(no subject)
Title: Antarctica Eyes (Best Served Cold chapter 2)
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh
Characters: Alister/Seto Kaiba
Theme: #19 Old Photos
Leitmotiff: Driving
Warnings/Ratings: Watch for falling swear words.
Synopsis: "Everything Alister did was an art, and like the arts, one was never entirely satisfied with their handiwork, which left plenty of room for improvement."
Author’s Notes: Whew. About time. This turned out differently than what was originally planned(Alister was supposed to be behind the wheel of a car this chapter and I didn’t even consider Valon as someone to pair with Alister), but it happens with fics, especially ones that take a long time to update. I honestly do believe that my interpretation of Alister does deviate from how others see him(you’ll see how shortly), but I consider him in character. If others don’t, well too bad. I just see Alister as the ‘antithesis’ of Seto Kaiba, but still one half of the same coin. Anyway, beware of falling swear words and enjoy!
It's been said that revenge is a dish best served cold. Alister called bullshit. For him, revenge was a dish best served hot. Smoking hot, like food so spicy that it seared a person's tongue just by taking a small bite. Or, a cigarette whose tip burnt a bright red when inhaled. Alister leaned back against the seat and slowly exhaled, watching the smoke make a leisurely trip to the ceiling.
With a single tap, ashes fell on a glossy picture of Seto Kaiba. Alister had many pictures of the young CEO. He collected them the way one collected stamps, comic books, or video games. The key difference was that he always had to replace the pictures he acquired as many of them didn’t last long, especially when impaled on walls with silver six-inch throwing knives.
The use of knives was an artform that took years to master, and boy did he master them. Everything Alister did was an art, and like the arts, one was never entirely satisfied with their handiwork, which left plenty of room for improvement. For example, two of the throwing knives poked right through Seto’s eyes, but they didn’t quite hit the pupils, and that just wouldn’t do. What did do, however, was the third knife. That one pleased Alister very much as it landed right on Seto Kaiba’s mouth.
Perfect. Like the smoke rings Alister breathed out. Or, like Seto Kaiba’s slender, finely manicured hands. Taking his eyes off the mounted picture, Alister looked at the one on the table. That one had the Kaiba youth sitting down at his desk, his hands folded, and his handsome face stoic as always.
Inhuman sack of shit.
Alister had a thousand insults for Seto Kaiba, and those were just in English. He spoke five languages fluently and two more just enough to get by. That equated to so many insults that Alister would never have to worry about saying anything good about Kaiba.
Except for the eyes. They reminded Alister of Antarctica ice turned a deep, rich blue by the shadows of the sun. Beautiful, no question of that, but cold, very cold. Holding the cigarette firmly in his mouth, Alister took a deep breath, feeling the smoke enter his lungs before slowly exhaling over the picture.
He noticed the hands again, realizing that he couldn’t come up with insults for those either. It’s been said that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Again, Alister called bullshit. Seto’s hands looked soft and delicate, but Alister knew that Seto was neither soft or delicate. Callous proved a far more fitting adjective. He looked down at his own hands. He currently wore arm length fingerless gloves, but he knew that his hands were riddled with callouses. His fingers proved that.
Exhaling a puff of smoke, Alister found himself wondering what Seto’s hands would feel like. Would they be as cold as Seto himself? Alister didn’t doubt that as he found himself shivering to phantom hands that glided over his shoulders. Would they be as soft as they looked? Or delicate? He could feel his own body tingle as he imagined those hands over his chest, his bare midriff, his thighs, his--
“No! Fucking! Way!” Each word followed the rhythm of a cigarette twisting over the picture. Unclenching his teeth, Alister reached behind his back and pulled out a black handled, Italian style switchblade.
“There will be hell to pay,” he whispered right before slicing the ash coated picture in half. Alister felt far from satisfied, so he reached back to his trenchcoat and pulled out two butterfly knives. Deftly flipping them both, Alister impaled the remains of the picture--right over the pupils of Seto’s Antarctica eyes.
Perfect. Just like the onyx colored Colt .45 that might as well have leapt into Alister’s gloved hand. If he really wanted to, he could have easily tracked down Seto and given him a nice bullet shower. He could have done much worse with his knives. Except he didn’t do any of that, preferring to ensure a better world by simply attempting to take Seto’s soul for the Great Leviathan.. Shaking his head, Alister couldn’t help but smile bitterly as he turned the gun over. When he was a child, guns were the only way that he and his friends could protect themselves. They worked well enough against looters and wanna-be kiddie rapists, but they did little good against missiles. Hell, not even tanks--Alister grit his teeth as he gently put the gun down.
It’s been said that those without weapons can still die by them. This time, Alister didn’t call bullshit. He couldn’t. Until Seto Kaiba and all those like him are fed to Dartz’s great beast, he never could. Just being reminded of such a reality made him want to check his blood pressure to see how close it was to the roof. Reaching over for another cigarette, his gray eyes fell on another picture. Only it wasn’t of Seto.
Valon.
Now Alister’s blood pressure went past the roof and into the stratosphere. Valon, fellow Doom member. Valon, who at the tender age of fourteen, managed to win what was left of Alister’s heart. Valon, who at the age of fifteen, managed to take that same heart and stomp all over it, so he could be ‘free’. Now, the young Australian/British/Spanish/Greek/whateverthefuck he was pined over some blond slut. If Alister grit his teeth anymore, they would have shattered, just like his heart did so many times in his nineteen years of life. Of course, he should be laughing at the irony of it all. Little blond slut wanted nothing to do with poor little Valon, but Alister never found it funny. Instead, he just found it pathetic. At least he was able to get over the fact that Valon would never be his. Or, he kept telling himself that everytime he wanted to murder the blond bitch and Valon.
First thing’s first. Pulling the butterfly knives off the desk, Alister tore up the remains of Seto’s picture. You Seto Kaiba, are first. You’re due, motherfucker. Gaming company, my ass, and what’s with this shit about Kaiba Land? Please.
He looked back over at Valon’s picture, which had never been touched. Everytime Alister even thought of doing so, he’d freeze, and then desecrate a picture of Seto Kaiba. He put the palms of his hands flat against the table, and took each breath slowly.
It’ll be easier once Kaiba is gone.
Alister stood up, slamming his gloved hands against the desk. As he quickly pulled on his black trenchcoat, ashes and shredded pictures flew around him like deformed insects. More pieces of Kaiba picture scattered to the floor when he removed his throwing knives from the wall and hid them, along with his other weapons, in his coat. When he saw the intact picture of Valon, whose own Antarctica eyes accused him, Alister stiffened, as if suddenly mesmerized. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he grabbed his car keys and stalked out of the room, his trenchcoat billowing behind him.
Bullshit.
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh
Characters: Alister/Seto Kaiba
Theme: #19 Old Photos
Leitmotiff: Driving
Warnings/Ratings: Watch for falling swear words.
Synopsis: "Everything Alister did was an art, and like the arts, one was never entirely satisfied with their handiwork, which left plenty of room for improvement."
Author’s Notes: Whew. About time. This turned out differently than what was originally planned(Alister was supposed to be behind the wheel of a car this chapter and I didn’t even consider Valon as someone to pair with Alister), but it happens with fics, especially ones that take a long time to update. I honestly do believe that my interpretation of Alister does deviate from how others see him(you’ll see how shortly), but I consider him in character. If others don’t, well too bad. I just see Alister as the ‘antithesis’ of Seto Kaiba, but still one half of the same coin. Anyway, beware of falling swear words and enjoy!
It's been said that revenge is a dish best served cold. Alister called bullshit. For him, revenge was a dish best served hot. Smoking hot, like food so spicy that it seared a person's tongue just by taking a small bite. Or, a cigarette whose tip burnt a bright red when inhaled. Alister leaned back against the seat and slowly exhaled, watching the smoke make a leisurely trip to the ceiling.
With a single tap, ashes fell on a glossy picture of Seto Kaiba. Alister had many pictures of the young CEO. He collected them the way one collected stamps, comic books, or video games. The key difference was that he always had to replace the pictures he acquired as many of them didn’t last long, especially when impaled on walls with silver six-inch throwing knives.
The use of knives was an artform that took years to master, and boy did he master them. Everything Alister did was an art, and like the arts, one was never entirely satisfied with their handiwork, which left plenty of room for improvement. For example, two of the throwing knives poked right through Seto’s eyes, but they didn’t quite hit the pupils, and that just wouldn’t do. What did do, however, was the third knife. That one pleased Alister very much as it landed right on Seto Kaiba’s mouth.
Perfect. Like the smoke rings Alister breathed out. Or, like Seto Kaiba’s slender, finely manicured hands. Taking his eyes off the mounted picture, Alister looked at the one on the table. That one had the Kaiba youth sitting down at his desk, his hands folded, and his handsome face stoic as always.
Inhuman sack of shit.
Alister had a thousand insults for Seto Kaiba, and those were just in English. He spoke five languages fluently and two more just enough to get by. That equated to so many insults that Alister would never have to worry about saying anything good about Kaiba.
Except for the eyes. They reminded Alister of Antarctica ice turned a deep, rich blue by the shadows of the sun. Beautiful, no question of that, but cold, very cold. Holding the cigarette firmly in his mouth, Alister took a deep breath, feeling the smoke enter his lungs before slowly exhaling over the picture.
He noticed the hands again, realizing that he couldn’t come up with insults for those either. It’s been said that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Again, Alister called bullshit. Seto’s hands looked soft and delicate, but Alister knew that Seto was neither soft or delicate. Callous proved a far more fitting adjective. He looked down at his own hands. He currently wore arm length fingerless gloves, but he knew that his hands were riddled with callouses. His fingers proved that.
Exhaling a puff of smoke, Alister found himself wondering what Seto’s hands would feel like. Would they be as cold as Seto himself? Alister didn’t doubt that as he found himself shivering to phantom hands that glided over his shoulders. Would they be as soft as they looked? Or delicate? He could feel his own body tingle as he imagined those hands over his chest, his bare midriff, his thighs, his--
“No! Fucking! Way!” Each word followed the rhythm of a cigarette twisting over the picture. Unclenching his teeth, Alister reached behind his back and pulled out a black handled, Italian style switchblade.
“There will be hell to pay,” he whispered right before slicing the ash coated picture in half. Alister felt far from satisfied, so he reached back to his trenchcoat and pulled out two butterfly knives. Deftly flipping them both, Alister impaled the remains of the picture--right over the pupils of Seto’s Antarctica eyes.
Perfect. Just like the onyx colored Colt .45 that might as well have leapt into Alister’s gloved hand. If he really wanted to, he could have easily tracked down Seto and given him a nice bullet shower. He could have done much worse with his knives. Except he didn’t do any of that, preferring to ensure a better world by simply attempting to take Seto’s soul for the Great Leviathan.. Shaking his head, Alister couldn’t help but smile bitterly as he turned the gun over. When he was a child, guns were the only way that he and his friends could protect themselves. They worked well enough against looters and wanna-be kiddie rapists, but they did little good against missiles. Hell, not even tanks--Alister grit his teeth as he gently put the gun down.
It’s been said that those without weapons can still die by them. This time, Alister didn’t call bullshit. He couldn’t. Until Seto Kaiba and all those like him are fed to Dartz’s great beast, he never could. Just being reminded of such a reality made him want to check his blood pressure to see how close it was to the roof. Reaching over for another cigarette, his gray eyes fell on another picture. Only it wasn’t of Seto.
Valon.
Now Alister’s blood pressure went past the roof and into the stratosphere. Valon, fellow Doom member. Valon, who at the tender age of fourteen, managed to win what was left of Alister’s heart. Valon, who at the age of fifteen, managed to take that same heart and stomp all over it, so he could be ‘free’. Now, the young Australian/British/Spanish/Greek/whateverthefuck he was pined over some blond slut. If Alister grit his teeth anymore, they would have shattered, just like his heart did so many times in his nineteen years of life. Of course, he should be laughing at the irony of it all. Little blond slut wanted nothing to do with poor little Valon, but Alister never found it funny. Instead, he just found it pathetic. At least he was able to get over the fact that Valon would never be his. Or, he kept telling himself that everytime he wanted to murder the blond bitch and Valon.
First thing’s first. Pulling the butterfly knives off the desk, Alister tore up the remains of Seto’s picture. You Seto Kaiba, are first. You’re due, motherfucker. Gaming company, my ass, and what’s with this shit about Kaiba Land? Please.
He looked back over at Valon’s picture, which had never been touched. Everytime Alister even thought of doing so, he’d freeze, and then desecrate a picture of Seto Kaiba. He put the palms of his hands flat against the table, and took each breath slowly.
It’ll be easier once Kaiba is gone.
Alister stood up, slamming his gloved hands against the desk. As he quickly pulled on his black trenchcoat, ashes and shredded pictures flew around him like deformed insects. More pieces of Kaiba picture scattered to the floor when he removed his throwing knives from the wall and hid them, along with his other weapons, in his coat. When he saw the intact picture of Valon, whose own Antarctica eyes accused him, Alister stiffened, as if suddenly mesmerized. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he grabbed his car keys and stalked out of the room, his trenchcoat billowing behind him.
Bullshit.