I.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?”

            “We shouldn’t have bothered calling him.”

            “Is he even going to believe any of this?”

            “Tch. No. ‘Course he isn’t.”

            “He’s so narrow-minded, it’s not even—”

            Tristan Taylor continued speaking for a second or two, out of simple habit, but the rest of his sentence was cut off as he finally got a good look at Seto Kaiba’s face. It wasn’t just anger that he saw there; that much he was pretty much used to. Kaiba got pissed off at everything.

            What Tristan saw now was damn near homicidal fury.

            It brought back very unpleasant memories.

            Mokuba stumbled into the room behind his brother, looking exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that he didn’t say a word when Yugi greeted him, didn’t even seem to know Yugi was there. His eyes were half-closed, and he was only standing up because he was leaning against Kaiba, who stood as straight and stolid as an obelisk.

            “Allow me…to understand something…” Kaiba hissed. “You. Call me. You somehow find my personal number, and use it without my permission. You wait until after midnight to do so, and insist that I come here. You don’t even bother to ask if I might be in the middle of something, and instead find it proper to screech into my ear for fifteen minutes about how damned important it is that I listen to what you have to say. And not only do you not find this rude, but somehow you find a way to blame me for it?!”