Note by Arashinobara: Hi! Wow, this was pretty quick. I finished this chap in two days. Yesterday. Today. Or maybe 'Day before yesterday' and 'Yesterday', since I'm not going to be posting straight away. Still, I'm pretty darn proud of myself, and hope you enjoy the chapter. Thanks be to Mishiko Shinsei (check out her fics; they're bloody brilliant and Kaiba's always begin tortured. Sweet are the sounds of his screams) and, as always, My Darling Wifey Muffincake.

Anyway... please review? Sankyuu. ;D

Reality Check

A Yuugiou fanstory by Arashi no Mamori

Part Three – In Which the Sub-plot is Revealed

The door to the Mutou-Bakura getaway residence banged open dramatically, Mutou Yami striking a pose in the door frame. "I'm ho-ome!" he carolled, striding into the living room. "Did you miss me, my duckies?"

He was promptly glomptackled by a white-haired blur, both parties falling into an unceremonious heap on the threshold. "Of course I did, Muffin," Bakura Lateef (whom everyone referred to using only his last family name) crooned lovingly. "Give us a kiss?"

Having bumped his head when he went down, Yami was too busy seeing stars to respond coherently. "Ngh..."

"That's a yes, right?" Bakura said, a wicked gleam in his rust-brown eyes. "Pucker up, Sugarlips."

"It's a no, you fool," Yami groaned, shoving him off. "I thought you were pacifist? If that wasn't violence, I don't know what is..."

"Don't apologise, Bakura-chan," Yuugi said from his position by the stove on the kitchen island. "He deserves that and more. Oniichan, if I find that you've put another dent in the door by kicking it open, I will see you pay for repairs out of your own wallet."

"What's wrong with the apartment budget?" Yami wondered, allowing Bakura to peck him on the cheek before the tricolour-haired boy shoved the almost-albino away. "Leggo me, dummy. Yuugi, why do I have to pay?"

"Oh, I don't know... perhaps because the apartment budget is for things like food and rent and furniture... not for repairs of holes and dents from where a certain brother of mine continually ignores my warnings and inflicts damage to –"

"Yeah, yeah. What's for dinner?" Yami said absently, shoving his younger brother aside so he could peer in at the pot's contents. "Macaroni in soup. Yum."

Yuugi let out a shriek of exasperation, shoving back. "Sometimes I wonder which one of us is the elder one, because it seems you got the bloody short end of the stick when life handed you maturity capacity!"

"Yuugi-chan, that made no sense..."

Yuugi growled deep in his throat. It was an animalistic half-roar, enhanced by the deliberately slitted eyes and bared teeth. It was pretty impressive, actually.

Yami stared. "Hey... do that again."

Indignant, Yuugi swelled even further, his violet eyes taking on a slightly purplish-red hue. "Yami no bakayarou –"

Bakura stood languidly, padding back to his customary armchair and picking up his novel from where he'd dropped it in his haste to greet his best friend. "Leave Yuugi alone, Yami-dearest. He's the one with the slappy-spoon... come here. My lap."

Yami obliged, leaving his steaming sibling behind as he plopped himself onto one of the armchair wings and slid bonelessly onto Bakura's thighs. "Happy?"

Bakura shot him a lewd grin. "Very."

"Mmm-hmmm, you horny bastard, you."

His best friend smirked, showing his fingers in a 'V' for 'peace'. "Make love, not war," he warbled.

"Jeez. Get a job." Yami squinted at the book's gold-lettered spine from his lying-down position. "Whatcha readin', Pumpkin Pie?"

"Some classic about rich snobs and snooty women, Creampuff." Bakura showed him.

"Oooh, Pride and Prejudice?" Yami snatched the paperback away, flipping eagerly through the pages in spite of Bakura's objections. "I love this book. I always thought Darcy and Bingley must have had a thing for each other, don't you think, Angel?"

"But they both married women, Sweetums."

"So? It's called reading between the lines, Baku-chan."

"More like butchering literary masterpieces with your one-track mind, Yam-yams. Give that back."

"Nuh-uh. No grabby, sweetheart."

Yuugi made a derisive noise as he stirred the macaroni again. "You guys are idiots, you know that?"

Bakura and Yami's less than polite replies were interrupted by Bakura's elder twin shuffling into view under the weight of at least eight grocery bags. "Somebody help me?"

Yami tumbled from his best friend's lap as Bakura rose to help Ryou. "Owfuck! I repeat – are you sure about being pacifist?"

"Shut up, get your lazy, tight, pretty ass over here and help us put this stuff away, Yami-poo," Bakura tossed the twenty-four-roll pack of toilet paper at the elder Mutou brother, knocking the tricolour-haired boy flat on his back. "Put four of those in each washroom, then the rest in the supplies closet."

"'Make love, not war'. Sure." Seeing Bakura's warning look, Yami heaved a long-suffering sigh before moving to obey. "Whatever you say, Snugglebunny."

"Bwaha," was Bakura's ingenious reply. "You are so whipped."

"Whips?" Yami made a big show of looking eagerly about the room. "Where?"

Ryou and Yuugi rolled their eyes in perfect synchronisation. "Morons," they muttered.

"It's an art form," Bakura responded proudly. "A skill so complex it takes a lifetime to perfect."

Ryou looked out from where he was placing celery into the 'crisper' section of the fridge. "And here I was hoping I'd still have some brain cells left in my head by my twenty-fifth birthday," he said drily.

Yuugi nudged him as he tucked a twelve-pack of instant chicken noodle soup into the cupboard allotted for canned foods. "Don't count on making it past your twentieth birthday with the intelligence quota of a broccoli, Ryou-chan. Not with these fools around."

Pouting exaggeratedly, Bakura shoved some bacon at Ryou to be put into the meat cooler. "The Gods know why I continue to stand here and be insulted."

"By all means," Yuugi chuckled, "sit down and allow us to continue."

"Why, you... brat."

"Butthead."

"Starfish head."

"Crap-eyed albino."

"Pyromaniacal freak."

"Psychotic pacifist."

"Virgin."

"Nympho."

"Bi – wait. Aren't nymphomaniacs female by definition?"

Yuugi shot him an impish smile and batted his eyelashes mock-seductively. "Nympho," he repeated.

"...if I believed in violence, I'd deck you."

"I'll do it for you, honeybunch," Yami said, making a fist and casually bopping Yuugi over the head as he walked by his brother. "The macaroni should be ready, darlings."

"Everyone, wash your hands!" Ryou reminded them.

"Yeah, yeah." Each ran their hands briefly under the water when Ryou wasn't looking, and showed him their wet hands.

"Thirty seconds! Scrub with soap! DON'T WIPE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR FILTHY CLOTHES, YOU DIRTY CHILDREN!"

"Why did we let him move in with us again?" Yami muttered, drying his hands off with a paper towel.

Yuugi elbowed him and grabbed the soap. "You forget – he allowed us to move in with him."

"That's not how I remember it," Yami thought.

"No, it wouldn't be. Probably because your mind conveniently blocked out the part where you were on bended knee kissing his Birkenstocks and then getting kicked in the teeth 'cause he freaked when he thought you were giving his feet germs."

Yami flushed. "That's not how I remember it," he repeated, with less assurance.

"Uh-huh," Yuugi smirked. Yami decided to retreat honourably from battle and sulked all the way to the other side of the room, holding his hands out for Ryou's inspection. The white-haired eighteen-year-old smiled brilliantly and squeezed a generous dollop of antibacterial wash into Yami's cupped hands before motioning for Yuugi to come closer so he could see the younger Mutou brother's still-wet palms.

Five minutes later, they were all seated at table and digging in, interrupted only with the odd "Yami, chew with your mouth shut" or "Don't let me see you eating that off the table, Lateef". When each had finished their first helpings, the conversation began to pick up.

"So, aniki, anything happen at the Grocer's?" Bakura asked, belching loudly in the middle of the sentence. His companions shot him disgusted looks. "What?"

Yami reached over to tousle his best friend's hair. "Nothing, nothing. Just that the smell of your half-digested macaroni is currently sitting above us like a pea-soup smog."

"Oh, that." Bakura blew idly into the air. "There, it's gone."

Everyone else snorted into their plates. "Sure," Yuugi said nasally, attempting to eat his third helping while holding his nose.

"You guys are exaggerating." Bakura attempted to strike a pose, but his movements were restricted by the table. "Hn. Nothing coming from me could ever smell too bad."

Yuugi smirked. "As he refused it, the rabblement howted, and clapped their chopp'd hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown, that it had, almost, choked Caesar, for he swounded, and fell down at; and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air."

Bakura smiled vapidly. "That's from Romeo and Juliet, right?"

A used napkin hit him squarely in the mouth. "Dumbass," the table's other occupants said in unison.

"Even I know that's from A Midsummer Night's Dream," Yami scolded.

Yuugi and Ryou facevaulted, Yuugi scrambling back into his seat and banging his head repeatedly against the table. "It's Julius Caesar, you idiots! The passage only mentioned him twice."

"Yuugi-chan, watch for the –"

Yuugi's face landed in his macaroni with a disturbing squelch.

Silence.

Then...

"Hey, guys, look! No hands!" Yami stuck his own face in his macaroni and began to eat. "Aww, shit, I think I just got some soup up my nose..."

Bakura followed Yami's example, and Yuugi sighed, sitting up and swatting at his now-dripping bangs. "While I appreciate your half-witted attempts to make me feel better, I think my brain cell count just halved."

Ryou nodded numbly, pupils dilated in shock as he surveyed the mess. "The two of you give the phrase 'dumb blond' an entirely new meaning."

Slurping noisily at his macaroni and soup, Bakura lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak. Catching the grossed-out look on his elder twin's face, however, he shrugged and chewed noisily before swallowing. "But Dumpling and I aren't blonds."

"Hence the 'entirely new meaning' part," Yuugi deadpanned.

"Cupcake, I think we've just been insulted," Yami observed absently, tipping back his bowl and finishing off his macaroni before going for thirds.

Yuugi snickered. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Fuck off, Watson." Yami flipped him off as he ladled more soup and a generous scoop of macaroni into his bowl.

"You know about Sherlock Holmes and his doctor sidekick, but you don't know Julius Caesar?"

"Yes, well... I thought it was kinda kinky."

Ryou blinked. "...'kinky'?"

"Yeah. Big, bad detective with his magnifying glass and his bitch."

Everyone groaned. "He said something similar about Batman and Robin –"

"The kid's name was Dick, for Seth's sake!"

"– Pinky and the Brain –"

"Living in a cage, ya gotta find some kind of entertainment other than trying to take over the world, y'know."

"– Ew. Darcy and Bingley –"

"Mmmm... I like Darcy."

Everyone stared at him. "I thought you liked Bingley?"

"Nah. Darcy's got that tall, dark and handsome thing going for him. Plus, he's rich, and smart, and..." Yami's shoulder slumped suddenly, all humour gone. "Hey, Yuugi, wanna finish this bowl for me? I think I must've swallowed some air when I ate the other ones. I'm not hungry any more."

Yuugi looked up at his elder brother, concerned at the sudden one-eighty in his mood. "Yami..."

"Yeah. Whatever. If you don't want it, I'll take the bowl to the sink."

Bakura, Ryou and Yuugi watched him clean up the mess he'd made and then disappear into the room he and Yuugi shared.

Bakura said aloud what they were all thinking.

"...what the hell was that?"

It was not an uncommon sight in the Kaiba Mansion to see young master Seto wandering blankly around with one of the Kisara kitten sisters sprawled comfortably atop his head. It was the general consensus among the servants that when this happened, he was deep in thought and cultivating his inner genius.

To one who did not know him as the child prodigy responsible for inventing the modern solid-image holographic system, he looked less like one possessed of prodigious talent, and more like a rather batty, albeit good-looking, teenager.

This evening, Seto had a kitten on each shoulder (Ki-chan on his right, Ra-chan on his left) as he clutched Joou-the-BEWD-plushie to his chest. Meandering absently downstairs, he almost walked into the wall as he mused over the concept of a DVD player that would convert the two-dimensional images into finite waves, then hooked up to one of his three-dimensional holographic simulators. It would then allow the audience to 'experience' the movies played in it.

"Not going to be able to work," he muttered, shuffling down the stairs in his fluffy X-Head Dragon and Y-Dragon Head slippers. "Freaking script; no way in hell am I ripping up a Blue-Eyes. The DVD player won't work unless they used a special camera to capture all angles while filming. I guess I could start working on one of those... stupid Mutou, with his pretty eyes and lithe body and..."

Realising his thoughts, Seto walked calmly to the nearest door frame and slammed his head rapidly into it, his feline companions digging their tiny claws through the thin silk and into his shoulders in order to stay on them. "Get. Out. Of. My. Head! Fucker," he added as an afterthought, rubbing his temples.

Still seeing stars, Seto wobbled on to the mansion's private dining hall. "If I manage to incorporate the three-dimensional aspect into a single camera. No, that's physically impossible... Mutou is physically impossible – oh, for Fuck's sake!" Seto roared. "This is insane! That stupid, stupid flirt – he's so – argh!"

The door frame was beginning to look quite tempting again. Seto walked away briskly from the nearest one before he could damage any more of his brain cells. "This just proves that one can catch his idiocy," the young Kaiba muttered angrily. "Making me think about him, then making me destroy my valuable brain because I'm thinking about him. Asshole. I bet the bastard's part of some kind of conspiracy to destroy Father's company."

He lapsed into incomprehensible grumbling, earning him several wide-eyed stares from the staff.

"Good evening, Seto," Gozaburo waved a steak knife happily at him from the farthest end of the seats-twenty dining table. "Eloise made beef fillet with gras sauce – your favourite!"

Well, it appeared someone was in a good mood. How freakin' glorious for them. Seto dragged his feet over to the seat on his father's side and dropped his lanky form into the chair, narrowly avoiding putting his elbow into the butter dish. "What a day," he remarked sarcastically. "Pass the champagne, Mokuba."

"Food first, then liquor. No drinking on an empty stomach," Gozaburo ordered, delicately sampling some purée.

"But drinking is fine? You don't make any sense, Dad."

Gozaburo and Mokuba exchanged glances. "Are you still bent out of shape about Yami, Seto-chan?" Mokuba stabbed happily at his fillet until Gozaburo reached over and cut it for him. "I'm old enough to cut my own meat, Papa."

"Then act your age and eat it instead of playing with it," Gozaburo said drily. "Is this true, Seto-kun? Mokuba mentioned Mutou Yami's interest in you."

Seto stood up abruptly, face flaming. "My private life is none of your concern!" he yelled, turning on his heel to storm off. Halfway across the hall, he realised he was still extremely hungry, and that the kitchens were entirely too far away. Muttering crude phrases composed mainly of socially inappropriate four-letter words, Seto returned to the table, grabbed his plate of beef fillet, a glass of champagne and a helping of salad before stalking off again.

"'Private life', hmmm?" Gozaburo mentioned over the sound of the heavy dining doors slamming. "It looks to me like he already considers young Mutou to be part of his 'private life'."

Mokuba arched an eyebrow at his father. "I told you. He was raving like no tomorrow when we came home today."

"I can believe that," Gozaburo remarked, selecting a slice of fresh peach before offering the plate to his youngest son. "He is acting like a petulant child."

"You don't sound too mad about it," Mokuba observed after swallowing his fruit.

The Kaiba patriarch chuckled, taking a sip of his champagne. "Am I supposed to be? He isn't doing anything wrong, those blasted cats aren't underfoot, and while the way he carts those soft toys around make him look less than dignified, I have no nitpick with him. He's a good heir and son even if he is bipolar."

Mokuba grinned, grabbing another slice of peach. "This is good," he said, swallowing. "May I be excused? I'd like to bring some up to Seto."

"One more bite of salad, son, you barely ate any of it."

"That's 'cause it's rabbit food," Mokuba grimaced but held his mouth open obediently. "S'hanks," he said hurriedly, grabbing the plate of fruit and all but running the length of the dining room. Fondly, Gozaburo watched his youngest son's retreating figure before rising from the table himself. KaibaCorp matters didn't manage themselves, after all.

Yami was lying spread-eagled on his bed, crimson eyes staring blankly at a poster of the Yami no Matsuei cast tacked to the ceiling. He heard his best friend's entry, felt the bed sink under Bakura's weight.

"You know," Bakura's voice cracked, and Yami felt himself smile slightly. "You know that you're ten times better than any pansy-boy rich-kid, right? Even if he does have nice eyes."

Yami's smile faded, and he returned to staring at the ceiling. "Is that all you've got to offer a breaking heart, 'Kura?"

Bakura sighed internally. On top of being temperamental, Yami could be such a drama queen. "No... what I meant to say was that I wouldn't have picked anyone but the best to be my best friend, right? You're cool, Yami." Yami looked hopefully at him. "You also go through a hundred and eight crushes a year." Yami twitched and looked away. "I mean it, Yami. You're a bloody fickle bastard is what you are."

Yami's red eyes were dark and distant. "This one's the one, 'Kura, I can feel it."

Bakura snorted unsympathetically. "You've said that more times than I can remember."

"You must have a pretty bad memory, then," Yami snapped. "I only said it fourteen times."

Bakura stifled a chuckle. That was his Yami. "Eight of them weren't even homosexual or bi," he reminded his friend, unable to pass up an opportunity to tease his friend a little. "Your gaydar's really off."

"Six out of fourteen's not a bad ratio, 'Kura." Was that depression the white-haired teen heard?

"And out of those six, three had the operation."

"...'Kura, if you're not going to say anything helpful, you can go fuck yourself."

Okay, so it might have been depression. What? Pacifist didn't mean psychic. Or psychologist.

Bakura decided to chance physical contact and rested a hand on Yami's shoulder. Yami flinched away from him.

'Okay. I guess he's really mad, then. I guess I went a little far...maybe I should apologise. He's always a little broken up after one of these episodes.'

Yami sniffled.

Bakura's sympathy evaporated. 'Oh, for Gods' sake...'

"There's no way you're ever going to get a guy's attention if you give up before you've even begun!" Bakura snapped.

'I'm not saying this right now. I'm not.'

"You're the best, Yami. Are you going to lie down and let the likes of Kaiba Seto walk all over your heart?"

'Just listen to me. Actually, don't. I sound like Aino Minako, self-proclaimed Goddess of Love.'

"Get up and fight!"

'Whoohoo... all I need is a pair of pom-poms and a gaudy skirt and I'm set – huh?'

Yami was hugging him, hard. "Thanks, sweetling, you're really inspired me." The tricolour haired boy ran over to his closet and began digging through his clothes. "I need something sophisticated, something hot, something that'll make him hard enough to cu – yes, 'Kura-chan?"

Going over to the magnet board, Bakura tapped the agenda that had been handed out at the production meeting. "Firstly, I don't think your wardrobe knows the meaning of sophisticated –"

"I can borrow something from Yuugi-chan or Ryou-kun."

"Secondly, why the hell are you starting now? It's almost quarter to ten, and darker than a rat's ass out –"

"My love shall light my way, and time is but man's illusion!"

"Thirdly... we're going in to get measured for costumes tomorrow."

"What does that have anything to do with Hanashoubu?" Yami blinked and did a double take. "We have costumes?"

"Well, duh. We have uniforms for school and the like. Have you read the script?"

The tricolour-haired boy scratched at his head. "Uhhh... well... you see... I was going to – no."

"Okay. Well, then, you know what measuring means. Fitting. Pinning. Getting to see other people naked. Or at least half-naked."

Bakura swore that Yami's pupils dilated by a good size and a half.

"Mmmm... bedtime. The faster I sleep, the faster time will go, and I will see Kaiba Seto's gorgeous eyes again!" Yami stripped hastily to his boxers and bounced eagerly into bed, burrowing under the covers. Bakura rolled his eyes and turned to go. It seemed his work here was done, and he still needed to clean up the mess he'd made with the macaroni earlier. If he didn't, it was a good bet that Ryou would lock him out of their room. It sucked to have such an insane twin.

"Oh, and 'Kura-chan?"

"Yes, Yami-kins?"

Yami opened his arms, eyes hopeful.

With a sigh, Bakura stalked over, embraced his friend and let go as quickly as he could without hurting Yami's feelings. "You're a shrimp. In both body and brains. You're not seriously going to turn in before ten, are you?"

The shorter boy sat up abruptly. "You're right! Time's a-wasting! I should e-mail Noa... ask him what Seto likes..."

Bakura groaned and hit the light switch on his way out. "On second thought, just sleep."

Arashinobara: Yami was pretty darn pathetic, wasn't he? Poor thing, being yanked so viciously by his puppeteer...

Oh, note that the soup and macaroni in this chapter was one dish. Not separate ones. And if anyone went into cardiac arrest upon seeing nice!Gozaburo, 'twasn't my fault. Honest. 0 :)

Don't forget to drop a line detailing your favourite, least favourite, etc., part. Please? I did say please. ;D

But boy, if this is what I get when I write interludes, I think I should stop. -.-;;

In the next few instalments...

The 'real' plot is resumed;

More of the cast's disgust with regards to the script;

Why the Hell the cast insists on referring to Casting Director Panik Shinrou as 'Marilyn', Director Dartz as 'Milo' and Akhenaden as 'Mischa';

Why Ouja, Joou, Jakku and Oonie were what Kaiba named his beloved plushie dolls;

The characters are measured for their costumes;

Yami gets slapped for his corny pick-up lines. Again. And again. And again...;

Shooting begins!;

And more! Just wait...

Stay tuned,

– Arashinobara