes a sip of the cold coffee and lets out a heavy sigh.
An opportunity unforeseen: (completed RP with Mortred and Abaddon)
veiled-sister
Somewhere deep within Avernus, a certain assassin lurks around the buildings and trees. Hiding in the shadows, swiftly leaping from tree to tree, rooftop to rooftop. Unseen and unheard. She didn't want anyone to see her but her target, and that is the Lord of Avernus himself.
for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride
Abaddon sat in his study, his armour off, he sat in his fine Sapphire robes, a glass of old liquor n his hand. As he sipped at the dark liquid, sitting in a red armchair besides the open balcony window. Abaddon couldn’t help but feel, well, as if something important was about to happen.
He took anther sip and watched the fire crackle and pop for a few minutes, a cool breeze flowing through the Curtains and causing them to flutter a little. He sighed, this business with Franktou was reaching a crucial stage, he would soon have to commit and he didn’t see a way out. But despite the seriousness of the situation, Abaddon felt his mind constantly falling on Mortred.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Abaddon sighed again, “This war will be the end of too many” he whispered, swirling his glass.
veiled-sister
Mortred already knew how to navigate the area of Avernus easily. Being an expert assassin also means good observation skills, and the tour Abaddon gave her is more than enough to give her knowledge of each hallway, alley, road and field. Occasionally she would seem to be a black blur zooming around, but to the people of Avernus, it could just be a black mist looming around.
Eventually she’s close to her target. She’s hiding behind a statue, luckily with no one else in sight. She looks up at the balcony window. She knows he’s there. Observing the rest of the building, she tries examining it from a distance if she could scale its walls quickly and quietly. Hearing some footsteps, she quickly hid herself away.
for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride
Walking out and onto the balcony Abaddon sighed deeply, his robes felt heavy, even his eyes were dimmer, he was exhausted and stressed. This war could be the end of his noble house if it went wrong! how could he let himself become so uncoordinated? he should have made a decision weeks ago, organised more troops. He sighed again, simply the fortified wine. It didn’t matter now, how mind wandered to Mortred, he wondered what she was ding? maybe she was sleeping? or assassinating? he didn’t know, if he had been in a better state of mind, the Font might have told him she was right before him.
Leaning on the balcony wall Abaddon looked up and towards the shinning stars, the cool breeze caressing his face with a cold touch. “War is coming and I need to pick a side” he whispered, half hoping for an answer, he didn’t care where.
veiled-sister
A faint *whoosh* is heard nearby, though it could just be a bird or a tree branchwhipping in the wind. Silence accompanied Abaddon for a few minutes, with only his mind speaking aloud. But in a swift flash, a loud poof is heard, a sound of a familiar blade swinging in the air, and its bright blue glowing edge is now held against his throat, with a familiar touch now firmly grasping his hands behind himself. The assailant got him defenseless, or so it thought. The intruder spoke with a hushed, yet obviously broken voice.
“J-Just… stay… still… t-to not make this more… difficult for… a-any of us…”
for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride
Startled and surprised at the emergence of the assalient Abaddon did not recognise the voice straight away, "Mortred?" he managed before his instincts took over. The inner magic of his baptism flaring from within his soul Abaddons body burst into green, flamelike light causing Mortred's grip to weaken as the light caused ice like burns across her hands. Quickly walking through the blade that Mortred had placed before hos throat, the blade cutting deeply, only to have his flesh resow instantaneously.
As he came clear of the blade Abaddon suddenly rolled to his right and into his room, his armour forming over him as he did so, his luminous mace appearing in his hand. He stood at the ready, mace leaning ahead of his body, his stance spread, balanced, expertly poised. His body was ready to fight for his life even as his Borrowed time ended for a short while, but his mind, his mind and heart were breaking. "Here I was, thinking I wasn't on your list Mortred" Abaddon managed, his own Ethereal voice cracking a little. Though Mortred would never know, beneath his newly formed helmet, Abaddon was crying. Even as he stood there, he didn't hold it against her, we all duties, he just wished it didn't have to be this way.
"Is this it then? just cross me off your list?" he continued, tears streaming down his face in the shadow of his helm.
veiled-sister
Mortred herself is apparently wearing a more covering helm, with only her eyes visible. (Helm of the Nimble Edge). Her own voice can be heard breaking, even her own body is slightly quivering. She is heard trying to speak out something from her mind… “I… I…”, she groans in frustration and just mindlessly charges at him. This isn’t like her. Usually she’d plan out a way to take her target out. But here, she’s just, being wreckless.
The obviousness of her stance and the speed and direction of her charge made it pretty easy for Abaddon to evade, and when he did, she almost tripped and fell to her knees. A brief gasp is heard from her, and a noise that seemed to be that of a held-back sob. She turns around again and throws a dagger at him. "I-I SAID STAND STILL!!!"
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Evading her reckless charge Abaddon turned to have a dagger strike his armour with a clang, it was a poor throw and open certainly below the Assassins skill. Still, he felt its slowing effects pour into him, reacting with a fury fuelled by heartbreak, Abaddon called upon the protection of the mist, summoning his own shielding energy about his form like a dark mist, the power of fate pulling the poison from his body.
"Why are You doing this!?" he exclaimed striding towards the Assassin quickly, "You said I wasn't on your list! Is this about that day? that day you came here, was that why you came? to PLAN THIS!" he roared swinging his mace violently.
veiled-sister
Hearing his raised voice and agitated poise, she couldn’t take it. It’s painful for her. She broke down and falls to her knees and starts sobbing. If the mace was swung toward her, she won’t bother dodging it. She’d let it hit her full force. She deserves it.
His almost screaming certainly frightened her. She cowered and whimpered under him, her hands now on her head protectively. Her mist-imbued weapon dropping, its previous bright glow fading when it departed from her touch.
Mortred couldn’t bring herself to speak. All she could do is cry and whimper. She’s easy prey for the Lord of Avernus if he wishes to end her now. Literally, her fate is in his hands now.
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Abaddon, in his furious rage was never, ever going to land a blow, even against the emotional crippled Mortred, as the assassin feel to her knees Abaddon’s mace crashed into the wall behind the assassin, embedding it deeply into the wall, causing cracks to spread all across it. As the shock-waves of the blow reverberated through his flesh Abaddon became aware of Mortred’s sobbing, what… what is going in he thought? turning around too look down at the assassin Abaddon’s heart broke, seeing Mortred in such a vulenerable state ruined him. he knew she couldn’t have been sent to do this willingly.
Lowering himself to his knee’s, his helm vanishing as he did so, Abaddon pulled Mortred to her own knees, she was whimpering but Abaddon ignored it, as she sat up straight Abaddon removed her helm and looked into her pain stricken face with concern. “What is going on Mortred, you obviously don’t want to do this” he insisted, his own rage calming to be replaced by sadness and despair at Mortred’s current state.
veiled-sister
Still wearing the mask, only Mortred’s eyes show how much fear she’s feeling right now. At first she cried harder when he grabbed her, thinking he’ll hurt her there and now, but with him removing her helm and speaking in a calming tone, she felt relieved, but still scared and full of regret.
“I… I-I… j-just…" Her eyes start to fill with tears again, her hands quivering. She says something in a seemingly other language, could be a secret one only the Veiled Sisters speak. Regardless, she mutters a long phrase in it and just sobs into his chest, muffling out her cries of apology.
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Holding the Assassin tight as she sobbed, Abaddons heart broke into a thousand pieces, unable to understand what she was saying he began to rock her back and forth. “It is okay Mortred, it was clear you didn’t want to do this, I know this. Just… Just try and tell me what is going on.. Please Mortred..” he begged, running his hands through her jet black hair, the sent reminding him of the long spring nights they had spent together.
"You matter to me Mortred" Abaddon whispered, his body shaking, "We will sort this out…. we will".
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She continues to sob harshly for a few more minutes, continuing to mutter muffled (English) apologies to him, her hands gripping his robes tightly. The mistblade on the ground beside her heard humming and glowing eerily, seemingly in sync with her sobbing; the louder she cries, the louder it hums and brighter it glows.
Eventually she calms down just enough to let her speak and clear her mind enough to let her think. “I-It’s… *sniff* y-y-you won’t…" Her words were interrupted with a brief sob session, still unable to fully get a hold of herself.
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Abaddon hugged the Assassin tighter, he thought he had felt heartbreak mere moments ago, but seeing Mortred like this didn’t break his heart, it fore it from his chest.
"I.. won’t what… Mortred? You can trust me… Please Mortred… everything will be alright… I promise". He was doing his best to reassure her, even if he was deeply confused by the whole incident.
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Gasping in between sobs, she tries to calm herself fully, her tears soaking Abaddon’s clothes heavily. She is heard muttering more apologies, but this time, seemingly toward her Veiled Sisters.
She wraps her arms around him and hugs him tightly, burying his face in his neck. “I-I c-can’t do it…!! I-I can’t!!!”
Being an assassin means you should be able to kill anyone whoever they are. To her, this is a sign of weakness, a show of how much of an unskilled assassin she is.
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Pushing the assassin away from him in an attemp to establish eye contact with her. Abaddon used his hand to move her messy hair behind her ear, so that he old see her sad and desperate face.
"Mortred, tell me what has happened" he insisted more firmly then before, but not harshly. "Last I saw, I was not on your list, so someone put you up to this. … and you obviously didn’t want to do it." He paused, wiping away a tear from her cheek, his heart was still pounding in his chest, his ribs hurt from the desperate roles he had undertaken to fight Mortred.
"You have to tell me Mortred, I can’t help you otherwise. Please Mortred…. let me help" he begged, worried for her sake.
veiled-sister
Listening to his words, she tried to gather her bearings, sniffling a little and lightly gasping as she tries stopping her sobs. “I… I-It’s… th-the Radiant… th-they want you… … y-you wont… ab… abandon… the King… f-for them…”
She really can’t quite get that what she said is as blurry has herself. She didn’t want to look into his eyes. She felt as if she committed a dire sin against him. She felt ashamed, which makes her eyes slowly tear up some more again. Incoming sobbing, round 2.
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Abaddons ears cringed as the waterworks opened up to even greater torrents. pulling the Assassin close Abaddon forgot about the fight for his life that had occurred barley minutes before. He had been mad not at the attempt on his life, that was a common occurrence, but the fact Mortred had seemed unphased by it; he saw now how wrong he had been.
"Abaddon the king? you mean Ostarion don;t you?" Abaddon paused for a moment, considering his words carefully, the radiant wanted him dead for his Dire allegiance and his apparent loyalty to King Ostarion. This had to be because of the taking of Franktou. As the pieces fell into place Abaddon smiled, there was an opportunity here, but first, someone needed his attention.
"Mortred, I forgive you…. to be honest… there is no crime to forgive, we both knew our work could come between us and we pursued this relationship none the less… and I do not regret it" he admitted, running a hand through her hair reassuringly.
"I would go through this a thousandfold if it meant we could continue. But" he continued with a abroad smile, his dreads floating brightly, the aura of fate shining from within his very being, "This time our work de snot have to come between us, your radiant friends are misinformed, if they will have me, I have wished to change sides for a very long time." That is it, Abaddon thought as the words left his lips, the dice are cast, what will her response be?
veiled-sister
She nodded to confirm it was Ostarion she was talking about. She hugged him tighter, loosening her grip as her tears slowly lessen and eventually stop, although she continues to sniffle afterward. She looked at his face while listening to his explanation about their work and how it can conflict with each other, but she listened more closely to his next one, about how he actually had the idea of switching sides.
Really? Abaddon? She thought he was loyal to the King, much like Ethreain the great lich or Pugna the Oblivion mage. It actually shocked her, plus the fact of his endearing words of how far he would go for their relationship’s sake, and looked into his eyes. “R…R-really? Y… Y-you would…?”
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"I would in a heartbeat Mortred, life is short and it is not made worthwhile by playing it safe. You bring me Joy, I need no other reason to continue."
Running his hands along Mordred’s shoulders, Abaddon leaned back a little and breathed out, relaxing, his sore muscles dulling as he relaxed. “Yes, I have wanted to change sides for a while now. I mean, the alliance with Ostarion has served my house, but my people cannot live in a world dominated by the dead, and that is what Ostarion will bring. But I have been unable to risk revealing these desires for fear of being rejected by the radiant and thrown from the dire.”
Sighing deeply Abaddon shook his head, “but now it looks as if I have the opportunity?”
veiled-sister
She widely smiled at listening to him, tears just SLIGHTLY formed in her eyes once more, but this time out of relief and joy, tightly hugging him and kissing his face all over.
“Oh thank you…!!! T-Thank you!!!”, following her kiss ‘attacks’ is a swift ‘crit’ of her lips against his own. Parting their faces after a brief, yet long enough intimate moment for them, she sweetly grinned at him and just cuddles herself to him.
"I… I’m… so happy to have you… I p-promise, I promise… to never turn nor point my blade against you… I promise you…”
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Abaddon smiled as Mordred kissed him, he was calm now, far calmer than he had been mere moments before. He trusted Mortred, he trusted her words. His heart slowed and the storm f fate in his mind calmed to a gentle patter of rain, a path had been taken and a road created.
"Mordred, I believe you and in turn, I will never raise my arms against you, except to hold you" he chuckled, pulling her even closer than before, "We have much to do, my dear, but first, shall we rest a while? I am sure some of my chairs aren’t broken." he joked again, feeling light-hearted and relieved. As he held Mortred in his arms, Abaddon felt happy, despite the previous occurrences, it felt good to hold her in his arms.
veiled-sister
She clung onto him as if for dear life. She never wants another predicament like this to happen again.
“The day I end your life… will be the day I end mine…" With those words, she made a vow to herself. She stares at the bright twinkling eyes of the Lord Avernus, feeling more relieved by his jokes, rewarding him with a little quiet chuckle, holding his hands as she smiles up at him. "I think we missed those chairs, luckily."
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Abaddon let a smirk grow across his face, her chuckle was as infectious to him as sunlight was to the day. “That was fortunate indeed” he smiled, he had heard her vow, but he knew nothing needed to be said, her word was her vow and his ears her sacrament.
Rising slowly with Mordred still in his arms, Abaddon escorted the would be assassin across the wrecked room, pushing debris out of the way with his foot and clearing a way for his beloved. As he reached the seats, taking one himself, Abaddon let out a deep sigh, he did not care for the wrecked furniture or the ruined paintings, such things were easily replaced. No, he was just happy they were both okay.
"So, what now I wonder?" He Inquired, still smiling at Mortred, the whole series of events seemed surreal.
veiled-sister
She tries her best to ignore the wrecked room, seeing the mess she made is pretty shameful for her now. Looking up at Abaddon, she says in a soft voice, “…I feel the need to say sorry again… I’ll help clean this place up. …and, w-will I be hated by the people of Avernus now…? I… I tried to attack their Lord.”
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Abaddon shook his head, “You worry too much my darling. The people of Avernus are used to strange events, my word is more than enough to calm any worries they may grow, especially since I will be announcing our allegiance to your cause in the coming days.” Abaddon reassured Mortred, still smiling.
"you’re not the first ally I have had which has tried to kill me, the Nyx assassin has tried many a time, but in other conflicts he is still my ally." Pulling Mordred into him Abaddon placed his head above her own, allowing her head to lean against his chest as he stroked her Raven hair. "It is okay Mordred, let us rest, I have a long journey to undertake tomorrow, to Aeol Drias." Abaddon concluded quietly, breathing deeply, the familiar scent of Mordred’s hair filling his senses and calming him.
"Will you stay tonight my dear?" Abaddon asked suddenly, still stroking her long hair.
veiled-sister
Hearing his offer, she immediately nodded and cuddled herself to him some more. His hand running along her hair was a pleasurable feeling, she almost feels like purring. Then she raised her head to look at his face, about to ask him something.
"Aeol Drias…? …what business do you have there…? …if you do not mind telling me."
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Abaddon couldn't help but love the closeness of his beloved. She is always so curious, he thought to himself, closing his eyes for a moment and just enjoying the moment, his arms tightening slightly against Mordred's back, her scent filling his senses, her heartbeat vibrated through his body, his mind calmed to silent stillness. This was peace, he thought to himself, even as he prepared to shatter it.
"Well, I assume they intend to hold a council of war and I must be present to pledge my allegiance." he admitted slyly, "My business is war, war for the Radiant" he added, a little more seriously" his arms still around Mordred.
Due to this thread being discontinued, I decided to share the compiled version for anyone who wanted to read it. This was a thread written with shamed-spirit.
The dilapidated building – small, crumbling, and surrounded by an overgrown, weed-infested garden – looked nothing like Bakura had expected of his former host’s residence. That’d thrown him, and he’d hesitated, standing on the doorstep and considering his other options for a moment.
The thought of Ryou Bakura – the soft-spoken, good-natured bearer of the Millennium Ring – living in the slums, the centre of all of Domino’s criminal activities, disturbed him.
‘Will he help me, or not?’ Bakura wondered, ignoring the feeling of dread pooling at the bottom of his stomach. He’d planned on coercing Ryou into compliance, through emotional manipulation, terror, and all of his old, familiar techniques. If Ryou had changed, had toughened up and could resist Bakura’s intimidation, perhaps he’d need to rethink his tactics.
Regardless, Bakura ached. He’d been fatigued and famished since he’d acquired this terrible form, and he needed rest. His survivalist tendencies far outweighed his desire to leave, and he succumbed to the fact that Ryou Bakura was, effectively, his only option.
Decided, he raised his hand — displeased that his muscles protested against the simple action — and knocked.
He was not expecting the knock.
It was rare that anyone approached the house. And if someone did venture to the front door, they were either looking for trouble or were a member of the cartel, sent to bring some sort of bad news. Either way, he knew better than to answer without caution. He slid off his bed, retrieving his handgun from the drawer in the table beside it. Jamming the weapon in his back pocket, he quietly made his way over to the door, alert and on guard. He peered through the spyhole in the door -
His heart leapt to his throat, his body flinching away from the door, eyes wide. There was no way that he could have… it was impossible….
Ryou’s hands shook as he unchained the look and threw the door open, gun out and ready. A still silence came over the area.
Impossible as it was, there he was. Bakura, former inhabitant of the Sennen Ring, the man who Ryou had shared his mind with for nearly eleven years, standing on his doorstep. And he looked like shit.
"What….?"
Bakura had heard shuffling behind the door, had heard the chain scrape, and he’d prepared himself for their inevitable encounter; for his reunion with Ryou Bakura.
In all the scenarios he’d envisioned, none had included a gun, and Bakura – although maintaining an otherwise unaffected expression – panicked.
'Shit.'
"You wouldn’t shoot me," he sneered, although the determined expression adourning Ryou’s features suggested otherwise, and he regretted those words. He’d grown, and Bakura (although tempted) dared not attempt to outmanouevre his former host in his weakened state.
"Don’t shoot me."
Ryou maintained his position, gun leveled between Bakura’s eyes. Ryou’s mind was working faster than he could keep up with. How had Bakura gotten here? What did he want? Why wasn’t he dead?
He studied the man in front of him, trying to ascertain what he was thinking. Bakura looked unfazed as ever, but Ryou felt it. Bakura was uncertain, he could tell. For once it seemed as though Ryou had the upper hand, and he was going to make use of it.
"What are you doing here?" He growled, adjusting his grip on the firearm.
"It’s complicated," Bakura drawled. He applauded his abilities, under the circumstances; his anxiousness had intensified upon hearing the resolution in Ryou’s demand, but he’d maintained his cool stance, regardless.
"Put down the gun, and I’ll tell you."
"Put down the gun?" Ryou laughed, the sound harsh and condescending. "As if I haven’t heard that before. What, do you take me for a fool? If I refuse, what are you going to do, walk away? You came here for a reason, I know. But," he lowered his arm, "seeing as I’m more interested in getting answers than I am fighting uselessly with you, I suppose I can compensate."
He tossed the gun onto the table. He wasn’t kidding when he said Bakura looked like shit, and Ryou doubted that Bakura could overtake him in a physical brawl if it came to that.
He sincerely hoped it didn’t. That wasn’t something he wanted to deal with today.
"Okay, gun disposed of. Now answer me."
Bakura hated the fact that Ryou had the upper-hand in this situation, and he hated his attitude, too. Of course, he couldn’t do anything about it, regardless.
At least Ryou had dropped the gun. “It is complicated,” he explained, “Something along the lines of ‘divine retribution’, if you can believe that. The gods aren’t finished with me, yet.”
He sighed. “And I’m here,” he said, gesturing to Ryou’s tumbledown residence, “Because I thought you could help me.”
Ryou was stunned. Here was Bakura asking him for help. Bakura asking anyone for help was ridiculous enough in itself. The thought sat ill in Ryou’s mind. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Reaching out, he gripped Bakura’s arm and pulled him into the house, shutting the door and relatching it. He let go of Bakura, moving to sit on the ragged couch, feeling an exhaustion that sunk to the bone. Digging his thumbs into his temples, he wondered just how things managed to get more screwed up than they already were.
Bakura had been surpised when Ryou had grabbed him and pulled him inside. After the welcome he’d received, he’d expected that he would have a hard time in persuading Ryou to help him.
Perhaps being honest had helped, despite being utterly humiliating. It’d worked, anyway, so Bakura didn’t dwell on that feeling for too long.
Slumping against the couch – the opposite side to the one that Ryou had taken – he sighed with relief. He didn’t succumb to the burning feeling behind his eyelids, though. He needed sleep, but he didn’t trust Ryou not to strangle him the minute he closed his eyes, considering how conflicted he looked about the whole situation.
Ryou raised his head as he felt the former spirit claim the other end of the couch. Bakura seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open. The man looked exhausted, and if the dark rings around his eyes were any indicator it seems as though he hadn’t slept in a long while. Ryou found himself wondering just how long the man had been alive - and how long he had spent looking for Ryou.
Ryou squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a headache beginning to form. Tomorrow he would deal with all of this. He would figure out what exactly Bakura meant by ‘divine retribution’, how he was somehow supposed to help him, what he should do about the whole thing in general. Just, tomorrow. He was willing to ignore the fact that Bakura, supposedly dead Bakura, he who turned his friends into figurines and tried to kill them Bakura was alive and in his house if it meant he could just sleep through the night.
Bakura seemed to have slipped into some sort of trance, eyes unfocused as he concentrated on staying awake.
"Bakura." The man didn’t seem to hear him. Ryou hesitated, before cautiously laying his hand on the other’s shoulder, shaking him gently. "Bakura, you should sleep. Tomorrow, we will figure things out tomorrow, just… for now we both need to rest. I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow," Ryou shook his head, realizing he was repeating himself. "Okay?"
Bakura hadn’t realised that he’d begun to lose consciousness until he felt Ryou shaking him, and flinched at his touch before comprehending what his former host had been repeating, over and over again.
'Tomorrow. He's not planning on killing me, then; at least, not tonight,’ Bakura thought, although he still felt suspicious, and a little unsettled. He’d been determined to remain awake but, inspite of that, his body hadn’t wanted to comply. He hated this- this weakness that he’d been cursed with.
Resigned, he accepted his fate. “Okay,” he replied, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll explain everything.” Ryou seemed pleased with that response, and Bakura yawned. “So, should I sleep here?”
Ryou frowned when he felt Bakura flinch at his touch. Something was wrong - there was something Bakura wasn’t telling him. The man wouldn’t be this… seemingly frail if he was simply given life again. The words divine retribution rung through his mind again. So this was the handiwork of the gods, it seems.
He nodded in response to Bakura’s question, standing and handing Bakura a blanket that had been thrown over the armchair across from the couch. Leaving the man to rest, Ryou retreated to the safety of his room. Laying down on the bed, he clutched the pillow to him. The fabric was damp. He pulled it away and stared, confused, for a moment before feeling the tears running down his cheeks. He let out a quiet sob and buried his face into the pillow, unsure of why he was weeping but unable to stop regardless. Perhaps it was from shock, he thought. It was not long until Ryou had slipped into unconsciousness, cheeks still stained with tears.
Bakura hadn’t slept – at least, not without one eye open, on-edge, and terrified of being attacked – in months. Ryou’s couch had to be the most comfortable place he’d lain his head since he’d acquired this form and, although he didn’t trust Ryou one-hundred percent, he trusted him enough to close his eyes, and sleep.
Prior to this night, his fragmented dreams had been plagued with the occurrences of the past couple of months. His weaknesses tormented him constantly. His feeble form, defenseless without the magic of the Shadows he’d once possessed, couldn’t even function properly, let alone run, or fight.
That didn’t matter, though. That’d become irrelevant as soon as he’d closed his eyes. He slept, without dreams and without disturbance.
Morning came, and Bakura continued to sleep, vaguely aware of the noises being made around him, but not being awake enough to care.
Ryou watched Bakura sleep as he readied himself to meet his next client. The information swap shouldn’t take to much time, he mused, so hopefully he’ll be able to return home before Bakura wakes up and manages to either destroy something or go into his room.
It’s weird that he hasn’t woken up yet, though. It wasn’t like he was being quiet with his rummaging. Ryou sighed, sliding the documents into a bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He laced up his boots before leaving the house, closing and locking the door with a small click. Fishing his bike out from where he hid it beneath the porch, Ryou mounted it and glided down the crack ridden street, mind working on what to do with the problem he left at home.
It was dusk when Ryou returned. His legs were tired from the ride, and his body fatigued from being so uptight the entire day. The transaction hadn’t gone smoothly, and there had been a conflict that resulted in him having to flee from the scene when the police showed up. It was in all a bad day. The boss would be pissed when he found out that the authorities were onto them, but he could deal with that later. It was his partners fault anyways. He brought the info, but of course his partner tried to swindle extra money out of the client, not knowing that they were dealing with a powerful man. Fucking idiot.
Dropping his bag on the ground, he kicked off his shoes and slammed the door shut. He slumped facedown onto the couch, groaning into the pillow.
Bakura had spent the afternoon watching mundane television programmes, which he’d branded ‘cultural integration’, but ‘boredom’ probably summed up the situation better. When he heard the door slam, he’d been using the bathroom, and he’d been startled.
Of course, after some investigating, he’d discovered that the ‘intruder’ had, in fact, been his former-host. Ryou - appearing aggravated and much less collected than the previous evening - had returned, and reclaimed the sofa. He seemed to have forgotten about their plans to talk about their situation, although Bakura didn’t mind that so much.
He approached the couch - and his groaning former-host - cautiously. ”Ryou?”
Ryou stiffened at the sound of Bakura’s voice. For a short while he had forgotten the other had somehow come back. The source of his problems, of all his problems it seemed. He felt anger swell in his chest, hot and insistent. He opened his mouth to snap at the other when the anger ceased as quickly as it came, replaced by a feeling of apathy. He was too worn to deal with any of this. The week had been to hard. To hell with it if Bakura went and made a mess of things. He didn’t care anymore. He buried his face further in the pillow, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out.
Bakura felt unsure of what to do; he felt as though he should leave Ryou alone, since his former-host looked tired and aggravated, and he didn’t feel like fighting. In spite of this, he wasn’t sure where exactly he should go, and he would need the sofa back eventually.
Besides, as much as Bakura dreaded speaking about his humiliating situation, he realised that they needed to. He owed Ryou an explanation; although his stomach turned at the thought of owing anyone anything.
"Ryou," he repeated, his tone firmer this time, "Do you want to talk?"
Ryou slowly rolled onto his back to look at Bakura looming over him. The other looked a little better than he had the night before, though his body was still in obvious need of recovery. At least he didn’t look like he was going to pass out where he stood.
"Not particularly, no. I don’t want to talk. But you, on the other hand have some explaining to do. I’ll listen.” Bakura looked a little taken aback, but considering that he’d wanted to avoid conflict with his former-host, he didn’t react - at least, not outwardly - to Ryou’s harsh tone. Instead, he took a seat in the battered armchair, across from where Ryou had sprawled out on the couch.
"Well," he laced his fingers together, keeping a close watch on his former-host as he spoke, "Where should I begin?" He laughed sardonically, before continuing, "My death, I suppose. Or perhaps I should rephrase that; my rebirth.”
He grimaced. “For reasons that I’m not one hundred percent aware of, the gods did not consider the standard punishment for sinners adequate,” he paused, “At least, not for me.” He took a second to breathe, levelling out his voice, which had become somewhat strained. “They wanted to enlongate my suffering, I suppose. Those sadistic bastards. They couldn’t just let me die.”
"So they damned you to eternal life," The pieces came together in Ryou’s mind. He frowned as he realized something. Bakura had been ‘alive’ for the past 3000 years. During that time, he had what could be presumed "eternal life" - or rather he had no knowledge as to when he would die. So what made this situation so different, that it acted as a punishment to Bakura?
Was it because….
"… you lost to him?"
Bakura clenched his fists. He supposed that Ryou would mention that self-righteous bastard at some point, but he hadn’t been prepared at that particular moment. He struggled to maintain his calm-and-collected façade, but could feel it slipping, shattering into a million pieces around him.
"Yes," he managed to respond, although he spat out the word, as though it left a foul taste on his tongue, "Exactly. I feared death, I feared dying before I achieved my revenge; I’m not ashamed to admit that," Bakura paused, becoming aware that he had started shaking, but carried on regardless. "But not anymore. Not since… Since I…"
Failed.
He watched as Bakura struggled to maintain his composure. The other man was shaking violently. Ryou frowned, struggling with the compulsion to go comfort the other. He knew that he was treading on uneven grounds when mentioning Atem, but Bakura’s words…
There seems to be much more to this than I know.
He stood, cautiously approaching the other. Kneeling before Bakura’s shaking form, he cautiously extended his hand.
"Bakura?" Bakura flinched at the touch, but composed himself upon realising that his former-host posed no threat; at least, not at the moment. He focused on the inhalations and exhalations of his breath, attempting to calm himself. There wasn’t any need to explode at Ryou; he’d provided him with shelter, after all, which was beyond anything he’d been obligated to do.
"I’d cope with the situation a lot better if I hadn’t been trapped inside this pathetic form, and powerless at that," he gestured to himself, a degree of bitterness still audible in the tone of his voice, "Although I suppose the terrible condition of your seventeen-year-old form is my fault, so I can’t complain.”
His laugh sounded a little more genuine at that.
Ryou’s expression darkened at Bakura’s insult. He had no time or patience for needless offence. His hand turned from gentle to punishing as he delivered a stinging slap upside Bakura’s head. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his point across.
"Well, I’m afraid that seeing as I’m apparently part of the problem, I have no way of helping you. So I’ll take my leave now. Good luck figuring out what you’re going to do for the rest of eternity.”
He stood, turning on his heel, and headed to his bedroom. Bakura growled, frustrated with himself; he’d intended on expressing his gratitude towards Ryou, and definitely not offending him to the point where he’d tell him that he wasn’t welcome in his house anymore.
'You idiot! What have you done?’
He followed Ryou, pausing outside the door of his bedroom, which appeared to have been locked. He didn’t dare attempt to enter, regardless.
"Ryou?" he called out, hoping that he sounded sincere, "Ryou, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean to offend you, anyway. I just… I’m frustrated," he paused, hoping that Ryou wouldn’t make him beg, "I’m grateful for everything, I really am."
The door wasn’t locked - rather Ryou stood on the other side, holding the handle closed. He couldn’t believe it. Bakura being grateful? Even in his most pathetic attempts at manipulation, Bakura was never grateful. Nor would he ever take back what he said.
So what was this? Was Bakura actually being honest? The thought made him laugh out loud in disbelief. He let his head fall back against the door with a soft thud, his eyes scanning the dull ceiling above.
"… I don’t get what your motive is. I don’t know why your here. What do you want from me Bakura? Why on earth do you think I can help you?" His knees buckled and he slid down to the floor. Resting his chin on his knees, he closed his eyes. "I’m a mess, what makes you think I’m capable of helping another person at all?" He mumbled, burrowing his face in his knees. Bakura resisted the urge to slam his fists against the door, which acted as a barrier between himself and his former-host. “And you think that I’m any better?” he said, pacing backwards and forwards as he all but hissed his response, “I’m falling apart here. You’re not the only one.”
Bakura didn’t think he’d ever been so honest in his life, but the situation - and his desperation - called for it.
"Look, I know I’m imposing on you," he hesitated, not wanting to worsen the situation any more than necessary, "But I just need somewhere to live. That’s all. I don’t trust anyone else."
"I’m falling apart here. You’re not the only one."
Ryou felt his heartbeat quicken, his face flush with anger. How dare Bakura even begin to compare their situations? How dare he insinuate that he had it as hard as Ryou, when Bakura himself was the source of all Ryou’s problems in the first place? His pity for the former spirit vanished as he yanked the door open, eyes flashing.
"Oh really?! You’re falling apart? Because why, you lost a game? You didn’t get to kill a man, didn’t get to destroy the world?" He jabbed his finger into the others chest, driving Bakura back.
"You have taken literally everything from me. I have nothing! My family is dead, my father estranged. The souls of many people who were kind enough to befriend me lay trapped in wooden dolls to this day! The ones who aren’t sealed away can’t even trust me. I live in a hole in the ground, selling information to gangs on the fucking street. What have you lost, Bakura?" He emphasized his last word with a shove, tripping Bakura and pushing him back into the armchair.
He stepped back, eyes burning. Tears ran down his cheeks before he realized he was even crying. Angrily he wiped them away.
"And now you come crawling back, expecting me to take you in. I know from experience that having you around brings much more than is wanted. I don’t want to go through that again." Bakura - having kept his anger concealed up until this moment - relented to the ire seeping through his veins, consuming him. Although he’d been too stunned during Ryou’s tirade to react, he’d since regained his sense and leapt out of the armchair. He grabbed his former-host by the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer so that he could snarl menacingly into his ear.
“I didn’t murder your mother, or your sister; I have nothing to do with your Father’s actions,” he said, shaking the sobbing man for emphasis, “And although I’ll take blame for those figurines, I did that for you. Because you craved friends more than anything else, and perhaps I could empathise with your loneliness.”
He paused, took a breath, considered Ryou’s words. "What have you lost, Bakura?"
He shoved Ryou onto the couch, not feeling so empathetic anymore. “And don’t you dare tell me that I haven’t lost anything,” he hissed, “Don’t you dare.”
Ryou didn’t bother fighting back as he was lifted and shoved onto the couch. He was tired of fighting, tired of yelling. He looked at the other, saw the rage in Bakura’s eyes.
"Some fucked up way of empathizing, turning people into dolls. Though, I suppose there is some macabre beauty to it, if you can ignore the fact that they were living people." He snickered at the thought, turning his gaze to the ceiling.
"He thought I was cursed, you know." He said softly. "My father, he thought I was cursed. Even before they all began to fall into comas. Sometimes I wonder if he thought that even before you came around." Bakura turned. Something about Ryou’s defeatist attitude disturbed him, and he wanted to avoid looking into his former-host’s eyes. “You were cursed,” he said, matter-of-fact, but with a similar softness manifesting in the tone of his voice, “Cursed to bear the Millennium Ring, cursed to act as the Spirit’s - as my - vessel.”
Bakura sighed. “But you’re free from that curse, Ryou. I shouldn’t have come here, I can see that. This… this wasn’t right.”
"Don’t you dare leave me again.”
It took a moment for Ryou to realize that he had said those words - and that his hand now encircled Bakura’s too thin wrist. He pulled his hand away as though he had been burned, crossing his arms and pulling them close to his body. He bit his lip and looked away, angry with himself for exposing his weak side. Bakura couldn’t understand Ryou. He’d complained about how Bakura had ruined his life when he’d inhabited the Millennium Ring, isolated him, destroyed his relationships with his friends and his Father; and then, mere minutes later, near-on demanded that he stay.
He seemed embarrassed at his outburst, but Bakura didn’t think any less of him for it. For starters, it mean that he didn’t have to leave, which would save a great deal of hassle. But another side of him - the one that housed his pride, perhaps - felt satisfied that Ryou needed him as much as he needed Ryou’s shelter and protection.
"Okay."
Ryou looked at Bakura, unsure of what to think. For the longest time, he had been convinced that Bakura knew of his reasoning behind Ryou ever keeping the Ring. The Ring was physical proof of Bakura’s presence - it was a reminder to Ryou that he wasn’t alone, that Bakura was there whether or not he liked it. And in some part of his mind, Ryou had come to rely on Bakura’s presence as… a mental crutch almost. Ryou’s fear of being alone had been presented with an irremovable companion. At Bakura’s death, he’d managed to cope without it. But he realized too late that he had become isolated again, and to his horror, alone.
It occurred to Ryou that perhaps Bakura hadn’t been aware of his inner struggle, and hadn’t picked at his brain as much as Ryou suspected. He felt relieved and irked at the same time. He pushed himself up to stand, planning on hiding away in his room again. Bakura watched Ryou stand, stepping backwards on instinct in case he decided on changing his mind and attacking him again. He seemed to be heading towards his bedroom again, though, and Bakura felt relief wash over him; he could stay.
And, considering what Ryou had said, he didn’t think that he’d have to leave anytime soon. He heard the door close as Ryou entered his room, before sighing and settling himself down on the now-vacated couch.
He ignored the churning feeling in his stomach - eating all that solid food earlier had been a mistake, it seemed - and contented himself for another night of peaceful, undisturbed sleep.
He stood in a room. The walls were blank, an indistinguishable color. The room was empty, save for a box that sat on the floor, its lid covered with dust. Somewhere, someone was singing, the words sweet and hypnotizing.
He began to walk toward the box, his limbs seeming to move on their own. The smooth metal surface gleamed, enticing him to open it, to discover its secrets. His mind felt heavy, muddled by the music that rang through the still air.
Open the box…
He felt fear grip his mind. Something was wrong. Whatever was in that box… he could tell it wanted out. He glanced around the room to see shadows crawl from the corners, twisting to form gross distorted silhouettes. The song became a chant, its words no longer sweet. He tried to run, but his body would not move. The chanting drowned out his thoughts, seeming to invade his mind. He could only watch in horror as his hands reached to lift the lid…
He awoke screaming. Bakura’s sleep had been restless and uncomfortable. Ryou’s body had rarely fallen sick when he’d maintained control (thanks to the powers he’d possessed, which could ward against such things) and he couldn’t remember much of anything of his previous life, save for certain, horrific details. Being sick was truly awful.
He’d writhed around on the sofa, bathed in sweat and suffering in his semi-consciousness for mos of the night; until Ryou’s screaming had woken him.
Disorientated - he’d been dreaming of darkness and misery, and it took him a few seconds to recognise that he wasn’t in hell, surprisingly - he stumbled towards the noise, pausing outside Ryou’s bedroom door hesitantly.
"Are you alright in there?" He hoped that he didn’t sound like he cared too much. He supposed he could blame it on the sickness, if he did.
Ryou’s breathing was harsh and labored, each intake ragged. He swallowed in an attempt to wet his dry throat, hands clenched at the bed sheets white and shaking as he tried to clear his mind. He didn’t hear Bakura’s inquiry from the hall, his ears too filled with the rush of blood and the pounding of his own heartbeat, his eyes wide and unseeing. Strands of thought flurried though his mind. The world seemed to spin around him as he struggled to ground himself, trying to understand why he was this shaken up, trying to remember what is was that scared him this bad in the first place, frustrated that he couldn’t seem to think straight or see straight or breathe…
