Takahashi has crossed a line with me, okay folks? We do not allow a girl to trail after a certain character for three-hundred-seven manga chapters and THEN decide to give the guy a tragic past. You just don't. It's not right. It should be against the Constitution. They canNOT give Yami Bakura a tragic past. Not now. . . . Not now. . . . Not after I've worked so hard on all my fanfictions. Not after I worked so hard to discourage others from writing angst about him. Not. Now.

Of course, it could be a false alarm. I'm getting this stuff from that zany doujin site that I usually interpret from. You know, the Japanese gals whom everyone plagarizes? I could be wrong. But if I'm not, I am personally whacking some sense into Takahashi if I have to swim across the Pacific Ocean.

I am also running off with Little Yami Bakura from my 'Only Yesterday and a Dream or Two Away' and am using him for one of my novels. I am then going to throw my hands up, declare that Japanese culture is dying, and walk away from anime as we know it. And start buying Disney DVDs, because they have all those neat special features. And 'Thursday Next' novels. Plok-plok. Seriously. I really thought Yami Bakura had a change. [sighs] Such a promising character wasted to that God damn old cliche of a tragic past. Anyway. . . .

I bet you thought this day would nevah come, didn't chuu?

It's the latest installment of . . . The Tomb Robber's Guide to the Pyramids! Boo yah, baby!

Unfortunately, Kazuki Takahashi is screwing Yami Bakura over as we speak. Pray for him.

_______________________________________________________________

Bakura, the modern day Bakura, set his research paper down on the table and stared at his yami.

Yami Bakura glared, tapping his foot irritably on the linoleum floor. "You have ten seconds to turn that look of disgusting pity into one of enormous respect." He then watched, amused, as his landlord wrestled with himself to find out just what a look of enormous respect looked like.

"Well, I'm sorry." Bakura Ryou apologized. "It's just that I particularly want to know what the whole confrontation-with-the-Pharaoh was really like, if you say the manga artist screwed it over so badly. I'm not sure what this whole thing with Kaiba and the kimono thing will do to help."

"Honestly," the yami tutted, "do you really think that To Kill a Mockingbird would be such a famous book if they'd started right off with the Tom Robinson trial right off the bat? Give me a second. I'll get there."

________________________________________________________________

And, surprisingly, he did.

Isis's Millennium Tawk glowed brightly in the afternoon sun. "Something's coming." she murmured, "something evil."

At which point Seto turned to her and asked, "Who are you impersonating now, Ashitaka from Princess Mononoke?" Standing still for several hours turned him skeptical. Isis nudged him in the ribs.

"He's coming." she continued, just as mysteriously.

Coming out of a half-asleep trance, Yami took this chance to take charge. "Increase the guard on the front gate." he barked. "Make sure all the gates are locked. Everyone, hold your ground. I might be needing your magical assistance."

"Look alive, people." Seto enthused, though the only one not to catch his mocking tone was the Pharaoh himself. "Your Majesty's gone into lockdown mode. Keep your quills and reeds ready, scribes. Looks like we're covering military drills three thousand years ahead of schedule-"

"Seto!" snapped Aknadean, Seto's father.

"Master Seto," whispered one of the palace servants into the boy's ear. "You would do well to hold your tongue. Your father was *two ranks* higher than you at your age."

"Ya, and look what happened to him." the young priest retorted. "He's got the only Millennium Item that requires surgery."

And then, much to everyone else's relief, there was silence.

And more silence.

And even more silence, in which the evil that was prophesied minutes ago had yet to come.

Then, after some ten minutes of this, an entirely new thing came upon the palace:

Quiet.

Then there was a dull clang and a thud like a body hitting the floor. A voice: "Would any of you gentlemen mind . . . I'm back here." Heads turned. A white haired thief stood next to the throne, a vase in his hand, Yami at his feet.

"Demon!" declared the priest Shadi, pointing the Millennium Ankh at him. "He must've used dark magicks to get in!"

"Or invisibility!" Isis suggested.

"Or the back door." Bakura suggested, jabbing a thumb to the back of the room. There was yet another silence. "Just how long have you people been standing here, anyway?"

"Thief!" shouted Shadi, "how dare you wound the Pharaoh?"

"Now, I personally would have gotten something seriously wrong with my back if I were standing like any of you, but I suppose there are worse things, you know?"

"Thief boy?"

"I mean, look at that weird little Caucasian tribe thingy they got a ways down yonder. You complain about a little chest pain, and they take out your lung, wash it, and put it right back in like nothing happened."

"Thief boy!"

"Now, understandably, they've sort of got this bad mortality rate problem, but their standards for mummification have got the little mummy boys over here running for cover, an'-"

"Bakura!" And this time it was Seto yelling.

"Yes?" Bakura said lightly. "You know, your personal guard fell on me and broke my wrist two months ago, and I'm still angry."

"You're still angry?" Seto raved. "You're still angry!"

"Yes, I'm still angry." Bakura confirmed, "I think we've established that already."

"If you think *you're* angry. . . ."

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact."

"Just let me finish!" the young priest snapped. "As I was saying, if you think *you're* angry, think how angry I am, eh? Remember when you almost got me killed in that temple? And that other thief with you -he turned the damn thing into some . . . manic plush toy!"

Bakura considered this. "Ya, but you were the one trying to cut its tail off, remember?"

"I don't care! Hell knows why I didn't end up killing you when I had the chance. Do you know how much trouble I could've gotten into if anyone had fo-" He turned around. There was not an eye in the room that was not on him. "F-found . . . out. Oh. Hi."

Another bout of silence was followed by a labored intake of breath. "Ah, Seto?" said Aknadean, "may I see you outside for a moment?" Seto directed a very rude gesture indeed at Bakura before making his way out the door, much in the same manner as one going to a funeral.

"Well," Bakura went on indignantly, "as I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted-"

"Guards!" bellowed Shadi, "seize him."

"You know," the thief added, "you're just dragging this out. And, really -oh." The 'oh' referred to the fact that two of the palace guards had grabbed him by the arms. "Er, so I guess you'll be taking me away then, huh?" The guard on the left nodded mutely.

Bakura considered the options. "All right, then. Just . . . one more thing before you do your stuff, okay?" He cleared his throat expressively to emphasize what he said next. "Diabound, come out, would you?"

Yet again, silence.

But it was a very, very short silence, and then there was suddenly a very large snake sitting on the two guards. The snake, unfortunately, was only half of it -the rear end, actually. The rest of it, a very, very large and winged humanoid monster, which, between you and me (and most certainly not Bakura) it looked rather like a megazord.

It was terrifying.

It was terrible.

It was still sitting on the guards.

And Bakura was perched smugly on it.

"Anyway," he continued, "I think I'd best be going now. Love to stay and chat, but, you know, day's just not long enough, and we've only got so much firewood. I'll get back to you when you people invent daylight saving's time, or you could come find me; whatever comes first. Until then. . . ." He and Diabound disappeared with as much a flourish as anyone can disappear with, leaving the entire room aghast.

But no one was as aghast at the situation as the guards, but the feeling was cut short as a crew of surgeons rushed in and dragged them, even more flustered than when they had been sat upon, for amputation.

As their desperate screams filled the air, the members of the Egyptian clergy were silent, even Aknadean and Seto, deep into a family feud. Then, after a final clang that announced that the surgeons had put the screaming guards out cold (Boy, would they be ecstatic to find out one day that there would be a way to numb the pain while chopping off someone's arm.) they began arguing again.

Aknadean sighed in a disappointed-parental way. "Seto, I just don't feel I trust you anymore."

As I've probably mentioned a hundred times over, this sounded a lot different if one had been listening to the rest of the conversation, which no one had. "About damn time then!" Seto burst out. "How is it that you don't seem to get it, huh? I can do things just fine by myself, and no one else seems to have a problem with that, but you -er. . . ." This 'er,' much like Bakura's 'oh,' wasn't originally included in his speech. It was due to the fact that a typewriter had suddenly appeared in his arms.

In an instant, all eyes were on him. Including the Pharaoh's, which had just reopened after being whacked. Quietly, Isis spoke. "What is it?"

Seto gawked at it. "I-I don't know." All the young priests gathered around him -that would be Isis, Shadii, Mahaado (who will not be with us for very long) and Karim (whom you probably don't know -he doesn't talk much, anyway) -along with the Pharaoh. Hesitantly, Shadii reached out and took a jab at one of the keys. Immediately, a small kuhtunk sound came out of it as it stamped the letter T onto a standard sheet of paper. The group drew back with a gasp.

But then, quietly, they exchanged looks. "Ooh. . . ."

"Do it again!"

Tap.

". . . That all?"

Encouraged, Shadii began typing as fast as his fingers would allow, much to the entertainment of the court. Aknadean was the first to recover from this miracle. He scowled at the youngsters, and opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, the machine's paper holder, which had been moving slowly to the side, slid back to the middle, issuing a loud PING, and he toppled backward with surprise. He stormed away to his chambers, with another "ooh," from the clique following him down the hall.

__________________________________________________________________________

. . . well, if the iron knife that the Rod has (which, I'm sure you've heard me way, is historically incorrect -the Egyptians had no iron), then I don't see why they can't have a typewriter, too.

To get a better idea of how Diabound looks, see the Egypt Arc.

Now, for some long awaited review-answering (I really ought to do this with my Algebra fic, ne?):

Megami-chan: Sorry for the Rebecca thing. She was also supposed to be a character in by novel, but I changed it to Sunny (for irony's sake -Sunny, the most depressing ghost in the world). Must be the teddy bear thing.

Shadow Bakura: Have you published your fic yet? I'd love to see it. (I rarely read anything except fics about his past life, really. They run short.)

akutenshi tsuki : Point? Fanfictions are supposed to have points? Sorry, it's just that I don't usually think out or plan the stories that I'm not trying to publish traditionally and make bestsellers. (My novel, ya know.)

Yami-chan: Anytime. I like reading reviewers' fics. ^^

Neko-chan: Naw, Yami's okay. I tell you now I'm not much of a Yami fan, though. (My music video, Lucky Kid, is mainly about how much of a prep he is, and how annoying Yami Bakura and Seto find him -my favorite lines for the verse with Yami Bakura are, "I wanna turn you into a Corvet, I wanna drive you outa your mind.")

Unrealistic: Ya, the Hitchhiker's Guide ROCKS. So does the Diskworld series. (I'm reading the Wyrd Sisters right now. It's hilarious!)

Also, I may be putting this to a song from Chicago or something eventually. I have this vision of Yami Bakura being captured and being kept in some sort of prison thing and then . . . The Cell Block Tango.

. . . it was a murder but not a crime!

[evil grin]

Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz!