Snippet #2638814

"Me? I do it because I want them to believe in me. I want to be relied on."

A pale hand was clenched into a tight fist, resting on a button up shirt against a smooth chest. The stance was a powerful one, the words equally powerful to match. A pale face was set in stone, a determined look was conveyed through fiery red eyes. Within a moment, all emotion drained from his features. His arm went limp and the fire red eyes smoked out into a dull crimson that portray nothing. Alistair shifted the headphones that rested on his pristine and slightly wet, jet black hair. Having been fresh from a shower, he had immediately opened up his computer and programs for a recording session that had been planned for that morning. Picking up a bottle of water to sip at, he listened to his recording session partner let out a squeal of appreciation.

"Oh my, Alistair, that was as perfect as ever! Harashi is going to be such a splendid character with your voice. The fans are going to be pleased."

"Next line, please." He briskly shoved aside the compliment, an audible sigh coming from his headphones.


After another hour running lines, Alistair clicked out of his Skype call and began to get ready for school. He pulled on his jacket, buttoning it up with proper care. His sister was on a train to Inaba for a movie shoot and wasn't going to be back for some time. For the time being, the house was in his charge. It wasn't all that strange as it was something he had been doing since he was twelve or so. Fixing to set out with nothing more for breakfast than the piece of toast hanging from his lips, he opened the door to his apartment and locked it behind him. He walked down the steps as he nibbled at his toast.
It had gotten to be about seven thirty and he was well on his way to be halfway to school and finished with his toast. His fingers brushed his neck gently in idle thought, fuzzy memories floating about in his mind.

"Arabella's game is after school." He spoke aloud to distract himself from thinking on his past. He closed his eyes, his mind instead wandering to the recent past and the account of supposed 'murder' of some student. It didn't concern him much, though many suspected him as the leader of a clique to be responsible. He let out a long sigh. "I didn't ask for any of this trouble...." He mumbled, almost done with the two hour foot trek to school. Something he does to build endurance for his weak physique.

---

---

"I-I'm so sorry Mr. Smith, I-"

"You're still talking to me." He spoke with a soft look on his face, his voice soft and mellow. His words were cutting and cold, causing his parent's secretary to become silent. The bandage that adorned his left arms now had a budding red color emerging from the pristine white. The secretary had bumped into his fresh wound turning down a hall suddenly. He had broken his arm the day before falling out of a tree in a successful attempt to rescue and positioned a nest on the verge of falling from a loose and rotting limb onto a better one. The rotting one snapped under his weight, causing him to fall and break his arm.

It was nothing new, an incident like this was bound to happen at least once a month. He had even just recently busted his lip on a fire escape, though no sign of that horror remained on his flawless face.

He sent the woman off, going into his own private bathroom to redress his wound, something he had done a hundred times over. With out much warning, his mother had walked into his bathroom, subsequently slapping him across his face.

This, too, was not all that bizarre. His mother had learned of this injury on here way home from a shoot, only just having come back now.

"How could you mare your beautiful body the day before a very important shoot!" She began her wild rant, seeming wounded and crying on about how her ungrateful son was dead set on humiliating her. The young man watched her continue on, a pleasant look on his face the whole time despite the awful sting in his cheek.

"Mother, the shoot is strictly a profile shot on my part. I can simply hide my arm in that sense." He calmly reassured her, hoping to get her to leave.


Sitting at his desk, he quietly tapped at the clean bandage on his arm. The class was almost full and bustling with useless chatter. The only one whom was reasonable quiet was the leader of one of the more useless cliques, Tess if he remembered right. Not like it mattered, the boy was trash who could hardly hold up a candle to Jack. Though he knew the reason for his silence, the apparent murder of his younger brother was still hot news. "Only trash could mourn trash..." He spoke under his breath, resting his chin in his hand as he looked to the front of the class.