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(36 drinks | Care to dance?)

Meme time! *break down* [16 Nov 2004|07:01pm]
[ mood | blah ]

My LJ IS a bar...club...whatever.

If LJ Were a Bar by Karen_Walker
Dancing Badlywhite_hikari
Playing Poolaset_san
Playing Dartsmanhatten_baby
Singing Karaokegemini_spirit
Got in with a Fake IDsatinlaceddream
Guy with a Mulletundyingloyalty
Too Drunk to Standmalik_kun_
Hitting on Everyonedivine_prince
Hot Chicknot_so_stable
Quiz created with MemeGen!

*eyetwitch* ....*growl*

Hey, Malik stop drinking. >.>; And, Ryou, I TOLD you you need to work on your dancing. Ballroom dancing is NOT the same thing...>>;

(375 drinks | Care to dance?)

I update too much... ._.; [08 Nov 2004|08:56pm]
[ mood | bored ]

Bakura sighed and scrubbed down the bartop for what seemed like the thousandth time, yawning for the millionth. He hadn't wanted to go to the club...he'd wanted to stay home with Atemu...but his better instinct had advised against leaving the club alone for so long. This place just wouldn't run itself, after all...

Still, everything seemed to be running smoothly. Even with the bitter cold of approaching winter, the club was still pounding with heat and life, the dance floor overpopulated with people who were there to both escape the cold and just have some fun. Bakura had told the bouncer on his way in to be a bit more lenient with letting people in--he didn't like the idea of people waiting in the cold anymore than anyone else, and he could clean out riff raff himself.

Bakura smiled slightly to himself, reaching a hand to touch the ring that rested on a fine chain against his bare skin underneath the half-opened, near-see through shirt. He gently ran his fingers over the shape, the jewel, the details, and his smile warmed. He didn't trust the people there enough to wear it properly, but didn't feel like leaving it behind. He sighed again and wished he was back home.... His eyes trailed to the pounding, swaying, grinding crowd that moved to the fast beat, as he leaned against the bar and folded one leather-clad leg over the other. He was getting bored....

(56 drinks | Care to dance?)

[01 Nov 2004|08:56pm]
[ mood | lonely ]


I've gone to stay with Malik for a few days. I just... need some time to think. I'll be home in a week or so, I guess. I can't take any more of this right now, koibito. I'm sorry... I love you.


It took him three reads before he got over his initial shock, the tote bag that he always took to the club still clenched in his hand and his shoes still on. Atemu had gone. Atemu had left him behind.

In one motion, he crumpled the paper tightly in his hand, refusing to cry, though his entire body quivered, his face hidden behind his bangs. He felt the intense pang of sudden loneliness fill him, but it was quickly and easily surpassed by anger. He threw the paper as hard as he could with a cry, missing the wastebasket by a lot.

Within his mind, he could see Malik’s smug smirk, taunting him and telling him that it was all his fault. He’d chased Atemu away because he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t think, wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. And now Atemu was with Malik.

In an instant of pure jealousy, hatred, and anger, he threw his head back and screamed. His body moved without any real recognition from his mind, tossing papers, pushing things over, punching walls and pillows and anything he could reach. Everything he smashed or hit was a laughing face, telling him it was all his fault, and now Atemu was gone. He screamed and cursed and beat until he could no more. He felt nothing.

An hour later, he simply collapsed on the bed, not caring if Ryou came home to a mess or anyone else complained about the noise. He simply lay, slightly curled, his face empty and tears trailing down his cheeks. A loneliness that he could only compare to the loss of his family was overwhelming him, filling his entire body with tingling pain from the inside out. His emotions had been hidden so long that they were fragile and easily hurt…but, he couldn’t bear to part with them again.

So he lay there, loving and hating Atemu with all his heart and soul as his eyes stared at nothing. It was all his fault. But he couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t Atemu understand? Why couldn’t he see the pain that he felt everytime he was forced to relive another beating, another capture, another near-death trap…he didn’t want to go back…

Please, don’t make me go back…

He sobbed softly in the dark room as the night’s shadows fell over him. He longed for someone to be there, to hold him and tell him it was all right. He didn’t care who it was--he just craved human touch, human warmth. He needed to be reassured. But it was far too late, now.

Though his body felt sluggishly tired, his mind stayed persistently awake. He was unaware of how much he needed those pills, not just to suppress his dreams, but simply to sleep. He was unaware of his addiction, unaware that he was killing himself slowly. All he knew was an escape from the pain. That was all he wanted.

The sheets beneath him became damp and wet, his form quivering uncontrollably, goosebumps forming along his pale skin.

His heart throbbed and twisted and the numb pain of loneliness made a permanent home in his soul. Just like when he lost his family. Just like every time he’d lost anyone he got close to, to the point where he’d simply stopped trying to get close.

“Atemu…” he murmured in a shaky voice to the empty room. “I’m so sorry…please…don’t leave me…”

He was all alone in the shadows, once again.

(6 drinks | Care to dance?)

[24 Oct 2004|12:23pm]
[ mood | nostalgic ]

Bakura had never been one for deep thoughts. For him, his only thoughts had really been to kill the Pharaoh, get the Items, avenge...something...He had barely even remembered what he was fighting for.

He sighed, gazing out the window he was sitting beside at the dark, empty streets. That was the Ring's fault, he told himself again and again. He hadn't been prepared for the massive evil it contained, and the darkness had overwhelmed him, corrupted his quest. It was only when he'd stopped wearing it everyday that he'd begun to see...and regret...

He closed his eyes, only to open them quickly again. The images were still there, burned into his head. He'd thought that the pills he'd been taking for a week had been doing their job and he was free of the dreams again, so he'd decided not to take them last night. Foolish mistake.

He was surrounded on all sides by foreign men, his feet sinking into the hot sand and reminding him of how he couldn't run fast, here. They sneered from their horses, pointing blades at him. He attempted to back away, but they were everywhere...

Bakura sighed, resting his forehead on the cool glass, his breath forming little circles of steam to hide the night. At least he hadn't awoken the sleeping Atemu. More than anything, he hated forcing the former Pharaoh away from needed sleep because of his problems.

One of them had gotten of his horse and grabbed his tanned arm in a firm grip. "Seems we've got ourselves a new servant, boys..." He's hissed, grinning. Bakura's blue eyes widened as he saw one of the horseback riders bearing a whip. Anything but the whip...He attempted to pull free, but his teenage body was no match for their developed ones...

He knew he should probably just take some more pills and sleep again...but he was scared...the dreams were so vivid, so powerful...

A blade came down on his head as he screamed and bit and struggled. He'd managed to pull back, but his heart stopped as he felt the blade pass over his right eye, slicing open skin both above and below it deep enough to scar, blood spurting out quickly. He screamed again, clapping a hand over his eye. Between the blood and haze of pain, he saw something forming between him and the man who'd tossed him to the ground. White...large...wings...it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen...

He unconscious rubbed his right eye. Even if the scars had faded, he could still feel them...

In one swing of a large, angelic fist, the men were gone. He gazed up blearily at his saviour, and a name came to his lips as though out of nowhere. "Diabound..."

And the world fell to darkness.

Bakura stood, walking over and grabbing the white bottle. Sleep was overwhelming him, and he didn't want them to be dream-filled again. Downing three pills instead of two, just in case, he sighed and slid back into his bed. Deep thoughts just weren't his thing. Sleep was much better. Snuggling up to Atemu's warm body beside him, he closed his eyes.

Sleep was much better...

(36 drinks | Care to dance?)

Dream sequence--memories of Ancient Egypt [21 Oct 2004|08:19pm]
[ mood | pissed off ]

((Takes place in between Kuru Eruna and the emergence of the Thief King~~Only Atemu reply, if you please, at least until the dream's over :3))

He could remember the walls of the palace. Clay walls, without mark or mar, untouched by the hands of any of the residents. He remembered the scowling faces of the guards who kept his developing arms pinned at his back, the points of their spears pressed against his back. Any wrong move aside from the constant steps forward, and he would be skewered in moments. He had really fallen into it, this time.

He couldn't help it. It had just been too tempting, and the fools hadn't even seen it coming. Who would have suspected the lanky teen, completely normal aside from the white hair he kept carefully hidden and blue eyes that he never let meet anyone else's? One movement and they'd found their stall missing about half the valuable jewelery and money that had been on it, with a teenage boy running away at top speeds. Unfortunately, his running skills had been no match for the guards who, once alerted, had surrounded and overpowered him easily. And now he was on his way to be judged for his crimes. Yep, he'd really stepped in it, this time.

His eyes widened as they entered the room where he was to be judged. He could see the priests, robed and decked out in jewlery that he eyed hungrily for a few moments, one priest holding a rather fancy scale and the other, an older priest, with some sort of ring hanging from his neck, decked out with pointers. His eyes widened as familiarity flared in his mind. Those shapes...

But his mind was only focused there momentarily before that familiarity was replaced with a burning anger. There, behind the priests, sitting with all the haughtiness of his royal self was the Pharaoh himself.

He was really in it if a common thief was graced with the prescence of the Pharaoh of Kemet himself...

That was until he saw the little head that popped out from behind the throne, adorned with hair that looked far too tall and jewelery far too heavy. Surely not...

Bakura's eyes widened, a growl developing in his throat as he was forced to his knees before his most hated enemy and the one who was no doubt the little Prince...

(42 drinks | Care to dance?)

Sometime after the club incident~ [07 Oct 2004|05:32pm]
[ mood | aggravated ]

Bakura grumbled, running a hand through his silver hair irritably. He sat, hunched over scattered papers lying over a table, his head held in his hand.

"This just isn't adding up..." he hissed to himself, fisting his hair. He had been going through the monthly fees for his club for some time, the shadows of night already darkening the living room as he went through the calculations again in his head.

It hadn't been easy, starting up his own club, so many years ago when he'd seen the place for sale. No one had believed him when he showed an interest. What did money matter to him? He was an age-old spirit, and a thief to boot. Still, it had peaked his interest thoroughly, and he'd done everything in his power to get it up and running. He was surprised at how quickly it became popular.

He had spent many a long night on that place, hiring good bands, picking and choosing a staff, getting furniture, lights, everything he needed...one who had known him prior might have expected to quit long since, but he kept working at it. He never told anyone why...he just kept burying himself in his new club, trying to forget all the bad memories attached to his past and move forward...even forget the one who'd left him behind.

He continued to live with Ryou, both their funds tight for a while as his host wouldn't allow him to "accidentally" steal someone's wallet. But, still, he kept working.

And then...he'd seen him again...and all the memories he'd locked away came back in a flood, settling in his mind and pushing him down. And then, Atemu had said...

He sighed, shaking his head quickly, causing his slightly cropped locks to swing out, hanging just at his shoulders. He leaned back, trying to think where they were losing all the missing funds, and then the thought hit him.

"Damnit! Knew that bartender was an idiot...he's drinking all the damn funds! Rrgh..." He draped an arm over his eyes, trying to figure out where he could get a new bartender. He would've fired his quickly if it hadn't been for the serious lack in a replacement, and he didn't have the time to do it himself.

"Great," he mumbled to himself.

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