Malik was watching his newly found mind slave tap dance, and couldn't help but laugh slightly as a small crowd paused to watch. The man in question was middle aged, and his body probably wasn't used to this kind of activity. Malik didn't really care. The Millennium Rod, concealed in his pocket, emitted a faint light as he continued to make the man dance. A huge grin stretched the man's lips apart, his eyes wide with some kind of crazy glee as he danced. Now Malik was starting to make him do ballet, and he bounded around happily. Though he sat in front of the hotel he was staying at and the man was across the street, he could tell from his control over the man and the way his feet moved that his ankles were probably both broken. His lavender eyes were narrowed in deep concentration, and it was reasonable that he jumped nearly a foot in the air when someone put a hand on his shoulder.
Bakura was startled when Malik jerked suddenly. He blinked, then waved slightly as Malik began to calm down. "Hey... it's only me." He said, taking a seat next to Malik on the bench. He glanced at Malik's hand, which was thrust deep into his pocket. "I see you're being entertained." He glanced across the street at the man. "He'll have a heart attack if you don't stop."
"Don't care." Malik mumbled, focusing on the man again now that his shock of Bakura's not-so-sudden appearance had worn off. "I have to make sure my Millennium Rod is still functioning properly. What better way than this? Besides, those people seem entertained." He nodded his head towards the small crowd, some of whom were laughing at this odd act. Bakura put both hands on his shoulders and the next moment Malik found himself gazing directly into Bakura's sharp brown eyes instead of at his victim. "Hey, move. I'm busy." He tried to push Bakura away, but the yami was stubborn. "What do you want?!"
Bakura didn't answer, but instead slipped his hand into Malik's pocket. He rested his hand against Malik's, then slowly pulled the Egyptian's fingers away from the Millennium Rod, which was warm-- nearly hot-- to touch. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier." Bakura said in a soft voice, only then realizing that he and Malik were so close that Malik's breath tickled his skin. That explained the faint pink tint that had come into the Egyptian's bronzed cheeks. "Come on, let's go elsewhere." He stood up, offering a hand to Malik, who got to his feet as well. "I've still got to look at the remainder of the room. Then we can do something about that damned pink color." He started to lead Malik back into the hotel, ignoring the scene across the street as the man collapsed, screaming about his broken ankles. "I had been looking for you before. Atem went to see Ember, did you know that? Since I didn't see him leave he must still be in there..."
"What?!" Malik snapped out his almost dazed state and looked at Bakura. "You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding." He pleaded, but Bakura only shook his head. "Well, at least tell me you punched him in the nose." Again, another shake of the head from the white-haired yami. "And you just left them in the room alone? Ember's either going to kill him and string his insides from the ceiling or forgive him. Most likely it's going to be the latter. And we can't let that happen!" Now he was the one grabbing Bakura's wrist and dragging him down the hall. They reached Ember's room in record time and Malik hesitated outside of it.
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