Having only watched KaibaCorp sanctioned tournaments on television before, Alastair made sure to get there in time for the kickoff. But he sat on his motorcycle off to one side with his helmet on, the visor flipped up so he could hear the announcement. He snorted his pure disdain for the ego-tastic, flashy opening and slapped down the visor before starting up the bike. He was going to attract some attention before picking an opponent, already bound to his promise not to shake down Kaiba right off the bat.

It was a gorgeous day to be dueling. Unseasonably warm, in the 70's, as it had been the last day or so. Alastair had spent much of his free time at home (in between checking up on Bakura) down in the garage, cleaning and tuning his motorcycle after its winter's nap, so it was in prime condition today. He gunned the engine and tore through the dispersing crowd, scattering newbies on his way closer to the water. He picked a good spot and screeched to a stop, the tails of his favorite gray trenchcoat swishing around him like a cloak and falling over the back of the seat. His bootleg duel disk was on his left arm, poised and ready, as he sat astride the red Ducati in wait for a worthy challenger.