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Post by The Lost on Jan 30, 2011 19:04:13 GMT -8
Leonard Percival “The Lost” Faust, possibly the last in line of what was once a prestigious family of aristocrats and nobility, slowly began stir from his slumber in the southern slums. The sun’s brutal rays are what was waking him. They shined down on him, squeezing in between the two walls that made up the alleyway he called home.
How could the sun shine down on him, so cruelly? Hadn’t he suffered enough?
Didn’t it know that he no longer had a reason to get up?
He shivered as he pulled the many layers of blankets around him tighter. Despite the clear day, it was still a cold day in winter. At least the fact that the sun was annoying him meant that he had survived the night. He reasoned that if the sun was high enough to wake him in the alley, which must mean that it was around noon-ish.
Noon, meant lunch, and as soon as he thought that, he realized he was hungry.
Cold, hungry, annoyed, and above all else, he wasn’t tired anymore. There was no way he’d be getting back to sleep anytime soon. If only he could just… sleep forever.
No such luck, however. He stood up, letting the extra blankets fall away from him. That just made him more vulnerable to the cold, but he had no choice. He had to go to ‘work’.
He took in a breath of air. The cold stung his nostrils, throat, and lungs, but he took in the deep breath and held it in anyway. He slowly released it, and then took in another. He was getting his lungs accustomed to the cold. That way he could breath it in, when he needed it later… when he’d be on the run.
The dirty child, dressed in many dark layers, emerged from the alley. There were many people on the streets, but none paid any attention to the dirty homeless child. Every one was just too busy. He didn’t blame them. He knew they must have had their own problems, and if they didn’t, they’d face problems if they didn’t continue to press forward. The bottom line was, none of them could ‘afford’ to stop and help the poor child. No one ever did… aside from that one man.
The Lost let out a sigh, and then continued on down the sidewalk, joining the crowd of people walking to and fro. As he did, he looked among the crowd for easy targets, but he knew that the people in this district didn’t have much steal from. That wouldn’t stop him though. He had to survive after all.
This was the usual start to an average day for The Lost, and many others in this city had days just like this. It was the unsung story of people most would call lowlifes and theives, as they looked down on them. A story that normally remained lost with in this vast city of Arcis.
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Post by Royce Xenon on Feb 2, 2011 5:48:56 GMT -8
Subconsciously, Royce pulled his clock tighter about himself. The biting of the cold told him strongly that winter was heavy in the air. Of course, he had expected this much at the very least when he quietly left the Xenon Family estate. It was near noon by now and yet, the cold was still bothering him. But then, he supposed that it could only get that warm when you were living underground. His heavy clothing were only barely keeping the chilling breeze off his back.
His commoner clothes were dirty, brown and worn. It consisted of a normal shirt, a pair of pants and a heavy traveler's cloak with a high collar which aided in keeping most of his features out of sight when coupled with his hood. No one paid him much heed. After all, dressing up like this, not even his mother would believe it was him walking down one of the busy streets of the Southern District. With the cold baring its fangs, everyone out and about were all attempting to finish whatever errands they were on as quickly as possible so that they could return to the confines of their homes. Royce breathed out a small and vague puff of cold air. Not that it would help very much, he noted with a hint of bitterness.
Perhaps he was asking for it. If anyone found out who he was while he was here and unprotected, well, let's just say that it wouldn't end very well for Royce. The blonde man suddenly became very aware of the silver pistol he had by his side, carefully hidden from view in the shadow of his tightly bound cloak. However, how was a leader expected to lead should he not know the state of his citizens? That had always been the burden that weighed him down. His father had never understood his concept.
The Southern District was, as ever, a depressing sight with rundown houses and people that seemed void of hope and friends of despair. Something stirred inside him. Just what did he plan to accomplish by coming here today? |
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Post by The Lost on Feb 2, 2011 9:24:54 GMT -8
“Hey its that kid!” a voice called out, with a distinct tinge of anger embedded with in his tone.
The Lost turned his head to look to the sudden source of noise with an alarmed look on his face. He recognized the tall man in a brown duster and plaid scarf. He was a local flunky of a small time thug who liked to think himself as a crime boss or something like that. The tall man was calling out to his partner in crime, another henchmen in the same gang. A short fat man who always wore a ski hat, but never skied.
They had been pestering him for a ‘cut’ of his work, lately, and the last time they met, they parted ways on less than pleasant terms. He had only escaped them by delivering a swift and just kick to the place no man should ever receive a kick of any kind, to the short one.
Lost could predict the scream of righteous fury that followed the first.
“Get ‘em!” he heard as he ran through the crowd on the street. The two began to chase him, knocking aside a few pedestrians who got in their way.
Normally, The Lost was very fast and could maneuver through crowds like this, quite skillfully, but he did not get far today. He slipped on some slushy ice and tumbled forward towards a man wearing a plain brown cloak. He fell to the side, onto the floor and the men chasing him caught up to him.
The tall man reached down and picked up the little street urchin and tossed him to the side, into an alley.
“Gottch’a ya little punk!” he screamed out as he did. The shorter man caught up quickly, but he was quite out of breath. The two of them began to walk into the alley where The Lost was cornered. He quickly scrambled to sit up on the cold pavement, and began to back away on the floor. He looked up at the men, with their smug grins. The young child tried to wear a look of defiance, but desperation was clearly beginning to show through.
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Post by Royce Xenon on Feb 2, 2011 19:08:37 GMT -8
As expected, any visit you paid to the Southern District at any time at all was going to be an eventful moment. Never mind that it was freezing cold, never mind that no one here was worth paying any attention to, never mind that the small pick pockets here couldn't target more than a coin or two at a time at most. It still gave some people an alien sense of satisfaction by trying to pick on a small and likely homeless little boy. Shouts sounded not too far from him. Rather, they came from behind him. He flung himself around just in time to see a street urchin lose his footing on the icy wet ground, sending a nicely sized spray towards his surroundings, his cloak not being excused.
Two men, the ones that were chasing the lad, took on the opportunity and caught up. In the shadow of his hood, his eyes narrowed as they ceased him and took their business into a forgotten alleyway. Almost as if it had never happened, the rest of the population that bore witness towards the incident returned to their own tasks. It took nearly everything within himself not to curse aloud. What else should he have expected? This was the Southern District. He nearly couldn't blame them for not caring. Most of the residents here were already having problems floating their own boats let alone stopping to help some passerby that couldn't possibly benefit them.
His common sense not quite working at the moment, Royce darted towards the alley. Standing behind the riot where the men were advancing on the helpless boy, he called out, "Do you gentlemen have any sort of business with the boy?"
As if mildly surprised that someone was bothering with them, the taller man turned around. Without so much as a warning, he took two large strides in his direction smashed the aristocrat up against the mossy wall by the shoulder. Pain exploded in his back as the wind was thoroughly knocked from his lungs.
"Mind your own business, traveler," the man growled. "This boy's got a pretty penny to pay up so unless you want to give him some financial reassurance, you had better just be on you way." |
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Post by The Lost on Feb 2, 2011 19:37:17 GMT -8
The short one turned back at the sound of the man’s voice, but left it up to his partner. He had let his guard down around The Lost before and had paid for it. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
“Oh yeah… and we intend to collect… with interest,” He followed up on what the tall thug had said. He pulled out a black jack and was lightly swinging it into his palm.
The Lost was also surprised anyone had bothered to speak up, but so far it wasn’t much of a rescue. No one had ever bothered to help him. No one, other than him…
He quickly scrambled to his feet and began to back away. If he could get the short one far enough away… he could dart past him, and then try to dart past the tall one… hopefully… no… he’d have to…
The short fat man began to advance, a cruel grin on his face.
“You’re nothing but trouble kid… I don’t even want you in the gang no more. As far as I’m concerned… you’re dead. Ya just don’t know it yet,” he called out as he did.
The young child had run out of alleyway to back away into, and remained grimly silent as the fat man continued his advance. He pressed his back against the cold brick wall. His mind had become blank. He didn’t know what to do next.
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Post by EMERY BRISTOW on Feb 2, 2011 21:01:39 GMT -8
((I'm going to assume that The Lost and the short man are just outside the alley, which is why she hasn't noticed Royce or the tall guy yet; feel free to correct me if I am mistaken. Edited <3))
The Southern district was a very interesting place indeed, and one that Emery didn't usually find herself going to. Actually, she had never been in the Southern district before, having only read about it in books. And even then the books rarely elaborated as to the actual state of the district; they merely called it the "slums" and said that it was impoverished. So, why was the Southern district, which had nothing apparent to offer, so fascinating? It was fascinating simply because Emery had never known that such forms of poverty had existed before. The people here were so horribly forlorn, so solemn, so depressed that merely being in the same area almost sent her into despair. Seeing people scramble for food, for money; it was something she had never seen before, never been aware of before, and that was the advantage and disadvantage of having everything you wanted.
Because at some point you usually forgot that not everyone was so lucky as to get what they wanted on a silver platter. She had read that the Southern citizens weren't exactly fond of government officials, so she had traded her fancy garbs for something more subdued, something comfortable; a simple grey tunic; black, rough, baggy pants; and a black cloak, with the hood up. She thought she'd made the right decision, because she was sure that these people wouldn't hesitate to attack her if she looked like she had the least bit of money on her. All she had was her dagger, which was safe in her cloak, and nothing else. She wondered if thinking of them as "barbarians" was going too far.
Pale fingers gripped the hood of her cloak tightly, keeping it secure over her head. It was cold and windy here -- both things she understood, had felt before, but never to this bone-chilling extent. This will be an interesting, educational experience, she decided, repressing a shiver as she picked her away around the desolate district. It wasn't desolate in the sense of people, no; there were many people, all ragged, tired, and just plain filthy. But it was desolate in the sense of architecture.
Everything here looked dated, old compared to the buildings of the Northern district. What buildings that were even standing anyway; most were crumbling, broken-looking and some were in such a state of disrepair that Emery could scarcely believe it. The first thing she was going to do when she was back at Parliament, the girl decided, was demand that the Southern district be repaired. And maybe have money given to its residents, because this sort of poverty was simply inhumane, and unjust. She was saved from mentally blowing into a full-blown rant about justice when a riot in an alley caught her attention. The first thing that caught her eye was a blond man, familiar in face but foreign in clothes. Royce! That was Royce, wasn't it? And he was being thrown into a wall by a mean-looking, tall, skinny guy.
Well, everyone here was skinny, since they were poor and couldn't afford food. She was about to interrupt -- justice! justice! one for all and all for one, or however it went -- when the next thing she saw was a short, fat man (fat? did that mean he was well-fed? why not share his food with the other commoners, then?) cornering a boy not much older than she, perhaps the same age, against a wall in the alley. And he was holding some sort of black stick. Royce could take care of himself, so she decided to focus on the boy instead. Not one to miss a social gathering, whatever it entailed, Emery skulked toward them, head inclined curiously, before promptly leaping into the air, arm loosely wrapping around the short man's neck in an awkward half-hug as her other arm reached up to wrap around his chest. "Hiiiiya~! Whatcha doin'?"
[/sup][/justify] |
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Post by Royce Xenon on Feb 3, 2011 6:15:09 GMT -8
OOC: actually, methinks its quite the other way around xD Lost is at the deepest end of the alleyway while Royce is near the mouth. You;d have to be in the alley to notice either of them and you'd likely run into Royce before Lost. Money was the root of all evil, they say. Royce was never too sure about that but one thing was for sure. One way or another, money was the root of all misery in the Southern district. Likely, the easiest way to solve this predicament that he got himself into was to make a single phone call and have someone deliver the amount these thugs wanted. God knew that Royce as the head of the Xenon family was more than capable of doing so. However, the one thing that prevented him from doing just that was simple: justice. Where was the justice in rewarding these men for terrorizing a small boy? Why should they walk away with fat wallets just so that they could return to bully the less fortunate again another day? That logic seemed so lost on Royce but you know what? Idealistic logic rarely worked in the real world.
"Hiiiiya~! Whatcha doin'?"
Royce's eyes shot open as a third figure made himself-- herself known within the alleyway. It wasn't that someone else bothered to stop to help that surprised him. It was bluntly because he knew that voice, he knew that figure even if she was draped over by a heavy black cloak. What, for the love of everything that God loved, was she doing here?
"How much?" Royce asked, without a moment's hesitation after that.
"What?" the tall man said, half taken aback. "You're going to waste your gold on this good-for-nothing shrimp?"
"How much?" he repeated simply. "I'll pay you whatever the boy owes you. Twice the amount if neither I nor the boy ever see you again." |
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Post by The Lost on Feb 3, 2011 10:44:25 GMT -8
"The f- ...?!" The short man called out as the young girl jumped on him.
He almost lost his balance from the surprise, but his weight was too much for the girl to take down.
"Get off of, would ya?!" He asked in a demanding tone as he reached back to grab the girl.
"Oh so you think its that easy huh?" The thin man responded to the deal the hooded man offered to him.
"This is our turf... if you wanna work these streets, you're gonna hafta pay us our cut regularly!" He screamed, pressing the man harder against the wall.
He naturally assumed that the hooded man ...and probably the girl too... were accomplices of the young boy. Though he had heard that the boy worked alone.
"And if you can pay double now... you can pay double next time too, huh?" The tall man said, again pushing hard and pressing his face up to the hooded man with a 'yakuza' look. If it wasn't for the scarf the hooded man was wearing, they would practically be making out... but that's just how you showed you were 'tuff' in the streets. You put up your face to your opponent... like you wanted to make out. At least that's how some fools acted.
To really survive in the streets, you had to throw away that useless thing called pride. The Lost knew, this... he didn't care about pride, or honor, or even if what he was did would be considered 'dirty'.
As soon as he saw his opportunity, the young girl jumping on the fat man, he sprang into action. He shot forward towards the man, catching his attention.
"Not again!" All the man could do was call that out in vain, as The Lost delivered a swift and 'just' kick to the place where a man should never receive a swift and anything kick.
The man crumbled to the ground, in front of the young boy who looked down at the man with cold eyes.
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Post by EMERY BRISTOW on Feb 3, 2011 11:12:17 GMT -8
Ooh! The guy had almost swore! He almost said a bad word! Ooh! That wasn’t very nice, she thought childishly, sniffing. He even told her to get off in a rude voice, and he hadn’t even said “please”. No way was she going to listen to him now, Emery decided, twisting away slightly when the man reached back to grab her. What did he think, that she was attacking him? Didn’t he like hugs? Everyone liked hugs. Even fat, stinky men like him – ewww, that was a horrible smell. Having her face pressed against his shoulder blade was not one of her brightest ideas, she decided, face wrinkling slightly; when was the last time this guy had washed? Or at the very least changed clothes? And there she was again, forgetting that this was the Southern district and not everyone took showers or baths every day. Such a life was incomprehensible, to her; how could anyone live like that? Then again, these people survived day to day life, so they had to survive somehow.
She could hear loud voices – the tall guy and Royce, she supposed, although she paid them no heed, too mentally involved with keeping her hug-grip on the man. The position was slightly awkward – the man was taller than her, so her feet weren’t even touching the ground, the only thing keeping her up and against him being her arms. She was about to let go, when the man suddenly crumpled to the ground, taking Emery with him and causing her hood to slide slightly off her head. Her feet and legs collided with the ground and she grimaced, letting go and stumbling to her feet. The girl looked down at the man, eyes bright, wondering why he had curled up into a ball. That wasn’t exactly the best place to go to sleep, after all. But maybe this was his home, or something, and that was why he had been upset at the boy? Because he was intruding in his space? Wait – he was making weird noises, so he probably wasn’t asleep. And from what she had heard, they were talking about “money”. What did money have to do with anything? Well, a lot, apparently. The world revolved around money. But, more importantly – boldly, she poked the fat man in the shoulder. “Hey hey, whatcha doin’? You didn’t answer my question!”
[/sup][/justify] |
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Post by Royce Xenon on Feb 3, 2011 11:39:51 GMT -8
Royce scowled as not even bribing would work. Well, with men of greed like these, it was hard not to see that reaction coming. That was, essentially, one of the reasons he didn't want to resort to giving in like this. It couldn't be helped. The situation had changed and he, at least, needed to try to use the shortest solution to move all three of them out of the problem as safely as possible no matter what the costs. Just what was the girl thinking? What was she doing here with a single form of escort? Did she think that the Southern District was just another 'fun' place that she could go for a nice long walk in?
Mentally suppressing the thoughts that accused himself on the same terms, he gritted his teeth as the extra force threatened to damage his shoulder. More disgusted than intimidated at the thugs way of conversing, he could feel himself reaching downwards for the trigger of his gun. He could almost touch the polished surface when suddenly, the second man started screaming and shouting in pain. Apparently, there was more to this street urchin than meets the eye. The taller man's attention shot away from him towards his comrade and for the briefest of seconds, the pressure on his shoulder slacked. Taking the opportunity that so nicely presented itself, Royce twisted away from his lock.
Suddenly behind him, Royce's fingers laced around the hand grip of his gun and before the thug had time to react, a silver barrel was pushed firmly into his back. "I wouldn't," were his two simple words of warning.
For a moment, it might have seemed like he was tempted to but the moment the man at his mercy submitted, Royce flipped the gun around in his hand and struck the pressure point on back of his neck in a single fluid motion. The body slumped unconscious like a rag doll down onto the floor. He was a politician, not a soldier but little tricks like these were necessary and essential items to have in one's arsenal. Promptly concealing his pistol again, he turned towards the two children present.
"Emery, he isn't going to answer," Royce felt just the tiniest amounts of sympathy for the fellow withering in pain. "What say you that we take our leave?" Yes, 'we'. Logically speaking, he had no right to order the girl around as a fellow member but now that Royce was aware that the youngest member of the Parliament order was here in the most dangerous district in Arcius without the vaguest sense of protection, he couldn't rightly turn a blind eye towards it. "And I suggest you do the same," he advised the boy before moving to exit the alley. |
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Post by The Lost on Feb 4, 2011 7:21:18 GMT -8
The man continued to groan on the floor, gripping his wounded pride.
"Gahh... g-get away from ye brat! Ugh... I hate kids..." he said, managed to whimper.
The Lost had managed to get around him and was about to go help his would be rescuer that was pressed against the wall, but when the girl's hood fell, he caught a glimpse of her had stopped in his tracks.
Who was she? Why was she helping him? First that man, and now this girl? Who were these people? Where were they all those other times he needed help and had to get by on his own, by gritting his teeth and bearing it, by scratching and clawing for every little shred of happiness, and by going with out what he needed more times than not.
He found himself entranced by her and these thoughts.
"H-hey..." He peeped out, saying the first thing he had since this encounter began. His voice was low, practically a whisper and might even have been missed. His voice had cracked as well, and he swallowed hard.
He would have said more, but his eye caught the sudden movement of the first interloper. Suddenly, he was out of the thug's grip and before he knew it, the thug was out cold.
Lost had seen the gun the man holstered away, and shrunk backwards as the man approached, despite his air of friendliness. He suggested they leave, but the way he did made it seem like they the two of them were separate from The Lost somehow.
He didn't quite get it, but he did get the feeling that they knew each other and were somehow... different from him.
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Post by EMERY BRISTOW on Feb 5, 2011 0:21:19 GMT -8
The fat man groaned on the ground; told her, an apparent “brat”, to go away; and simply stated that he hated kids. Wait, where were the kids in this situation? Emery was no kid! She was thirteen! Thirteen! Two digits! One and three! Thirteen! A teenager! She wasn’t a kid! Kids were little children that barely knew left from right. Even when she had been a “kid”, she had known those things and more, which was exactly how she had gotten to where she was now: Parliament. So, technically, if she applied those rules, she had never been a kid in her life. Lips curling down, lower lip jutting outwards slightly into a malcontent pout, she was about to retort, when a soft whisper not unlike the wind whistled through her ear. She might have passed it off as her imagination had she not glanced at the boy at that moment, really looked at him for the first time. He looked like one of those homeless kids she had seen on the street – probably was homeless. He was dirty too, and his clothes were some of the worst ones she had seen in the district. Nonetheless, her lips spread into an easy grin, white teeth and all.
“Hiya!” she said exuberantly, about to extend her hand and introduce herself when the sound of a slight scuffle caught her attention. Green eyes flickered away from the boy to the place where Royce was. He had managed to get out of the tall guy’s grip; a painful sounding whump later, the tall man crumpled to the ground, and she caught a flash of silver as the blonde man’s hands moved in his cloak. See, she knew he could take care of himself! She was so smart, wasn’t she? Indulging in self-praise for a few moments, she was pulled out of her thoughts when the fellow Parliament member spoke. Emery, he isn't going to answer. Well, of course he wasn’t. He was a rude, fat guy for one. And second, he was just…rude and fat. So there. She didn’t need his answer anyway; it was highly unlikely that this alley was the man’s home, since she couldn’t see any semblance of a bed or anything that implied that someone had lived here at some point. And there had been “money” mentioned, and whenever something had to do with money, it was usually something bad. Even as a child, she knew that.
It was quite sad, really, how easily money could corrupt people. Particularly those of the lower class, like these poor people in the Southern district. And this…this situation…green eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was up with this super super weird situation? Why was another Parliament member here in the first place? Royce suggested that they take their leave, and told the boy to do the same. “Hey hey, wait up!” she called, casting the boy another glance before scrambling to catch up with the hooded, blonde-haired man. Leading with her arm, she scampered to block his path. “What sorta shady business are ya conducting here, hmm?” she demanded, coming to a stop in front of him, arms outstretched as if she could take up the entire alley. Granted, she couldn’t, but still. He had to stop, since she was telling him to. And she doubted he was about to walk into her, right?
[/sup][/justify] |
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Post by Royce Xenon on Feb 5, 2011 4:52:02 GMT -8
If anyone that saw would misunderstand, let's clear it up here. There was nothing particularly special about the homeless urchin that Royce had to stop to help it. It was merely an act out of the moral principles that he held and kept to himself, by which he refused to compromise. Just the same, after the threat was removed, there was no more reason to remain here. He wasn't about to get friendly. Creating ties like these in these situations couldn't be good. Make no mistake though, it wasn't him that would take the full blown consequences of this chance friendship. It was in everyone's best interests if they silently parted ways like this.
“Hey hey, wait up!” the girl called out from behind him. Her light but brisk footsteps sounded as she dashed out in front of him, effectively blocking his way out of the alley. He raised an eyebrow at the actions of the teen, not that she could see. He paused his steps at her almost-accusation. "Shady business?" he repeated, mildly injured that he was suspected of such treason. "I assure you, my dear, I've never nor shall I ever be involved in such acts. Surely you know me better than that?"
Royce would never claim to be a god-like saint. It was unthinkable, really. He had his faults, of which he wouldn't admit to some. He was fairly sure that his radical thoughts of the absolute eradications of Remnants were nothing saint-like though until this day, he's failed to see it as a fault. He had his fair share of secrets and maybe even a few skeletons in his closets. However, if a leader wasn't sincere in his actions for the nation, how was he to expect the world to change? Or rather, scratch that. He, as an individual would never go about, to quote, shady business, but perhaps as a member of the parliament order, there were situations that called for it. However, if that was so, then Emery as a fellow member would be aware of his actions. |
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Post by The Lost on Feb 5, 2011 7:47:59 GMT -8
So they did know each other, he gathered from their interactions. A tinge of jealousy tugged at his heart, but he didn't quite understand it. He just felt flustered and frustrated.
"...Then why?" He suddenly interrupted, his voice calling out loud enough to be heard from where he was standing.
"Why did you... help me?" He demanded an answer as if he had been done something wrong. What was the point of these people helping him like this? Why hadn't they shown up any of the other times he was beaten or stolen from?
Why help him once, just to let it happen again. Weren't they here to save him? Did they think that just with this, he was saved? No... this was like dangaling meat infront of a starving dog with out actually giving it to him. It was cruel false hope. Thoughts like this and more questions upon questions raced through The Lost's mind. He was lost in confusion, and demanded answers. He did not notice the fat man begin to struggle, he hadn't been knocked out and hadn't seen the gun. After an adequate mourning and recovery period, he was ready to seek out his revenge. He crawled behind The Lost, and grabbed the boy by the shin.
Startled, Lost turned to the fat man, and before he could finish spitting out the cuss words he was mouthing off, Lost slammed his free boot into the man's teeth.
The man cried out in pain, but The Lost cruely continued to stomp and kick the man's face. He was taking out his frustration on him now... it must have been a sad and cruel sight. The Lost was just so sick of living like this, struggling desperately to hold onto whatever he could. It filled him with such hatred... and sorrow. He took it all out on the thug who was probably feeling the same way as he.
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