[ I hope you like waking up to a really pissed off looking blond on the network, Ruby City, because that’s just what you’re gonna get. ]
Hey, bastard, this isn’t funny. Don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re gonna put me back right now.
[ it’s not like he expected anything to happen, really, but his face remains the same tight, angry expression for a few moments. then a sigh, and he squints into the camera, like he’d be able to see someone if he looked hard enough. ]
Oi. Shuusei? If you’re there, come get me. We’re gonna be late. I know you of all people’d be able to find me, so. Find me. Yeah?
[ there’s a ghost of a smile, rueful at best. and then his expression sours again ]
And you, bastard, don’t think I’m gonna let you off so easy. If I find you, your ass is mine. Got it?
[ and then the watch closes, and the camera clicks off. ]
Third Person: It was around mid-afternoon and raining when he got back to the mansion, and the place was as empty as he'd expected it to be. Which was to say, not at all, and after being hounded at the door by people he'd just as rather not talk to ("bastard, lemme through!!") he was more or less stomping his way up to his room, slinging his backpack onto the bed with more force than necessary. It ended up sliding off the edge and, if the clatter of multiple objects was anything to go by, most of his school stuff was now scattered under his bed.
Great.
Sighing, he shoved wet hair out of his eyes and immediately dropped to his knees to start groping for whatever the hell'd fallen. He pulled out notebooks, pencils, chewed on erasers--- one of the video games he'd been looking for for a few weeks, gotta finish that -- and ...
He paused, blinking. His fingers groped again, blindly, and he pulled out a ragged looking photograph that was slightly crumpled and dog eared.
Nausea rose immediately in his stomach when he recognized the faces of his parents, and with that, pain. It was like there was a vice clenching his heart, though that was just as soon forgotten in the tide of overwhelming anger that surged up, hot and immediate. When was the last time his parents came to ask for money, anyway? When was the last time they had come to visit under the pretense of seeing him? Most children who’d left home looked forward to family visits filled with hours and hours of endless chatting where the people that’d raised them their whole lives smiled and looked on. Hotsuma had known that, once; at least, he thought he had, but remembering now their smiles had always looked a little too strained, their voices on the edge of cracking with fear. It was like they were keeping a monster. Which, really, wasn’t all that far from the truth.
But then again, he hadn’t exactly “left home”, had he?
It was instinctive, the way his fingers crumpled the glossy, yet worn photo, and his lips formed the word before he even thought about what he was doing.
Re: [CANON] Hotsuma Renjou | Uraboku | No Reserve | 3 of 3
Oi.
[ I hope you like waking up to a really pissed off looking blond on the network, Ruby City, because that’s just what you’re gonna get. ]
Hey, bastard, this isn’t funny. Don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re gonna put me back right now.
[ it’s not like he expected anything to happen, really, but his face remains the same tight, angry expression for a few moments. then a sigh, and he squints into the camera, like he’d be able to see someone if he looked hard enough. ]
Oi. Shuusei? If you’re there, come get me. We’re gonna be late. I know you of all people’d be able to find me, so. Find me. Yeah?
[ there’s a ghost of a smile, rueful at best. and then his expression sours again ]
And you, bastard, don’t think I’m gonna let you off so easy. If I find you, your ass is mine. Got it?
[ and then the watch closes, and the camera clicks off. ]
Third Person:
It was around mid-afternoon and raining when he got back to the mansion, and the place was as empty as he'd expected it to be. Which was to say, not at all, and after being hounded at the door by people he'd just as rather not talk to ("bastard, lemme through!!") he was more or less stomping his way up to his room, slinging his backpack onto the bed with more force than necessary. It ended up sliding off the edge and, if the clatter of multiple objects was anything to go by, most of his school stuff was now scattered under his bed.
Great.
Sighing, he shoved wet hair out of his eyes and immediately dropped to his knees to start groping for whatever the hell'd fallen. He pulled out notebooks, pencils, chewed on erasers--- one of the video games he'd been looking for for a few weeks, gotta finish that -- and ...
He paused, blinking. His fingers groped again, blindly, and he pulled out a ragged looking photograph that was slightly crumpled and dog eared.
Nausea rose immediately in his stomach when he recognized the faces of his parents, and with that, pain. It was like there was a vice clenching his heart, though that was just as soon forgotten in the tide of overwhelming anger that surged up, hot and immediate. When was the last time his parents came to ask for money, anyway? When was the last time they had come to visit under the pretense of seeing him? Most children who’d left home looked forward to family visits filled with hours and hours of endless chatting where the people that’d raised them their whole lives smiled and looked on. Hotsuma had known that, once; at least, he thought he had, but remembering now their smiles had always looked a little too strained, their voices on the edge of cracking with fear. It was like they were keeping a monster. Which, really, wasn’t all that far from the truth.
But then again, he hadn’t exactly “left home”, had he?
It was instinctive, the way his fingers crumpled the glossy, yet worn photo, and his lips formed the word before he even thought about what he was doing.
"Burn."