Posts by MidknightPhantom

Ryou Bakura was honestly in a frightfully nervous mood. Not only had his Millennium ring been confiscated during a lesson,Yugi and his troupe of... (Ryou paused, failing to think of a softer synonym for 'overbearing') friends practically grabbed him upon his exit, leaving his poor Ring shut up in some filing cabinet until he'd have chance to rescue it the next morning. He had returned home earlier than most students that day, though he was to be tied down with work and music recitals that evening, leaving him without an opportunity to rescue it... and while something nagged ferociously in his mind ordering him to break into the school later that night to retrieve the artifact, Ryou did his absolute best to stay resolute. The ring wasn't going to go anywhere. He was certain he'd get it back the following morning.

Meanwhile, the Millennium Ring blazed furiously in the deep draw of an unlocked filing cabinet, which stood in the corner of Angel's homeroom class.

(Haha, sorry, I don't normally write that much. When I'm introducing setting or characters, though, I like to, just so there's enough detail. And yep, the Spirit of the Millennium Ring, who adopts the name 'Bakura', uses Ryou Bakura as a host. So, Ryou Bakura is the good guy. c: )

The Ring sharply caught the afternoon light, and almost seemed to tremble warmth into Angel's palms as she lifted it out of the cabinet. Elsewhere, Ryou glanced up from his open textbook, momentarily stricken with concern, before shakily returning his focus to study.

It might have been the darkening heat blazing down from the evening sky, or Angel's tiredness from the school day, but the ring seemed to throb and pulsate in her grasp as she took it home.

The Spirit of the Millennium Ring usually resided inside the psyche of his host, so it was jarring to be confined back to the 'prison', as it were, of his item. When Ryou wore him around his neck, he had the freedom to become a ghostly apparition beside him, or else spend time with him in a physical form in a sort of dream-like hallucination of his mind. Of course, the latter had taken a while to achieve, as an emotional connection had to exist for that. But in the confines of the Millennium Ring, Bakura felt restrained and deeply uncomfortable - and it disturbed him that he was being jostled around so much, not to mention he could not sense his host even remotely close.

Once the movement abruptly ceased, Bakura was able to focus his dim eyes through the golden haze of the item, trying in vain to see where he was. It was no use, though - without a host to draw energy from, there was no way he could do anything. He burned with anger. Had someone perhaps stolen him?

Bakura settled suddenly, and a soothing sense of power engulfed him. Satisfied, he was able to focus his eyes through the Ring itself and take in his new surroundings. Some sort of... living room, and it definitely wasn't Ryou's. Whoever was foolish enough to put him around their neck was holding a thickly bound book, but the script was difficult to make out and he didn't care enough to decipher it anyway.

He had other plans for this mortal...

Without warning, the points of the Millennium Ring dove backwards, drilling into the girl's flesh as they practically steamed with heat. Bakura's muttered laughter seemed to resound in Angel's head.

(Up to you.)

The tournament's first day had drawn to a close, and already the deadbeats had been separated from whatever duelists felt themselves worthy enough of tomorrow's round. Marik had dueled twice to secure his place, and although the first match was relatively easy, the second was nightmarish. His deck performed normally, sure, but his second duel took place at midday, and due to his aforementioned plan with Bakura he was unable to remove his Rare Hunter cloak. As a result, the draped folds of his hood practically suffocated him, and he ended the day sweating madly (unfortunately, not in a sexy way), and seething with annoyance.

OOC: Sorry this is late!

Dmitri struggled to his knees, his calves in the degree of pain you'd expect for someone who'd fallen in such an uncomfortable position. "Yes, sir," he all but spat, doing his best to regain composure. He didn't normally feel so angry, but... this was different.

OOC: Sorry I've been inactive, too! D:

Marik leaned against a wall, and confident that his identity was pretty much a mystery to everyone by now, shrugged off his hood and gasped in the cool evening air. His airy-light, platinum bangs dropped down shapelessly in front of his flushed cheeks, and beads of sweat pooled at his forehead. Distressed at his reflection in a closed shop window, Marik hastily drew the hood back up, content to suffer another few hours of basically roasting himself than to show his face like that. He eyed up Crystal's reporters nervously.

Seto was silent for a while, eventually sinking himself into the chair beside his head and removing his headdress. The balls of his fingers rubbed gently at the sharp dents it created on his forehead.

"You delude yourself thinking that so many of the Pharaoh's people live in poverty. Most are perfectly content to rely on His Majesty. He is the son of Horus, after all." He turned his eyes to the smooth tiles that lined his ceiling. "And as such, it is easier to eradicate outliers like you. That is how we deal with the problem. And you can spit at me and glare and disobey orders all you like, it does nothing to change our minds. Your little rebellious act might have been sweet and intriguing, but all it did was seal your fate. I hope you are proud, girl."

His matter-of-fact tone seemed to have burned away the rest of his annoyance, as now he gently combed through his thick dark hair with his fingertips and seemed much more interested in a wall.

"You are not the first slave of mine to have been sentenced to death, Amunet."

"I can't say I'm sure, either," came a voice from behind her. Just a few feet away stood a ghostly apparition, taking the form of a relatively tall male with piercing eyes, framed by unruly white hair that spilled over his shoulders. The now blurred furniture of Angel's room was partially visible through him as he folded his paled arms across his chest.

"Of my familiarity, I mean," the Spirit hastened to add, a vile smirk crossing his lips. "I'm perfectly aware of why I tried to kill you."

"Shut up," he mumbled, covering his face a little more with the fabric so that the chains brushed down over his nose. "It's fine. And the tournament's ok. I guess."

He peered curiously at Yvonne (as well as he could, his vision being terribly obscured). "You seem more confident," he commented, referring back to their time at Duel Academy. "Last time we met you didn't have your own name, or anything."

"Who am I?" he repeated, practically drawling out the words. "I am the Spirit of the Millennium Ring - you know, that priceless Egyptian artifact you decided to take home with you after school for... whatever reason."

As he spoke, the figure moved closer to her, his growing dislike of the girl manifesting into some sort of predatorial-like behaviour. "We will not be acquainted for long, I can assure you. But you may call me Bakura."

"I don't care," he said, and by the dark tone of his voice it was easy to tell that he really didn't. He seemed much more interested in the Millennium Ring, which hung so ungracefully on the bookshelf, its points spiralling off in different directions and neck rope piled up as if carelessly discarded. His lips parted to a hissed 'tch', and he wheeled around to face Angel.

"I think not, mortal," he snapped. "You will take me back to my host as soon as I demand it. And I demand that you do so now. Otherwise, I shall not hesitate in making your current situation a living hell."

"No, there weren't many," the Priest spat, incensed. "You have it stuck in your head that I'm... I don't know. Some sort of vicious slave driver, or something." He calmed, smiled dryly, and heaved his shoulders forwards so that his arms hung down before him in casual tiredness. "Narcissistic. Rich scum. Spoilt palace rat." He recited these names with a certain fondness, and his quickly voice broke away as he stared again at the delicately chipped wall adornments.

"He didn't die like you will," he muttered, eventually. "He's alive, somewhere. Perhaps." His pupils dilated for just a moment, though with a blink the regular coldness of his demeanor had returned.

Marik bit his lip hesitantly. "Yes. Well. I don't... I'm keeping it on. I need to stick to the plan." He paused, then looked at Yvonne strangely. "Hey, you don't plan on-"

He yelped suddenly and leapt back as some amateur duelist felt it appropriate to spill her entire deck all over the ground inbetween them. As if she'd somehow planned to fall right in the middle of himself and Yvonne - right when they were in the middle of a rather private conversation. Marik wasn't best impressed. "Watch what you're friggin' doing!" he snapped.

OOC: Whoa, wait, who wins Kaiba? D: (he's miiine)

Dmitri had managed to lead his horse out of the ring, and he immediately began to tend to her wounds, having to gently prise out any pieces of sawdust that angled painfully into her cuts. Dmitri himself wasn't unscathed. His right leg stung like a bastard and there was an ugly scar trailing from across his cheek to his chin. The blood had dried by now, but Duchess' hadn't. The damp cloth he was using to clean her wounds kept coming up soaked in red, and the situation didn't seem to be getting any better. There were tears in Dmitri's eyes as he started to bandage her. He wouldn't be able to perform with her for a while, now...

The male blinked and glanced down at Aika, taking the rag with a muffled 'thankyou'. The girl's behaviour struck him as odd. He'd never seen her before, though something about that expression and those horns convinced him that she was not always as 'caring' as she appeared now... Though, as that wasn't the issue at hand, he delicately held Duchess' muzzle still as he applied the moistened cloth to the deeper cuts across her neck. Resisting fearfully, she headbutted his arm away and backed up a considerable way, leaving Dmitri in a haze of confusion and betrayal. Duchess had never behaved like that before.

"Here, miss," he ventured, taking a tentative step forward with the cloth concealed in his palm, the antiseptic oozing icily into his skin. Duchess snorted with uncharacteristic aggression, and the whites of her eyes showed as they darted about with panicked restlessness.

Lost, Dmitri sank to the ground in tears.

Bakura made a noise of indignation. "You aren't- you aren't bothered?" he repeated, incredulous. Gazing down at the girl, his features settled back into an eerie calmness as she picked up the Ring and delicately began to clean it. Unlike the other Millennium Items, the Ring was partially influenced by part of Bakura's own soul, increasing the majesty of its existence whomever held it. It was, essentially, a form of mind control, and it worked a charm on Ryou - and by extension his father, who had originally been tempted to buy it from a salesman in Egypt. Whenever Bakura desired it, the holder of the Ring would be overcome by an overwhelming longing to wear the artifact and be consumed by its glorious power.

With a leering smile, Bakura approached his oblivious prey. "Considering that you kidnapped me and are now holding me against my will, you haven't exactly shown me much hospitality." His lips parted nastily. "You really ought to be a much better host.

"Well, I don't know..." he purred, lying through his teeth. "Perhaps it likes you." He smiled, and slowly began activating the Ring's manipulation abilities. "Doesn't it look pretty in this light...?"

He hastily tugged down the front of his hood again, the chains jangling quite annoyingly at the tip of his nose, and he watched the girl with startling blue hair fall to the ground picking up her weak looking 'Light' deck. He scoffed as Yvonne struck up a conversation, though. She prided herself on being an edgy, intimidating yami like Bakura was, yet here she was groping around on the ground for cards and trying to buddy up to a potential competitor. Speaking of 'buddying up', Marik wasn't sure he liked even being called an 'acquaintance'. She had been pretty rude back in Duel Academy.

Keen for this girl to make herself scarce already, he made a 'shoo-ing' motion with a tanned hand, the sleeves slipping back to reveal his glittering jewellery that adorned his lower arm.

OOC: Actually, it'd be super cool if you did play Bakura!