Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Love Gave the Wound ❯ Let's Play a Game: Tea Gardner ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own "Yu-Gi-Oh!" but consider myself lucky to be able to watch it on TV and read it in Shonen Jump, because it always brightens my day. I also don't own Sir Philip Sidney's achingly gorgeous poem Astrophel and Stella, but since I've read it I think it now owns some small part of me.

This fic, the first in a series (hopefully), takes place in Burger World, when the escaped convict has Tèa Gardner hostage. And now, without further adieu, please accept my humble offering and have pity on me.

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Love Gave the Wound

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Let's Play a Game: Tèa Gardner

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Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed shot

Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed.

(Sir Philip Sidney, from Astrophel and Stella)

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It's so dark.

Great. The last thing I'm ever going to see, and it's the backs of my own eyelids. And it's not my life that flashes before my closed eyes, but a dream-ever since I was little, I've had this dream of a spotlight that's mine, a small stage to dance on, and a smile on my face. It's why I decided to get a job here at Burger World-to pay for my dance lessons, to go to America someday and have that spotlight. I remember how nervous I was-after-school jobs are against the rules, and you have to be eighteen to work at Burger World anyway. Eighteen seemed so old to me then, but it doesn't matter, since I'm not going to live to see eighteen as it is.

The man who's tied the blindfold around my eyes is holding my dream in one hand and a gun in the other, and it's his choice if I live or die. I can't see his face, but I know all about him-he's the escaped convict I heard about on the news. Why did he have to pick this restaurant to barge into with his weapon? Our burgers aren't even that good.

I almost snicker wildly at the thought, but restrain myself. If I anger him, he might just kill me. I have a feeling he doesn't care about the stage, about my dream. He's got the spotlight right now.

"If anyone makes a sound, the girl dies!" the escaped convict yells, shaking me a little for emphasis.

I'm going to be a statistic. Even in death, I'm just going to be one of a thousand. I'll never get to dance on a stage, to make my own way.

It's official. This can't get any worse.

But of course it can, as long as the convict has that gun. He's calling for vodka, for cigarettes. "You-the wussy little one over there! Be quick about it."

Wussy little one? Oh, no, he can't possibly mean...oh, shit.

"Yeah, you," the convict continues. "Bring the stuff over here."

Double shit.

I decide to be brave and yell out a warning. "Yugi, it's you, isn't it? Go back, Yugi, it's too dangero-"

A stinging slap attacks me from outside the blindfold, rocking my dark world for a second. "Shut your goddamned mouth," the convict growls.

Great. Humilated and bruised-I almost wish he'd killed me instead! If I live through this, I'm going to have quite a black-and-blue.

There's little consolation in the thought that I probably won't live to have the bruise.

That stupid moron Yugi didn't even listen to me-I hear him set the tray down on the table.

"Hey, I didn't say you could sit down!" the convict snarls. What the hell does Yugi think he's doing? If he keeps it up, he might catch a bullet before I do.

"I've brought what you asked for," is the answer I hear. "I just thought I'd help you pass the time."

Idiot! What part of the word "GUN" doesn't he understand? He almost deserves to-wait a second. That confident voice can't be Yugi. It sounds like him, but it doesn't sound like him at the same time. Anyway, Yugi's got a spine like a Pixy Stix. He'd never sound so glib in front of an armed man! So it can't be Yugi...

...but then, who?

"Let's play a game," the mystery guy says, his voice full of its own music, like water running over rock. I can't see the convict's face, but I'm pretty sure we're wearing identical looks of surprise on our faces.

Or maybe not. The convict chuckles. "A game? Well...could be fun."

Game? Is this mystery guy crazy, or just oblivious to danger?

"However," the mystery man continues, "the one to lose this game will die!"

Crazy. Yup, definitely crazy. Send the other contestants home, we have a winner.

"This game has only one rule," the mystery gamesman continues. "As long as we sit at this table facing each other, we may each move only one of our ten fingers. And once the game starts, that finger cannot change. But we are free to choose any finger we like. Which finger do you choose?"

"I choose my index finger, of course," the convict chuckles, and I hear him pull the hammer on the gun back. "It'll only take one finger to blow you away!"

"Very well," the gamesman replies, unruffled. "Then I choose my thumb."

I've never been more desperate to see in my life. I have no idea what's going on, and all I can do is sit here like an idiot while they play this strange game. And why isn't the gamesman nervous? Is he wearing a bulletproof vest or something? How's one thumb going to save him?

What he says next shocks me even more. "After the signal to start, we are free to do anything. You can even pull the trigger!"

This guy's not just crazy. He's a thundering psycho. Great, I'm stuck blindfolded at a table with two lunatics! If I live through this, I quit!

The gamesman interrupts my thoughts. "Game start!" and I wait for the shot.

But it doesn't come. Instead I hear the convict chuckle, "And in one instant, it's game over!" There's the chink of glass as he pours some of the alcohol he asked for into a tumbler. I can almost feel him tense beside me, and I know he's squeezing down on the the trigger. All I am is holding breath, so I'm quiet enough to hear the sound that comes next, unmistakeable to me even in my blindness.

The metallic striking of a cigarette lighter, the hiss of the flame as it comes to life is almost deafening as I wait.

The shot still doesn't come. "Tch," the convict snorts. "Right! I forgot to ask for a lighter. Wasn't allowed to smoke on the inside...forgot all about it. Tell you what, kid, the last thing you can do before I send you to hell is light my cigarette."

There's the rustle and stretch of clothing-a jacket, probably-a bit of movement; sounds like the gamesman is obeying. "You can keep the lighter. Take it with you to hell."

The convict snorts, and then blows a puff of smoke in my face. "Thanks, kid, you're-huh?!"

What?

"You lose," the gamesman says softly, in that melting voice, and then there's heat by my arm-the lighter. It's warm and steady-resting on something. Damn this blindfold-what's happening? What's happening?

Something cold spills down off the table onto my skirt-the alcohol. Why hasn't the convict stopped pouring? Can't he move? What's happening? What has the gamesman done?

I don't have to wait long for the answer. The gamesman chuckles, a full, sweet sound, like dark chocolate. "Go ahead, pull the trigger, tough guy!" he taunts. "The recoil will make you drop the lighter for sure! And that's Russian vodka. It's 180 proof-90% alcohol!"

Oh, terrific. I'm not going to be shot, I'm going to be burnt to a crisp. I can't help but gasp, my whole body tensing. I'm not afraid of the gun anymore, I just want out of this. I should have just gotten a paper route or something.

And then a strong hand is on my arm, lifting me from the booth and steering me gently away. "Come on, Tèa." How does the gamesman know my name?

Cool air hits my fevered skin, and I fumble for the blindfold, desperate to see. I want to see the floors, the windows, the door that leads out of here, but mostly I want to see him-my crazy hero, the man who saved my life with his game. His face-I must see his face-

But as soon as I tear the blindfold from my eyes, a scream startles me into turning around. I see the convict wrapped in flames, and my heart thuds against my breastbone with fear. I stumble backwards, wanting to be as far away as I can get, with the Cup of Death still floating before my eyes. That could have been me-if not for him. It occurs to me that I haven't thanked the gamesman, and I turn around...

...but all I see is Yugi, who looks relieved. I'm happy to see him, but where's my knight in shining armor? Where's my gamesmaster?

"Yugi! Tèa!" Joey Wheeler yells, running over.

"Joey!" Yugi says, waving.

"Yo, you made it!" Joey cheers, pumping his fist in the air like a drum major. "What an idiot-the prisoner set himself on fire!"

"He saved my life," I murmur, although they're not listening. And just like that I'm chained. I'm not the same girl who tied her ribbon hurriedly before sneaking into her secret illegal job. Somehow I'm a whole new Tèa-the Tèa he saved from the gun.

"I didn't get to eat my hamburger!" Yugi whines. "I'm starving!"

Joey chuckles. "Me, too, since somebody drenched our burgers in ketchup." He winks at me and gives me a gentle elbow to the ribs. "Why don't we go to the Calorie Burger?"

"All right!" Yugi cheers. "That's the best idea I've heard all day!" The two boys walk towards the glass doors and turn back to look for me.

"Hey, ketchup girl," Joey teases. "You comin'?"

"In a minute." I nod almost mechanically, allowing myself one more sweep of the room, but there's still no sign of him. And how could I find him? I don't even know what he looks like. I follow Yugi and Joey outside into the twilight, looking up at the darkening sky.

Well done, gamesmaster. You won my heart today. But where have you gone with your prize?

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Author's Notes:

I believe that one can rarely see change-that it sneaks up on us most of the time, and it's only in hindsight that we can look it over and appreciate what happened for what it really is. That's what I wanted to put down on paper here-the crystallization of the moments that change us and set us on the paths we take throughout our lives.

I adore the "Yu-Gi-Oh!" manga in Shonen Jump. I mean, I love Shonen Jump in general, but "Yu-Gi-Oh!" is far and away my favourite section. I especially love "Duel 4: Jailbreak", the scene I based this on-Yami Yugi's wild wild eyes as he plays his dangerous game, little Yugi's outrage when his beloved Anzu is mistreated by the escaped convict.

I also love Sir Philip Sidney's Astrophel and Stella-rarely have I read such sharp and bloody imagery, as if Sidney dipped his pen in passion and pain, then scrawled his story across something blank and white. It's that emotion I sense in these characters-how people can go through life and suddenly, on some not so very special day, find the one who plays the song that only they can understand.

I was thinking of making this into a series of vignettes featuring more of the characters, but I'll let the readers help me make that decision if they read and enjoy this so far. Survey says? More chapters? I greatly appreciate any and all feedback. And if there's any way I can improve, I would love to hear that as well! Thank you.