She greeted him with a smile even when his eyes slid obviously up and down her form. She was pleasantly surprised to see that he spent a great deal of time looking in her eyes, although the reason for it was beyond her.
Stepping aside to let him go first, Kisara followed along at Malik's side, trying to judge whether he would rather her follow or keep pace with him. From what little she knew about him, he seemed to enjoy his control. She spotted the item, though, as they walked and was suddenly very curious. It seemed so familiar, not that she had seen any of the items in her time in Egypt, but it was definitely Egyptian.
She wanted to ask him about it, but of course didn't want to step out of any boundaries. Each date with a client was like starting a new relationship over again. She didn't know if they liked silence or excessive talking, if they wanted her beside or behind them or maybe even in front. She just had to test her boundaries and see where they fell.
As the elevator door opened and she stepped inside, she waited for him to press the button. "My name is Blanche, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..." She trailed off, waiting for an answer to what he would like her to call him.
The elevator approached the bottom and opened it's doors for them; again, she let him step out first then easily followed. Lucky that the night didn't call for rain, Kisara adjusted a part of her hair and listened to the steady clicking of her shoes as she walked along with Malik. Oddly enough, there was a thrill that she felt. She had no idea where they were going, what they would be doing although she could guess and even though it was frightening, it was somewhat exhilarating as well.
[now complete comment ;D]tothedustSeptember 7 2008, 10:20:02 UTC
"Blanche," he repeated, quirking an eyebrow at that. The girl had an accent, but it was very similar to his own and identical to Bakura's. He'd expected, if not her real name which would've had to be familiar, maybe one of the obviously fake names the other girls took: names that meant things like Ginger or Starr.
But maybe he was wrong. He didn't argue it, though the idea that she was giving him a believable false name piqued his interest. What else was she hiding?
He led the way off the elevator and out onto the street, though he kept pace with her. He didn't really like people being behind him. Aside from his own neurotic paranoia, he was a people-watcher.
"Ne, so, how did you meet Bakura?" He gave her a grin, almost a leer. "He picks girls off the street and out of the gutters...you're cleaner than they are." And then, because he really wasn't going to talk about her employment with Bakura for long, he added, "You're not from around here. Where were you raised, hmm?"
He remembered, as soon as he'd asked, that she'd also requested his name. Maybe hearing it would make her feel more at ease, if they were indeed from the same country. If she was at ease, it would be easier to pick out her weaknesses. "I'm Malik Ishtar."
They rounded a corner, and he glanced ahead. Two blocks down the road was the restaurant he'd picked, an elegant place that Isis had mentioned once.
Re: [now complete comment ;D]blanche_fataleSeptember 7 2008, 15:57:35 UTC
Now that she knew he wanted her to keep pace, she tried to match his instead of having him match her. She should be an asset to him, not a liability or a nuisance..especially with how much he was willing to pay her for her services.
"One of his friends pointed me in his direction." She didn't know why she insisted on calling his 'girls' friends instead when she was out with a client, but she supposed it was because it just sounded nicer. Kisara noticed the grin, though, and oddly enough it sent a small shiver down her spine. She returned it, though, doing her best to show that it didn't effect her. "Why, thank you. I do try to be cleaner than as if I just stepped out of a gutter." Laughing gently, she hoped that he would pick up on the joke.
"Wh-where was I raised? Oh, well...I'm actually from Egypt, even though it might not look like it when you see my skin. I'm oddly pale, but I've always been that way." Again, she gave a charming smile, trying to throw him off of the details of her story. She didn't need to tell him what time period she was from. For all he knew, she could have just come over to Japan a month before.
She felt her breath catch in her throat at the sound of his name and hoped it wasn't audible enough for him to hear it. Malik...Wasn't that the one that hit Bakura? Well, there was only one way to find out. "And how do you know Bakura, Mr. Ishtar? Friends, I suppose?" The last name was so..familiar that she knew she'd just be wasting her time and breath by adding a -sama to the end of his name. Besides, if he wanted to be referred to as Ishtar-sama, he would tell her, right? The only reason she called Bakura 'Bakura-sama' was because the girl that introduced her to him, Lucky Starr, suggested she do so.
Still without any knowledge of where they were going, she tried again to focus on his last name. "Your last name is very similar to make Egyptian names I knew back home. Is that where you come from as well? What a coincidence that would be."
Malik gave her a sidelong smirk that indicated he knew full well Bakura didn't really have any friends. He had people he used, and people he disposed of, but that was the extent of it. However, he didn't bother to correct that; he was with Blanche and he didn't particularly want his conversation to revolve around the Thief King. Especially given the fact that Bakura was a wary subject in his mind.
"We work together," he said, figuring the less he said the better. His grin returned, for a second. "You should call me Malik." He enjoyed the name, mostly because there were so many people who hated that he used it. His family members in particular.
He paused at an intersection to wait for the light to change, and took the moment to really appreciate the way 'Blanche' looked in the dusky light. She was pale, moreso even than he remembered Bakura Ryou being, and if not for the accent he wouldn't have taken her for an Egyptian at all. Knowing that made her more exotic, if anything.
"I'm from Egypt," he agreed, chuckling. "But not the city. I was one of Pharaoh's memorial guards.... Ne, does it--" he was better about pronouns when he thought about it, and corrected himself, "do you speak the old language then~? Or Arabic?"
She caught the smirk but diffused it and let it roll off her. His smirks were unnerving, just slightly off and it wasn't Kisara wanted to decipher or focus on for too long.
"You work together? May I ask, what is it that you do with Bakura? Are you in this line of work with him or does he have another job?" She asked, suddenly finding herself interested. Even if Bakura had mentioned someone named Malik, someone like his violent roommate named Malik, wouldn't he have informed her of him and sent her to him almost immediately? Didn't business partners share this type of new thing? Wouldn't Malik be the first one he sent her to? There had to be a reason why he didn't.
Yes, she was pale, and she had never truly been able to figure out why she was such a ghostly color, but it provided her a certain type of allure. There weren't many people who looked like her; none that she had ever encountered, so it gave her a sense of uniqueness. Something that no one else had and something that clients would strive to see.
"You're from Egypt as well? What a coincidence!" Her laugh was slightly musical, something she had trained to accomplish but something that didn't sound forced. Clients wouldn't like a forced laugh. Everything should sound genuine. "Oh, yes, I can speak the old language," She answered, but when it registered that he had, too, had admitted to belonging to the same time as she.
She turned to look him in the eye, working through the chill she felt in her spine. "You're...are you saying you're from a different time period?"
"No, he runs the women himself," he shook his head. He wondered if he ought to explain the intricacies of their deal with the Darkness, and then discarded the idea.
He only babbled about the Darkness when he was maiming someone, and this woman was proving to be too interesting to dispose of just yet. So he went with a simpler explanation: "I'm his supervisor in his other line of work."
Malik tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly when he realized Blanche had asked that seriously. "A different time?" He wasn't, of course, but it was such an odd thing for her to have asked. She sounded almost...excited? Apprehensive? He couldn't place it, but he decided to run with it.
He switched to Ancient Egyptian, finding it more comfortable to speak his native language anyway. "Are you also?" That implied he was, anyway. And it was only a minor stretch of the truth; he'd grown up underground, after all, away from anything modern.
The light changed and, after the last two impatient cars sped through the intersection anyway, Malik started towards the restaurant again, though he took Blanche's arm, intent on keeping her as close to him as possible now.
And she wouldn't ask him to explain something that she hadn't asked about, so the Darkness wouldn't be brought up unless Malik did so himself.
"His supervisor...How impressive. I'm interested; what is his other line of work?" She wouldn't say that she knew he was a thief, that she knew that he was probably still stealing things even in this new day and age, but she did find herself enjoying her conversation with Malik.
As soon as he switched, a flicker of excitement did pass through her eyes. Finally someone who would talk in the language of her home with her. It was, dare she think, perfect to have this conversation. She had been afraid that she would lose the language if she didn't use it often enough and that was something she couldn't bare to think of.
"Yes, I am. I know that may sound odd and it may not seem like I'm from then, but I am," She answered in her native tongue, allowing Malik to take her arm and walk with her toward the restaurant. Her side brushed up against his as they walked, but she was too excited with her new discovery to really be worried about their proximity.
"He's a thief," Malik said simply. "But I tell him what's useful to take." Telling her this didn't pose any sort of threat; she worked for Bakura, so she probably wouldn't betray him. Even if she did, it wouldn't endanger Malik.
Malik caught the excitement in her eyes, and it made him grin again, pull her close when they reached the restaurant just before he let her go and opened the door. He'd been around Isis long enough to know that women in fancy restaurants did better if they had the doors opened for them, so he held it for her.
"What did you do in Egypt?" he asked. It didn't matter how many details she gave him, at least, since he was positive he was the only one in the building who would understand her.
Aside from giving his name, he didn't address the hostess, and then they were seated at a candlelit table and given menus.
She felt her body brush up against Malik's once more and, oddly, it made her smile. It was comforting in a way to have someone who knew her language, accepted her story, and seemed interested in talking to her about it, especially since for the past three months she had been here she hadn't had any comfort outside of her fellow dancers.
As Malik opened the door, Kisara took lithe, elegant steps into the restaurant and stood to the side until Malik was beside her. Only then did she take steps toward the hostess.
"What did I do in Egypt? Honestly, simply try to survive." She sighed, finding herself in the awkward position of having to explain her past. Luckily, she was already seated and with a menu in her hand, one she didn't bother to look at. She simply bit her bottom lip gently and thought for a moment about the best way to approach her story-telling. "When I was young, I was kidnapped by a set of slavers. I don't care to know what kind of slavers they were, but I'm not naive enough to take a guess. Either way, I was set to be sold until Priest Seth saved me, even though he wasn't a priest at that point. The rest of my time was spent scrapping for food, searching for safe places to stay, and basically living day to day until, yet again, I was saved by Priest Seth when a particularly rowdy crowd attacked me. Even though after all his good deeds, I was still made to fight against those with special..powers like I used to have. At the end of my life, I gave my power to Priest Seth as a thank you for all of his help."
She blushed at the end of her story, suddenly realizing that he probably didn't care, nor did he want to hear such a long, drawn out story. "My apologizes. I'm sure you didn't want to hear such a ridiculously long story." She flashed him a charming smile and placed the menu on the table. "I'd be honored if you would chose my meal."
Malik was only familiar with Priest Seth in general terms. He knew who he was through the history lessons he'd gleaned from the other Malik's mind, and he knew that his sister had mentioned a Seth a few times. However, he also knew that Isis believed Seth and Kaiba were incarnations of one another, and that was important.
He nodded, as if he knew the man intimately, but he gave Blanche a pitying look. "You gave him your powers as gratitude?" He wondered what powers those actually were. But rather than ask, he shook his head faintly. "Seth is so cunning, isn't he? He must have seen what a kind soul you are...but you know he wanted your power all along, ne? Surely you do now, you aren't a fool."
He took the menu, letting her mull that over before he decided if he ought to push a little further. He ordered dinner for both of them--a vegetarian dish for himself, and duck for Blanche--and turned his full attention back on her.
"I was fighting a battle with him against someone and in the end, I wasn't strong enough to continue but I was able to transfer my powers to him in my last moments." She flashed him another charming smile. "Whether or not he wanted the powers, I felt as thought he deserved them. He helped me quite a bit in my youth."
As the waitress came to take her order, Kisara fell silent. She figured it would only be polite to let Malik do the talking. He was the one paying here, she assumed, and he was the man so she felt as though she'd be stepping on his toes if she ordered.
Handing the waitress her menu, Kisara took the opportunity to pull her seat a bit closer to the table and cross her legs under it. She made sure not to move her foot too much (unless, for some reason, she felt like she should rub her foot against Malik's leg but that would come later), so as not to impale his leg with the stiletto of her heel. "Thank you for bringing me here. This restaurant looks lovely and I'm eager to taste the food."
"I'm sure he did," Malik said, giving her a slow, more predatory smile--it was his way of showing that he was appreciating her beauty, but he was unaware of how unsettling his own expressions usually were. That and he wouldn't have cared if he had known.
"But don't you want your powers back, ever? He seems to be doing so little with them, and they'll be needed soon." He took a sip of the iceless water, preferring that to the cold chunks he usually had to deal with in his drinks. "Things are changing, can you feel it?"
The smile was unnerving, yes, but she wouldn't show how odd it made her feel. In public, she promised herself to be the picture of perfection. Only such perfection would warrant the price she was getting, so with that in mind she simply tilted her head slightly to the side, knowing that the dim candlelight would catch her porcelain skin in a beautiful way. She kept her eyes soft, not frightened or on guard from the way he watched her.
"In all honestly, I didn't really feel a change until a few days ago. I thought it might just be something I felt only; I thought that I might be paranoid." A few strands of her long white hair fell over her shoulder, blending into her white jacket nearly perfectly, minus a blue undertone of the soft, flowery-scented strands. "I would like to have my powers back but I wouldn't be able to get them from here. Priest Seth isn't here, is he? If so, I have yet to come across him."
"If I find him, we'll find a way," Malik promised. He wasn't at all sure how such a thing would be done, if it could be at all; but he was willing to experiment.
Kisara was right in thinking that her expression, coupled by the warmth of the candles, was alluring. Malik rarely looked at anyone directly, and he wasn't quite with her either, but it was clear that he was watching her.
Mostly, he was wondering what it would take to get her to scream, and how long he would have her before she started to cry. And then he wondered what she must have looked like with her powers--if it was obvious enough that Seth, who was cunning and bloodthirsty according to history, would have seen it immediately. Or maybe he had just been smitten by the girl.
Malik could acknowledge that even he, who despised beauty, was intrigued by her. It was like having an alabaster treasure, being able to polish it before he smashed it to pieces.
Before he destroyed her, though, he would get her those powers back. He would use her, and then when the Darkness was loose, he would feed her to it as a last sacrifice.
The resolution brought a real smile to his face, almost made him chuckle, but he hid that by taking another drink from his glass, and reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear.
Touched by what she thought was concern for her, Kisara smiled. "That would be very nice of you, Malik. Thank you so much but please, don't go out of your way."
She wondered what was going on in his mind while he simply sat there, the expression on his face unfaltering. She didn't flinch when his hand came forward to brush her hair away, but instead only smiled a bit more and closed her eyes. She managed to breathe in a bit of Malik's scent from his arm and tried to place it, but she simply couldn't. It registered and connected itself in her mind as purely Malik.
She opened her eyes slowly to see Malik again, watching the candlelight play against his features as well. It certainly was a nice change from the man she had seen about a week before. Of course, he had been a perfect gentleman, but he was not as young as Malik and it was a pleasant surprise. When she had classified herself as a call girl instead of prostitute, she had figured that all she would get were middle-aged men. Malik was definitely not an eyesore.
"It's not out of my way," Malik assured her. It really wasn't; all power was directly in line with his goals.
He liked seeing her close her eyes, however briefly. He'd enjoyed the moment of vulnerability showed, the way she smiled. She didn't have any of the rough edges and bitterly preserved addictions that Bakura's other prostitutes did, but then, she was new.
The waiter brought them their appetizers and assured them their dinners were almost done. Malik ignored him completely. "Mm, so, after this what does my money get me?" It was a crude way to put it, but he was grinning at least while he said it. Besides, she worked for Bakura; blunt come-ons shouldn't have bothered her.
Stepping aside to let him go first, Kisara followed along at Malik's side, trying to judge whether he would rather her follow or keep pace with him. From what little she knew about him, he seemed to enjoy his control. She spotted the item, though, as they walked and was suddenly very curious. It seemed so familiar, not that she had seen any of the items in her time in Egypt, but it was definitely Egyptian.
She wanted to ask him about it, but of course didn't want to step out of any boundaries. Each date with a client was like starting a new relationship over again. She didn't know if they liked silence or excessive talking, if they wanted her beside or behind them or maybe even in front. She just had to test her boundaries and see where they fell.
As the elevator door opened and she stepped inside, she waited for him to press the button. "My name is Blanche, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..." She trailed off, waiting for an answer to what he would like her to call him.
The elevator approached the bottom and opened it's doors for them; again, she let him step out first then easily followed. Lucky that the night didn't call for rain, Kisara adjusted a part of her hair and listened to the steady clicking of her shoes as she walked along with Malik. Oddly enough, there was a thrill that she felt. She had no idea where they were going, what they would be doing although she could guess and even though it was frightening, it was somewhat exhilarating as well.
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But maybe he was wrong. He didn't argue it, though the idea that she was giving him a believable false name piqued his interest. What else was she hiding?
He led the way off the elevator and out onto the street, though he kept pace with her. He didn't really like people being behind him. Aside from his own neurotic paranoia, he was a people-watcher.
"Ne, so, how did you meet Bakura?" He gave her a grin, almost a leer. "He picks girls off the street and out of the gutters...you're cleaner than they are." And then, because he really wasn't going to talk about her employment with Bakura for long, he added, "You're not from around here. Where were you raised, hmm?"
He remembered, as soon as he'd asked, that she'd also requested his name. Maybe hearing it would make her feel more at ease, if they were indeed from the same country. If she was at ease, it would be easier to pick out her weaknesses. "I'm Malik Ishtar."
They rounded a corner, and he glanced ahead. Two blocks down the road was the restaurant he'd picked, an elegant place that Isis had mentioned once.
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"One of his friends pointed me in his direction." She didn't know why she insisted on calling his 'girls' friends instead when she was out with a client, but she supposed it was because it just sounded nicer. Kisara noticed the grin, though, and oddly enough it sent a small shiver down her spine. She returned it, though, doing her best to show that it didn't effect her. "Why, thank you. I do try to be cleaner than as if I just stepped out of a gutter." Laughing gently, she hoped that he would pick up on the joke.
"Wh-where was I raised? Oh, well...I'm actually from Egypt, even though it might not look like it when you see my skin. I'm oddly pale, but I've always been that way." Again, she gave a charming smile, trying to throw him off of the details of her story. She didn't need to tell him what time period she was from. For all he knew, she could have just come over to Japan a month before.
She felt her breath catch in her throat at the sound of his name and hoped it wasn't audible enough for him to hear it. Malik...Wasn't that the one that hit Bakura? Well, there was only one way to find out. "And how do you know Bakura, Mr. Ishtar? Friends, I suppose?" The last name was so..familiar that she knew she'd just be wasting her time and breath by adding a -sama to the end of his name. Besides, if he wanted to be referred to as Ishtar-sama, he would tell her, right? The only reason she called Bakura 'Bakura-sama' was because the girl that introduced her to him, Lucky Starr, suggested she do so.
Still without any knowledge of where they were going, she tried again to focus on his last name. "Your last name is very similar to make Egyptian names I knew back home. Is that where you come from as well? What a coincidence that would be."
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"We work together," he said, figuring the less he said the better. His grin returned, for a second. "You should call me Malik." He enjoyed the name, mostly because there were so many people who hated that he used it. His family members in particular.
He paused at an intersection to wait for the light to change, and took the moment to really appreciate the way 'Blanche' looked in the dusky light. She was pale, moreso even than he remembered Bakura Ryou being, and if not for the accent he wouldn't have taken her for an Egyptian at all. Knowing that made her more exotic, if anything.
"I'm from Egypt," he agreed, chuckling. "But not the city. I was one of Pharaoh's memorial guards.... Ne, does it--" he was better about pronouns when he thought about it, and corrected himself, "do you speak the old language then~? Or Arabic?"
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"You work together? May I ask, what is it that you do with Bakura? Are you in this line of work with him or does he have another job?" She asked, suddenly finding herself interested. Even if Bakura had mentioned someone named Malik, someone like his violent roommate named Malik, wouldn't he have informed her of him and sent her to him almost immediately? Didn't business partners share this type of new thing? Wouldn't Malik be the first one he sent her to? There had to be a reason why he didn't.
Yes, she was pale, and she had never truly been able to figure out why she was such a ghostly color, but it provided her a certain type of allure. There weren't many people who looked like her; none that she had ever encountered, so it gave her a sense of uniqueness. Something that no one else had and something that clients would strive to see.
"You're from Egypt as well? What a coincidence!" Her laugh was slightly musical, something she had trained to accomplish but something that didn't sound forced. Clients wouldn't like a forced laugh. Everything should sound genuine. "Oh, yes, I can speak the old language," She answered, but when it registered that he had, too, had admitted to belonging to the same time as she.
She turned to look him in the eye, working through the chill she felt in her spine. "You're...are you saying you're from a different time period?"
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He only babbled about the Darkness when he was maiming someone, and this woman was proving to be too interesting to dispose of just yet. So he went with a simpler explanation: "I'm his supervisor in his other line of work."
Malik tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly when he realized Blanche had asked that seriously. "A different time?" He wasn't, of course, but it was such an odd thing for her to have asked. She sounded almost...excited? Apprehensive? He couldn't place it, but he decided to run with it.
He switched to Ancient Egyptian, finding it more comfortable to speak his native language anyway. "Are you also?" That implied he was, anyway. And it was only a minor stretch of the truth; he'd grown up underground, after all, away from anything modern.
The light changed and, after the last two impatient cars sped through the intersection anyway, Malik started towards the restaurant again, though he took Blanche's arm, intent on keeping her as close to him as possible now.
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"His supervisor...How impressive. I'm interested; what is his other line of work?" She wouldn't say that she knew he was a thief, that she knew that he was probably still stealing things even in this new day and age, but she did find herself enjoying her conversation with Malik.
As soon as he switched, a flicker of excitement did pass through her eyes. Finally someone who would talk in the language of her home with her. It was, dare she think, perfect to have this conversation. She had been afraid that she would lose the language if she didn't use it often enough and that was something she couldn't bare to think of.
"Yes, I am. I know that may sound odd and it may not seem like I'm from then, but I am," She answered in her native tongue, allowing Malik to take her arm and walk with her toward the restaurant. Her side brushed up against his as they walked, but she was too excited with her new discovery to really be worried about their proximity.
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Malik caught the excitement in her eyes, and it made him grin again, pull her close when they reached the restaurant just before he let her go and opened the door. He'd been around Isis long enough to know that women in fancy restaurants did better if they had the doors opened for them, so he held it for her.
"What did you do in Egypt?" he asked. It didn't matter how many details she gave him, at least, since he was positive he was the only one in the building who would understand her.
Aside from giving his name, he didn't address the hostess, and then they were seated at a candlelit table and given menus.
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As Malik opened the door, Kisara took lithe, elegant steps into the restaurant and stood to the side until Malik was beside her. Only then did she take steps toward the hostess.
"What did I do in Egypt? Honestly, simply try to survive." She sighed, finding herself in the awkward position of having to explain her past. Luckily, she was already seated and with a menu in her hand, one she didn't bother to look at. She simply bit her bottom lip gently and thought for a moment about the best way to approach her story-telling. "When I was young, I was kidnapped by a set of slavers. I don't care to know what kind of slavers they were, but I'm not naive enough to take a guess. Either way, I was set to be sold until Priest Seth saved me, even though he wasn't a priest at that point. The rest of my time was spent scrapping for food, searching for safe places to stay, and basically living day to day until, yet again, I was saved by Priest Seth when a particularly rowdy crowd attacked me. Even though after all his good deeds, I was still made to fight against those with special..powers like I used to have. At the end of my life, I gave my power to Priest Seth as a thank you for all of his help."
She blushed at the end of her story, suddenly realizing that he probably didn't care, nor did he want to hear such a long, drawn out story. "My apologizes. I'm sure you didn't want to hear such a ridiculously long story." She flashed him a charming smile and placed the menu on the table. "I'd be honored if you would chose my meal."
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He nodded, as if he knew the man intimately, but he gave Blanche a pitying look. "You gave him your powers as gratitude?" He wondered what powers those actually were. But rather than ask, he shook his head faintly. "Seth is so cunning, isn't he? He must have seen what a kind soul you are...but you know he wanted your power all along, ne? Surely you do now, you aren't a fool."
He took the menu, letting her mull that over before he decided if he ought to push a little further. He ordered dinner for both of them--a vegetarian dish for himself, and duck for Blanche--and turned his full attention back on her.
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As the waitress came to take her order, Kisara fell silent. She figured it would only be polite to let Malik do the talking. He was the one paying here, she assumed, and he was the man so she felt as though she'd be stepping on his toes if she ordered.
Handing the waitress her menu, Kisara took the opportunity to pull her seat a bit closer to the table and cross her legs under it. She made sure not to move her foot too much (unless, for some reason, she felt like she should rub her foot against Malik's leg but that would come later), so as not to impale his leg with the stiletto of her heel. "Thank you for bringing me here. This restaurant looks lovely and I'm eager to taste the food."
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"But don't you want your powers back, ever? He seems to be doing so little with them, and they'll be needed soon." He took a sip of the iceless water, preferring that to the cold chunks he usually had to deal with in his drinks. "Things are changing, can you feel it?"
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"In all honestly, I didn't really feel a change until a few days ago. I thought it might just be something I felt only; I thought that I might be paranoid." A few strands of her long white hair fell over her shoulder, blending into her white jacket nearly perfectly, minus a blue undertone of the soft, flowery-scented strands. "I would like to have my powers back but I wouldn't be able to get them from here. Priest Seth isn't here, is he? If so, I have yet to come across him."
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Kisara was right in thinking that her expression, coupled by the warmth of the candles, was alluring. Malik rarely looked at anyone directly, and he wasn't quite with her either, but it was clear that he was watching her.
Mostly, he was wondering what it would take to get her to scream, and how long he would have her before she started to cry. And then he wondered what she must have looked like with her powers--if it was obvious enough that Seth, who was cunning and bloodthirsty according to history, would have seen it immediately. Or maybe he had just been smitten by the girl.
Malik could acknowledge that even he, who despised beauty, was intrigued by her. It was like having an alabaster treasure, being able to polish it before he smashed it to pieces.
Before he destroyed her, though, he would get her those powers back. He would use her, and then when the Darkness was loose, he would feed her to it as a last sacrifice.
The resolution brought a real smile to his face, almost made him chuckle, but he hid that by taking another drink from his glass, and reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear.
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She wondered what was going on in his mind while he simply sat there, the expression on his face unfaltering. She didn't flinch when his hand came forward to brush her hair away, but instead only smiled a bit more and closed her eyes. She managed to breathe in a bit of Malik's scent from his arm and tried to place it, but she simply couldn't. It registered and connected itself in her mind as purely Malik.
She opened her eyes slowly to see Malik again, watching the candlelight play against his features as well. It certainly was a nice change from the man she had seen about a week before. Of course, he had been a perfect gentleman, but he was not as young as Malik and it was a pleasant surprise. When she had classified herself as a call girl instead of prostitute, she had figured that all she would get were middle-aged men. Malik was definitely not an eyesore.
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He liked seeing her close her eyes, however briefly. He'd enjoyed the moment of vulnerability showed, the way she smiled. She didn't have any of the rough edges and bitterly preserved addictions that Bakura's other prostitutes did, but then, she was new.
The waiter brought them their appetizers and assured them their dinners were almost done. Malik ignored him completely. "Mm, so, after this what does my money get me?" It was a crude way to put it, but he was grinning at least while he said it. Besides, she worked for Bakura; blunt come-ons shouldn't have bothered her.
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