Yami no Bakura (akefia_dono) wrote in ygo_sanctuary,
Yami no Bakura

What's this? Why, it's an RP!

Summary: After demanding that Marik meet him at his hotel room, Bakura proceeds to make an idiot out of himself and confuse Marik. Some things are revealed, such as Bakura's thinking pattern and really? No problems are solved. ^_^
Rating: I'd probably say "M", due to the amount of cursing. I dunno, because I've never seen a PG13 film with this language.
Characters: Yami no Malik and Yami no Bakura.

Bakura tapped his fingers on the desk idly, watching the blood drip off his finger and onto the small dish he had taken for his experiments. Marik was supposed to be coming by later the thief had not been counting down the minutes to noon, not at all, but until then,
Bakura was left to his finding out what his body was made of.

A slightly frustrated sigh escaped his lips as his feet began to tap along with his fingers. Where the Hell was he? With a growl, the pale-haired yami pushed himself away from the desk (immediately hitting his head afterwards as he realised he had almost let the dish slip)
and went to find something to wrap his still-bleeding "wound" with.

He frowned when he saw that, yet again, the cut wasn't healing as fast as it used to. One reason why he wanted to physically injure Marik. It took at least three thousand years to get the Shadows to co-operate with him. They worked together better after that, but when Marik took his Ring and actually used it, the Shadows became ever-so-slightly annoying. He now had numerous cuts and scars to prove that theory, and Gods how he wanted to kick Marik's ass.

Another reason was Kisara. That bloody bitch was taking Marik's attention, however little of it there may be. Bakura flopped down onto the hotel's bed and tried not to rip the pillows apart, seething at the thought of the dead woman.

Well, he'd get Marik's attention back soon enough.

After leaving Kisara with the Pharaoh’s midget hikari, Marik headed to the hotel that Bakura was currently residing. Eyes narrowing a bit in contemplation of why the hell he was even bothering to take the time to visit the elder spirit, Bakura was an attention whore.

Now that he thought of it, Marik hadn’t paid much, if any, attention to the albino since he resurrected Kisara about a month ago. Not intentionally but it was the main reason why Bakura left his own apartment. Why he did that, Marik didn’t have the slightest clue. Bakura confused him too much.

Marik reached the hotel room, after getting lost for about 10 minutes first, and knocked on the wooden door. It would be interesting what Bakura has been occupying himself with for the last few weeks and Marik couldn’t help but be curious.

Bakura jumped when the door was knocked on, cursing when the knife he was using slipped and almost cut off his thumb. He looked out of the window and then jumped up from the bed (why he was using the bed for his experiment, he didn't know. Possibly because he was feeling lazy and the desk was annoying him) to answer the door. He cursed again when he tripped over the desk-chair, landing on the floor with a 'thump'.

"Oh for fuck's sake, the door's unlocked!" He yelled, glaring at the chair in defeat anger.

Trying not to wince at the crashing sounds at the other side of the door, Marik opened it only to find Bakura sprawled on the floor, chair knocked over by his feet. What the hell has he been doing? Where did his ‘superior’ thief’s coordination skills disappear to?

Marik scanned Bakura’s arms, scars and dried blood drawing cracked lines across his pale skin and there was little drops of blood staining the bed sheets and a bit of his clothes.

Marik shook his head a bit at the sight. So that’s what he was doing. He went emo and started cutting himself.

Kicking the chair off his legs, Bakura used his arms to push himself up.
"You can come inside, you know." He said to Marik, flicking a bit of dry blood off his hand. He frowned when the tiny, absolutely itsy-bitsy cut began to bleed like no tomorrow.
"Gimme a second." He muttered, turning and walking into the bathroom. He opened the cupboard under the sink and began shifting things around, looking for a small bandage.
"When I come out, you had better be ready to explain a shit-load of things to me!" He yelled to the younger yami, eyes narrowing when he found no small bandages.
"Fucking stupid hotel with their fucking stupid medicinal supplies and their fucking stupid questions." He grumbled, standing up to look in the mirror. Finally deciding that he'd rather ruin an already bloody shirt than bleed to death, he tore off a bit of the sleeve (that he wasn't
really using anyway) and wrapped it around his hand.
"...And your explanations had better be damn good!"

Raising his eyebrow slightly, Marik watched the other spirit make… a total ass of himself.
He had to explain things to Bakura? Shouldn’t it be the opposite way around?
Marik yawned a bit and sat down on the nearby chair waiting for Bakura to return, he wasn’t the only person who needed to ask questions.
For example, Why the fuck was he looking for a bandage when he could heal the wound himself? As far as Marik knew, He wasn’t mortal.

Bakura exited the bathroom, only to throw himself on the bed again. He looked up at Marik with an eyebrow raised, his temper very near boiling point.
"Well? I haven't got all day, you know. Things to see, people to do, cities to burn."

“You just said you wanted things explained to you,” Marik finally spoke up for the first time since he arrived, “You never made it specific of what needs to be explained.”

"...I'm going to hit you very soon." Bakura muttered, grabbing a pillow and covering his face with it. This was so very annoying.
"I want you to explain why you brought the bi- Kisara back, why you've been spending so much damn time with her and why she's still around."

Unable to resist the urge to make fun of the pale spirit, Marik smirked at him and commented, “You sound jealous, Bakura.”

The question itself was easy enough to answer. “Why I brought her back was because I got bored and to piss off the pharaoh. I’ve been spending time with her so I can show her how things work and she doesn’t blow up anything else. Why she’s still around is because I want her to stay.”

Oh, yes. That was it. Kisara was going to die and Bakura would bathe in her blood after washing the apartment clean with it. She would wither and squirm and beg and he would kill her for taking his partner because no-one steals from the Thief King and that brought him back to why he had gotten pissed off at Marik in the first place, because Marik stole his Ring and he fucking used it and now he had Shadows arguing with him and if he was mistaken for a whore on the streets one more fucking time there wouldn't be any of Kisara's blood left to bathe in, because it would be splattered along the streets of Domino along with everyone else's because fuck it all.

Bakura took a deep breath and reminded himself that the Hotel wouldn't be very happy with him if they had to hide a body.
"Why do you want her to stay?"

Blinking slightly, Marik slightly thought about what Bakura asked. He wasn’t sure of the answer himself…he just wanted her to stay around
...and for reasons that didn't involve sex.
Marik looked at him before shrugging and stating, in a simple tone, “No fucking clue.”

"...That's really fucking great." Bakura commented, taking the pillow and throwing it at Marik.
"No, really, that's just fucking great." He stood, moved to the desk and clenched the chair near it in his bandaged fist.
"Fucking splendid."

Growling slightly at the pillow thrown at his head, Marik shoved it aside and got off the chair before walking over to where Bakura was. “You asked, I answered. So why the hell are you being more of a bitch than usual?”

Bakura laughed dryly, narrowing his eyes to glare at the carpet.
"Because, Marik. Maybe I'm secretly a woman in disguise and I'm PMSing. Maybe I'm a little boy who ran away from home. Maybe I'm a computer, programmed to do other's bidding. Who knows? I could even
be a tiny piece of lint." He tilted his head, blinking at his own words before frowning. Looking around for his notepad-- which was currently in his pant's pocket-- and his pen, Bakura wrote down
"Delusional - Not making sense - Hungry - Anger (Rational and Irrational) - Frustration". Tapping the pen against the paper he tried to figure out what else he was feeling.
"Right. 'Confused', 'Annoyed'..." He trailed off, muttering to himself. Later, he'd have to check to see if those "symptoms" were the same as any normal person's blood loss. But now, he had to focus on why he had Marik here.
"...And I hate you, which is why I'm being a bitch."

First part of that sentence seemed possible but, after that Marik gave up paying attention to the white haired spirit’s ranting and the fact that he was writing things down on a notepad for no reason whatsoever just made things more boring. The last bit he caught but he just yawned a bit, emphasizing his boredom, before replying, “And you think I didn’t already know that? Yet, from the sound of it, you hate Kisara more than you hate me.”

Bakura stiffened, processing that information. It was true that he hated Kisara more, yes, and the reasons were quite resonable, but why was Marik bringing that up? Last he checked, he was bitching about Marik. Unless Marik had actually remembered something-- it was possible,
however unlikely-- and that was why.
"Of course I hate her more than I hate you." Bakura finally said, after realising he hadn't given a response.
"I hate you because I hate her, and I hate her because I hate you."

“You still never said specifically why” Marik said, after the very delayed response from Bakura, “It’s easy enough to guess but, if you’re going to whine and complain about hating her very presence, don’t take it out on me.”

"So, then what's your guess as to why I hate her?" The thief asked, untying the bandage around his hand and tearing off a new piece of his sleeve to wrap it in.
"If you get it wrong, I get to kill her. Deal?"

“Fine, just don’t lie if I do get it right.” Marik thought for a second, trying to get the right words, “You are a thief, it’s all a matter of possessions. You think she’s treading into a
territory you have deemed as your own yet, you have done nothing to protect whatever possessions you have and instead came here to sulk.” Marik only thought this was just about the apartment, he had no idea this extended further then that but, that’s the brilliance of dramatic irony.

Bakura raised his eyebrow, knowing just how dense Marik could be.
"And which possession in particular am I 'sulking' about?"

Marik shrugged at the thief, “Wild guess. I’ve been around you enough to make an obvious prediction.” He had to admit, he was likely wrong. But, he had nothing to lose, he could revive Kisara easily but, Bakura was confusing him too much and he wanted a straight answer from him.

A low growl escaped Bakura's throat as he decided that that was enough to warrant Kisara's death.
"Out." He commanded, slamming his (good) fist on the desk and breathing out harshly through his nose. He would not let Kisara steal one of his possessions. Best way to claim
something was to get rid of the owner, and that's exactly what Bakura had in mind.

"Out!" Bakura snapped, turning to face Marik.
"Get out of this fucking room before I make you get out. But that's probably what you want, isn't it? I don't care anymore. Get the fuck out!"

Marik smirked and decided to play with how long it would take to get Bakura riled up and completely lose it, “Bakura, I’m hurt. Would you really want to kick me out? After I took the time to come here to see you."

Not long, it seemed.

Bakura's temper was boiling now, his fists clenched. Knowing that Marik wasn't going to listen to him, he walked to the bed and lifted one side of the matress up, flipping it over and causing it to land on the other side. Marik hopefully still under it.

Moving a bit, Marik put his feet on the ground and side stepped from the seriously pathetic attempt at getting him to leave. “Temper, ‘Kura,” he mocked, “Someone’s going to get hurt at this rate.”
This wasn’t about Kisara anymore, it was just Bakura trying to vent out his anger and Marik was more then willing to make this little game more interesting.

Why the fuck was he still here? That stupid idiot. Bakura was just about ready to beat his head against a wall in frustration. Beyond all rational thought, the pale-haired yami lunged at Marik, attempting to land a punch but not getting very far, on account of that fucking matress.

Watching as Bakura make a fool of himself, even more then he did before, Marik sighed and commented,
“And you used to be a thief? Perhaps the blood loss is getting to you. Maybe if I just not move, you might be able to hit me without stumbling on your own two feet.” Just aslong as the ring doesn't come into play, Marik didn't have anything to worry about.

He still was a thief. Just because he was a bumbling fool in here didn't mean that--

Oh, all right. He hadn't stolen anything in about a week due to this. But that's beside the point. Marik had used past tense to describe Bakura's "work". He was still the best thief
around and he was not going to remember how Marik and Kisara both stole something from him, because that was now buried next to a few other things.

"Once a thief, always a thief." He muttered into the matress, which he had landed face-first on.
"Look. If you're not going to leave me the fuck alone and go back to your whore, then you're going to bandage my back." There. Gods know how much Marik hated helping with things, so this should get him to leave.


…What the fuck? His whore. Marik couldn’t help to react to that before his mouth twitched a bit. That does explain a lot but, Ra, how Bakura got that idea in the first place was beyond his comprehension.

Although the second part of what he said he wasn’t very fond of that idea but, if it will clear some things up, he was willing to stay. “Where’s the bandages?”

Yep. Bakura was definitely in a different universe now. Marik was willingly assiting someone.

If he had been anyone else, Bakura would have fainted in shock. As it was, Bakura wasn't anyone else and so he remained concious, but the shock thing still stayed.

"...How would I know? I've been using my shirts."

After getting very amused by Bakura's expression, Marik rolled his eyes at this and headed for the nearby bathroom to search for something remotely similar to bandages.

...wait...how the fuck did Bakura get cuts on his back in the first place?

After a few seconds minutes of doing absolutely nothing, Bakura decided to recite the Arabian alphabet backwards.

Marik grabbed a roll of, what he presumed to be, linen bandages and walked back to where Bakura was. Hearing the alphabet being spoken both in Arabic and backwards Marik decided to throw the
bandages at Bakura, effectively hitting him in the head with them.

Bakura stopped halfway through, the bandages having effectively shut him up. Using his arms to push himself so that he was sitting on his legs, he unbuttoned his shirt and folded it, putting it next to him and then laying back down.
"Hurry the fuck up so I can get you out of here." He muttered, burying his face in the matress again.

“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” Marik shrugged at Bakura’s tone before seeing his back. The scars weren’t as neatly done as the ones on his arms but, the biggest thing that stood out was that they weren’t healed. They were healing at a rate similar to mortal wounds, possibly slower. They looked a few days old and yet there was still fresh blood seeping through where it had partially dried. “It would be easier if I just healed them right now.” Marik commented, it would
save them both the time.

Bakura only gave a three-word reply. The three words? "Go for it."

Marik shrugged at his simple response and requested the shadow’s assistance for this. He, unlike Pharaoh or Bakura, wasn’t able to command for their help, simple ask for it. but that was
going to change.
He ghosted his fingers over the thin scar lines and watched as they healed, one by one, until it looked like the skin was never marred in the first place. This would probably be a good time to ask about now. “Small question: Since when was Kisara
considered my whore when that job is reserved specifically for you?”

"You can piss off now." Bakura replied conversationally, not wanting to get into that particular explanation. And the fact that Marik said that that job was reserved for him didn't make his heart skip a beat. Not at all. Really.

Casually, Marik dismissed the shadow’s help, he should give them a soul to feed on later as thanks, before turning back to the pale thief. That wasn’t a very good answer but, it was Bakura, he was always vague…so onto other questions;

“How the fuck did you manage to cut your back?”

Living up to his reputation and getting annoyed again by the questions, Bakura responded with; "I didn't."

Marik shrugged a bit and rested himself on the mattress. He was tired, he didn’t want to move and, maybe Bakura won’t care if he decides he didn’t want to leave and just sleep here instead. But, perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

Irritation was flowing through Bakura's body. The thief tried to get a hold of it, but, well, have you ever tried not beating the crap out of the source of your anger/frustration/emo-ness?

Not wanting to get up, Bakura merely drew the leg that was closest to Marik's resting position and kicked it out again.
"Get off my bloody bed and out of my room."

“By making me leave, I’ll have no choice to go back to the apartment. And Kisara. Best I stay here, don’t you agree?” Marik said as casually as he could, not moving from his spot even with the foot kicking at his back. He pretty much figured out that Kisara was the reason for most of the thief’s frustration, Marik could easily use that to his advantage if he had to.

Bakura's body twitched at the mention of Kisara, his already near-suface emotions one part of his mind slapped him for being so emo bubbling over.
"I don't give a flying fuck." He mumbled into the pillow, more for his own benefit and because the hotel manager didn't like him destroying the furniture than Marik's. Releasing a breath it was not a sigh, thank you into the soft pillow, he lifted his head to glare at Marik.
"See this? This is me not caring. Go home to your little toy and leave me the fuck alone."

“Kisara is not my toy.” Damn Bakura and his stubborn ideas, he said that how many times today? Marik sat up and just stared at the little glare he was receiving, not bothering returning a glare of his own to the thief.

How thick was Marik? Did he not understand simple Japanese? The temptation to take a gun and shoot himself was getting oddly high for Bakura's liking, so he decided that if Marik wouldn't leave willingly, he'd pick him up and throw him out of the window.
"You can either exit through the door willingly, or through the window by force."

Shrugging at the threat, Marik laid back down onto the bed, “I’ll go willingly….just not at the moment.”

Sick and tired of the conversation that was going around in circles, Bakura rolled over and ontop of Marik, reaching underneath the bed to get the Ring. He pulled it up by its leather cord, trying
very hard to ignore the way the Shadows hissed at him, and dangled it in front of Marik's face.
"One last chance to get out of here before I trap you in a lamp." He hissed, very much pissed off.

The threat itself didn’t affect him, it was just seeing the Ra damn Ring that made Marik freeze, although he tried not to show that he was…worried.

There was no way in hell he was running scared now, if he was going to leave, he would at least keep his dignity. He smirked a bit before shoving Bakura off him and got up. “Cut it out with the
threats, it’s annoying to keep listening to you bitch all the time.”

A nice mental image of Marik screaming in pain as flames licked his skin flashed before Bakura's eyes, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hear his ex-fuck buddy's vocal cords excersising themselves in such a manner. Instead, the blood loss decided to make a comeback and
Bakura found the room spinning, blurring slightly at the edges. He'd have to write that down later.
"Piss off and you won't have to hear me bitch." He said, his words slurring slightly.

Noticing this, Marik figured he should make it quick before Bakura collapses from the blood loss.
“Fine, I’ll go now.” He stated and walked over to the shaky albino. Lifting Bakura’s chin to meet his gaze, Marik gave him a quick, chaste kiss in an almost loving manner he would be damned if he admitted that to himself but, fuck, that was not the point.

Bakura wanted to submit, he wanted to kiss back, but he wouldn't. He would not be second best to some dead woman. With a growl, he pushed Marik's chest with his arms and turned his head to the side, small pants escaping his mouth, even though he was trying his hardest to breath slow and deep. His eyes were closed, and he would not open them because he couldn't look at Marik. He wouldn't. the room would spin again and make him sick.
"Piss off."

Marik sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, and finally took his leave from the small hotel room. He would try again another time, after he could teach Kisara enough for her to manage on own. Right now he needed to change something, he wouldn’t let himself always cower at the sight of the two remaining Sennen Items. He refused to be weak.

He could always wait for Bakura.
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