Random fic snippet
Because I found it?
Whirl
Pharaoh’s coronation.
The old king had died, and a new brat had risen to take his place once the season of obligatory mourning was done.
Keh. As if Bakura would mourn for his people’s murderer.
Ninety-nine slain…ninety-nine fallen, and their bodies melted down so blood and flesh mixed with golden metal that pooled and cooled and set into seven trinkets for Pharaoh’s amusement. An entire village had been massacred while Egypt spared its virgin eyes and looked away…
There was little left to see now. The grey ash had mixed with sand and blinded those who strove against Pharaoh’s will, the sand itself a deep crimson that refused to fade. And then Pharaoh himself had faded, lost to the glory that was his son, his heir, and new Horus-upon-Earth - as yet unseen by the populace. Ta-mery, the beloved land, had a new King, and all Khemet rejoiced. It didn’t matter to the people they had not seen their ruler’s face. Why care? It was a sin to look upon the face of a god anyway…
Bakura watched silently as the day of festivities awarded to the new pharaoh ended, and fell to night. Fires lit the streets, and new revelries were introduced to keep the merriment the populace seemed infected with going. Hathor was a popular goddess that night, the drunk and intoxicated only too willing to sample her patron liquor before whirling about with a scantily-clad female - or male, in many peoples’ case. Both sexes flocked the capital, and the hoards were spoiled for choice. Jugglers, tumblers, musicians and dancers jousted for space in the streets, thieves and pickpockets making a fortune from the inebriated idiots that applauded their ascension of their new King. Bakura though…
It was impossible to get to the palace. That alone made Bakura furious, but there was nothing he could do about it. Mindless masses blocked his way, and large majorities had taken to the rooftops as well that night so a path across them was blocked also. He would’ve stepped into the streets if the thought of joining the glowing surges wasn’t so sickening to him, but the very whisper of so much as appearing to celebrate Pharaoh’s coronation made him ill to the stomach. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no way to get around the fact.
Hathor suddenly seemed so much friendlier than she had done earlier…
Slipping into one of the many local taverns Bakura grabbed a seat in one of its more shadowy corners, deftly swiping a heavy purse on his way across the room and pocketing it before its owner noticed it was missing. His table was soon filled with enough alcohol to knock twenty raging hippopotamus’ off their feet, and a very pleased landlord was happily counting the pile of coins that was his result.
“Though our people are famed for their tolerance of alcohol, enough of it will still kill you, you know...”
Bakura glared at the cloaked figure that had disturbed him, observing the way the deep fabric the stranger wore blended so neatly into the shadows he rested in. “I have lived this long. Ammut can wait awhile longer before claiming me.”
“Really.” The stranger’s soft voice sounded disbelieving. “And what price have you paid Anubis to not swoop you in his arms already to be so assured?”
A dry smile touched the thief king’s lips. “No god would claim me as his own save Set, and he adores my work too much to call me up for quite a time yet.”
“Set is the trickiest of all the gods. How can you be sure he will not go back on his bargain?”
Oh…so I’ve found a smart one… Bakura resisted the urge to smirk. “You seem rather interested in a stranger’s fate, my lord, to question me so fiercely on the gods’ whims upon my life.”
“I take no pleasure in watching fools fall to death before their time.” A defiant statement, before a falter. “Wai - what do you mean by calling me ‘lord’?”
“I take note of your apparel, lord,” Bakura let out a low drawl, leaning his hand lazily on one hand while his gaze fixed upon the hollow where his visitor’s face was, could he see it for shadows, “and the fineness of cloth you wear. Your voice betrays both your gender and your status - what commoner is as soft-spoken as you?” Faint scorn rang in the albino’s voice. “Take off your disguise, lord; I do not know you. Only cowards hide their faces.”
A slow, wry smile twisted the lips of the stranger, Bakura only seeing this because the hood of the cloak the other was pushed back slightly by a slim, bangle-adorned hand, the other’s face revealed. He was a young man - an older teenager -, fair of face and attractive. “Some cowards have good reasons for doing so.”
Bakura rolled his eyes. “You enjoy a good mental debate, don’t you?”
“They can be so hard to find…” Amusement glittered in eyes the shade of rubies, dark pools of crimson both alluring and intimidating. Bakura had never seen eyes of such a hue before, and their colour fascinated him. Some wry part of his mind cautiously pointed out the fact that such eyes had probably snared others before; first drawing in people by their intense colour, then holding them there and drowning them in scarlet depths that knew no end.
They were dangerous eyes.
“You have a pretty face, my lord…” Bakura’s words were a soft murmur, “I take it you find yourself with no lack of partners?”
“No lack at all, should I care for them.” The stranger took the opportunity to slip into the seat opposite Bakura, regarding the thief with a shrewd gaze. “You must be the same.” He waved a hand at the pure white of the albino’s hair. “Such a scarcity is always attractive, I am told.”
“Look in the mirror my lord,” Bakura’s voice was dry, “it is not every day you come across someone with eyes the colour of blood.”
“A strange thing you attribute their colour to.”
“A strange time we live in,” brown eyes were bitter and sharp when they looked the stranger’s way, “when our rulers control the powers of Darkness itself and summon monsters from the souls of peasants.” Bakura swallowed some more beer. “A little blood is to be expected, I am sure. It is a sight all too common in my life.”
“It would appear you do not seem all that keen to leave this ‘life’ of yours, judging by your earlier actions.” A sharp gaze lingered meaningfully on the swiped purse Bakura now wore around his own waist.
Scowling, the albino shifted, covering the bag with his coat. “One must live the life they are born into, my lord - is that not what our great society preaches?”
“Thieves are considered outcasts of society.” A hint of arrogance now in the cultured youth’s voice, disdain.
Bakura laughed. “Speaks one of society’s great pets. Tell me, my lord,” Here the thief leaned forward across the table, his voice almost intimate, “have you ever considered what this world we know would be like without people such as myself? Without society’s outcasts - thieves, beggars, criminals, the disease-ridden…”
“It would be a lot less stressful, for a start,” was the smooth retort. “There would be no crime, and honest citizens could sleep safe in their beds and why are you laughing?” Indignation flashed on the stranger’s face.
“’No crime’? ‘Honest citizens could sleep safe in their beds’?” Bakura was practically gasping for breath. “My lord, you are naïve. This is a corrupt world we live in - the most crime is caused by those who hold power, by men and women such as yourself.”
Indignation switched to anger. “Are you accusing me of corruption?!”
“No; no, my lord…” Bakura took a deep breath, lips still curved upwards in a mocking smile. “I accuse only those like you; how should I know if you are secretly corrupt?” The albino’s gaze slid over his companion’s face, eyes still glittering brightly. “We have only just met.”
“You have no proof for your accusations, anyway,” a low mutter. Ah, clearly the noble teen was still annoyed with him.
“I don’t need proof. I know human nature, my lord, and how it will lust for wealth and power.” Bakura took another swig of one of his many drinks, finishing it in a few gulps. Spotting the way his companion followed his movements, he pushed one of his many remaining beers over to him. “Here.” Ruby orbs eyed it warily, and Bakura snorted. “I would not poison one of my own drinks, my lord.”
Blushing faintly, the stranger wrapped one hand around the beer, raising it to his lips to drink. “My thanks.”
This time it was Bakura who watched his companion’s actions, silently studying the teen opposite’s face, the dim patterns the inn’s bad lighting cast over the youth’s skin, the faint gleam of gold that shifted around the boy’s throat as he swallowed.
“…It is rude to stare, thief.”
Bakura jolted, not having realised the other had finished taking a drink and was now looking at him, unwaveringly, with his strangely-coloured eyes. “Then what d’you think you’re doing?”
“I am looking without blinking.”
“Oh, fun-ny.” Bakura scowled.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, thief - or so I have been told.”
“Be that as it may, my lord,” Bakura’s expression was lazy, “it is still the highest form of intelligence.” His companion’s lips curved upwards in the beginnings of a smile even as the youth put his cup down, getting to his feet. Bakura’s eyes widened slightly, laziness vanishing from his pose. “I-hey! Where are you going?”
A little taken aback, ruby eyes blinked at him. “Back outside. The night is still young, and I have come out into the city especially to see the festival. I thank you for the drink and your company-”
“Like hell are you wandering off like that.” Bakura was annoyed. He didn’t quite know why he was annoyed, but annoyed he was. He stood, matching his height with that of the other man’s. Hey, would you look at that. He was taller.
“And you’re going to stop me?” The stranger - the gods damn him - sounded amused, leaning his weight on one foot and crossing his arms over his chest. He sounded so cocky, so arrogant - sure, this guy was obviously of noble or very good birth, but seriously. He was so slight. One good push and the pretty stranger would be a smashed ornament on the floor.
Bakura frowned. How could this boy-? “Who are you?” The albino’s question was abrupt.
Silently, the boy studied him. Eventually, dark eyes must’ve reached some sort of conclusion, because: “You can call me Khetire.”
“Nakhti.”
“Well, Nakhti,” ‘Khetire’ laid such a strange stress upon the name, the sounds softer and somehow more sinuous at the tip of his tongue, in the dark of his throat, “I’m going out into the crowds. Whether you come with me or no is of little concern to me, but you will not stand in my way.”
Bakura deliberately moved to block the other’s way even more than before. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my lord, you are both smaller and slighter than me. There’s no way you can get aside without my say so.”
“Your confidence is astounding.” A small smile tugged on his companion’s lips, Khetire taking a step forward so he looked up into the older male’s face, Bakura’s eyes locking with glittering red.
“With due cause,” Bakura caught the other about the waist when he tried to slip around him, large hands grabbing hold of slim hips through the concealing cloak. “Pretty words don’t distract me, my lord - nor do pretty faces.”
....
And this is old.....