Vignettes

[denyamenti]

1. Property
2. Companion
3. Infamy
4. Tithe
5. Figment

Property

Master Ghazir leans down so his face is only inches from yours; his breath smells like three-day-sour wine and his eyes are bloodshot. "Now listen here, you little whelp," he growls. "I've sold you that man -- Kauib -- and being the little freak that you are, I couldn't get a decent price for you." He grips your arm tightly and you know from experience there will be bruises there but that they won't rise for at least a day... long enough for the caravan to be on its way again.

"So I'm going to get reputation out of you instead. Be an obedient little slave and do everything Kauib tells you, do you understand? And if you don't..." He bares crooked yellow teeth at you, as though he can already hear your defiance. "If you don't, I'll break both of Jhalil's legs, and leave him in the desert to die slowly while jackals and the scorpions eat him alive."

Jhalil -- your only friend and caretaker for the last year and a half -- is standing only a few feet away and Ghazir's words are heard. He pales beneath his dark complexion, and he nods... he believes Ghazir will do it and so do you. "I understand," you answer slowly and Ghazir stands, giving you an 'affectionate' shove from behind. You walk slowly towards the other man who is now your master, feeling as though the whole world is dulled and lethargic.

Three days later, you smash Kauib's head in with a rock so heavy you can barely lift it, while the man lay on his couch in a drunken stupor. It's not an action done in fear or self-defense -- you're calm and you're aware of the consequences. The corpse is still twitching while you raid all the food you can find, and manage to climb onto the dead man's horse that was tethered behind the house before fleeing out into the desert to find Kul Elna once again because you're never going to be anyone's slave.

You're six years old, and you never do find out if Jhalil lives or dies.

Companion

You're sprawling on a rock outcropping inside the mouth of a cave, the darkness a welcome relief from the blazing hot sun, trying to pull as much of the stone's coolness into your skin as you can. You're thirsty, but you haven't got that much water left, and if you leave now at the height of the afternoon, you'll want to drink it all and then you'll have nothing.

Your eyes go to the side where a little white bundle of scales on a nearby and smaller rock. The creature has been following you ever since you left the ruined village. Your hand still throbs where it bit you -- but it had done so only after you struck it. As if sensing that you're looking at it (him?) the serpent raises its head, and looks at you directly and with far more attentiveness than any animal should.

"How do I know your name is Diabound?" you finally ask. It raises itself on its coils, looking eager to listen and somehow, that makes you feel a little better.

"I'm sorry I hit you with a stick," you say quietly. Seeming to take that as an invitation, the white snake slithers forward, and cautiously lays its head on your bare leg; its scales are cool and dry to the touch as you run your hand along its back. It makes a sound almost like a cat's purr, and curls up in your lap.

A smile works its way onto your face... having Diabound there makes you feel whole, and you think that maybe it will be nice to have a friend around again.

Infamy

The sun is almost at its zenith, covering the hot and dusty marketplace in a bronzed haze. You don't mind the heat so much, you're used to it, but so much dust can make it hard to breathe sometimes. You tug at the cloth draped over your head and fastened with a bit of twine you scrounged up from somewhere, but you don't want to play with it too much because it took you two hours bent over the surface of the river to get it covering all of your hair.

You see a group of boys playing at the end of the street, kicking around a lumpy ball made of old leather and you recognize the game they're playing. Its name loosely means "guardian" and you're struck by a sudden longing to just be with people your own age; you may only be ten, but you've been alone for almost half of it.

One of them notices you and runs over, excitedly asking your name (you give it before you even realize you've done so) and pulling you along. "Come play with us, Bakura!", then one of them grabs the ball and claps you on the back, signalling that you're now his guardian, and have to keep all the other boys from taking the ball away from him. It's fun and after a few minutes you forget to keep an eye out for the royal soldiers, forget that you haven't had anything to eat yet today, and all that matters is the game and how it good it makes you feel.

Then one of the boys grabs for the ball in your arms, misses, and catches the cloth headcovering you wear. The weak knots pull free, and it comes off in his hands, though you don't realize until you turn around and find the whole band of them staring at you -- white hair, what manner of cursed person would have white hair? -- with expressions ranging from shock to fear.

The ball drops from your hands, and lands in the dirt with a dull thud. No one notices.

"I..." There must be something you can say, something to reassure them or--

One of them yells and suddenly they're all yelling, pointing and calling for the city guards, scrambling over each other to find an adult or someone to deal with this and you have to run, maybe faster than you have ever run before. They'll have your name now because you were stupid, stupid to give it to them, and as you flee outside the city you think, the only option now is to make them fear your name instead.

Tithe

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Hayashi-san. I'm so sorry..."

You ghost intangible fingers over the recently-opened envelope on the table, but in spirit form you can't touch anything in the real world. That doesn't stop you from reading it though, at least the part of the paper that hasn't folded over.

Dear Bakura-san,
It is our deepest regret to inform you that as of this morning,
we have taken our daughter Sachiko off of life support. She
will be in a better place with our honoured ancestors and we
know that her smiling face will always be in our hearts. As
her former classmate, you are invited to attend the memorial
service...

You turn your head to regard your host, who has curled up in a ball on the floor with his hair hiding his face, clutching the tiny figurine of the indigo-haired girl in a princess dress to his chest tightly, weeping his apologies over and over.

"Landlord," you say after several moments. "You can still speak to that girl; I put her soul into that model you hold. Out of all the people in the world, you're now the only one who can talk to her now. She isn't lost to you -- she has no choice but to be your friend for eternity."

Bakura Ryou doesn't cease his sobs nor acknowledge you in any way; you're used to that, used to being nothing but a figment, an imagined horror. But that's fine, you expect nothing more, and he'll come around eventually to realize you're doing this for his benefit.

As far as you're concerned, you've paid your rent in full.

Figment

"Yuugi... I'll let you win this time. Go ahead and attack. Don't worry, I won't let your friend Bakura die. Attack me! This body is very important to me, so I won't allow it to be killed."

"Saint Dragon! Thunder Force Attack!"

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, the stone passage between your soul rooms is cold. The match between you and the Pharaoh may have started as holograms, but by the end of it, it was a Shadow Duel through and through, and now you're paying the consequence for losing it. Osiris' blast had been all fire and scalding light, and its force has thrown back into the joint space between minds in a bloodied, charred heap. A spirit you might be, but the injuries feel as real as any you ever had in the past -- moreso because they go deeper than flesh and bone, scorched across your soul as well. There's nothing that doesn't hurt.

There's an unsteady shuffling, and you manage to raise your head a few inches to see Bakura Ryou limping down the hall... he must have struggled forward after the Saint Dragon's attack, and before the body lost consciousness. He stops when he sees you, and for a moment you just stare at each other, watching his expression play through the unconscious progression of apprehension that slowly melts into a blank mask.

He walks over you -- doesn't step around you in either deference nor fear -- but his feet just happen not to come down on any limb. He moves into the backwash of warm, comforting light cast from his soul room and without a backwards glance, the plain wooden door closes behind him. To him you don't -- shouldn't -- exist and even in the privacy of your shared minds, you aren't allowed to be acknowledged as real.

(You're welcome, Landlord.)

You want nothing more at this moment than to rest.

But the Ring is in the temporary possession of another, and you have a score to settle with Malik for engineering that underhanded trick. So ignoring the agony it causes, you force yourself back to your feet, and slowly make your way to where you can take possession of this body once again.