[✐fanfic] yugioh: just dessert
I've been making promises left and right for more of the Egypt AU, and it's coming (I'm editing like the wiiiind…) but here's - still a female Ryou, and still Egypt - but not the same time frame. XD
Written for a friend~
Just Dessert
shoujo-ai graceshipping
After Ryoko had finished all the food she recognized, she moved on to the Egyptian dishes.
"What's this, Malik-san?" she asked, pulling a plate out from the refrigerator long after everyone else had gone to bed; he'd stopped in, looking preoccupied, for a glass of water.
He barely gave her a second glance, though what little attention he did bestow felt searing, judgmental. Ryoko shrunk, antsy. S-so she was hungry. It'd been an exciting, busy day! And she felt particularly happy tonight, which made her hungry. (Being particularly depressed, or particularly upset, also made her hungry, but for different things. When she was depressed, she ate nothing but sweets; when she was upset, she devoured every scrap of meat in her apartment. Tonight, because she felt happy, she was eating everything. It was really very simple.)
"Om ali," he replied shortly. "Dessert. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Can't sleep," replied Ryoko, popping the dish in the microwave and guessing at a time; her other hand rooted around in the freezer until it touched what might be ice cream. Wonderful! "Too excited."
"To see your friend die?" Malik leaned on the counter, sipping his water. Ryoko lowered her eyes, tugging on the top to the ice-cream gallon (she certainly knew a tub of ice cream when she touched it, even in Egypt!), and swallowed thoughtfully. Yuugi's friend wasn't….well, it wasn't really like that, was it? Malik didn't have to put it so forcefully.
"To - finish things, I guess," she finally said, softly so she hoped Malik would have to listen extra-carefully. He always treated her with such -- she didn't have the words for it. Did he look down on her, or did he find her funny? Ryoko had never been good at judging, and only recently had she begun to care. "Besides, I'm in Egypt! Whoever would think I'd get a chance like this? I'm in Egypt, riding a ship down the Nile! Some people wait their whole lives for something this amazing to happen, and yet here I am--
"---is that weird?" she suddenly inquired, realizing her thoughts and words had taken her down a far more enthusiastic path than she'd ever intended. The microwave's bossy ding mingled with Malik's laughter as he chortled at her expense. "Weird?" he repeated, draining his glass of water and then refilling it. "I'm not the man to ask.
"But yes," he added on his way out the door, and Ryoko wondered whether she knew him well enough to stick out her tongue. Probably not, huh, even if he had apparently once saved her life (especially then). Besides, that was just childish, and a little embarrassing. And she was in a good mood, so nothing would deter her now!
Removing her plate from the microwave and resolving not to think about Ishtars any more, Ryoko wandered to a small table and sat down to eat her food in peace, her back to the door. Was it disrespectful to eat ice cream in tandem with an Egyptian dessert? she wondered. It'd probably be a bigger deal if she didn't scoop some of this ice cream out first…eating straight from the carton only happened on depressed-eating days….
…this om ali stuff was delicious.
Ryoko nearly made a burbling little sound as the first piece melted on her tongue. It was - it looked really simple to make, she determined, poking the flaky layers of her dessert plate with a fork. She could probably throw something similar together at home, but these -- these spices, and the sweetness of the raisins, too….She didn't need the ice cream. It'd only detract. She had to savor this plate, bite by beautiful bite…she'd warm herself up with this, and then go to bed. The perfect plan, for the perfect evening, even if she hadn't been able to go to the museum like she'd wanted.
Behind her, the door to the kitchen swung open again; Ryoko shrunk, instinctively, down around her dessert, trying to turn herself invisible or at least uninteresting. She didn't really want any more interruptions, and everyone else had so much on their minds already. Besides, if it were Malik, she didn't want to be lectured again.
Sneaking a glance as the person in question began to poke around the refrigerator, Ryoko smacked her lips shut to avoid squeaking again. Miss Isis Ishtar, Secretary-General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, the woman who'd gotten them this boat, strong and confident and self-assured, one of the finest archaeological figures her father'd had the pleasure of working with --
Isis Ishtar stood bent over the refrigerator, dressed in a loose, sleeveless shift, tucking her smooth shine-black hair into place and looking rather distressed.
Ryoko, watching from her ball at the corner table, stared. How could the woman look so regal even in her nightgown, searching through a refrigerator - it wasn't fair, really…it wasn't fair that her perfect brow could be just slightly creased in what looked mostly like self-reproach, where Ryoko's telegraphed everything she thought. It wasn't fair that someone could exude such maturity, such capability, in even so simple a task when Ryoko had been known to fall over pulling on her tights while dressing for school. (Once, but still…she'd slipped on a pile of gaming manuals.) But mostly, this just -
It couldn't be. Women like Isis Ishtar didn't look through refrigerators. People like her little brother, maybe, she didn't know him well enough to be sure. People like the rest of her friends (except Anzu), certainly; Ryoko had been half-expecting to be joined by Jounouchi or someone this whole time, except this'd be a tough night for Jounouchi in particular and Honda's stomach still hadn't settled from drinking the water earlier. But they were all normal people, wonderful as she considered her friends. They weren't - special.
They didn't suck all the air out of a room, or maybe just Ryoko's lungs.
"Hm," the world's most perfect woman said, implacable even as she stared down the refrigerator with the same force Ryoko had heard tell she'd once affixed a foreign official - but sir, I would hate to see your fine museum's name sullied with talk of theft - and pondered some deep thought. Ryoko watched, her own eyes wide, as the woman's hair slipped out from behind her ear down across one shoulder, scrutinized the idle hand with its perfect nails tucking the stray lock back in place. Everything the woman did seemed so effortless, and yet so - so deliberate, so assured…even the way one strap of her nightgown began to - slowly slide down one shoulder -
The clatter of her fork dropping startled Ryoko as much as it did Isis; the squeak Ryoko had been holding back between clamped lips popped free, and she immediately flushed with shame, then broke out into nervous giggles. "Ah, you startled me!" she explained away with a smile, scratching the back of her head. "S-sorry, M-Miss Ishtar….I'm…."
Isis looked, if possible, a bit surprised herself; but soon the serenity returned, she smiled as if just being here with Ryoko was some sort of special gift. Ryoko felt the flush returning, and wondered if she'd really embarrassed herself that much. "Don't trouble yourself," Isis replied. "I should have remained in my quarters myself…..are you not tired?"
"Ah, I'm just - happy, I guess," Ryoko stammered before remembering this woman's brother had thought that was stupid; but Isis, aside from a mild curiosity, didn't seem to respond. "I-I mean…thank you! Miss Ishtar. It's a wonderful boat and I'm really loving Egypt - I hope to get to the museum---"
Isis relaxed visibly, smiling, slipping into what even Ryoko could recognize as "archaeologist dealing with the public" mode. Even her father had one, though, pained her though it might, it never helped. She'd inherited her communication skills, or gaping lack thereof, down the Bakura side. "Passes can be prepared for you and all of your friends," she offered, "if you wish to make the most of your visit. Though I wonder - given the nature of the trip…"
"It's…up to Yuugi." Ryoko didn't want to admit how very little she understood of what was going on, how many times she'd spaced out or otherwise been unable to help. She didn't want to think about that day in a different museum, when the scale had tipped in front of her and no one else. It'd all be over soon. That counted, roll credits. "I don't want to…well, we're here for him, really. But the offer's - very kind."
"My pleasure." Isis inclined her head, though Ryoko realized now that the woman's eyes weren't actually looking at her, they'd drifted lower, to the table at which she sat. She breathed a sigh of relief - had Isis actually stared at her full-force no words might have made it out of her mouth at all - but still, caught in the act…
"Your, ah, brother recommended it," she offered weakly, exaggerating slightly. "I was just going to finish - then go to bed-"
Isis was smiling again, looked amused: did every Ishtar on the planet want to laugh at her? As far as Ryoko could remember she'd never done anything to them. Yet something about her had made Isis Ishtar smile, a real smile…and something about that made Ryoko smile, too.
"Well, I mustn't interrupt," Isis replied, almost - teasing? That couldn't be - and Ryoko could only chalk up her own response to pure confusion: "Ah! No, it's okay - did you - I mean - I shouldn't eat the whole thing--"
Isis chuckled, actually laughed, and she couldn't have sounded more unlike her brother's scornful mocking if she'd tried. "Forgive me," she added simply, but fetched a fork and slipped into the seat opposite Ryoko. "Your perception came unexpectedly, Miss Bakura."
Looking down at her own plate, Ryoko mumbled "Ryoko's…fine," since Miss Bakura just sounded strange. Still smiling, Isis nodded while cutting herself, with ease and elegance, a piece of the om ali. She even looks like the perfect lady preparing food, despaired Ryoko, wondering if she'd be able to take another bite herself with her sudden guest. She just knew she'd get crumbs all over her face, and look like a stupid kid.
The expression on Isis's face as she slipped a forkful of dessert between flawless lips, however, drew Ryoko's own self-critique up short. W-wait a minute - she - she actually knew that look. That was the -- that was the "creampuff after a bad exam" look, that was the "exorcism movie with an extra-large tub of popcorn" look, that was the "allowance arrived in the mail a day before a new Monster World expansion prerelease" look. That was - oh goodness.
Ryoko figured something out.
"M-Miss Ishtar…?" she asked, fiddling with her fork again. "W-when you came here, w-were you looking f-f-for the…in the refrigerator….I'm sorry…."
At first Isis merely stared, soaking the words in; but then she lowered her head serenely, cut herself another forkful. "We all have our small rituals when our minds are ill at ease, I imagine," she deferred, but that was enough for Ryoko. She understood. "It is - not a simple thing, to imagine a family's three-thousand-year commitment draw to a close."
"S-so you eat om ali." Ryoko didn't know exactly who was using her mouth, even pressed so tightly together to keep words from leaking out, to say such things. "And M-malik-san drinks glasses of water and picks on people."
Isis chuckled again, and Ryoko felt a flush growing not only on her cheeks, but also lower - across her chest, even (strange as it felt) down in her toes within her sneakers. She wondered whether just anybody could make Isis Ishtar laugh in the right circumstances. She wondered if she could do it again.
"Does he?" Isis inquired, and continued quickly enough for Ryoko to realize it'd been a rhetorical question. "I apologize."
"N-no, it was…" Ryoko forced herself to take a bite, swallowed hard. The food went down in a lump, but she felt oddly warmed anyway. "It's fine. Everybody just - copes the way they want."
"Indeed." Isis continued eating in silence; Ryoko, watching the other woman eat, did the same.
And though she hadn't been outeaten when dessert was on the line since she'd finally made friends to eat dessert with, Ryoko couldn't overcome the suspicion that by the time they'd cleaned up the dishes and returned to their quarters, sleeplessly awaiting the end of everything, Isis might just have had her beat.
Written for a friend~
Just Dessert
shoujo-ai graceshipping
After Ryoko had finished all the food she recognized, she moved on to the Egyptian dishes.
"What's this, Malik-san?" she asked, pulling a plate out from the refrigerator long after everyone else had gone to bed; he'd stopped in, looking preoccupied, for a glass of water.
He barely gave her a second glance, though what little attention he did bestow felt searing, judgmental. Ryoko shrunk, antsy. S-so she was hungry. It'd been an exciting, busy day! And she felt particularly happy tonight, which made her hungry. (Being particularly depressed, or particularly upset, also made her hungry, but for different things. When she was depressed, she ate nothing but sweets; when she was upset, she devoured every scrap of meat in her apartment. Tonight, because she felt happy, she was eating everything. It was really very simple.)
"Om ali," he replied shortly. "Dessert. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Can't sleep," replied Ryoko, popping the dish in the microwave and guessing at a time; her other hand rooted around in the freezer until it touched what might be ice cream. Wonderful! "Too excited."
"To see your friend die?" Malik leaned on the counter, sipping his water. Ryoko lowered her eyes, tugging on the top to the ice-cream gallon (she certainly knew a tub of ice cream when she touched it, even in Egypt!), and swallowed thoughtfully. Yuugi's friend wasn't….well, it wasn't really like that, was it? Malik didn't have to put it so forcefully.
"To - finish things, I guess," she finally said, softly so she hoped Malik would have to listen extra-carefully. He always treated her with such -- she didn't have the words for it. Did he look down on her, or did he find her funny? Ryoko had never been good at judging, and only recently had she begun to care. "Besides, I'm in Egypt! Whoever would think I'd get a chance like this? I'm in Egypt, riding a ship down the Nile! Some people wait their whole lives for something this amazing to happen, and yet here I am--
"---is that weird?" she suddenly inquired, realizing her thoughts and words had taken her down a far more enthusiastic path than she'd ever intended. The microwave's bossy ding mingled with Malik's laughter as he chortled at her expense. "Weird?" he repeated, draining his glass of water and then refilling it. "I'm not the man to ask.
"But yes," he added on his way out the door, and Ryoko wondered whether she knew him well enough to stick out her tongue. Probably not, huh, even if he had apparently once saved her life (especially then). Besides, that was just childish, and a little embarrassing. And she was in a good mood, so nothing would deter her now!
Removing her plate from the microwave and resolving not to think about Ishtars any more, Ryoko wandered to a small table and sat down to eat her food in peace, her back to the door. Was it disrespectful to eat ice cream in tandem with an Egyptian dessert? she wondered. It'd probably be a bigger deal if she didn't scoop some of this ice cream out first…eating straight from the carton only happened on depressed-eating days….
…this om ali stuff was delicious.
Ryoko nearly made a burbling little sound as the first piece melted on her tongue. It was - it looked really simple to make, she determined, poking the flaky layers of her dessert plate with a fork. She could probably throw something similar together at home, but these -- these spices, and the sweetness of the raisins, too….She didn't need the ice cream. It'd only detract. She had to savor this plate, bite by beautiful bite…she'd warm herself up with this, and then go to bed. The perfect plan, for the perfect evening, even if she hadn't been able to go to the museum like she'd wanted.
Behind her, the door to the kitchen swung open again; Ryoko shrunk, instinctively, down around her dessert, trying to turn herself invisible or at least uninteresting. She didn't really want any more interruptions, and everyone else had so much on their minds already. Besides, if it were Malik, she didn't want to be lectured again.
Sneaking a glance as the person in question began to poke around the refrigerator, Ryoko smacked her lips shut to avoid squeaking again. Miss Isis Ishtar, Secretary-General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, the woman who'd gotten them this boat, strong and confident and self-assured, one of the finest archaeological figures her father'd had the pleasure of working with --
Isis Ishtar stood bent over the refrigerator, dressed in a loose, sleeveless shift, tucking her smooth shine-black hair into place and looking rather distressed.
Ryoko, watching from her ball at the corner table, stared. How could the woman look so regal even in her nightgown, searching through a refrigerator - it wasn't fair, really…it wasn't fair that her perfect brow could be just slightly creased in what looked mostly like self-reproach, where Ryoko's telegraphed everything she thought. It wasn't fair that someone could exude such maturity, such capability, in even so simple a task when Ryoko had been known to fall over pulling on her tights while dressing for school. (Once, but still…she'd slipped on a pile of gaming manuals.) But mostly, this just -
It couldn't be. Women like Isis Ishtar didn't look through refrigerators. People like her little brother, maybe, she didn't know him well enough to be sure. People like the rest of her friends (except Anzu), certainly; Ryoko had been half-expecting to be joined by Jounouchi or someone this whole time, except this'd be a tough night for Jounouchi in particular and Honda's stomach still hadn't settled from drinking the water earlier. But they were all normal people, wonderful as she considered her friends. They weren't - special.
They didn't suck all the air out of a room, or maybe just Ryoko's lungs.
"Hm," the world's most perfect woman said, implacable even as she stared down the refrigerator with the same force Ryoko had heard tell she'd once affixed a foreign official - but sir, I would hate to see your fine museum's name sullied with talk of theft - and pondered some deep thought. Ryoko watched, her own eyes wide, as the woman's hair slipped out from behind her ear down across one shoulder, scrutinized the idle hand with its perfect nails tucking the stray lock back in place. Everything the woman did seemed so effortless, and yet so - so deliberate, so assured…even the way one strap of her nightgown began to - slowly slide down one shoulder -
The clatter of her fork dropping startled Ryoko as much as it did Isis; the squeak Ryoko had been holding back between clamped lips popped free, and she immediately flushed with shame, then broke out into nervous giggles. "Ah, you startled me!" she explained away with a smile, scratching the back of her head. "S-sorry, M-Miss Ishtar….I'm…."
Isis looked, if possible, a bit surprised herself; but soon the serenity returned, she smiled as if just being here with Ryoko was some sort of special gift. Ryoko felt the flush returning, and wondered if she'd really embarrassed herself that much. "Don't trouble yourself," Isis replied. "I should have remained in my quarters myself…..are you not tired?"
"Ah, I'm just - happy, I guess," Ryoko stammered before remembering this woman's brother had thought that was stupid; but Isis, aside from a mild curiosity, didn't seem to respond. "I-I mean…thank you! Miss Ishtar. It's a wonderful boat and I'm really loving Egypt - I hope to get to the museum---"
Isis relaxed visibly, smiling, slipping into what even Ryoko could recognize as "archaeologist dealing with the public" mode. Even her father had one, though, pained her though it might, it never helped. She'd inherited her communication skills, or gaping lack thereof, down the Bakura side. "Passes can be prepared for you and all of your friends," she offered, "if you wish to make the most of your visit. Though I wonder - given the nature of the trip…"
"It's…up to Yuugi." Ryoko didn't want to admit how very little she understood of what was going on, how many times she'd spaced out or otherwise been unable to help. She didn't want to think about that day in a different museum, when the scale had tipped in front of her and no one else. It'd all be over soon. That counted, roll credits. "I don't want to…well, we're here for him, really. But the offer's - very kind."
"My pleasure." Isis inclined her head, though Ryoko realized now that the woman's eyes weren't actually looking at her, they'd drifted lower, to the table at which she sat. She breathed a sigh of relief - had Isis actually stared at her full-force no words might have made it out of her mouth at all - but still, caught in the act…
"Your, ah, brother recommended it," she offered weakly, exaggerating slightly. "I was just going to finish - then go to bed-"
Isis was smiling again, looked amused: did every Ishtar on the planet want to laugh at her? As far as Ryoko could remember she'd never done anything to them. Yet something about her had made Isis Ishtar smile, a real smile…and something about that made Ryoko smile, too.
"Well, I mustn't interrupt," Isis replied, almost - teasing? That couldn't be - and Ryoko could only chalk up her own response to pure confusion: "Ah! No, it's okay - did you - I mean - I shouldn't eat the whole thing--"
Isis chuckled, actually laughed, and she couldn't have sounded more unlike her brother's scornful mocking if she'd tried. "Forgive me," she added simply, but fetched a fork and slipped into the seat opposite Ryoko. "Your perception came unexpectedly, Miss Bakura."
Looking down at her own plate, Ryoko mumbled "Ryoko's…fine," since Miss Bakura just sounded strange. Still smiling, Isis nodded while cutting herself, with ease and elegance, a piece of the om ali. She even looks like the perfect lady preparing food, despaired Ryoko, wondering if she'd be able to take another bite herself with her sudden guest. She just knew she'd get crumbs all over her face, and look like a stupid kid.
The expression on Isis's face as she slipped a forkful of dessert between flawless lips, however, drew Ryoko's own self-critique up short. W-wait a minute - she - she actually knew that look. That was the -- that was the "creampuff after a bad exam" look, that was the "exorcism movie with an extra-large tub of popcorn" look, that was the "allowance arrived in the mail a day before a new Monster World expansion prerelease" look. That was - oh goodness.
Ryoko figured something out.
"M-Miss Ishtar…?" she asked, fiddling with her fork again. "W-when you came here, w-were you looking f-f-for the…in the refrigerator….I'm sorry…."
At first Isis merely stared, soaking the words in; but then she lowered her head serenely, cut herself another forkful. "We all have our small rituals when our minds are ill at ease, I imagine," she deferred, but that was enough for Ryoko. She understood. "It is - not a simple thing, to imagine a family's three-thousand-year commitment draw to a close."
"S-so you eat om ali." Ryoko didn't know exactly who was using her mouth, even pressed so tightly together to keep words from leaking out, to say such things. "And M-malik-san drinks glasses of water and picks on people."
Isis chuckled again, and Ryoko felt a flush growing not only on her cheeks, but also lower - across her chest, even (strange as it felt) down in her toes within her sneakers. She wondered whether just anybody could make Isis Ishtar laugh in the right circumstances. She wondered if she could do it again.
"Does he?" Isis inquired, and continued quickly enough for Ryoko to realize it'd been a rhetorical question. "I apologize."
"N-no, it was…" Ryoko forced herself to take a bite, swallowed hard. The food went down in a lump, but she felt oddly warmed anyway. "It's fine. Everybody just - copes the way they want."
"Indeed." Isis continued eating in silence; Ryoko, watching the other woman eat, did the same.
And though she hadn't been outeaten when dessert was on the line since she'd finally made friends to eat dessert with, Ryoko couldn't overcome the suspicion that by the time they'd cleaned up the dishes and returned to their quarters, sleeplessly awaiting the end of everything, Isis might just have had her beat.