"Not usually as well as this one," Solomon said dryly. "Those of your nation at least afford us some respect." He shrugged. "Acceptance and fondness, not so much. But at least some respect." No one really liked people who reminded them constantly of their own mortality. Solomon had accepted that a long time ago.

He was also quite familiar with people who thought they could use the Necromancers for their own gain, and Bakura's thoughtful silence said as much as Solomon needed it to. Not that he trusted the man to begin with; he just understood him. Either way Bakura was proving to be somewhat predictable.

"What happened to those who murdered your village?" Solomon asked, sitting back in his seat. He wasn't sure whether it was due to the extra touch of distance or the recent overuse of magic, but Bakura's ghostly aura seemed a touch more defined than it had. More like something approaching the collective deaths of individuals, rather than a primal force of rage.

It was familiar. Familiar in a way Solomon hadn't picked before, because he tended to avoid thinking of that particular memory, but which he now couldn't help. It was a similar sort of aura Vile had possessed when they fought. That was a comparison Solomon hadn't particularly needed.