[OOC] Fic: The Ishtar School of Child-Rearing
Title: The Ishtar School of Child-Rearing
Word Count: 1,620
Rating: PG
Summary: Brunch has always been his own worst enemy.
Notes: Set in the DR, in case you couldn't tell. For the uninitiated, “Brunch” is a 14-year-old manga!Marik, and “Linner” is his older self - but Brunch doesn't know that.
Brunch has just enough time to admire the practiced, easy violence with which Linner swings the Rod, one-handed and casual as can be, before it's connected with the younger boy's temple. Pain erupts along the side of his head; Brunch stumbles, shocked, cursing himself, panicked and throwing up walls as best he can - but the mental invasion never comes. He just backs into a wall, staring up at the assailant lording a few precious inches of height over him as if it meant mountains.
“I heard you died,” Linner says calmly, tapping the Rod against his free palm. Brunch clasps the bruise he almost already feels forming and scowls, wishing he had a clever comeback to that, wishing he knew who to blame. Who else even knows? Seiran - she wouldn't, she'd never. That stupid landlord in the nice coat - ah. Dammit. So much for camaraderie among victims.
“What's it to you?” Brunch finally spits, wincing. This is not going well, he realizes faintly, then laughs at himself for the understatement. Why hasn't his double done anything to his mind? Oh, gods, is he in there right now, is he so good at this that Brunch can't even feel him?! He swallows back panic, fights to stay at least half as cool as his assailant. “It didn't stick.”
Linner snorts, smirks. “Your lip needs work,” he replies dismissively. “Are you even good at anything? I've been waiting for proof, remember.”
“And you'll get it.” Sensing a different tactic he can take, Brunch offers a twisted smirk of his own: this double is insufferable. But this double is competent. Competence is useful. “If I'm so worthless, why don't you take me under your wing? Whip me into shape. The less I can do, the more I need you.”
“What do you think I'm doing?” The complete coldness in Linner's eyes, the absolute refusal to betray his own thoughts, fills Brunch with unspeakable hatred - inexpressable envy. “Show me your back.”
Brunch blinks. His shoulders hunch on reflex, skin crawling. “What, so you can have a good laugh?” He tries to inch away, but Linner holds him in place by sheer force of staring alone. “I don't think so. It's none of your business.”
“You're my double. Of course it's my business.” Linner steps forward, grabs the hood of Brunch's robe, yanks; Brunch tries to dart away but finds his wrist trapped: when'd his double put his Rod away? Dammit, double, no fair....too fast.... “Don't make me rip it.”
Wriggling, Brunch fumes, face scrunching in frustration and preemptive shame. It's bad enough that Seiran's seen it....and Seiran is safe, or as safe as anyone who isn't Rishid can ever be. To show his new scars to this double....this double, who considered him worthless, lower than worthless, who considered him in need of tutelage - Brunch wants advice, but on his own terms, not this awful feeling of uselessness and incompetence, not this sense of disappointment....
He broods too long; Linner forces the robe over Brunch's head, ignoring the involuntary whimper from his victim, and stares. Brunch doesn't have to look to know. He can feel those eyes on him, drinking in his shame, laughing at his misery, laughing at him....
Laughing. Linner....Linner's laughing.
“Oh, you're a piece of work all right,” he chuckles, not in derision but - amusement? “You've really made yourself worthless, haven't you? There's not a Pharaoh in the world who could read that now.....you're quite the tombkeeper, little Marik. Well done!”
He applauds Brunch's disgrace; Brunch himself tries and fails to regain the perverse sense of pride he'd felt himself upon drawing the same conclusion. The scars on his back have been scarred over, in turn: marred by deep, haphazard stab wounds that healed in ugly swirling patches, interrupting the ritual's elegant, precise cuts. The secrets of the Pharaoh's memory are now only safe within Brunch's own: some anonymous madman has robbed his world of the written account.
Linner lets him go; Brunch pulls his robes back down, runs a hand through his now-tousled hair, tries to regain his composure and his mind. “You've made your point,” he mumbles. “I'm pathetic. Satisfied?”
“Not quite.” Linner flicks his nose; Brunch growls without meaning to, which only serves to amuse his older double more - and really, he'd preferred the disapproval to this new, lighthearted demeanor. “You're a little too dependent, boy. The back's a happy accident, but what you do when you need help could use some work.”
Brunch stiffens again. What, has Linner been spying on him? “In a way I should be flattered,” he mutters with as wry a smirk as he could manage, though his lips feel stiff. “I'm worthy of surveillance.”
Linner shrugs. “Hardly. I just hear things. Stay away from the Akino girl.”
It takes Brunch far too long to connect the dots. When the surname connects with a first in his mind, the realization hits Brunch in the throat; he gulps. “She's useful,” he replies with a dry mouth; what on Earth, what on Earth is happening, or more accurately, what the Hell. “I'm young, as you say. I need someone to help me put things in perspective, sometimes. Our mutual friend the...Pendant Spirit...” (heh, he thinks, cheering only slightly at the chance to make fun of Iris), “can't be permitted to see me at my lowest. I have even more appearances to keep up with him.”
“So he lives in your room and can hear you screaming nightly in your sleep. Very sensible.” Linner shrugs. “Break it off with the girl.”
“No,” snaps Brunch with a bit more vigor than he'd expected. “I've owned my weakness. She'll help it.”
“She's a distraction.” Linner remains unmoved.
“She's necessary.” So does Brunch.
“You're attached.” Linner pokes Brunch in the forehead. “You're attached to someone who'll only make things worse. What if you start worrying what she'll think of you? What happens to your revenge then? Gone. For whose sake? A girl who may disappear - a girl on whom you might disappear - and then you never see again. Whereas you'll live in the same world as the Pharaoh for the rest of your life. Until he comes seeking his memory. And you won't be ready.”
The argument is familiar, chillingly so: Brunch has heard it countless times within his own head, and countless times he's told himself it's not true, it doesn't matter, he won't let it happen, he won't lose his focus...countless times it's just been nice, when the world falls apart, to know someone will be there to hold it together for him until he's ready to glue it back himself. “Maybe all I have to do is show him this back,” he offers weakly. “The element of surprise....”
“You're a fool.” Linner's face is cold again. “You're an even bigger fool than I was at your age, and I thought I couldn't sink any lower. Just can't leave you alone....”
He shrugs once more. “You'll become ready for your fight with the Pharaoh no matter what I have to do to you - and you're going to fight, otherwise it's all meaningless, do you understand?”
Brunch doesn't, but he nods anyway, in the hopes it'll get Linner to go away faster. Linner calls his bluff with a smile and continues.
“Nice try.” He unhooks the Rod from his belt again, taps it once more against his palm; Brunch finds himself wanting Seiran and feels ashamed. It's all true, isn't it. He's really attached. That's awful....why is that awful? He can still make progress. He can still defeat the Pharaoh.....he can't let Linner, or the Pharaoh, or anyone take this from him if he likes it this much! He's after revenge because he refuses to sacrifice anything ever again! “Hopefully you'll never have to know what I mean. Because you'll defeat your Pharaoh properly.”
“He's going to scream,” Brunch mutters, funneling all his hatred of Linner towards the Pharaoh. His fault, his fault, all of it: his fault. “He's going to scream and beg for mercy and I am going to deny it.”
“Good boy.” Linner ruffles Brunch's head in a sudden moment of fondness; Brunch snaps his head up, glares, to no effect. He hates Linner too, he realizes. He hates Linner. He wants to be Linner. He wants to understand Linner.
Why is Linner so afraid of Seiran?
“Are you attached to someone too?” he calls as Linner turns around, heads back off down the hall; Linner looks over his shoulder and smirks.
“I can afford to be,” he replies. “Consider it a reward.”
“I will then,” agrees Brunch, who's determined to enjoy his reward before winning his prize. Suddenly paranoid, a new thought springs into his mind, and he adds: “What did you do to my head, before?”
A little peal of entertained laughter greets his final query. “That's your homework, isn't it?” Linner asks with a wave of his hand. “Figure it out!”
It was probably nothing, Brunch thinks as he stares venom at Linner's retreating back, a back he jealously imagines no one has ever seen bared in degradation or shame. All of this, for all he knows, could be nothing: one willful double's attempt at bullying the easy victim. Brunch is so tired of being the easy victim.
And he'll find a way to do it that doesn't involve following the bully's advice.
Word Count: 1,620
Rating: PG
Summary: Brunch has always been his own worst enemy.
Notes: Set in the DR, in case you couldn't tell. For the uninitiated, “Brunch” is a 14-year-old manga!Marik, and “Linner” is his older self - but Brunch doesn't know that.
Brunch has just enough time to admire the practiced, easy violence with which Linner swings the Rod, one-handed and casual as can be, before it's connected with the younger boy's temple. Pain erupts along the side of his head; Brunch stumbles, shocked, cursing himself, panicked and throwing up walls as best he can - but the mental invasion never comes. He just backs into a wall, staring up at the assailant lording a few precious inches of height over him as if it meant mountains.
“I heard you died,” Linner says calmly, tapping the Rod against his free palm. Brunch clasps the bruise he almost already feels forming and scowls, wishing he had a clever comeback to that, wishing he knew who to blame. Who else even knows? Seiran - she wouldn't, she'd never. That stupid landlord in the nice coat - ah. Dammit. So much for camaraderie among victims.
“What's it to you?” Brunch finally spits, wincing. This is not going well, he realizes faintly, then laughs at himself for the understatement. Why hasn't his double done anything to his mind? Oh, gods, is he in there right now, is he so good at this that Brunch can't even feel him?! He swallows back panic, fights to stay at least half as cool as his assailant. “It didn't stick.”
Linner snorts, smirks. “Your lip needs work,” he replies dismissively. “Are you even good at anything? I've been waiting for proof, remember.”
“And you'll get it.” Sensing a different tactic he can take, Brunch offers a twisted smirk of his own: this double is insufferable. But this double is competent. Competence is useful. “If I'm so worthless, why don't you take me under your wing? Whip me into shape. The less I can do, the more I need you.”
“What do you think I'm doing?” The complete coldness in Linner's eyes, the absolute refusal to betray his own thoughts, fills Brunch with unspeakable hatred - inexpressable envy. “Show me your back.”
Brunch blinks. His shoulders hunch on reflex, skin crawling. “What, so you can have a good laugh?” He tries to inch away, but Linner holds him in place by sheer force of staring alone. “I don't think so. It's none of your business.”
“You're my double. Of course it's my business.” Linner steps forward, grabs the hood of Brunch's robe, yanks; Brunch tries to dart away but finds his wrist trapped: when'd his double put his Rod away? Dammit, double, no fair....too fast.... “Don't make me rip it.”
Wriggling, Brunch fumes, face scrunching in frustration and preemptive shame. It's bad enough that Seiran's seen it....and Seiran is safe, or as safe as anyone who isn't Rishid can ever be. To show his new scars to this double....this double, who considered him worthless, lower than worthless, who considered him in need of tutelage - Brunch wants advice, but on his own terms, not this awful feeling of uselessness and incompetence, not this sense of disappointment....
He broods too long; Linner forces the robe over Brunch's head, ignoring the involuntary whimper from his victim, and stares. Brunch doesn't have to look to know. He can feel those eyes on him, drinking in his shame, laughing at his misery, laughing at him....
Laughing. Linner....Linner's laughing.
“Oh, you're a piece of work all right,” he chuckles, not in derision but - amusement? “You've really made yourself worthless, haven't you? There's not a Pharaoh in the world who could read that now.....you're quite the tombkeeper, little Marik. Well done!”
He applauds Brunch's disgrace; Brunch himself tries and fails to regain the perverse sense of pride he'd felt himself upon drawing the same conclusion. The scars on his back have been scarred over, in turn: marred by deep, haphazard stab wounds that healed in ugly swirling patches, interrupting the ritual's elegant, precise cuts. The secrets of the Pharaoh's memory are now only safe within Brunch's own: some anonymous madman has robbed his world of the written account.
Linner lets him go; Brunch pulls his robes back down, runs a hand through his now-tousled hair, tries to regain his composure and his mind. “You've made your point,” he mumbles. “I'm pathetic. Satisfied?”
“Not quite.” Linner flicks his nose; Brunch growls without meaning to, which only serves to amuse his older double more - and really, he'd preferred the disapproval to this new, lighthearted demeanor. “You're a little too dependent, boy. The back's a happy accident, but what you do when you need help could use some work.”
Brunch stiffens again. What, has Linner been spying on him? “In a way I should be flattered,” he mutters with as wry a smirk as he could manage, though his lips feel stiff. “I'm worthy of surveillance.”
Linner shrugs. “Hardly. I just hear things. Stay away from the Akino girl.”
It takes Brunch far too long to connect the dots. When the surname connects with a first in his mind, the realization hits Brunch in the throat; he gulps. “She's useful,” he replies with a dry mouth; what on Earth, what on Earth is happening, or more accurately, what the Hell. “I'm young, as you say. I need someone to help me put things in perspective, sometimes. Our mutual friend the...Pendant Spirit...” (heh, he thinks, cheering only slightly at the chance to make fun of Iris), “can't be permitted to see me at my lowest. I have even more appearances to keep up with him.”
“So he lives in your room and can hear you screaming nightly in your sleep. Very sensible.” Linner shrugs. “Break it off with the girl.”
“No,” snaps Brunch with a bit more vigor than he'd expected. “I've owned my weakness. She'll help it.”
“She's a distraction.” Linner remains unmoved.
“She's necessary.” So does Brunch.
“You're attached.” Linner pokes Brunch in the forehead. “You're attached to someone who'll only make things worse. What if you start worrying what she'll think of you? What happens to your revenge then? Gone. For whose sake? A girl who may disappear - a girl on whom you might disappear - and then you never see again. Whereas you'll live in the same world as the Pharaoh for the rest of your life. Until he comes seeking his memory. And you won't be ready.”
The argument is familiar, chillingly so: Brunch has heard it countless times within his own head, and countless times he's told himself it's not true, it doesn't matter, he won't let it happen, he won't lose his focus...countless times it's just been nice, when the world falls apart, to know someone will be there to hold it together for him until he's ready to glue it back himself. “Maybe all I have to do is show him this back,” he offers weakly. “The element of surprise....”
“You're a fool.” Linner's face is cold again. “You're an even bigger fool than I was at your age, and I thought I couldn't sink any lower. Just can't leave you alone....”
He shrugs once more. “You'll become ready for your fight with the Pharaoh no matter what I have to do to you - and you're going to fight, otherwise it's all meaningless, do you understand?”
Brunch doesn't, but he nods anyway, in the hopes it'll get Linner to go away faster. Linner calls his bluff with a smile and continues.
“Nice try.” He unhooks the Rod from his belt again, taps it once more against his palm; Brunch finds himself wanting Seiran and feels ashamed. It's all true, isn't it. He's really attached. That's awful....why is that awful? He can still make progress. He can still defeat the Pharaoh.....he can't let Linner, or the Pharaoh, or anyone take this from him if he likes it this much! He's after revenge because he refuses to sacrifice anything ever again! “Hopefully you'll never have to know what I mean. Because you'll defeat your Pharaoh properly.”
“He's going to scream,” Brunch mutters, funneling all his hatred of Linner towards the Pharaoh. His fault, his fault, all of it: his fault. “He's going to scream and beg for mercy and I am going to deny it.”
“Good boy.” Linner ruffles Brunch's head in a sudden moment of fondness; Brunch snaps his head up, glares, to no effect. He hates Linner too, he realizes. He hates Linner. He wants to be Linner. He wants to understand Linner.
Why is Linner so afraid of Seiran?
“Are you attached to someone too?” he calls as Linner turns around, heads back off down the hall; Linner looks over his shoulder and smirks.
“I can afford to be,” he replies. “Consider it a reward.”
“I will then,” agrees Brunch, who's determined to enjoy his reward before winning his prize. Suddenly paranoid, a new thought springs into his mind, and he adds: “What did you do to my head, before?”
A little peal of entertained laughter greets his final query. “That's your homework, isn't it?” Linner asks with a wave of his hand. “Figure it out!”
It was probably nothing, Brunch thinks as he stares venom at Linner's retreating back, a back he jealously imagines no one has ever seen bared in degradation or shame. All of this, for all he knows, could be nothing: one willful double's attempt at bullying the easy victim. Brunch is so tired of being the easy victim.
And he'll find a way to do it that doesn't involve following the bully's advice.