#malik-fall-out

"Sir - sir, we’re about to close. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

How late has it gotten? He could’ve sworn that this place was open until midnight-

Oh, it’s eleven fifty-five. That’s... How did it get to be this hour? It feels like he’d just opened the book he’d been reading a few minutes ago. He’s not even through annotating chapter ten. If he refocuses, though, it appears that his handwriting in the margins has gotten progressively sloppier as the night has gone on. His cup is empty. There’s no denying the passage of time, it seems.

Ryou rubs at the corners of his eyes  and nods, rising to his feet.

The cafe worker backs up a few steps to give him enough space to put his things together. She takes his empty cup with an understanding smile when presented, and allows him to slide past her towards the exit.

The night air on the other side of the door is cool, a little damp. It must’ve been raining a short while ago. It’s a wonder he didn’t notice.

Behind him, he hears the lock click and is acutely aware that he’s now alone, outside, in the dark. This doesn’t usually bother him for the most part - he’s wandered around many strange and potentially dangerous places in Domino before. It’s just... it feels like he has eyes on him. It feels like someone is watching him already. Kind of like when the spirit of the ring is prowling in the back of his mind, but his senses tell him that it’s external. His entity is quiet for now.

He sighs, shifting and checking the battery on his phone. Still mostly full - at least he’s got a lifeline.  Beyond the glowing screen, he can’t see much movement. Under the pools of light left by the streetlamps, in the dim glow of the neons on storefronts, he does see some life - a couple, chatting in front of the book store he’d left earlier that day, and a man walking towards downtown. Nobody that could potentially be looking in his direction.

Still, the feeling remains.

He can’t stay here forever, though. He’s probably just being paranoid.

Atem is... people-watching.

It’s something he enjoys doing - he likes to be the one off to the side now. The one in the shadows, like he’d first been when he came to be in this modern world. He’s had enough limelight for two lifetimes.

That is not to say he does not enjoy being the center of attention - he does, but he won’t say so - he just wants to be... a little lazy. He wants to do things on his own time. And a hobby that facilitates that is gazing at passers-by as he sips at his - what do they call it? - shake. This one is pomegranate. 

As the condensation on the styrofoam cup begins to bead and trickle, wetting his fingers, he spots a familiar head of hair across the street from his small cafe table. One he hasn’t seen since Egypt - before his return, in fact. He hadn’t been around when Atem first resurfaced, but the other Ishtars had.

The Pharaoh rises from his seat, taking his drink with him, and dodges a couple of girls on the sidewalk. After a quick apology, he crosses the road between cars.

It takes him a moment to catch up of course; Marik has several inches on him and they’ve all gone into leg. But he manages to sidle up to the former tombkeeper without really breaking a sweat, despite the heat of the sun beating down on them.

He’s certain they’re both quite used to it by now.

“Marik!” He tries not to be too startling, though if the man’s siblings hadn’t let it slip that he’d returned after they all saw him die it might be an impossible task. “It’s good to see you.”

Ishtar has matured a little since their last face-to-face interaction. Not too much, but it’s clear that a couple of years have passed. He’s wearing his hair up in a bun today, which is new. Interesting.