Furby Wranglings

Warning: I didn't take the time to research any of the historical or canon details; I promise when I edit to post on ffdotnet, I'll make any corrections necessary.

*******************
The ceremonial headdress was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the annoying voice of the head priest of this backwater village who seemed to think that the best way to impress visiting High Priests-in-training was to regale him with every detail, every statistic of every temple festival and celebration since Great Ra dragged the primordial soil from the depths of the Nile and blessed the land with fertility – an occurrence which had been re-acted with increased elaboration every year since before the Two Lands had become one. And as he understood it, this sort of tedious rigmarole was typical of these outpost settlements. Sennen Priest- in-Training Seto ground his teeth in frustration, the drone and whine continuing as the man walked the priestly entourage around the compound, pointing out obscure features of the architecture. His only consolation was that his fellow Sennen candidates were forced to endure this same sort of spiritual torture during their Tours.

A sudden shout from the temple arch brought a temporary relief as Priest Sebumenknaton excused himself with many bows and elaborate apologies and waddled towards the waiting guard. Seto wondered if it was beneath his priestly dignity to sigh in relief, then decided 'Ammet take the priestly dignity' and retreated to the nearest patch of shade, where he went even further and removed the weighty and hot headdress, letting the wisp of breeze flow across his aching brow. What he'd seen of the settlement and the Temple compound thus far suggested that either the celebrated fertility of the area was somewhat exaggerated, or Pharaoh's stewards by way of the local scribes and priests were less than honest when it came to the quarterly tithes and rations. Briefly, Seto entertained himself by imagining his corpulent host being forced to adhere to the strictures of diet and physical training demanded of applicants to the Great Temple in Hamuenoptra, and let out a slight snicker. The man would barely last a week, as he was now....Seeing the priest approaching at an ungainly trot, Seto snarled to himself and hastily donned his head gear again.

“Abject apologies, great lord....such a disgraceful occurrence.... during your Lordship's visit....”

“Stop babbling, I can barely understand the words through your wheezing,” the younger man snapped.

“A Thief,” Sebumenknaton gasped. “In OUR temple!”

“Hmf...” Despite his nonchalant, dismissive tone, Seto felt a prickle of interest. “And how do the priests of Khonshu normally deal with such an outrageous incident, my lord priest?” While the older man stammered something about 'such a thing ...unheard of.... never in his time as priest... the protocols...' Seto took a moment to re-settle his headdress and brushed the dust from the collar and badge of office around his neck before interrupting.

“Priest Sebumenknaton. Be so kind as to bring me to this so-called thief.”

The man gaped at him. “M-m-my lord?”

“Is it not said, 'Justice is in the name of the Pharaoh'? And as Pharaoh's priests, are we not His Voice in His absence?”

Sebmenknaton's mouth flapped open and shut several times before he found his voice. “Of course, my Lord. Please accompany me to the main hall....”

******************

Three guesses as to who the thief is, kukukukuku!

(You know, you all are welcome to play, too!)

Day 2 -- Prompt # 18 -- "Mirror"

He’d gotten out of the habit of looking at mirrors, mostly because he was more than a little afraid of what he’d see looking back at him – evil red eyes instead of his own wary, prosaic brown; wild, spiky hair that stood up in to resemble bat-wings or (to his thinking, more like) devil’s horns instead of the softer, slightly untidy ‘candy-floss’ style he was more comfortable with; and elongated canines, almost vampiric in appearance…

Tonight, though, he HAD to spend more than a few begrudged moments, more than a hasty glance on the run to make sure his face was clear of smudges and the remnants of his most recent meal.  He had to actually study those facial features that too often in the past had morphed into those of his own personal demon, in order to perform the voluntary transformation (courtesy of the theatrical make-up kit borrowed from a classmate in Drama Club) necessitated by his choice of masquerade costume. Why had he let Mokuba wheedle him into attending the Kaiba Corp.-sponsored Masquerade Ball?  And why, in heaven’s name had he chosen THIS particular fantasy character to emulate, whose personality and attitude were so similar to those of the Ring Spirit, his detested ‘Other Self’?

Ryou Bakura sighed (he was doing that a LOT lately). Too late to back out now; the younger Kaiba brother was expecting him to make an appearance.  But it wasn’t too late to change his costume to something more benign, less sinister – safer, in other words.  Some of the other members of the Kendo Club were planning to dress as historical or fantasy samurai; it wouldn’t be that hard to throw together a generic Shinsengumi outfit even at this, the eleventh hour. Still…

Ryou reached up and stroked the feathered collar and trim on the cloak hanging from the closet door.  It would be a shame not to wear it, after all the hours spent designing and carefully hand-sewing the garment’s details, – not to mention his poor, sore, needle-pricked fingers! – assembling and fashioning the accompanying accessories.  He had good reason to be proud of his craft skills and shouldn’t be so hesitant to publically display his handiwork; and if his academic career ended up taking a crapper, at least he might be able to find employment as a cosplay designer. 

THAT would be a fine kettle of fish to slap in Obaa-sama’s face….either of them would be mortified at having such an outrageous individual in the immediate family. Ryou muffled a scandalized giggle at his own audacity at even contemplating such frivolous vocation (not that anthropology/archaeology was all that acceptable, either, but at least there was the potential for SOME prestige and social recognition in those fields), and forced his attention back to the matter at hand. He COULD do this.  Yes, there were many outward and personality similarities between the Spirit of the Sennen Ring and the Lord of the Labyrinth, but they were NOT the same.   He was NOT going to let fear run his life anymore.  He, Ryou Bakura, was NOT an evil spirit from the shadowed Egyptian past, and recreating the character of a Goblin King for a masquerade party was NOT an open invitation to possession and the standard ensuing insanity and mayhem.

He gave a decisive nod to the image reflected in the dresser mirror and picked up the black eye-liner pencil.  Besides, the Ring was still Sealed in it's lead lined bag, with a few extra protective charms courtesy of his Aikido master (who moonlighted on occasion as an onmyoji). Admittedly, he'd had some intensely peculiar dreams over the past few weeks which he hoped were more the result of the persistent spiritual/mental/emotional bond he reluctantly shared with the Dark Spirit rather than indicative of a weakening of the Seal which thus far had kept the Spirit locked inside his Sennen Item and not rampaging through the streets of Domino City in Ryou's hi-jacked body. Ryou shuddered. He held no doubts that eventually Yami no Yuugi would catch up and vanquish the murderous kleptomaniac, but the thought of what horrible deeds the Ring Spirit might inflict upon the unsuspecting inhabitants of the city --- well, Ryou didn't care to contemplate.

The pale youth forced his hand to stop trembling. The make-up was tricky enough to apply without accidentally poking his eye out! And he had no intention of adding an eye patch to his ensemble. Fortifying his determination with the mental image of a certain CEO sneering at the perceived ineptness of 'Yuugi's pet cheerleaders' Ryou thrust all thoughts of pirates and Egyptian tomb robbers from his mind, and proceeded.

November 1, 2009 – Prompt: Sick

It seemed obvious in retrospect that they should have paid more attention to the first warning symptoms: slight cough, general listlessness, a somewhat dazed expression. But then, this WAS Bakura-kun, whose habitual response to queries regarding his health and general lack of attention to his surroundings was an embarrassed, 'Sorry, sorry.... I guess I just spaced out for a moment; I'm fine. Really!' Yuugi consulted the Spirit of the Sennen Puzzle, who assured the -tachi that their friend's behavior was NOT induced by malevolent mind control or the magiks of ancient Egyptian sorcery; it must be some malady of modern origin.

“I'm FINE, Honda-kun,” Bakura insisted.

“Uh huh.” Honda was dubious, but then he was a little more aware of recent happenings in the soft-spoken Brit's life during the weeks since Battle City than most of their classmates. “Says the guy who took an unexpected midnight swim in Domino Harbor last month...”

Bakura sighed. “Hiroto.”

“...and needed a boatload of anti-this and anti-that shots to counteract any nasty bacteria that you might have swallowed along with half the harbor that me and Kaiba's flunky had ta pressure outta the both of you...”

Five miles away in a Kaiba Tower elevator, Isono-san suddenly sneezed; Bakura grimaced at the memory and absently rubbed his upper arm. “It was merely a precaution; completely understandable, under the circumstances.”

“Hmmm, and what about those circumstances, Ryou? You getting caught in the crossfire between Kaiba and one of his disgruntled employees ... Is that what's going on? Why you've been so distracted lately; is Kaiba causing you trouble,Ry?”

“Now you sound like Jounouchi,” Bakura scolded lightly. “Honestly, Honda-kun!”

Honda let the subject drop, but resolved to quietly keep an eye on both his friend and their occasional nemesis/sometime ally, the teen CEO of Kaiba Corp. He was all but certain now that Kaiba was at the very least indirectly involved in most of Bakura's recent troubles; but he had to be one hundred percent sure. Otherwise, the consequences could be ....

Three days later Bakura collapsed during Kendo Club coughing uncontrollably, unable to catch his breath and was rushed to the hospital. The phone call from Mokuba Kaiba, who'd been Bakura's sparring partner at practice and was accompanying the older youth to the Domino Hospital's ER, set a jolt of dread down the dark-haired teen's spine.

“The doctor thinks it's pneumonia.... Honda, can you tell Yuugi and the others? And.... “ Mokuba's voice broke slightly. “Honda? Do you know how to get a hold of Bakura's family? It's.... really bad.”