I love sunsets. I love to see the sun rise. After a night of pilfering and stealing, avoiding security guards and cops- I know it's easier killing them, but where's the sport in that?- I search for a nice high roof top and settle there.
First of all, I enjoy the wailing sounds of sirens, the general panic and commotion I cause; nothing is more fun than seeing people crawling around the streets, busy as ants, indignantly yelling "Where is he? Did you seem him?".
Sure, you saw me, little fucker, but not nearly enough to get an even remotely accurate description. I haven't lost my touch- if anything, I have learned more from this era than my own; it was easy breaking and entering a tomb, no matter how crafty the Priests thought they were with their traps. These days are far more complicated with the electronic alarm systems, cameras and other detection devices. So much more fun.
Don't get me wrong- I don't like to see the sun set because of any fancy hippy shit. I like the bloodred colors, smearing all over the sky, tainting the clouds, as the sun is forced to go under. It's a victory of darkness- light has to succumb to the darkness, and I enjoy seeing the sun slowly disappearing, fighting, removed by the darkness. Oh, it will rise again, rupturing the darkness to bring its light and warmth for a whole day- but in the end, darkness beats it yet again. It's an endless circle. The circle of life? Ha, don't make me laugh. Light and dark, day and night- it's all about fucking balance. I don't need the night nor darkness to live- I am the darkness.
I zip my bag open, crawling through the goods I've looted. Pretty jewelery –contrary to popular belief, I do prefer silver over gold, unless I have a nice tan-, a few wads of cash (always handy), and keys. Bah, I can't do a thing with keys. Why do people put their keys in a vault anyway? Oh yeah...'to keep them safe'. I snort. I pull out an expensive looking watch, studded with diamonds and platinum...blobs, I can't think of any other word. It's conspicuous, it's tacky, it's fucking heavy...and worth a good price. Maybe I'll put it on my landlord's bed to just give him a scare.
My ears pick up a sound. Someone is climbing up onto the roof. I throw the goods back into the bag, zipping it up again, and my hand casually goes to the switchblade I carry around in my back pocket. Whoever is climbing up, he's good- but not good enough to go unnoticed. My eyes grow wide when I catch a glimpse of spiky, platinum blonde hair, dipped in a bloody orange glow from the setting sun.
"Fucking hell Bakura, what the hell are you doing on a fucking roof?"
He's usually loud and obnoxious, but now displays a certain decency to keep at least his voice down. He makes it to the roof, my tall Egyptian fellow Shadow Born- whatever name he uses now. The gold in his ears and on his arms catch the last of the remaining light, shining almost lazily with a dull glow.
"What are you doing here?"
I let go of the switchblade. It will come in handy later. Nonetheless, I move the bag with my goods away from him with my foot- sure enough, he plops down next to me.
"I missed you."
"What?"
"I missed you at dinner, fucker. You always go out on your own whenever you go on a thieving spree. I want to come with you, you know that."
There is no whining in his voice, nor a question. He wants to come with me for the thrill, the excitement...but where I think killing is no sport, he thinks killing is a sport- he would leave a trail of dead bodies on a simple vault job. I prefer torturing, the slow, painful kind; not the easy slit of the throat.
"You're not fast and silent enough," I point out. He shrugs, pupil-less eyes focusing on me. I envy his perfect golden tan; not something I care to divulge to him. "It's not a game, Ishtar. It's a job. I can't have you blow my job..." I realize too late what just came out of my mouth. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer, and nibbles on my ear.
"I like it when you talk dirty to me, Bakura."
I shove him away, irritated. "Shut the fuck up Ishtar, I don't want to hear you right now."
Is he offended, or hurt in the least? No, not at all. He scoots closer to me again, refraining from saying another word. It's not often that he listens to me. He likes to annoy others, especially when he's told not to do something. It's not often that he's quiet.
It's almost completely dark. The sirens have dimmed down, there are hardly any more people on the street. Tomorrow it'll be printed in the papers, the news about the jewelery theft. My landlord will wonder where the hell the studded watch on his pillow is coming from. I'm curious to find out how long it'll take for him to connect the dots. I glance at him, sitting next to me, eyes half lidded, staring in front of him. His lips are curled into a smirk, and I haven't got the slightest idea what he's thinking. He's quiet, and I appreciate it. I want to hear him scream, but not now. Not when the sun sets. Not when the darkness colors the sky black and purple. Maybe he loves sunsets too. Maybe I'll ask him. But not now.