Chapter 1 - Chapter One
Submitted January 23, 2009 Updated April 22, 2009 Status Complete | Takes place in the middle of Season Five- right after the Grand Prix tournament, and before they go on the memory journey to Egypt. I hope you guys like it! I'm not used to writing fanfictions! X]
Category:
Anime/Manga » Yu-Gi-Oh! series |
Chapter 1 - Chapter One
Chapter 1 - Chapter One
Through narrowed eyes and a fixed glare I read the words: “MUSEUM EXHIBIT CLOSING- ARTIFACTS TO BE RETURNED TO EGYPT.” Ishizu Ishtar, an important figure in the Egyptian government, had removed the ancient, encrypted stones from the Domino museum, to take them back to the tombs of Egypt. She believed that it was time for the stones to retire- that, and I quote, “the Pharaoh will soon go on his journey to regain his memories.” Whatever.
I flipped the page of the newspaper in front of me. The air smelled crisp and fresh. I thought mildly to myself that maybe I should work outside more often. It was a beautiful day in late April; normally on a day like this, I would be stationed in front of a computer or two, sorting financial budgets for the next fiscal month. School was on a week-long break, with today being the first day that students had off.
I looked up for a moment. It was one o’clock in the afternoon; Mokuba was running around with a group of other boys his age; someone had brought a soccer ball, and the boys were playing a friendly game. Mokuba, the smartest (and richest, of course,) of his friends, was somewhat the leader of them; they nearly worshipped him, believed every word that he said, and did everything that he told them to do. Insisting that I needed to enjoy a bout of free time, he had dragged me here, not necessarily to watch him play; more to take just one breath away from my very hectic career.
I lowered my eyes back to the newspaper, and felt something shoot over my head. The wind blew my hair back with it, and I looked up, surprised; apparently, a soccer ball had missed me by mere centimeters.
“Sorry, bro!” I heard a desperate voice yell, and I looked back at the group of kids to see Mokuba waving at me. He was a handsome boy, but currently was covered in dirt; stray blades of grass stuck out of his long black hair in some places. His eyes, dusty purplish-gray, were currently slightly wide. “Are you okay?”
I gave him a silent thumbs-up and went back to my newspaper, and the boys continued playing. I didn’t consider myself a very caring individual; I had no time to be compassionate. Mokuba, my kid brother, was the only person on the planet that I loved; almost five years separated our ages, but he was everything to me, and I was everything to him. Growing up without parents had given us an incredible bond that few other siblings really enjoyed. It was my sworn duty to protect him; his sworn duty was to keep me from overworking, and therefore, killing, myself. Today he was putting this duty into action; I had made the mistake of passing out during yesterday’s dinner because I hadn’t slept in two days, and he realized that I had overworked myself again, so now he was forcing me to do anything but work for the entire week-long break from school. Originally he had wanted me to relax for seven whole days- I was able to convince him down to let me off for six. So, six it was.
The soccer ball bounced near me again; it splashed into a puddle immediately next to the bench that I was sitting on; some of the water hit the bottom of my left pant leg. “Sorry, bro!” he shouted again. I gave him a thumbs-up again; I lifted the ball out of the water and threw it back at them.
I looked down at the puddle and saw my own reflection staring back at me. I considered myself an attractive young man; thick brown hair framed my face; and my eyes had a kind of coldness to them that somehow complimented their striking blue color.
I looked up at the kids. Now Mokuba was involved in a huge wrestling match; the boys were all piled up on top of each other, punching and kicking and fighting. I frowned. Is this what normal twelve-year-olds did? When I was twelve, I was learning four languages at once. …but then again, so was Mokuba.
“Kaiba? Is that you?”
I turned my head and saw Tristan Taylor approaching me. Tristan was one of the idiots who followed Yugi around like imprinted ducklings. He had a kind of tough-guy look to him, with his spiked brown hair and leather jacket. He stood nearly as tall as I did; in one arm he was holding a two-or-three-year-old child.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Tristan,” I responded.
I wasn’t really friends with Yugi or his gang; however, the incredible amount of life-risking adventures we had all been on together at least had given us all a little bit of respect for one another… with the exception of my annoyance towards Joey Wheeler, Tristan’s go-to man; his confidence in his dueling “skills” was infuriating, not knowing his place, in the slightest. Tristan, here, was a lousy duelist, but at least he never tried to make himself look stupid. I didn’t mind him quite so much.
Tristan was looking at me in a way that suggested he was stunned to see me sitting on a park bench. He looked up at the wrestling boys and spotted Mokuba, before chuckling and saying, “I got stuck babysitting my nephew. Stupid brat.”
The squirming boy propped on his hip proceeded to vomit all over Tristan’s shirt. He groaned aloud and growled, “not again…!” as the child giggled, very pleased with what he had accomplished.
I smirked as he said, “bye, Kaiba,” and left to clean himself up. At that time, Mokuba ran up to me, breathless and filthy, but looking happy with himself. “Let’s go,” he said.
The next thing I knew, I was behind the wheel of our expensive red sports car, and he was going on and on, telling me the story of how he had defeated the other boy in a wrestling match; somewhat paying attention because I had bothered to witness the match, I nodded and said “mmhmm,” at regular intervals, so when we pulled up to our driveway, he was thrilled with himself and leapt out of the car and ran into the house. I frowned at the passenger’s seat; he had gotten it all muddy. I stepped out of the car and one of my servants approached me. “Have someone clean this up,” I told him, pointing to the seat, and he nodded and entered the garage.
I closed the car door and walked up the pathway to my house. Mokuba and I lived in a spectacular mansion purchased by my adoptive father; white and castle-like, this was among the biggest houses in the country. And yet, Mokuba and I lived here, alone… well, alongside fifteen butlers and maids, but that was it. And we were perfectly fine with that.
I entered the manor; five of the servants were waiting at the door for me. I removed my coat and shoes and handed them off, before climbing the staircase to my studying room. I looked at the clock; it was almost two o’clock. I had some free time, now; I could manage to get a little bit of work done passing papers for the theme park which was to open in Miami, soon…
I had barely sat down at my computer before the door to my study burst open. Startled, I looked up to see Mokuba, standing in the doorway, dripping wet and wearing only a towel.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, stunned. There was still shampoo in his hair, and he was soaked; it appeared that he had been interrupted in the middle of a bath?
“What are you doing?” he asked me angrily, holding his towel tied at his waist. “You shouldn’t be in here! Don’t you dare break your promise to me!”
I sighed, defeated. He had made me promise that I would do no work for six days. He had only made me agree to this by assuring me that the committee chair-people and head financial officers were taking care of my job, this week- he worried constantly about my health and had finally found the courage to force me to eat and sleep and do things that I just didn’t usually have time for, especially not when I was trying to open ten theme parks.
I stood up out of my chair. “You have to listen to me,” he said, matter-of-factly, brushing dripping water out of his face with the hand that wasn’t holding up his towel. When wet, his hair hung down to his lower back. “I am only one position below you, so all major decisions go by me, too. And I say you have to take a break for six days. This is only your first day. You know you can’t be in here.”
“Yes, yes, alright, you win,” I told him, amazed at how well he knew me; somehow sensing that I would try to sneak some work in. Did he have a hidden camera set up in this room that he could monitor from anywhere? “I’ll go…” I paused. What do people do on their days off?
He read the confusion on my face. “Go read a book or something! Or… watch a movie! Or go to sleep! You never sleep! You always look so tired!”
I did? “Well…” I said, thinking of something. “Will you play a board game with me?”
His mouth fell open and eyes went wide. “Really?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.
“Sure,” I said. “I have backgammon, and a go board, and chess…”
He looked as though I had just offered him a swimming pool full of chocolate pudding, which was his favorite food. “Yes! Of course!” he said.
“Well, go finish your bath,” I laughed. He looked down at himself; had he forgotten that he was… well, naked?
“Oh. Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “I’ll be done in ten minutes. Don’t you dare turn on that computer. I’ll know if you do. I know you.” He pointed his finger at his head, then pointed at mine. “I know you,” he repeated.
He left my doorway and I chuckled, submitting to the fact that I couldn’t cheat my way out of this promise. I went into my bedroom and took my chess board off of a bookshelf; it was dusty, not been used in a long time. I set it on my bed and set the pieces up. It sure had been a while, old chessboard, I thought.
Mokuba came in moments later, fully dressed and hair dry. “Awesome!” he said, when he saw me sitting cross-legged on my bed in front of the chessboard. “You know you’ll beat me, but it’ll still be fun!”
He sat across from me, and we played a few games; I hated to admit it, but it was relaxing to sit back and play a game without worrying about competition. I won every time, but I could tell that he was getting better.
“Seto,” he said, matter-of-factly, after the third game. “Since you obviously don’t know how to enjoy time off, can I make a suggestion?”
“What,” I asked, putting the pieces back into the box and folding up the board.
“Will you get me some ice cream?”
“Ice cream? Have a servant bring it up here,” I responded, sliding the box back onto the bookshelf.
“No,” he responded, hopping off of the bed. “Can we go get some ice cream? Like, go to a parlor?”
I looked over my shoulder at him; he was giving me his widest-eyed stare. Damn, he was cute. I sighed. “I have no idea where any ice cream parlors are…”
“I know where one is. I want you to get some ice cream!”
“Mokuba, I haven’t eaten ice cream in years…”
“Precisely why you need to have some. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be happy, Seto! I’m going to teach you, and the first step is to give yourself a treat once in awhile.”
I frowned. “…alright, get in the car.”
“Nope!” he said happily.
“But I thought you said you wanted ice cream…”
“I sure do. But the parlor is only a block away. We’re walking!”
I didn’t know what to say. “Mokuba, the car is perfectly fine…”
“So is the weather! Come on.”
“You already made me go outside, once…”
“For the first time in weeks! Look at how much tanner than you I am. Come on!”
He ran out of the room. Defeated, I followed him. Ice cream? I was probably lactose-intolerant by now.
I followed him down the sidewalk ; on the way, he would run into other friends of his. I was unaware that he was this popular; his friends would run up and high-five him, and they’d run a few yards, and then he’d turn around to make sure I was still following him. We eventually reached the small parlor; it was almost like a large ice cream stand. I frowned.
Mokuba was at the front counter. “What flavor do you want, Seto?” he asked.
I looked up. Chocolate chip cookie dough? Oreo? Vanilla? I hadn’t eaten this sort of thing in years. What was good?
“Um…” I said, completely at a loss. He frowned at me. “Try the birthday cake flavor,” he said. “It has real icing.”
“Do… do I like icing…?” I asked, confused.
The clerk was frowning at us. Mokuba ordered and handed me a small cone with the funniest-looking food I’d ever seen; it was white ice cream with blue icing and sprinkles littered through it. He looked up at me, expectantly. “Eat it,” he said.
I looked at him hopelessly, before picking up a plastic spoon out of a cup on the counter and stuck it into the pile of ice cream on the cone. Mokuba frowned, a ring of chocolate now around his mouth. “You’re supposed to just lick it, Seto.”
“How about no, Mokuba,” I said, sticking a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. It was overwhelmingly sweet; I cringed.
Mokuba laughed. “Sugary?”
I swallowed hard and thought for a moment. The aftertaste …really tasted like a slice of birthday cake. Maybe it was good.
“It’s… not bad,” I admitted.
We went back to the house, me routinely spooning ice cream into my mouth, liking it more and more, to my own surprise. Once we reached the house, Mokuba said, “I got an idea! Can I have five hundred dollars?”
“Yeah,” I said, finishing the ice cream, preparing to throw the cone in the trash; Mokuba said, “stop!”
I froze. “What?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to eat the cone,” he said.
“But it’s empty,” I said, not quite understanding.
He sighed, exasperated. “The cone is edible, Seto. It’s a waffle cone.”
“What? Really?” I asked, looking at it; it was slightly soggy with ice cream; it didn’t look all that appetizing. I frowned. “You eat it. I don’t want it.” I handed it to him; he frowned, before stuffing it in his mouth whole. I cringed slightly; he chuckled. “What do you want five hundred dollars for?” I asked.
“I got a good idea! You’ll see,” he said excitedly.
“You can get the cash out of my safe,” I said, confusedly. He ran off up the stairs. I wondered briefly what he was going to do… maybe buy a few video games, or something?
At seven o’clock that night, I was startled by fifteen middle-school kids bursting through the front door, shouting for Mokuba; he appeared at the head of the staircase and said, “It’s almost here!”
“What’s almost here,” I asked, setting down the book I had been reading, thoroughly confused.
Mokuba paid no attention to me; he ran into the backyard with his friends. I followed them outside; the sound of a helicopter was on the horizon. “Here it comes!” Mokuba shouted, over the sound of helicopter blades. My mouth fell open as I saw an enormous trampoline attached to the helicopter; slowly, it lowered the trampoline onto our backyard. A few of Mokuba’s friends leapt onto it and detached the ropes from the helicopter. Mokuba gave the pilot a thumbs-up; the helicopter flew off.
All fifteen of the kids climbed onto it; the thing must have been a hundred feet in diameter. They all bounced around for a half hour or so; I sighed. I wasn’t entirely surprised that Mokuba had found yet another new stupid toy. The kids eventually left, winded and tired; Mokuba, now alone on the trampoline, was still bouncing. “Come up here!” he shouted cheerily. He was a few yards away from me; he had to raise his voice slightly to speak to me.
“Uh… no thanks,” I told him, frowning.
“Come on,” he laughed. “It’s fun!”
“I don’t think so, pal,” I shouted back.
He frowned. “Can you think of anything better to do? Come, spend time with your little brother!" He stopped bouncing and just stood still for a moment. “That’s also what this break is about. The only time we ever see each other is when we’re passing papers!”
“I… then let’s go play another game or something, Mokuba…” I stammered.
“Nope! I spent five hundred dollars on this thing, so let’s at least use it for a little while!” he laughed as he bounced onto his behind. “Get up here, Seto!”
“You’re the master of torture,” I howled at him, not moving.
“Get up here, Seto!” he said again.
“No, Mokuba,” I replied.
“I have a good idea, big brother!” he said, quitting bouncing again.
“What’s your good idea,” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Here’s my idea. You should get up here!” he shouted.
“Stop it, Mokuba,” I sighed.
“How about this,” he said, matter-of-factly. “How about you come up here and jump with me.”
“How about I don’t,” I said.
“How about you bring yourself up here,” he said firmly.
“How about I don’t,” I repeated, arms still crossed.
“How about you come up here, Seto,” he persisted, strong.
I kept my arms crossed. “I’m going to walk away,” I said, turning around. “Come find me when you think of something else to do.”
“I dare you to do that,” he said; now, his arms were crossed, too. “Unfortunately for you, I know where you live. Walk away, and tomorrow morning you’ll find a dead frog in your coffee, or dog poop in your underwear drawer, or a road-killed raccoon on your pillow. I dare you to walk away!”
I turned back around; I didn’t doubt at all that he would hire one of his goonies to plant something disgusting on some item of mine. I frowned. “Five minutes,” I said, climbing onto the trampoline. He said, “yes!” and started jumping again; I had hardly hoisted myself onto my feet before I fell; completely unable to stand on this thing.
“Stoppit, Mokuba, what are you doing,” I gasped as he jumped all around me, sending me flying in many undignified ways. He was loving this, laughing as I’ve never heard him laugh before. I felt mortified as he bounced me all over the place; he finally stopped, what felt like ten hours later, chest heaving, out of breath, but very happy. He fell to his behind, sitting next to me; I was lying sprawled on my back, long trench coat tangled around me, hair hopelessly messed up.
“Are you quite done,” I asked him, irritated, looking up at him; he was standing over me.
“Yeah!” he said. “Come on, wasn’t that fun!”
“No,” I said, with a sigh. He laughed and bounced onto his behind again, sending me flying six inches into the air, before I landed on my back, again.”Seto, you don’t have to be so cool. I know you’re a trillionaire. I know you’re awesome. Lighten up some!” He lied down next to me, sprawled onto his back, just like I was doing. I turned my head to look at him.
“You’re killing me, Mokuba,” I sighed.
He got angry. “You’re killing yourself!” he said. “Besides, if you want to have dignity, you might want to do what I’m suggesting, these days. You freaking fainted yesterday. Splat! Right into your salmon. I had to drag your face out of your food and have a servant carry you to your room, with bits of fish all over your face and in your hair. Do you think that entails dignity?”
I frowned. He was right… “That’s really what happened…?” I asked. “I don’t remember much of that night.”
“Yup,” he said. “I had to pick fish chunks off of your face… I felt like I was… like, an orangutan, pulling crap off of you. You just don’t remember because you woke up at like noon today!”
“You win for right now,” I said, shakily standing up, trying desperately to keep my balance. I leapt off of the trampoline and fell three feet to the ground. I straightened up and looked at him, crossing my arms again. He leapt off of the trampoline, landing next to me with impressive agility. “Good!” he said, anger gone. He smiled up at me and wiped his forehead; jumping around had worn him out. His smile lingered momentarily; then he said, “I’m starving. We haven’t eaten since before we went to the park. Are you hungry?”
I frowned. I was completely unused to eating at scheduled intervals. “Yes, I suppose,” I said.
I flipped the page of the newspaper in front of me. The air smelled crisp and fresh. I thought mildly to myself that maybe I should work outside more often. It was a beautiful day in late April; normally on a day like this, I would be stationed in front of a computer or two, sorting financial budgets for the next fiscal month. School was on a week-long break, with today being the first day that students had off.
I looked up for a moment. It was one o’clock in the afternoon; Mokuba was running around with a group of other boys his age; someone had brought a soccer ball, and the boys were playing a friendly game. Mokuba, the smartest (and richest, of course,) of his friends, was somewhat the leader of them; they nearly worshipped him, believed every word that he said, and did everything that he told them to do. Insisting that I needed to enjoy a bout of free time, he had dragged me here, not necessarily to watch him play; more to take just one breath away from my very hectic career.
I lowered my eyes back to the newspaper, and felt something shoot over my head. The wind blew my hair back with it, and I looked up, surprised; apparently, a soccer ball had missed me by mere centimeters.
“Sorry, bro!” I heard a desperate voice yell, and I looked back at the group of kids to see Mokuba waving at me. He was a handsome boy, but currently was covered in dirt; stray blades of grass stuck out of his long black hair in some places. His eyes, dusty purplish-gray, were currently slightly wide. “Are you okay?”
I gave him a silent thumbs-up and went back to my newspaper, and the boys continued playing. I didn’t consider myself a very caring individual; I had no time to be compassionate. Mokuba, my kid brother, was the only person on the planet that I loved; almost five years separated our ages, but he was everything to me, and I was everything to him. Growing up without parents had given us an incredible bond that few other siblings really enjoyed. It was my sworn duty to protect him; his sworn duty was to keep me from overworking, and therefore, killing, myself. Today he was putting this duty into action; I had made the mistake of passing out during yesterday’s dinner because I hadn’t slept in two days, and he realized that I had overworked myself again, so now he was forcing me to do anything but work for the entire week-long break from school. Originally he had wanted me to relax for seven whole days- I was able to convince him down to let me off for six. So, six it was.
The soccer ball bounced near me again; it splashed into a puddle immediately next to the bench that I was sitting on; some of the water hit the bottom of my left pant leg. “Sorry, bro!” he shouted again. I gave him a thumbs-up again; I lifted the ball out of the water and threw it back at them.
I looked down at the puddle and saw my own reflection staring back at me. I considered myself an attractive young man; thick brown hair framed my face; and my eyes had a kind of coldness to them that somehow complimented their striking blue color.
I looked up at the kids. Now Mokuba was involved in a huge wrestling match; the boys were all piled up on top of each other, punching and kicking and fighting. I frowned. Is this what normal twelve-year-olds did? When I was twelve, I was learning four languages at once. …but then again, so was Mokuba.
“Kaiba? Is that you?”
I turned my head and saw Tristan Taylor approaching me. Tristan was one of the idiots who followed Yugi around like imprinted ducklings. He had a kind of tough-guy look to him, with his spiked brown hair and leather jacket. He stood nearly as tall as I did; in one arm he was holding a two-or-three-year-old child.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Tristan,” I responded.
I wasn’t really friends with Yugi or his gang; however, the incredible amount of life-risking adventures we had all been on together at least had given us all a little bit of respect for one another… with the exception of my annoyance towards Joey Wheeler, Tristan’s go-to man; his confidence in his dueling “skills” was infuriating, not knowing his place, in the slightest. Tristan, here, was a lousy duelist, but at least he never tried to make himself look stupid. I didn’t mind him quite so much.
Tristan was looking at me in a way that suggested he was stunned to see me sitting on a park bench. He looked up at the wrestling boys and spotted Mokuba, before chuckling and saying, “I got stuck babysitting my nephew. Stupid brat.”
The squirming boy propped on his hip proceeded to vomit all over Tristan’s shirt. He groaned aloud and growled, “not again…!” as the child giggled, very pleased with what he had accomplished.
I smirked as he said, “bye, Kaiba,” and left to clean himself up. At that time, Mokuba ran up to me, breathless and filthy, but looking happy with himself. “Let’s go,” he said.
The next thing I knew, I was behind the wheel of our expensive red sports car, and he was going on and on, telling me the story of how he had defeated the other boy in a wrestling match; somewhat paying attention because I had bothered to witness the match, I nodded and said “mmhmm,” at regular intervals, so when we pulled up to our driveway, he was thrilled with himself and leapt out of the car and ran into the house. I frowned at the passenger’s seat; he had gotten it all muddy. I stepped out of the car and one of my servants approached me. “Have someone clean this up,” I told him, pointing to the seat, and he nodded and entered the garage.
I closed the car door and walked up the pathway to my house. Mokuba and I lived in a spectacular mansion purchased by my adoptive father; white and castle-like, this was among the biggest houses in the country. And yet, Mokuba and I lived here, alone… well, alongside fifteen butlers and maids, but that was it. And we were perfectly fine with that.
I entered the manor; five of the servants were waiting at the door for me. I removed my coat and shoes and handed them off, before climbing the staircase to my studying room. I looked at the clock; it was almost two o’clock. I had some free time, now; I could manage to get a little bit of work done passing papers for the theme park which was to open in Miami, soon…
I had barely sat down at my computer before the door to my study burst open. Startled, I looked up to see Mokuba, standing in the doorway, dripping wet and wearing only a towel.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, stunned. There was still shampoo in his hair, and he was soaked; it appeared that he had been interrupted in the middle of a bath?
“What are you doing?” he asked me angrily, holding his towel tied at his waist. “You shouldn’t be in here! Don’t you dare break your promise to me!”
I sighed, defeated. He had made me promise that I would do no work for six days. He had only made me agree to this by assuring me that the committee chair-people and head financial officers were taking care of my job, this week- he worried constantly about my health and had finally found the courage to force me to eat and sleep and do things that I just didn’t usually have time for, especially not when I was trying to open ten theme parks.
I stood up out of my chair. “You have to listen to me,” he said, matter-of-factly, brushing dripping water out of his face with the hand that wasn’t holding up his towel. When wet, his hair hung down to his lower back. “I am only one position below you, so all major decisions go by me, too. And I say you have to take a break for six days. This is only your first day. You know you can’t be in here.”
“Yes, yes, alright, you win,” I told him, amazed at how well he knew me; somehow sensing that I would try to sneak some work in. Did he have a hidden camera set up in this room that he could monitor from anywhere? “I’ll go…” I paused. What do people do on their days off?
He read the confusion on my face. “Go read a book or something! Or… watch a movie! Or go to sleep! You never sleep! You always look so tired!”
I did? “Well…” I said, thinking of something. “Will you play a board game with me?”
His mouth fell open and eyes went wide. “Really?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.
“Sure,” I said. “I have backgammon, and a go board, and chess…”
He looked as though I had just offered him a swimming pool full of chocolate pudding, which was his favorite food. “Yes! Of course!” he said.
“Well, go finish your bath,” I laughed. He looked down at himself; had he forgotten that he was… well, naked?
“Oh. Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “I’ll be done in ten minutes. Don’t you dare turn on that computer. I’ll know if you do. I know you.” He pointed his finger at his head, then pointed at mine. “I know you,” he repeated.
He left my doorway and I chuckled, submitting to the fact that I couldn’t cheat my way out of this promise. I went into my bedroom and took my chess board off of a bookshelf; it was dusty, not been used in a long time. I set it on my bed and set the pieces up. It sure had been a while, old chessboard, I thought.
Mokuba came in moments later, fully dressed and hair dry. “Awesome!” he said, when he saw me sitting cross-legged on my bed in front of the chessboard. “You know you’ll beat me, but it’ll still be fun!”
He sat across from me, and we played a few games; I hated to admit it, but it was relaxing to sit back and play a game without worrying about competition. I won every time, but I could tell that he was getting better.
“Seto,” he said, matter-of-factly, after the third game. “Since you obviously don’t know how to enjoy time off, can I make a suggestion?”
“What,” I asked, putting the pieces back into the box and folding up the board.
“Will you get me some ice cream?”
“Ice cream? Have a servant bring it up here,” I responded, sliding the box back onto the bookshelf.
“No,” he responded, hopping off of the bed. “Can we go get some ice cream? Like, go to a parlor?”
I looked over my shoulder at him; he was giving me his widest-eyed stare. Damn, he was cute. I sighed. “I have no idea where any ice cream parlors are…”
“I know where one is. I want you to get some ice cream!”
“Mokuba, I haven’t eaten ice cream in years…”
“Precisely why you need to have some. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be happy, Seto! I’m going to teach you, and the first step is to give yourself a treat once in awhile.”
I frowned. “…alright, get in the car.”
“Nope!” he said happily.
“But I thought you said you wanted ice cream…”
“I sure do. But the parlor is only a block away. We’re walking!”
I didn’t know what to say. “Mokuba, the car is perfectly fine…”
“So is the weather! Come on.”
“You already made me go outside, once…”
“For the first time in weeks! Look at how much tanner than you I am. Come on!”
He ran out of the room. Defeated, I followed him. Ice cream? I was probably lactose-intolerant by now.
I followed him down the sidewalk ; on the way, he would run into other friends of his. I was unaware that he was this popular; his friends would run up and high-five him, and they’d run a few yards, and then he’d turn around to make sure I was still following him. We eventually reached the small parlor; it was almost like a large ice cream stand. I frowned.
Mokuba was at the front counter. “What flavor do you want, Seto?” he asked.
I looked up. Chocolate chip cookie dough? Oreo? Vanilla? I hadn’t eaten this sort of thing in years. What was good?
“Um…” I said, completely at a loss. He frowned at me. “Try the birthday cake flavor,” he said. “It has real icing.”
“Do… do I like icing…?” I asked, confused.
The clerk was frowning at us. Mokuba ordered and handed me a small cone with the funniest-looking food I’d ever seen; it was white ice cream with blue icing and sprinkles littered through it. He looked up at me, expectantly. “Eat it,” he said.
I looked at him hopelessly, before picking up a plastic spoon out of a cup on the counter and stuck it into the pile of ice cream on the cone. Mokuba frowned, a ring of chocolate now around his mouth. “You’re supposed to just lick it, Seto.”
“How about no, Mokuba,” I said, sticking a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. It was overwhelmingly sweet; I cringed.
Mokuba laughed. “Sugary?”
I swallowed hard and thought for a moment. The aftertaste …really tasted like a slice of birthday cake. Maybe it was good.
“It’s… not bad,” I admitted.
We went back to the house, me routinely spooning ice cream into my mouth, liking it more and more, to my own surprise. Once we reached the house, Mokuba said, “I got an idea! Can I have five hundred dollars?”
“Yeah,” I said, finishing the ice cream, preparing to throw the cone in the trash; Mokuba said, “stop!”
I froze. “What?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to eat the cone,” he said.
“But it’s empty,” I said, not quite understanding.
He sighed, exasperated. “The cone is edible, Seto. It’s a waffle cone.”
“What? Really?” I asked, looking at it; it was slightly soggy with ice cream; it didn’t look all that appetizing. I frowned. “You eat it. I don’t want it.” I handed it to him; he frowned, before stuffing it in his mouth whole. I cringed slightly; he chuckled. “What do you want five hundred dollars for?” I asked.
“I got a good idea! You’ll see,” he said excitedly.
“You can get the cash out of my safe,” I said, confusedly. He ran off up the stairs. I wondered briefly what he was going to do… maybe buy a few video games, or something?
At seven o’clock that night, I was startled by fifteen middle-school kids bursting through the front door, shouting for Mokuba; he appeared at the head of the staircase and said, “It’s almost here!”
“What’s almost here,” I asked, setting down the book I had been reading, thoroughly confused.
Mokuba paid no attention to me; he ran into the backyard with his friends. I followed them outside; the sound of a helicopter was on the horizon. “Here it comes!” Mokuba shouted, over the sound of helicopter blades. My mouth fell open as I saw an enormous trampoline attached to the helicopter; slowly, it lowered the trampoline onto our backyard. A few of Mokuba’s friends leapt onto it and detached the ropes from the helicopter. Mokuba gave the pilot a thumbs-up; the helicopter flew off.
All fifteen of the kids climbed onto it; the thing must have been a hundred feet in diameter. They all bounced around for a half hour or so; I sighed. I wasn’t entirely surprised that Mokuba had found yet another new stupid toy. The kids eventually left, winded and tired; Mokuba, now alone on the trampoline, was still bouncing. “Come up here!” he shouted cheerily. He was a few yards away from me; he had to raise his voice slightly to speak to me.
“Uh… no thanks,” I told him, frowning.
“Come on,” he laughed. “It’s fun!”
“I don’t think so, pal,” I shouted back.
He frowned. “Can you think of anything better to do? Come, spend time with your little brother!" He stopped bouncing and just stood still for a moment. “That’s also what this break is about. The only time we ever see each other is when we’re passing papers!”
“I… then let’s go play another game or something, Mokuba…” I stammered.
“Nope! I spent five hundred dollars on this thing, so let’s at least use it for a little while!” he laughed as he bounced onto his behind. “Get up here, Seto!”
“You’re the master of torture,” I howled at him, not moving.
“Get up here, Seto!” he said again.
“No, Mokuba,” I replied.
“I have a good idea, big brother!” he said, quitting bouncing again.
“What’s your good idea,” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Here’s my idea. You should get up here!” he shouted.
“Stop it, Mokuba,” I sighed.
“How about this,” he said, matter-of-factly. “How about you come up here and jump with me.”
“How about I don’t,” I said.
“How about you bring yourself up here,” he said firmly.
“How about I don’t,” I repeated, arms still crossed.
“How about you come up here, Seto,” he persisted, strong.
I kept my arms crossed. “I’m going to walk away,” I said, turning around. “Come find me when you think of something else to do.”
“I dare you to do that,” he said; now, his arms were crossed, too. “Unfortunately for you, I know where you live. Walk away, and tomorrow morning you’ll find a dead frog in your coffee, or dog poop in your underwear drawer, or a road-killed raccoon on your pillow. I dare you to walk away!”
I turned back around; I didn’t doubt at all that he would hire one of his goonies to plant something disgusting on some item of mine. I frowned. “Five minutes,” I said, climbing onto the trampoline. He said, “yes!” and started jumping again; I had hardly hoisted myself onto my feet before I fell; completely unable to stand on this thing.
“Stoppit, Mokuba, what are you doing,” I gasped as he jumped all around me, sending me flying in many undignified ways. He was loving this, laughing as I’ve never heard him laugh before. I felt mortified as he bounced me all over the place; he finally stopped, what felt like ten hours later, chest heaving, out of breath, but very happy. He fell to his behind, sitting next to me; I was lying sprawled on my back, long trench coat tangled around me, hair hopelessly messed up.
“Are you quite done,” I asked him, irritated, looking up at him; he was standing over me.
“Yeah!” he said. “Come on, wasn’t that fun!”
“No,” I said, with a sigh. He laughed and bounced onto his behind again, sending me flying six inches into the air, before I landed on my back, again.”Seto, you don’t have to be so cool. I know you’re a trillionaire. I know you’re awesome. Lighten up some!” He lied down next to me, sprawled onto his back, just like I was doing. I turned my head to look at him.
“You’re killing me, Mokuba,” I sighed.
He got angry. “You’re killing yourself!” he said. “Besides, if you want to have dignity, you might want to do what I’m suggesting, these days. You freaking fainted yesterday. Splat! Right into your salmon. I had to drag your face out of your food and have a servant carry you to your room, with bits of fish all over your face and in your hair. Do you think that entails dignity?”
I frowned. He was right… “That’s really what happened…?” I asked. “I don’t remember much of that night.”
“Yup,” he said. “I had to pick fish chunks off of your face… I felt like I was… like, an orangutan, pulling crap off of you. You just don’t remember because you woke up at like noon today!”
“You win for right now,” I said, shakily standing up, trying desperately to keep my balance. I leapt off of the trampoline and fell three feet to the ground. I straightened up and looked at him, crossing my arms again. He leapt off of the trampoline, landing next to me with impressive agility. “Good!” he said, anger gone. He smiled up at me and wiped his forehead; jumping around had worn him out. His smile lingered momentarily; then he said, “I’m starving. We haven’t eaten since before we went to the park. Are you hungry?”
I frowned. I was completely unused to eating at scheduled intervals. “Yes, I suppose,” I said.
Comments
You are not authorized to comment here. Your must be registered and logged in to comment
StrawChan on February 16, 2009, 11:41:59 AM
StrawChan on
wow...
That was REALLY well written.
Srsly.
Not many people write fan-fictions well and this is certainly the best one I've ever seen.
Kudos to you sir or madam.