hadriel_logs | You want a revelation some kind of resolution

Entry tags:

You want a revelation some kind of resolution

Who: Atem and Bakura, starring Trafalgar Law.
What: Dweebs. Atem finally finds out Bakura is in Hariel, brings him home ~~and stabs him in the face.~~
Where: Caves, imported house 6-1
When: Oct 20th - Oct 21st
Warnings: hmm... idk where to start. just all the warnings, blood, swearing, general violence, some torture, because these two put together are bad news.

It hadn't been a coincidence, Atem knew it. He had dreamed of the Thief before (for the short time he's had with his memories), he fueled his nightmares, but so far, it was all they were, dreams. Atem would wake, and soon his mind would do that rest, he'd forget about them, he'd move on with his life in the cave.

And such had been life, so far. Until a different dream came along and made it perfectly clear.

The King of Thieves was in Hadriel.

And he was going to crush everything Atem loves, he knows it.

He will not allow him to do that, not again, not ever. He already fucked up everything good in his life, almost succeeded a second time. He's not going to have a third chance.

But first, first he needs to find him. Atem checks the network to the best of his abilities, and there it is... that damn name. How come he didn't see it before? Why would he even use that name? Putting himself out there so evidently. Didn't Bakura see him being there?

...

Didn't he?

Either Bakura was already toying with him, or he didn't know his name... What were the chances? Atem has no idea what is going on, but once he locates the Thief, all he can think about is to confront him, strike him down before he can do anything.

GPS ready, and off he goes, into the caves with a moped, so a damn monster wouldn't catch up with him this time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Bakura... Don't be stupid. You cannot have your Ring if you are dead."

Okay, fine, they are both dead, but the point stands. They need those bodies! Atem, later that day will think long and hard why he is even bothering to keep this imbecile alive. But since the other is not moving and the Pharaoh is honestly dead on his feet, he turns once more towards the stars, and he starts climbing them at a rather slow pace.

"Why do you even care." It wasn't a question, spoken as it was in that flat tone of voice. Still, at least the Pharaoh was finally retreating and Bakura bit back the caustic words he wanted to say — and that because he had a great want for the other man to simply go.

So he stayed still, jaw clenched as he listened to his rival's footsteps climbing the stairs. He'd wait until the footsteps were gone, then wait a few moments more. Only once he was sure that the Pharaoh wasn't intending on returning to the kitchen would he move, and that reach for the glass of water left on the counter. He drank half of it, slowly, and leaned heavily against the counter as he did. He felt weak, he felt tired, and he felt disgusting. The water had helped a little bit and he knew he should eat, but he honestly couldn't bring himself around to the effort of figuring out where food was kept and then preparing it in such a strange space.

With a sigh he contemplated the glass before filling it again and heading slowly back to the living space. Once there another door caught his eye: the bathroom, which meant a chance to get somewhat clean, and that was a welcome thought. It took a little bit of fiddling with the knobs to find an ideal water temperature. Stripping off his clothing, he left it in a pile on the floor and stepped under the spray of the water. It hurt against his body, the pain of physical sensation against skin and bruises, and loosened the careful wrapping of bandages. He decided he didn't care. Grabbing for the soap, he fought against the vertigo and forced the dirt and grime from his skin. Where the bandages came loose he simply let them unravel, adding them to the pile of his clothing to deal with later.

Stepping out of the shower he dried and wrapped the towel around his waist, deft fingers twisting it into an imitation of the style of clothing he wore centuries ago. It would have to do; he had nothing else and he wasn't going to put his regular clothing back on until he had cleaned it — and that was not a task for the immediate moment. He gathered clothing and bandages into another towel, wrapping the bundle into something easier to carry, and took a third towel with him out to the couch in the living space. There he found bandages left presumably by whoever had worked on healing him. Rewrapping his wounds was a messy affair but he made it work. Then he curled himself into the couch, using a towel as a blanket, and allowed his eyes to close. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing, but he found that he just didn't care.

Sleep found him not long after, dulling his thoughts and making his limbs heavy. He succumbed to it with no fight; if nightmares prowled this day, they would find him an easy target.

Fortunately for Bakura, the demons of Hadriel left them alone for that night, and the following... Perfect timing when one doesn't need dreaming to meddle in reality -- he could still feel Bakura's hate, he could still feel his sadness, the vertigo when they fell -- but for the first time in a few days Atem got some rest. Hm, questionable, but rest anyway.

Perhaps there were no dreams bothering him, but he kept waking, constantly, trying to listen if Bakura would be stupid enough to follow him into his room and try to get the Millennium Ring, he kept reaching for it, feel if it was still there, feeling a little sick from wearing it, but he knew everything was in his mind... That was Atem's rest a few hours into the morning. But there was no point of staying in bed if he wasn't going to sleep at all.

When he came back to the living room, he honestly didn't think he'd find the spirit of the ring draped around some towels, completely passed out on the couch.

Is it pity what he's feeling from seeing him there, completely helpless and absolutely obsessed with the Item, enough to stand being under the same roof as Atem? As tempting as it might be to disturb his sleep, and get some answers, Atem cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he pads to the kitchen, get himself (and maybe Bakura) something edible.

Fortunate indeed that sleep was dreamless because Bakura really had pushed himself past his physical capabilities. He lay as one dead, so deeply unconscious that he didn't hear the Pharaoh come down the stairs. In fact he couldn't even rightly say what stirred hi in his sleep: was it the proximity of the Ring? The proximity of the Pharaoh? A sound? Something else? It likely didn't matter; what mattered more was drifting slowly toward wakefulness, consciousness slipping around the cracks to wrap around his mind and remind him of how weak his body still was.

At least he was clean, he mused to himself as he stretched experimentally. It hurt, both the act of stretching and the healing wounds pulling against the motion, and he quickly curled back into himself, determined to shut out the world. Of course, the world didn't want to be shut out.

It was the slightest noise from the other room that brought his eyes open again, a noise that made him realize that he perhaps wasn't as alone as he had thought. Laying quietly for a long moment he simply listened to the sounds of someone moving about, trying to decide if it was the Pharaoh or not. He couldn't be sure. Whoever it was, was making the effort to be quiet; that didn't seem like a consideration that the Pharaoh would give him. But he simply didn't have enough information to be sure. Even so, he couldn't just stay on the couch as he was — nor did he feel comfortable being so voluntarily vulnerable in so doing.

Carefully he swung his legs onto the floor, fingers clamping tightly to the towel about his waist. He re-twisted its knot, thankful for the generous proportions of the cloth in being able to cover all the sensitive bits that needed covering. Between that and the poor job he'd done in re-bandaging his wounds he was half covered, but it still didn't camouflage all the damage he'd done to this body — or the fact that some of it was self-inflicted. Couldn't be helped though, not unless he put his clothing back on and he wasn't going to do that until he'd cleaned the garments. And he wasn't going to do that until he figured out what was going on in the kitchen.

Scooping up the empty glass from the end table, he stood carefully, testing his balance before walking slowly and quietly toward the other room. At the doorway he paused. The Pharaoh was inside, moving about like he owned the place (he did though, didn't he?) and doing — something. Bakura could only assume it was food prep, and he wasn't even entirely sure of that much.

"Do you even know how to cook?" For once there wasn't much snark in his voice; the food wasn't entirely recognizable to him, which prompted the question as much as the Pharaoh's actions did.

Oh shit--man! Way to startle him! And here Atem was thinking that Bakura was still sleeping, because he makes no damn noise when not wearing much, if anything. Of course, the Pharaoh jumps a little, then immediately turns serious to the best of his abilities, though, the question doesn't help at all.

"... I'm not." Which also means that he doesn't, but better not put it out there so obviously. But Bakura approached for a reason, didn't he? Yeah, he must be hungry. Atem turns momentarily and when he turns back he actually offers Bakura nothing but a cup of noodles.

At least it's hot. Better than cereal...

And since they are being civil, and sort of close, Bakura might as well notice how tired Atem still looks.

He'd be a poor thief indeed if he couldn't move quietly. Even so he couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face when the Pharaoh jumped. It was satisfying, even just throwing him off that tiny little bit. Still, at first he didn't think the Pharaoh was going to acknowledge him. Then when he turned away, Bakura figured it was the end of the conversation. He wasn't expecting the other man to turn around again, much less offer to share a meal — if it could be called that.

Bakura took the cup, looking at its contents and wrinkling his nose. He looked back at the Pharaoh, to the cup again, to the Pharaoh... it was a scary realization that stole over him, the idea that the other man might consider this an adequate meal.

"You're hopeless." He moved carefully into the kitchen, placing the cup on the counter and starting to look for cooking implements: a pot and spoon to start, and he could work from there. "Give it here. If I'm going to do this, I may as well do enough for two."

He hadn't missed how tired the Pharaoh looked, and he did still owe the man. Plus he wasn't entirely sure this would turn out okay, and he didn't fancy being the only guinea pig.

Honestly, it was the best thing he had, for the moment, the quickest too, sometimes there was burnt or soggy eggs, oh yeah and the aforementioned cereal, for lunch and dinner. Sometimes tuna, canned tuna. There was some stuff in the fridge, things that he would find in the stores and keep them just in case someday he'd magically make a meal. It never happened.

"What are you--" Is Bakura truly doing what he thinks he's doing? He doesn't even know how to help, so he keeps himself there, just standing and staring.

He is hopeless indeed.

"Never had to actually feed yourself, have you?" The words were sharp and meant to cut, though he did relent a moment later. He needed the Pharaoh, at least until he got his Ring back. "Ryou could cook."

And the thief had learned how to feed himself too — had to, or he would have starved as a child. But it was easier to mention Ryou than his own past; their shared dream was much too recent. If the Pharaoh wanted to infer that the entirety of his domestic skill came from his former host, that suited Bakura just fine.

Finally he found a pot, placing it on what he thought was the equivalent of a stove. But why struggle? The Pharaoh was right there, and presumably more familiar with the space than he. "I need knives, vegetables, meat or eggs, seasonings. Of that, what do you have?"

The words, believe it or not, do not do much of a dent, he knows his weaknesses (some of them) and he might actually be surprised that the Ring's spirit actually mentions his host. His silence is the answer, after all he's always very, very vocal about things when he's got something to oppose to.

At the question, Atem finally reacts, also remembering that Bakura is not okay and should probably not be moving that much. He is actually, not as familiar with the kitchen as he is with other rooms, but well, he's been living there for a few weeks already. He opens some drawers, grabs a couple of knives -- he recluntanly leaves them close to the Thief and it shows -- he goes to the fridge, takes out a few of very, very odd looking vegetables, if they can be called that. Some eggs, but there is no meat, probably nowhere in Hadriel ever since the Demons feed everyone with human flesh, or so the tales say. Finally, he goes for a cupboard, bringing out some basics, salt, pepper, what is that paprika? He has no idea.

"That's... what I've got."

While the Pharaoh hunted around for things, Bakura carefully took the two noodle cups and drained their broth into the pot. Adding a little water he stirred it all carefully, then moved to consider what his companion had found. It wouldn't be perfect, but he could make it work.

He sniffed the strange vegetables, ultimately choosing two of them and sliding them with a knife toward the Pharaoh. "Get those peeled and sliced, then they'll go in the pot with the broth." Meanwhile he was pulling out a second pot, adding water and fiddling with the controls to get it to boil. He'd need it hot for the eggs; he didn't have time to marinade them after as Ryou did but it'd have to do. He was working entirely on memory and stolen knowledge and he knew it wouldn't be a perfect meal.

After the instruction though he fell silent, not really having much to talk about with the other man. Bakura certainly wasn't going to broach the conversation and he doubted that Atem would really be much for talking. And what could they even discuss? They weren't friends; there would be no pleasantries.

"Where are we?" He knew he'd need to find out eventually; this was as good a time as any.

This feels a little surreal, on top of not having slept well at all, it just adds to the weirdness. Atem might be wondering already if he's not having some weird dream already, in which Bakura is some kind of master chef...

But anyway, as they wait, he tries to peel the damned things, kind of slowly at first, but eventually gets a little better, it's all in the wrist.

"Hadriel." Short, to the point. "Didn't you get the memo?"

Edited 2017-10-29 01:21 (UTC)

"Let's pretend," he was half paying attention to Atem and half carefully lowering two eggs into boiling water, "just for fun, let's pretend that my past few days have consisted of getting blasted by Ra, waking up in a crumbling ruin surrounded by idiots and sentient trees, stumbling into an endless network of caves, and just generally trying not to bleed to death. So no, I didn't get the memo."

As the vegetables were sliced though he tipped them into the pot, turning on the heat to what seemed to be the middle of its range and stirring carefully. Salt and pepper followed, along with a healthy pinch of the paprika. He was trying at the same time not to let his annoyance show — it wasn't just directed at the Pharaoh, but at the universe in general right now. The noodles would go in at the very end; they'd likely still be soggy but it would be better than their original preparation.

Good, good, he doesn't need to ask what is the last he remembers, somehow he had been holding that question for a moment, or two, or several. It wasn't terribly hard to guess either, from Bakura's wound in his arm.

"Apparently, we were brought to another dimension through a magic Door. It's ran by some fake gods that draw emotions from others to keep themselves alive, in exchange, they... keep us alive as well." That's the huge, general picture. And he pauses to bring the slices to the pot, though he doesn't let them in yet, giving Bakura a bit of a questioning stare. Is this alright?

"Great." At least that explained some of what felt weird to him: Zorc's crushing presence hadn't been as— well, as present over the last few days. Not that he had any plans of revealing that to the Pharaoh of course. He was still trying to figure out what it meant himself.

"Of course there are strings attached." There always were. Figuring out what they were was the tricky part. "So, what do we know?"

He nodded to the question of the vegetables. "Give it a stir or two after you add them." Meanwhile he was fishing the eggs out of their boil and into a cold water bath, hissing as the steam agitated his fingers.

"These Demons have enemies." It would have been a little easier just to let them roll, plot against them, but no, they had to be in the middle of a war.

They always seem to be...

"Some kind of inorganic beings that are trying to get rid of them. They wiped this city, killed their original hosts and now we are in the run." Atem does as told, and goes back to slicing the rest of the vegetables and back to add them to the pot, giving it a stir or two.

If anyone they both knew would enter the kitchen in that right moment, what would they say?

"Is he not with you...?" He finally asks, can't say he's felt anything coming from the Ring, and without it, it was not possible that Bakura's body would hold both souls. Where is Ryou?

Edited 2017-10-29 03:38 (UTC)

"Great. Wonderful. Sounds like fun." The sarcasm was so thick that even Kaiba would have been impressed. But Bakura didn't even know if Kaiba was here, didn't really know if anyone else was here at all. With his luck it would be him and the Pharaoh, stuck together.

But he wouldn't dwell on that, not now.

He did at least listen carefully, filing way everything the Pharaoh told him even as he peeled the shells off the eggs in preparation to slice them. There was a lot to consider: powerful beings at war with other powerful beings, and he had no doubt that they only had a portion of the entire picture. For a certainty they only knew what was convenient for them to know — wasn't that they way it always was?

"He's not." The knife cut through the egg with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "He wasn't part of the duel against Marik's other half. The Penalty Game doesn't apply to him." He'd spared Ryou in the duel against the Pharaoh as well, taking the entire force of Osiris' attack himself.

Setting the eggs aside he turned to tip the noodles into the bubbling pot, carefully smelling the aromas of the dish and adding a dash more pepper and another sprinkle of paprika. "Sit. It's a one-person job now, I don't need you in my way."

The Pharaoh was probably used to having his meals served to him anyway.

The Pharaoh only steps aside after casting a glare at him -- he was helping! -- but goes sit at the counter anyway.

"So that's where you were..." Mystery solved. "I can't believe Marik beat you." Now, this is more their talk.

At that glare Bakura simply rolled his eyes. The Pharaoh was helping yes but now his help wasn't needed anymore. Their meal was almost done and while Bakura couldn't vouch entirely for the taste, it would be better than the instant noodles alone. Of that he was certain.

"Shut up." Marik's dark side wouldn't have beat him, if the other Marik would have had half a clue about what Ra could actually do. But that's neither here nor there: yes he'd lost the duel, but he was already a part of the Shadows, so was it really a loss?

Lifting the pot by its handle, he poured the contents into two bowls, topped them with the slices of egg, and slid one toward the Pharaoh. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not nearly that easy to kill."

A little amused sound comes from Atem, and he lets his smirk linger for a little longer, it's a little mellower than usual, because he's not about to offend the cook (it smells like food). While he's not sure what is going on here, he's not going to deny he's been aching for some warm fresh food. It sells different, nice. And since Bakura doesn't seem to have gotten anything to eat in the past days, he's almost one hundred percent sure that he doesn't have reasons to ruin it, as much as he may want to.

The Pharaoh leans over his bowl, a little amazed and a little envious of the skills he decided to disregard and ignore. Not that Yugi was the best at the kitchen, his mother would fix him breakfast and most of his meals. The contrast, between them, even in their host's everyday lives is so evident.

But at the barb, Atem's eyes go from the bowl to Bakura's slowly, a bit of a different shine in them, perhaps even a little condescending, a little too serious, knowing, all sudden.

"I am aware."

Ah, but let's be real, it could be only him being sore about those dreams, one more than the other.

Edited 2017-10-29 17:05 (UTC)

Food served and water within reach Bakura sits down, more tired than he anticipated but unwilling to show it any more than necessary. It still galled him that he had to rely even a little bit on the Pharoh, that he couldn't just take his Ring by force and leave. So he tried to push it from his mind, tried to enjoy the meal. After a week or so of scavenging in the caves, it was the most amazing thing ever.

He ate slowly though, feeling how his hands wanted to shake. He was still tired, still weak. And he knew that this close, the Pharaoh would be able to see even the slightest bit of it. That wasn't something Bakura wanted, and he was going to do whatever he could to prevent his weakness from showing. It was bad enough sitting here wearing nothing more than a towel.

"Then stop forgetting it." He meets the other man's gaze with a glare of his own — a mild one, for him — knowing as he did so that he was probably acting very much like a caged or cornered animal. He didn't care. He was on unsure footing, off his game in general, and he wasn't at all pleased about it.

In all honesty, Atem doesn't need to try too much to see Bakura is not in a good place, whether from everything that's piling on him at the moment -- from his wounds, from his pride being ultimately stepped on by the Pharaoh, his lack of clothes included -- or just because of the absence of the Ring.

"You're not invincible, just so you know." And the Pharaoh gives the broth a try.

It is succulent.

For him, anyway. Who has the time to trash talk when he have his mouth full in what has to be the most delicious thing he's eaten in weeks? Atem doesn't need to say anything about it, it shows in the way he eats, no longer sending deadly glances at Bakura, he's completely absorbed by the dish.

Edited 2017-10-29 21:49 (UTC)

"Neither are you." He paused, considered the way the Pharaoh was concentrating on his meal, and smirked. It felt good to have this tiny little victory over the other man, even if it ultimately meant nothing more than a decent lunch. "Though if this is the kind of crap you've been eating it's a wonder you haven't killed yourself."

Yeah, he couldn't resist the temptation of getting in that little dig.

Though he could tell too that the Pharaoh's attention was less on their conversation and more on the meal, which gave Bakura adequate time to observe him. He noticed again what he'd noticed last night: no Puzzle. That then meant that Yugi probably wasn't sharing the body, which made sense in the context of the Pharaoh asking about Ryou. Curious indeed.

"So," he drawled after the silence had stretched on, "where is it?" For once, he wasn't talking about the Ring, though he left it deliberately vague on purpose.

Oh, he wishes to respond to that, but he finds himself actually not caring about that first.

"As if it--" He must swallow. "As if it actually worried you what happens to me." And, that said, he keeps eating. There is no better victory than that one, for Bakura, in this context. Entertained as he is, he doesn't seem to mind that the Ring's Spirit may musing about something as he sends him some glances.

"Yeah, you might want to learn more vocabulary, Bakura." He's not giving him the satisfaction of giving him an answer that does not belong to the question. I'd be giving himself away in some sort of way.

Edited 2017-10-30 03:43 (UTC)

"More that I'd be disappointed. Why duel you if all I had to do was make sure no one fed you?" Not that it ever would have worked, but he was going to hold fast to that verbal victory for now.

There was also the small victory in knowing that the Pharaoh was so pleased with the meal. Sure, Bakura's basic culinary skills didn't really mean anything, but he was better that the other man at something.

"Maybe I just wanted to see what question you'd choose to answer." He folded his hands on the tabletop; he hadn't finished his meal but he was honestly losing the energy to do so. He'd have to force himself to eat it, most likely, and only then because he knew his body needed the nutrients. But his energy right now was going toward the conversation more than anything else. "The Puzzle then."

"Yeah, that's cheating. You gonna have to be very straight with me from now on." Atem pulls the cord from that's hanging from his neck, bringing the Ring out. "If you want it back, that's it." It's a low trick, he knows it, but he's dealing with the lowest of individuals, as far as he knows. Bakura hasn't done anything to deserve his mercy.

He takes a look at the Ring before answering. "It got lost."

That's the honest, less complicated answer, one that might or not satisfy the Ring's Spirit, but it will have to do.

Edited 2017-11-01 19:16 (UTC)

You want a revelation some kind of resolution

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)