Mokuba paced around his room, eyeing the door occasionally. Quite being dumb, he scolded himself. This Shadow person only comes at night, and it clearly wasn't night. He walked over to his window and looked outside. The gardener had been there this morning after the police had left. One section of the lawn had been trampled, but it was better now. He took a deep breath and walked over to his planner, looking at the cancelled meetings for the day. He had wanted to relax, but he was feeling kind of lonely now. After a few quick page turns he noticed his mention of having Rishid over to cook written in pencil. "Oh...I forgot about that," Mokuba mumbled to himself. Well, he could have him over right now. Mokuba walked over to the phone and dialed Rishid's number.

Rishid was just finishing polishing a few things for when Honda arrived when the phone rang. He glanced surreptitiously around the room, decided it was clean enough, and answered. "Ishtar residence."

"This is Mokuba," he said, biting back any nervousness that had been in the pit of his stomach all morning. He figured it was Rishid he was speaking to. That's what servants did, answer the phone. "You're not busy, right? Good. Come over. It's time for you to cook for me." He was leaving no room for argument.

"N--" he'd been bout to say he wasn't busy at all, but Mokuba seemed to have guessed that. "Ah, alright, I'll be over in ten minutes." Rishid fought a wave of anxiety. What was he supposed to cook? What if Mokuba didn't like it? It was likely that Mokuba wouldn't like it. What sorts of things had he decided not to make? Wasn't Mokuba allergic to something--or was that Isis?

"Okay. See you then." Mokuba hung up the phone and began pacing the room again. Ten minutes wasn't too long. He decided to focus on what he would wear. Rishid would probably come in that dress...thing of his. That would clearly not be worn if he was hired. He decided on a pair of brand new, worn looking jeans and a white shirt. Isono came to check on him, and Mokuba decided to follow the man down and walked into the kitchen, sitting on a stool to wait. A glass of water was quickly set in front of him. He smiled at Isono and started looking through one of the magazines on the table.

Rishid changed into a t-shirt and a loose pair of pants he'd bought...well, it must have been a while ago because he didn't even remember them being in his closet. Weird. But it would make cooking easier at least. Then he re-read a few recipes, wondered if he ought to take anything with him, and decided Mokuba would probably not trust anything that wasn't from his own kitchen. A few minutes later, he arrived at the Kaiba mansion and rang at the gate. Security here was tight...it was odd that Shadow had been able to get in, he thought, studying the outer wall and wondering just how difficult it had been to scale. ...Mokuba must be rather distraught, he mused.

Mokuba looked up from his magazine and watched Isono go over the security section of the kitchen. "It's Rishid Ishtar," Isono said. Mokuba waved for him to let the man come in and walked over to the door. After a minute he opened it and leaned against the door frame, waiting for Rishid to make his way up the drive.

Rishid didn't take his time to admire the lawn, so it wasn't long before he was at the door. When Isono led him to the kitchen, he nodded to Mokuba and said, "Thank you for having me here. I didn't think to bring any ingredients or supplies, but if that is a problem I could run back to the market."

He rolled his eyes. "Who knows what types of items you would pick up. Besides, I have a personal shopper. All you do is cook." Mokuba closed his magazine and hopped off the stool. "All right, here's the rules. Anything in the kitchen is up for grabs to use. The pots are there," he pointed to a cabinet on the right of the fridge. "If I like what you make, you're hired. If not, well, I've had something horrible touch my mouth and you got the chance to hang out with me. Any questions?"

Rishid followed Mokuba's gestures and memorized what he could of the kitchen. "No, I believe that covers everything. ...Except, what time would you like everything done by?"

Mokuba shrugged. "It's not like I'm having a dinner party. Whenever you're done is fine. Now if you were working, dinner is served promptly at six." He walked back over to his stool and sat down, once again looking through his magazine. He wanted to see how Rishid moved in the kitchen, and how he prepared the food. Not just anyone could be a cook for him, and he had to watch out for the cleanliness during the preparation.

Well, first would be a simple soup...he studied the ingredients before deciding that if, in fact, Mokuba was stressed (and he couldn't imagine the teen wasn't) it would be nice to fix something that would help to relax him. Ginger-Carrot soup had seemed to work on a nice couple he'd met in Madrid... Rishid washed his hands, gathered the ingredients and set to work.

Mokuba glanced up when he heard the watering running. Good, Rishid was already earning positive points. He had interviewed other people for the chef position in the past, and he was surprised at how many of them had not first washed up. It was gross, and before they even reached the fridge they were kindly told to get the hell out. Though he tried to focus more on his magazine and only give quick glances to see what was going on, curiosity got the best of him and he finally shut the magazine and watched Rishid work. The way the ingredients were handled pleased him.

Rishid focused on the soup until he could let it simmer before he started on the next course--bread, of course. His face lost all of its previous stoicism as he wondered what bread would go best with the sweet spiciness of the soup. Ah--white rolls, maybe a touch of...rosemary? That would work well, and it would make it easier for Mokuba to taste the main entree, whatever that would end up being.

Ah, so it was soup he was making. Most of the try-outs had started with something bigger, trying to dazzle him. It was surprising to see something much simpler being made. He debated on how to rate Rishid for it, and decided to give him a few extra points, for being both different and a bit daring. As he watched Rishid start on something else, he decided that he really couldn't stand not talking for a moment longer. "So, uh, how have you been?"

Rishid was almost startled at being reminded there was someone else in the room, but the only indication he gave that he was surprised was that he turned to face Mokuba. "I have been fine, thank you," he answered, and used the excuse that he was facing his potential employer to grab a few eggs out of the fridge. "And you? I can imagine it's been rather...chaotic here lately."

"Yeah. The police were really bothersome, asking all these questions and messing up part of the yard. I'm glad they're gone." His mind rewound back to the question that was repeated over and over by the police: Did you hear anything? Are you sure? It seemed a good question, but after being asked for the millionth time it got on his nerves. He had no reason to lie. "I though, maybe, I'd call him later, see how he's doing." He eyed the pot of soup on the stove. Maybe if it was good he could have some sent to the hospital by Isono.

Rishid gave him a sympathetic nod. He'd had one too many encounters with the police, during the time Malik was growing up--though the boy had invariably settled it with the Rod before anything serious could happen. "I'm sure that he would appreciate that...it can't be easy for him to have to be back in the hospital so soon." He set the dough aside to rise, checked the soup, and gathered ingredients for the main dish. "How has business been?"

"It's been--" Mokuba paused, trying to decide what to say. Did he tell the truth and say that everything was rather difficult lately? That competition was getting rather difficult? That his designs just were not coming out right lately? "It's been good." He smiled, though he looked away quickly. Maybe he should change the subject. He tried to go through a list of things he remembered reading or hearing about Rishid. Oh, yes! "So how is it having a roommate? I imagine it'd be horrible."

"Actually, after having spent so long with my family, it was unsettling having to be on my own." Rishid had noted the way Mokuba hadn't been able to hold a smile for long, and decided it was best not to call him on it. "How is the other Mokuba?"

Now that brought a real smile on Mokuba's face. "He's good, though busy. We actually went out a few days ago. It was really nice, for the most part." He thought back to the date they had, and the time at the hot springs. He found himself at the office, looking over sketches, and suddenly be caught in a daydream of Moki in the hot water, steam rising around him. "I wouldn't mind if he was my roommate."

Rishid smiled. "I can imagine not--it's good that the two of you get along so well." He began cutting the dough and setting it on a pan to go in the oven. "And your other brother?" Hopefully the madness of deciding which Seto was real and which was not had passed.

"I don't associate myself with him. One brother is difficult enough to handle." Mokuba pushed himself up to look inside the pot on the stove. Damn, that smelled good. "So, you have soup, and bread. What are you going to make now?" He asked as he sat back down.

"Duck breast with..." he checked the fruit bin, "...cherry sauce." And then would be dessert, but he didn't often make those and he was most nervous about that part of the meal. "What else do you like to do, aside from running your company and being with the other Mokuba?"

Mokuba licked his lips. It all sounded really good, and if the smell of the soup was any indication of the future entrees, he imagined that the duck would be very tasty. "Well, I like to wear my clothes, and organize them. And, of course, shopping. I love buying new clothes and accessories and even furniture for the house. I'm going to be redoing my big brother's room, which I've wanted to do since forever. And, you know, hanging out with people, my adoring fans. That's always nice." He let his fingers tap on the countertop. "Now, are you one of those not very social types?"

Rishid added a spice to the soup and thought about Mokuba's question. "...I suppose not," he admitted. "I never had much opportunity, and now there aren't many people I could socialize with even if I wished to." Such was the condition for moving to a 'young' town simply to be with his siblings, he supposed. He'd already become old without ever really being young. Not that it wasn't worth it, but...it was still an uncomfortable fact.

"You can socialize with me. You don't seem all that bad." Mokuba ran his eyes up and down Rishid. "And you've changed your wardrobe. It isn't half bad, but anything is really better than that dress you wore."

Rishid swallowed. "That would be nice," he said, ignoring the fact that he was being studied. "..Ah, yes...believe it or not, Malik actually chose the robes for myself and the other Ghouls." He half-laughed. "Which actually makes it worse, since there haven't been any Ghouls for almost a year now...."

Mokuba snickered. "He would be the one to pick something so horrible. But, uh, Ghouls? Is that some type of gang name?" Perhaps Rishid had a bit of that ghetto in him that Bakura mentioned in his entry. Though Rishid looked far from anything ghetto he had ever heard about. Perhaps it was all just an act? It would explain that hairstyle he had. He was fighting the urge to just go and tug on that bit of hair.

"Ah, see, when Malik took us aboveground to find the Pharaoh, he needed followers to help him...the Ghouls were the organization he created. Most of them were mind slaves, though." He imagined for a moment what they would have looked like if Mokuba had been the fashion adviser then. ...They might have won, that way, he mused.

"Mind slaves, huh." He wouldn't mind having a few mind slaves so he wouldn't have to pay his workers. Really, people should just find payment enough by being allowed to work for his wonderful self. "Were you a mind slave?" That would explain why he had allowed himself to wear that robe, as he called it. At least, he hoped that was the reason, and that he didn't got along and wear it willingly because he thought it looked good.

"No, Malik never used the Rod against me. There were three others whom he didn't keep under constant surveillance, but they were each defeated by your brother or the Pharaoh." He set the soup on the back burner and started making the cherry sauce. "How did you get into fashion?"

"Hmmm, you know, I don't quite remember. I've just always loved clothes and picking outfits out for people. I guess it’s a gift. Being rich doesn't hurt, either. I mean, you have to look good if you're rich. Not that being poor gives someone an excuse." Mokuba watched as Rishid started on another item. He eyed the cherries and licked his lips. He loved cherries; whenever he got a sundae he would always ask for an extra one or two. "Just look at you. I don't imagine you make much money--do you make any?--and you came looking not half-bad. Personally, I see fashion as a sign of self respect."

"That's an excellent point," Rishid said, adding a few extra cherries to the puree. "I hadn't thought of that. Was it difficult to get into the fashion community? I don't know much about it, but I've heard it's quite a task."

Mokuba shrugged. "Yes and no, I guess. Some people don't want to take me seriously because I'm so young, but once they see my line I'm seen as more of a competitor then. It does have its perks, though, because of the fact that they think I can't compete. But I had the money to get it started, and the majority of people in Domino have always been interested in what I wear and want to be closer to me, so I let them through my style." He watched the cherries being dropped in. "Um, could I have one of those?" He pointed to one of the larger cherries.

Rishid paused in what he was doing to pick out two cherries; then he turned and offered them to Mokuba. "Certainly."

"Thanks!" Mokuba smiled and put the first one in his mouth, closing his lips around it and tugging on the stem until it popped out. He never could figure out what it was about cherries that he loved so much. "When did you start cooking?" He said once he finished chewing his first cherry.

"Not long ago, actually. Only a few years, if that. I needed something to do while I waited for Malik to finish working with the other Ghouls, and cooking became something of a distraction from all of the thievery." Ah, now that the sauce was finished he could start preparing the duck.

"I still think it’s dumb that you waited for him. You should have done your own thing." And really, Mokuba thought, why would someone want to wait on Malik? A thought crossed his mind, and he giggled. "So does he know that you might work for me?"

"Really? Why is that?" Rishid asked, and then looked back at Mokuba's laughter. "...Ah, I had...mentioned it to him. But he's--both Maliks--are quite busy with other things at this point. I don't think either of them cares anymore where I work, or for whom."

Mokuba looked at Rishid, giving him that 'are you really that dumb?' look. "You waited for him like you were some pet, wanting attention from its master. Waiting to be fed and played with. It's disgusting." As for the Maliks not caring, he frowned at that. He was hoping to piss at least one of them off by taking way their servant.

Rishid was good at not showing his emotions, so he didn't show at all how much that stung. "He is my brother...I stayed with him because he needed me. The way that Seto has been there for you."

"Yes, because my brother cares so much about me and my fashion line." Mokuba slid off the stool, brushing his pants. "I need to go make a phone call. Just push the button on the intercom labeled M Room when the duck is done." He pointed to the intercom system and mentally knocked off a couple of points. The dinner better be good.

Rishid watched him go, troubled, but didn't say anything else. He took the time to lay things out after it was all through cooking and then pressed the intercom.

Mokuba paused the conversation with the fabric people at his company, hitting the intercom button. "I'll be right down," he said, then turned his attention back to fabrics. After a few minutes he made his way downstairs and into the dining room. The presentation wasn't bad, and he had to admit that it smelled even better than it had earlier. He took a seat at the set table, placing a napkin on his lap. "Okay, let's see how you did."

Rishid waited, just the way his father had taught him--not quite out of sight, in case he was needed, but not in the way or in a distracting position.

First was the soup. Mokuba brought a spoonful up to his lips, hesitated for a moment, then put the soup in his mouth. He let the flavor roll over his tongue and flow down his throat. After a few more spoonfuls he grabbed the roll that came with it, breaking it open and smelling the scent that rose from its broken crust. He took a bite, eyes widening a bit at the wonderful flavor that swept through his mouth. After a few more bites of the roll and some more spoonfuls of soup, he signaled for Rishid to take it away and bring on the next course.

Rishid felt a bit better about this after seeing that Mokuba hadn't thrown the bowl across the room or spat out the bread. That was certainly a good sign. He pulled the duck out of the oven where it had been warming and carefully set it on the table.

Mokuba didn't hesitate this time, mostly due to the cherry sauce that went with the duck. He dove right in. "Mmm," he said occasionally between bites. He finally put his fork down, having eaten more then he had planned on. Dessert was going to be coming up soon, and he was looking forward to that most of all. He had thought to come down and sneak a peek at what Rishid had planned for that course, but his phone call had been more frustrating then he had expected, and he doubted Rishid would have been deaf to the shouting on his end.

Rishid smiled faintly as he took the duck away and returned with dessert--it had taken him quite a while to decide what he wanted to do, but...hopefully this worked. "This is peach cobbler with amaretto ice cream," he said.

Well, it wasn't chocolate, but it smelled good. Though perhaps I should be happy about that, he thought, since I don't have much room left in me. He cut through the ice cream and cobbler with his fork and began eating. He hadn't had peach cobbler often, and while he enjoyed it those times, it wasn't anything special. This, though, was the best he had had. He stopped when he was halfway through, not able to eat another bite. He took a sip of the wine on the table and leaned back in his chair.

Rishid cleared away these dishes, too, since no one liked to be faced with dirty plates while they spoke. When he returned he bowed slightly and said, "I hope you enjoyed your meal."

"Hmm." Mokuba indicated the seat next to him with his hand. "Take a seat and I'll tell you how you did." He didn't smile and let his voice stay even.

Rishid calmly sat where he'd been told and waited.

He thought for a moment on what he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it. "I guess I won't beat around the bush. I liked what you fixed. The soup was really good and rather...relaxing. The cherry sauce...well, it had cherries, and that made me happy, and it went well with the duck. And I'll admit that I've never had cobbler like that." Mokuba leaned forward and smiled at Rishid. "In other words, you're hired."

Rishid couldn't stop a grin, but he was quick to sober up again. His eyes sparkled a bit as he said, quite calmly, "Thank you very much. I look forward to working for you."

"I'm sure you will. But I think I'll go over a few rules, since you're here." Mokuba cleared his throat. "You'll start on Monday helping the head chef prepare meals. Whatever he tells you to do, you do. On the weekends is when you'll get your chance to cook for me by yourself, where they'll be another chef here to help you with chopping things up and other chef things." He put his finger to his lips, thinking about what else he had to say. Somewhere in his room was a list, but he didn't feel like grabbing it. "Oh, yes, you'll need to be here at six in the morning to begin preparing breakfast, which is served at half past seven. You leave whenever the dinner is done, and my lunch for the next day is prepared, though you don't need to prepare my lunch in advance on weekends." There, that seemed to be the main things, and if he had more, he'd tell Rishid later.

Rishid nodded. "I'll be here. Thank you very much for the job, Mokuba."

Mokuba dabbed his mouth with his napkin and then place it on the table. He stood up. "You're welcome. I'm actually happy that you were able to cook. I was afraid you'd actually be horrible at it." He grinned and rubbed his stomach. Looks like he wouldn't go out tonight; he felt like a nap.

Rishid stood after Mokuba did. "Would you like me to stay and clean up?"

"There's no need for that. I have people who only clean dishes." He took a few steps before turning around. "Could you follow me for a moment? I have something to show you." He didn't wait for a response, expecting Rishid to do as he was told, and walked out of the room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom.

Rishid, of course, did do exactly as he was told; he'd been inclined to obey people before, but now that Mokuba was his employer it was even more pronounced.

Mokuba walked over to one of his night tables and opened the bottom drawer. He rummaged inside, finding a wallet that he thought he'd lost, and finally found what he was looking for. After grabbing the bag he walked over to Mokuba. "I found these and thought you might think they were cool." He reached into the bag and pulled out an R shaped piece of sour candy to show Rishid.

Rishid took them, taken off guard--for a moment he stammered. "I...thank you." He smiled, genuinely.

"You're welcome," he replied, happy that his gift went over well. It wasn't that he was out looking for the candy, but when he spotted it he knew he had to buy it. "I hope you like it. You like sour things, right?"

"Very much," Rishid agreed. He slipped one of the pieces into his mouth and grimaced happily at how sour it was.

Mokuba reached into the bag and grabbed one, figuring that was just fine as he was the one who bought the candy, even if it was for a gift. He popped it in and scrunched up his face. "So...sour..." he was able to get out through puckered lips. When he finished the candy he took a breath of relief.

Rishid chuckled and took another piece. When he could speak he asked, "Just where on earth did you find these? I've never had candy this sour."

"Ah, I believe it was at a place called Endless Candy that just went in by one of my favorite clothing stores, Fashionastic. It's just like heaven." His eyes sparkled as he recalled that wonderful place, candy lining every wall, the smells mixing together in a sugary goodness. "We can go sometime, if you want."

"I would like that." Rishid had found that he really liked the mall--going with someone who knew more about it than he did would be even better. "Whenever you are free to go, that is."

"Good. And don't worry about when; I'll make time for candy." He smiled, happy that he had found a candy friend. He was tired of being told, especially by classmates and some of his employees, that he ate a bit too much candy. Like you can eat too much. He looked at Rishid, wondering if he should tell him to leave or not, until he remembered something that he had been curious about earlier. "Uh, before you leave, can I ask you something?"

Rishid nodded. "Anything you like."

"Did that hurt?" He asked, pointing to the tattoo on Rishid's face.

Rishid's hand moved, brushing the smooth scars there. "...A lot. It took me...longer than it should have, because I had to stop every now and then." He hesitated. "Why do you ask? I thought that you didn't like tattoos."

"Some tattoos are fine on people. It's those really huge ones that cover the entire body that are just...ugh, so horrible. Sometimes I think about getting one, but then I'd mark up my beautiful body, so the thought goes away." Mokuba shifted on his feet until he realized what Rishid had said. He looked up at him, his eyes wide. "You mean you did that yourself?"

"Ah..." Rishid chuckled. "I agree with you on that. Tattoos are, to me, a personal thing...it shows solidarity to a family." He nodded at Mokuba's next question. "It's not...actually a tattoo, really. Our family made these markings with a glowing knife, and then mixed ashes and blood to color it before the wounds closed entirely. Malik also has this, but on his back."

Mokuba's eyes opening in horror. "That doesn't seem to...clean," he grimaced, thinking of the blood. He didn't even want to know whose blood it was. "Hmmm, I don't think it has to be like a family thing, though. I've toyed around with getting the idea of something really pretty, but I don't know of what. And, well, I doubt I'll ever get one." Now that he wasn't supposed to be sleeping with anyone, looking at tattoo pictures was one way to occupy his nights.

Rishid looked at him thoughtfully, and after a moment decided to say what he was thinking. "I think if you were to get one, it would have to have colors in it. I can't see you with a tribal tattoo, honestly."

"I never really liked those tribal ones." He looked at Rishid's tattoo and tired to imagine it in color. The image made him laugh. "If I ever get one, I'll let you come along," he managed to get out in his laughing fit. He bent forward, trying to calm down. When he felt that he could look at Rishid without laughing, he stood up again. "Sorry to keep you here so long."

Rishid smiled in uneasy amusement--he wasn't quite sure what Mokuba was laughing about, but laughter itself was never a bad thing...right? "I will. And, don't worry about keeping me...I'll let you get back to work."

"Thanks for coming over," Mokuba said as he started walking out of his room and down the stairs. "It was...not so bad." When he reached the door he turned to face Rishid. "So see you Monday then. Oh, there'll be clothes here for you to change into that day, too."

"Alright. Thank you. I'll be here at six." Rishid bowed again, and then smiled and held up his bag of candy. "And thank you very much for these, again."

"Now it's your turn to buy a bag for me again." He opened up the front door. "Have a good evening...and be careful for Shadow."

"Ah...I will." Rishid had almost forgotten about that. He nodded and waved to Mokuba, and then went back out into the darkness.