Xenos Holmström D2 (Done)

"I've heard about him. Someone told me that he's broke and can't afford food because he gambles it all away."

They were all the same. Whispers of rumors that turn the air from fire to ice. A chill that runs down his spine, threatening to strike it with ice. The rumors weren't real, but they weren't a lie either. Money was hard for him to keep for too long. The addiction to trying and winning more only set him on fire. The feeling of finally being warm on the inside pushes him to try for more and more, until the inevitable chill comes and takes his winnings away from him. That's when he feels the icy chill come back to him. The chill that sits deep within his gut as he knows that he has to go back with nothing in his hands. Ignoring the whispers behind his back, hands stuffed in his pockets, he heads home.

Snow twinkles to the ground, softly adding to the cold district. A soft smile pulling at his lips. Rumors weren't meant to be listened to. Spreading hate and disgust across the district, he'd prefer to ignore them than fight them. Breaths of air escapes his lungs. Visible to the human eye. A chill striking his spine as he moves forward. Eyes roaming the scene in front of him. Mind pushing him forward as he can feel eyes staring at him from somewhere. An instant chill to his body as he knew it meant someone was following him. Probably angry that he hasn't paid up a debt of some sort. A sigh escapes his body as he trudges on forward, passing the path to his home.

A path winding to a dead end, where he knew peacekeepers wouldn't be paying attention to. A place where he could confront the stalkers who were probably after him for the debts from his gambling. Stopping at the dead end, he spoke without turning around. The smile following through his voice. This would be fun. This would be entertaining. This would be something to do, as he was done with his fun for the day. Eyes light with a new entertaining feeling in his heart.

"Who's debt did I forget today?"

Silence. The quiet felt at home with him, until a grunt comes out from behind the trees. The way he could hear them made him feel the fact that they were hired to hunt him down, probably kill him like the last few debts he hasn't paid off. It still never stopped. As they approach him, the air lifts from the cold as he snaps around. Knife in one hand, gun in the other. A smile upon his face. Arm wrapping around the closest one's neck, blade ever so close to the throat. Gun pointing straight at the other as he continues to smirk. Voice loud and clear for them both to hear.

This was his life.

"Now, that I have the upper hand here. Let's talk, pretty boy?"

The rather attractive muscle that was hired to kill him stands, worry crossing his face for a second, but vanishing just as quick. The anticipation of it all made him smile even more. They didn't know what he could do with the pistol that sits in his hand. The smirk on his lips tastes so sweet. The look in the attractive muscle's eyes made it all the better. The ugly one in his arms with a blade at the throat was dead silent, but fear coursed through the body that he had a hold on. It only took thirty seconds for the attractive one to raise his own weapon again.

"Now now, pretty boy. You don't want to do that. Ugly here is still at risk after all. Wouldn't want to hurt a single hair upon his atrocious body, now would we?"

The weapon drops from the muscle's hands as he scuttled with Ugly in his arms away and to the side of him. Once he reached the open side, he whistled softly. Goodbye Ugly. Hello escape plan. Shoving the ugly muscle at the attractive one, the smirk upon his face fades. Gun pointed at the attractive one's foot. Trigger finger itching, until he sighs. Shoving the gun back in it's hiding place under his shirt.

"Sorry boys, I got a place to be. We'll play some other day!"

The words shouted into the air with caution as he runs away. Eyes glancing to a watch that sits upon his wrist. Late. He was late for the most important part of the week. Rushing away from the two muscles that were hired to probably kill him, he scatters his path. Taking different turns and an unusual path to the house that sits on the outskirts of the bigger and more populated parts of the district. Hand knocks against wood. The feeling of the smooth door sends a shiver down his spine. No response. Hands open the door by twisting the knob. Voice echoing from his throat.

"Sorry, that I'm late dad. Training got a little out of hand."

Arms wrap around his form. A father worried about his own son. All he can feel is the warmth in his father's chest relax him. It's been so long since he's come home to see him last. Weeks and weeks where he would be out doing what he had to. The gang needed him more than ever and his aim was remarkable. Give him a gun, throwing knives, or a bow and he could hit any target that he needed to hit. Hard training from when he had been a career teaching him the deadly weapons, except the rare gun that Gunnar had given him. Learning the new weapon had taken time, but once he got the hang of it, that became his main tool. A pistol that he hides away from everyone.

Dinner was prepared for him by his father. Silence between the two as the warm aroma of meats and vegetables hit his nose. If only he could become a better son for his father who gave him everything. They didn't make much. They never did even when his mother was alive. Poor with few a job, his father still put him in career training, even though he begged his father not to. Insisting he'd rather it go towards something else. There was no arguing with his father though. Fork digs into the meat as he cuts away a piece and plops it into his mouth. His father is the one to speak up first.

"How's training coming along?"

A gulp of desperation at the will to hide how nervous he felt all of a sudden. Broken lips and bruised bodies, he's come home with. Every time he lied about them. Every time they were from the things that he did with the gang in District Two. Every time he had told his father it was from the training he had paid for. He knew that his father didn't know that he was using it towards his awful bad habit and lost it all. Money was the root of all things good and evil, yet he played with fire from day one. Only to try and make it better for his father who was older and working all day and night, only making time for him at dinner some days.

He didn't like training anyways. It wasn't for the fact that he hated being told what to do. Not at all. A sigh escapes his body as he remembers the trainers screaming his name as he failed to throw a knife straight. They were the reason that his accuracy was so high. Vigorous training upon his body and mind, until he perfected the skill. As he would throw a knife perfectly between the eyes of a dummy, they wouldn't praise him. They would only tell him that he could perfect it even more. Day in and day out, he would train with perfection, but still be told it was wrong. Time and time again, until he dropped it for the gambling. Living life on a tightrope, ready to fall. It was all for his own sake and a bit for his father, who needed it more than him.

A smile upon his face hiding the truth, voice trained to perfect the lies. Xenos was fake.

"It's fine. Still have that impeccable aim that I have. It's fun to see what I can and can't hit anymore."

The truth with a lie mixed in. The smile on his face didn't disappear as his father sat quietly eating dinner. A silence of both comfort and disappointment. Not that his father was disappointed, but Xenos was in himself. That's why he had to keep his smile from fading or else he might break. Dinner ends with silence and pleasantries as he crawls up to his room to hide away for the night. A sigh of relief escapes his throat as the front door shuts. Father off on his own work, not bothering with him. An unspoken presence between them as Xenos remembers the night his mother died. Sickness within her bones as she whispered the three words into his ears. Father blamed him for no reason, except for the words of a dying woman stuck in his mind. A sigh follows from his soul as he sits down in front of a mirror. Slamming his fist forward cracking the glass that had already been broken before.

Black shaven hair sits on top of his hair, prickly and ticklish with the gentlest of touch. Eyes are a brown that shines through the broken mirror as flickers of lighter browns come forward. Boyish features lying in his face making him younger in appearance. Plump lips that have kissed quite a few lovers in the past years of growing up. A nose that adds to the boyish charm that he has. This was who he was, but he felt broken inside. It was who he was, but the world had eaten away at the innocence that was inside, leaving behind a sarcastic man with a witty attitude. The mirror before him staring back at himself. The whispers upon his lips making his heart ease up.

"You're fine, Xenos. Just fine."

Determined steps creak against the hardwood floor of his home. Climbing down the stairs with lanky and long legs toned with muscle from running in training and the gang work that he does. The smirk pulling upon his face as large and rough hands twist the doorknob. Large feet exiting the building. A lanky body toned from the work that he does. Biceps that are rather large from the close combat work that he used to do while in training, but only staying that size from the countless fist fights that he's ended up in. Lanky fingers reaching for the pearl-handled pistol that he was given upon meeting the man who provided him with cash as long as he did his job.

Sneaking around the district wasn't what his father knew about him. His father was a man with anger in his mind, while Xenos was nothing like him. Anger wasn't what he had, but frustration that could only be eased with something else. Stone walls built to protect himself through sarcasm and humor fill his day to day routine. As he approaches the man with a cane that could slice through anyone he pleased, his breath gets tense and the smirk pulling at his lips is friendly. Words fall from his lips as he speaks. Humor tickling his tongue.

"Who's the next lovely attractive clientele, Gunnar? My pistol and I are itching for a fun one tonight."

As the night grew dark, the gambler comes out to play. The gang that paid him kindly was like a second family to him. They were all important and had a skill of their own. Smirk upon his lips as he watches Gunnar roll his eyes in annoyance. This was the game he played. There was a chance he could make big bucks. There was a chance he could lose it all. It was just like a game of poker. Work hard, do as what was needed, and look out for one another. This was why he loved gambling. It was like everything else in the world, plus all the hot people enjoyed it.

As he would take on the work, gun blazing, smirk fading, and father unknowing, he wouldn't give it up for anything. There was a chance that anything could happen in the gang. He could die. He could live. He could get injured. He could fall in love. He could break down. But none of it mattered. He'd live this life over and over again if he could.

After all, everything comes down to a game of chance.

What matters is if you win or lose that chance to try again.

And Xenos wasn't going to lose it.