Roleplay -- Kaiba and the Costume Unsuited for February / Anyone
Who: A very sulky high priest and a little vampire
Where: Outside in the parking lot, shivering, and the lobby
Seto was already well late to the party by the time he left Bakura's, kohl applied and nerves effectively rattled, with that scrawny, miserable little waste of fur. He'd carefully made a nest for it, tucking it in with some soft suede gloves and his own coat tossed it in the glove compartment, deciding it was better to bring it home, make himself even later, rather than leave it with Marik. As it looked very fragile, the little wretch, and he didn't want to risk further damage bad if he left his property lying around where it could be harmed.
Hadn't occurred to him until he dropped the kitten off with Mokuba, still bundled in his coat and gloves, that a thin cotton skirt period appropriate piece of Egyptian linenware, a few gold bands, a stupid hat period appropriate piece of Egyptian...hat, some odd little slippers, and a light cloak were not exactly the best attire for waiting outside in early February. Which he currently was. Couldn't go inside without a pet to put on the braided leather leash he had coiled around his hand, which meant standing around in the parking lot wishing Isis's stupid tablet had shown him wearing something a bit less suited to Egypt and more to...say, Siberia.
Could admire, however, that the costume was not that bad looking. Still felt vaguely surreal, seeing his face reflected back in the car's mirror not quite his own but still horribly familiar, which made him want to smash the mirror, and he would've, if he could've told whose car it was exactly that he was glancing in the mirror of. Perhaps a good mission would be to find Malik's car. Some hideous pink number, most likely. Couldn't kill the bastard, but the scepter, molded off that museum piece Ishtar had dragged around through Battle City, seemed solid enough to shatter a windshield.
The blade concealed inside -- because Seto did his job thoroughly, though he wasn't about to question how he'd known that there was a blade, much less how the inner mechanism worked -- would certainly get through a tire. Or slice a throat.
But slicing throats just brought him back to Yami, and his eyes, still the same striking blue, the only thing about Seto's appearance that remained entirely unaltered, narrowed to slits. Slicing throats. Vampires. He didn't want to think about vampires. But that was precisely what stayed burned into his mind as he stood, and stared, and crossed his arms over his bare chest and attempted to avoid shivering, and waited.