A Means of Communication

Chapter 17: Metaphors

The garbage plant didn't actually make garbage. No, the garbage building didn't even get rid of the garbage, like in recycling plants when plastic bottles become t-shirts and carpets or padding for children's play grounds. No, garbage plants divided up the trash into different piles and then left the crap there to rot and stink for the entirety of eternity.

Bakura had learned all this when he had become supreme manager of all these garbage plants. He had also learned that working conditions for jobs, in general, besides his, sucked, and that people smelled, and that garbage smelled, fucking smelled, and workers hate it when you ask them to go through piles and piles of said smelly garbage to look for something as small as a coin. People got very angry and cursed at their bosses with shaking fists.

The guitarist had to admit, his plan wasn't working too well.

He sat up there in his newly established office of trash, for he was now King of Trash. That was his official title; he had made it himself. He could do that, with all the trash he owned.

"Fuck," Bakura said to himself in his office.

He should have a crown of something. And a banner. A banner that said, "This is the Stupidest Idea Ever. Trying to Get a Boy by Buying Him Trash." Lots of trash.

Atemu had laughed at him. Mariku had laughed at him, obviously. Even Malik had laughed at him, and that guy didn't laugh at much. The world was laughing at him.

"Fuck," Bakura repeated louder.

This sucked. He had half a hundred garbage people out, searching fruitlessly through garbage. Garbage! He was going to get them sick and then their families would sue him. This would never work. This was ridiculous. This was insane.

"Fuck!" Bakura cried at the ceiling.

"You could say that again."

Bakura spun around and saw Atemu standing smugly in his doorway.

"Fuck, garbage!" Bakura growled.

Mariku stuck his head out from behind Atemu, his face glowing with wickedness. "Yes, because you could definitely use some more of that. Fuck, I mean. Not garbage. You have plenty of that."

Bakura was sick of this. "Fuck you."

Mariku smirked and his face clouded over with bliss "Yes, I have that already."

Malik poked in his head severely through. "Why do you always have to announce this stuff to everyone? It was once."

"One gloriful night," Mariku savored, "But it was definitely more than once, if you remember..."

"Malik," Bakura seethed with smoldering fury. "Get your boytoy out of here before I throw him in my trash compactor."

Malik pondered this. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea actually..."

"Don't be jealous, baku-baku," Mariku crowed sweetly. "We brought your own fuck toy with us."

"You bought me another prostitute?" Bakura questioned dully.

"Another?"

Malik nor Mariku nor Atemu had said that, nor anyone else in the universe except the only one who could make Bakura's cycle of humiliation complete.

Atemu and Malik pulled Ryou out through the crowd and set him in Bakura's King of Trash office.

Bakura felt very, very uncomfortable now. Cause Ryou was standing in front of him and Bakura was not only a greedy person but also a vain person, and he realized, as Ryou stood there in front of him, that he had not washed, brushed, or restrained his hair for a very long time.