(no subject)
Chapter 8
Dear Santa,
Don’t believe anything Malik or Marik say in their letters.
I would like a new microwave, replacement silverware, and a year’s supply of aspirin.
Also don’t let those two wreak too much havoc at Kaiba-san’s party.
Sincerely,
Ishizu
P.S. As Rishid won’t ask I will; he would very much appreciate a replacement for the laptop that was a casualty of prank war.
In the Ishtar kitchen, the phone rang. Ishizu, who was in the living room at the time wrapping gifts while Malik and Marik were terrorizing innocent bystanders in the park, looked up and started to rise but sat once again as the phone cut off midway through the second ring.
A few moments later Rishid emerged from the kitchen, “Lady Ishizu, there is a phone call for you.”
“Thank you, Rishid,” she replied, following him into the kitchen.
The only female Ishtar picked up the phone from where it had been laid on the counter, and subconsciously twined her fingers in the cord as she spoke.
Rishid returned to his sandwich preparation (he’d volunteered to make lunch as Lady Ishizu preformed the traditional wrapping of gifts and other pre-Christmas activities) while idly wondering why the curator of The Domino Museum of History was calling on the Ishtars’ day off.
“Of course, sir,” Ishizu was saying, “Yes… Good-bye, sir.” After hanging up she let out a noise of frustration.
“Is something wrong?” Rishid asked.
“Yes, you and I are expected to pack and transport the Egyptian exhibit to New York City by New Year’s Eve.”
“That’s not so bad,” the elder consoled.
“And set up the exhibit in New York, as well as attend the opening of it,” she sighed, “I don’t think we’d be able to leave any later than Christmas.”
“And we wouldn’t be back until the New Year, at the earliest.”
“We can’t leave the boys here, either.”
“It would seem,” Rishid started, “that we must call Seto Kaiba and notify him of our absence.”
Ishizu nodded, “The curator got four tickets for a plane that leaves Christmas Eve. I’ll call Kaiba-san and you can tell the boys that we’ll be spending our holiday working.”
Rishid scowled, “Coward.”
“Cautious,” she countered, dialing the phone, “Marik’s never liked me, but you’ve grown on him.” The Egyptian woman listened to the ringing, then… “Yes, Kaiba-san? … This is Ishizu, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Chapter 9
Dear Santa,
I didn’t have anything to do with it.
Ryuji may try to blame me, but it’s his own fault.
How the hell am I supposed to know the ‘proper’ way to wash silk?
He shouldn’t have put it in the laundry or he could have waited for his turn to wash clothes if I wasn’t supposed to throw it in with everything else. (Like I’m going to read labels?)
It’s also sooo not my fault that Blankey got a hold of that ridiculously expensive hair gel he uses. He should have picked it up when it fell off the dresser in the first place.
Oh well, there’s no changing his mind, sometimes.
For Christmas I’d like someone at the front desk who actually knows what a carburetor IS, for Ryuji to leave his hair down more than once in a blue moon, a new motorcycle jacket (my old one has gotten small, and Ryuji stole it), for Blankey to cooperate JUST ONCE with a bath, and for Kaiba Corp not to be subject to an attempted hostile takeover during the holidays (Well what ELSE could I get Kaiba, unless I stick a big ribbon on Jou?).
Blankey wants dog treats, some new chew toys, and for Ryuji to get the message that a blanket on the floor does NOT cut it in winter and she’ll be sleeping either in our bed or on the couch, thank you very much.
Yours truly,
Honda HIroto
“Hiroto!” Ryuji called from the kitchen, “Your dog is giving me weird looks again!”
Honda sighed; he didn’t understand why it was so difficult for them to get along. Admittedly, Blankey had seniority, but Ryuji was, well, his boyfriend. It was honestly hard to say who came out on top…
Mostly because Ryu would never forgive him for picking Blankey and Blankey would leave a nasty surprise in his shoe if he chose Ryu. Don’t laugh; she’d done it before.
So he’d long since decided to remain neutral in the daily Dog/Dragon Wars, but he still heaved himself from the couch to referee in order to make sure there was no tackling, biting, or scratching with stubby little nails.
After all Ryuji was heavier and might actually do some damage.
Upon entering the kitchen Honda felt dread in the pit of his stomach.
“You’re trying to bake cookies?” Insert terrified screaming here.
Ryuji looked up indignantly from his mixing bowl, “Correction, Hiroto, I am making cookies. And they are going to be fabulous. Well they will be once that fur ball stops creeping me out.” The dice master jabbed his spoon in his nemesis’s direction for emphasis.
Honda followed the spoon’s indication and saw the German Sheppard watching the baking attempt with interest.
“She’s looking at me like she looks at her food dish,” Ryuji insisted.
The brunette sighed, “Correction, Ryuji,” he said borrowing his boyfriend’s own words, “she’s staring at your cookie dough the way she stares at her food dish.”
Ryuji lowered his spoon, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There was an awkward silence as masters stared at dog and dog stared at bowl.
Blankey licked her lips.
Ryuji cleared his throat, “Well at least she as good taste.” With that he bustled toward the oven from his kitchen table workstation, swatting his lover’s finger from the dough as he moved.
Honda pouted, “I get the bowl if these are any good.”
“They will be Hiroto, I asked your mom for her recipes.”
Mollified and even encouraged, the brunette bravely stuck his finger into an off white mixture, licking it off, he frowned the flavor was familiar, but he could not place it. He stuck his finger in again he tried another bit.
A few minutes later Ryuji had put his cookies into the oven when…
“Okay Ryuji, I give up, what’s this white batter?”
Confused, Ryuji turned, “What white-?” All color drained from his face, “HIROTO! That’s just raw eggs and milk!” he screeched.
Two and a half hours later Ryuji had found a pay phone to tell Jou that no they weren’t going anywhere until Hiroto had recovered from the food poisoning.
A/N Please ignore the 'eggs wouldn't work that fast or that strongly' plothole.