Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ And They Call It Rock'N'Roll ❯ Lost in America ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Note: This is the chapter that's your insight into Bakura's general way of life in the fic. You also get introduced to hyper!Seto.
7/23/08Chapter ThreeLost In America
Outside a cafe on a main street downtown, rain fell in light sheets and gathered in puddles created from the earlier downpour. As one of the only cars on the street hydroplaned by the eatery's large front window pane, a man sitting at a booth inside, next to the window, watched the droplets roll their way down the window and back into the street. His right ring finger twitched next to his chest and his left elbow forced it's way closer to his body. As he wrapped the hand with the offending finger around his side, he propped his face up with the other.
The teenage waitress came and silently refilled his glass of orange juice. He ignored her searing glances and stared at a large lunar moth floating its way towards the streetlight standing opposite him outside. He mentally tacked a sticky-note to the back of his eyelids to write an angry blog later in the week about how all the lights around here were so bright he couldn't see sky. He reached down for his glass and took a few drinks, still watching the moth circling around the lamp. At the same time that his cup made a soft noise of reconnection with the table, the waitress was back.
"Excuse me, sir, but here's your bill--if you wouldn't like anything else?" A negative. "Okay, then. And, um, your phone's been coming on every few minutes for a while now, sir..."
He looked down, surprised, at his purple Razr, laying forgotten where hid put it next to the saltshaker. While he raised his hips so he could dif in the pockets of his jeans for the money, he saw w the screen to the cellular indeed light up. He picked it up and answered "whut?" as he counted out change and waited for the girl to stop staring at the waistline of his pants.
"Hey, Kurda, we have to stay at Hiro's tonight. I'm apparently banned from the house for 'Kuba's party."
"Yeah, sure thing. I probably would've wound up there, anyway; it's closer right now."
He ran a hand through his mostly-black hair so that the white tips of the bangs clinging to his mouth would leave him be. The scrapping sound of the coins against the table struck the girl from her stupor as he pushed them towards her. She shook her head slightly and slid the change into her hand and picked up the bills he'd also given her.
"Do me a favor."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"I know, this time of night, you're probably out eating right now. You got money left on you?"
"..." His eyebrow twitched, and, maybe, he thought, his blood was getting a little bit hot...
"...Buy me some fucking Boston Baked Beans."
"Ah, shit." He spat vehemently. Now full, he pulled on the hood of his tanktop as he got closer to the rain-flecked door. "You're an idiot."
"No, dipshit, I just get cravings. Now buy me some fucking three-Bs."
"Ugh. Fine, whatever, you fucking weirdo." He pushed his dyed-red eartails away from his face and pulled on a pair of black fingerless gloves. "I'll be there in a while. Get the shower and bed ready and fix me some fucking brownies."
He clicked his phone shut right as he stepped out from under the tarp over the diner's door. Glancing squint-eyed against the rain, he craned his neck to look, still walking, at the streetlight. With no sigh of his moth friend from earlier, he pulled his shirt's massive hood a bit farther over his head so as to shield the cigarette he pulled out to light from the rain. In the few seconds it'd taken to look for the moth and get a smoke, his phone hand started rumbling in his back pocket. He grunted, pulled it out, and held it close to his body to protect its non-water-friendly technology.
'1 New Message' glared back at him in blue LED light and the phone's keypad illuminated his face as he pressed OK.
Msg 29/29
From: SETO ASS-BA
Thnx, 'Kurda!!
Call: SETO ASS-BA
02:47 a.m. 05/17/08
He chuckled around the cancer stick in his mouth. "Dumbass bastard."
Through the rain droplets gathered in his eyelashes, he navigated his way down the sidewalk and around two corners to a twenty-four-hour convenience store. As he stumbled over the crumpled rubber mat covering the doors sensory grate, the cigarette was put out in a nearby tray. He squinted as soon as he entered the store and pulled out a pair of biker sunglasses from his shirt's pocket. The man made his way right down the wall isle, rounded the shelf left, and one-handedly pulled out a five as his other hand shot out and nabbed a bag.
Past the dark frames and lenses of his glasses, he saw the fairly young cashier woman peer impishly at him from under slanted, edgy bangs. He slid his wallet into his back pocket and plunked the bag on the counter. His nose twitched very slightly at the girl, toes curling inside his shoes at how short her uniform's khaki skirt was.
"Hello, sir. How are you?"
"Eh." A gunshot to his right and he turned to look at the slim, tanned teenage boy watching TV behind the counter. The boy flicked his head and his white-blond hair flew away from his mocha eyes.
"That'll be three-oh-eight, sir," the girl growled at him. One of his crimson eartails fell forward next to his face as he turned back to look at her. She stared at him with a sort of piercing glare and he realized maybe the blond prettyboy and the pretty blond girl were siblings. His nose twitched.

"Here's your fucking candy peanuts, you bastard." There was a series of clunks as heavy black boots were yanked off feet and hit the floor.
"Shower's ready, dipshit!" resonated from the kitchen while the blue-and-brown-haired man stuffed a handful of the food into his mouth.
"Right-o, fucktard," he mumbled around a yawn and began stripping off his clothes on his way up the stairs. Right when he began sliding down his dark jeans, the phone on the hall's table began to ring. He got his jeans while he yanked the cord out of the wall.
Stepping into the bathroom, he flicked on the light, pulled his black-dyed hair out of its ponytail, and brushed his teeth as he waited for the water to warm. From downstairs he heard a muffled beeping and an excited "popcorn!!" He spat into the sink, then twisted his hips quickly, causing the loose red boxers to slip down his legs. The black shower curtain closed behind him as he stepped in, and he immediately set to thoroughly soaking his shoulder-length tricolor hair. On the shelf in front of him, there was a bottle of 'strawberry smoothie'-scented shampoo. He grinned mischievously, the water pouring over his head and through his hair making its way to trace his lips and rest against his sharp molars. After wetting his hair a bit more, he stretched out a hand for the pink bottle.
"Bakura, don't you fucking use my shampoo again, either!!"
His smile grew wider as he pushed the button to stop the drain and he poured almost all the shampoo in the nearly-empty bottle into the growing water. He squeezed a handful onto his hair and slid into the filling tub, hearing the gruff "you're an idiot" carrying up from downstairs.

Later, after taking possibly one of the hugest bubble baths ever and using the remaining shampoo as shower gel, Bakura was locked in his room, avoiding the conniving, ADHD-style wrath of one Seto Kaiba. Throwing all random, obstructing things off the bed (hadn't he told them to get it ready for him?) and into the floor, he occasionally burst into low, spontaneous manic chuckles that he would stop as abruptly as they'd start. He picked up the discarded shampoo bottle and took one last whiff of it before throwing it across the room and into the trashcan.
Tightening the towel around his waist, he waded over to the closet and rummaged through piles of junk and who-knew-what to find one of his modified game consoles. Wrapping his fist around the bright cord, he stepped back and yanked hard, watching for all the bits and bobs that tumbled out of the doorway and onto his feet. Snatching up the box, he jumped over the huge pile of laundry behind him and to the TV on the desk beyond it. He plugged in the system and randomly smacked the power button, lightly stomping on a plastic gun's hilt with his foot. It flipped up into the air and he caught it one-handed as he adjusted his towel again, then flopped down, legs crossed, onto the bed.
When a menu screen appeared on the television, he glanced at the time in the top right corner --almost three-thirty, haha-- and used a controller button on the side of the gun's handle to select his game. The view changed and he chose a few more options, and then the TV faded black before popping up with the game's plot trailers. When an undead's sickly white, gory face flashed screaming into view, followed by the game title and tagline, he grinned and tightened his grip on the gun controller.
One of his feet reached out to tap the touch-lamp nearby, throwing the room into darkness accompanied by the glow of the TV. His character displayed on screen, a deformed and disgusting, moaning figure loping toward it. He held the gun even tighter and cocked it.
"Lock and load, bitches."
(Lost in America, lost in America. Lost in America, lost.)(Lost in America, lost in America. Lost in America, lost.)I live at the 7-11. I'm trying to play this guitar.I'm learning a Stairway to Heaven, 'cause Heaven's where you are.I can't go to school 'cause I ain't got a gun.I can't get a gun 'cause I ain't got a job.. I ain't got a job 'cause I can't go to school.So, I'm looking for a girl with a job and car. And a house...with cable.Oh, don't you know where you are?Hey, man, you're lost in America.
Note: I love crazy, zombie-hating Bakura. :)