|W/e| Write Our Prayers On A Little [B]om[b]
Dec 4, 2010 0:06:35 GMT -5
Post by chaseee on Dec 4, 2010 0:06:35 GMT -5
m a r c u s s
"People tend to associate anyone who looks and behaves differently with illegal or immoral activity"
Marilyn Manson
^we're on a bullet
an we're headed straight into God
and he'd like to end it too^
Though not a particularly warm day, the weather was fine nonetheless. Only faint winds stirred, mussing the scraggly hair he refused to trim time and time again. Goosebumps raised on exposed flesh; his hands and bits of his wrist where his shrunken jacket no longer covered the entire length of his arm. The boy was not happy about his being thrust out the doors of his own home, a rake in one hand and a shovel in the other, ordered to rid the lawn of scattered leaves and clean the frequent dog droppings. Needless to say, he had put up a fuss when told to do this, and in doing so had gotten himself in trouble. Now, not only would he have to complete double the amount of household chores than usual, he would accompany his father to the factories of District One, where he would assist in the shaping and coloring of jewelry. When asked if he had liked his visit after the annual class trip, he had told his father he rather disliked the place. Not only did the fumes of the various paints and equipments leave him with a terrible headache, but the buzz of the tools at work on furniture and the like irritated his ears. Of course, his father had been dissapointed, having wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, but he had gotten over it, claiming he could work in the packaging area instead.
So, when the boy had finished throwing feces in a a tattered bag, he carefully stepped over wide puddles, where rain had previously flooded, leaving the way impassible, to the side of his small house, only once glancing down at the area rotted away by careless caretaking and unshameful ignorance. The gaping hole always left a brisk chill in the house when approaching winter months, and though he had constantly complained to his parents, they would never take action, even when it could be as simple as calling in someone to take care of it, where they couldn't. Moving several feet away, he located the waterhose, the spout of which protruded from the concrete slab of the house, of which a steady drip emitted. Though the temperature was not cold enough to freeze it, he was sure he had the handle turned firmly to the side, so that no excess fluids were allowed pass the block. Needless to say, the boy never noticed the creeping figure quickly approaching from behind.|/|/|/|
The teenager felt accomplished as he quickly glanced from the tied boy to his master, an eager look upon his face all the while. He had not been given an assignment like this since taking the man up as his trainer, and he was sure his results would surpass his elder's expectations. His assumptions were confirmed as he glimpsed the man give a small nod, and scrawl quickly on the clipboard of his. And, though the boy had promised he would sit and wait with the upmost patience, he found himself leaning forward in anticipation, his grubby fingers tightening around the armrests of the chair, and but a few minutes later clearing his throat to speak. "Well?" Jeffery, the trainer, stiffened in surprise, and relaxed his firm hold on the pencil he had been writing with, bringing both it and the clipboard down to his sides. He glanced over to where Marcuss sat, his brows arched and a stubborn glint in his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "Well what?"
"Have... Have you finished yet? How did I do?" Marcuss could not help the tremor of excitement found in his speech. The lesson had been performed beautifully, not a flaw he could find himself, which he took as a good sign. Following every detail in the procedure to the letter, the teenager had carried the kidnapping out so perfect, he had doubts that even his trainer could have done better than he himself. Again, he glanced meaningfully at his teacher. Without speaking, Jeffery closed the distant between himself and the chair that held Marcuss, and handed him the paper he had scrawled on. Immediately, Marcuss felt his mouth gape open in surprise.
Scanning through the rest of the report without taking much in, his lips part as if ready to speak, only to clamp shut yet again. Several half-hearted choking sounds made their way through, but otherwise he found himself at a loss for words. Sloppy, lacking creativity, the student has received low points for this particular assignment. The child has admitted to having seen his attacker, and has therefor been gassed, unconscious untill all memory of the day's events have fled his mind. Around this time two weeks from now, I will ask subject what he can remember from this day, and untill I receive an answer saying he can gather not a thing, he will be held in this facility under close eye. Skipping lines that explained how the "subject" would be treated and cared for, Marcuss found his reveiw. This assignment has been deemed unacceptable, for many points of negativity. Not only did student fail in properly subdoing subject during kidnap, but he performed kidnap in an area open to many witnesses. This lesson will be looked over again, but not untill instructor has gone over basic materials with student once again.
Merely skipping over the total amount of points/overall score area, Marcuss allowed the paper to slip from his hands, making a small scraping sound as it slid across the floor. His emotions would be clear to all onlookers, merely from the various facial expressions he made, though the one more frequently visited would be furiousity. Not only had the teenager thought himself to have received high ranks, he had thought he had executed the assignment perfectly and without a flaw, where his trainer clearly disagreed, proved by the low marks on the rubric. "What the hell was that?" His voice was low and smooth, the calm before the storm, as some had said.
An amused smile on his face, his trainer took several steps forward, putting himself directly in front of his student. "Why, that was your report. Clearly you did not read it right if you are asking me what it were, for my comments were crystal clear, at least in my opinion, and trust me Marcuss, though you may doubt so at the moment, my opinion does matter." He gave a small smirk before retracing his steps back to the center of the room, where the child sat in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, tied at the wrist, abdomen, and ankles with a heavy rope. Already the skin of each had been rubbed raw, from previous escape attempts. "When first taken in, I questioned this young man, who you had whisked away while he had been working on chores, result of a bad attitude. He says he had been taken away by a brute teenager with dark hair and a muscular frame, someone who fit into your description quite nicely." A pause, while the trainer made a sharp intake of breath. "Anything you have to say to that, Mr. Templing?"
Marcuss remained silent, but only for a moment. In the time it took for him to carefully plan what would happen next, he had thrown himself from his chair, and stood nose-to-nose with his successor. "You are a lousy excuse for a teacher, Mr. Jeffery. I followed your damn instructions, I did everything you told me to do, and here you are critisizing me on my damn creativity and tidiness? I do not deserve this grade, therefor I will not accept this grade. I will stand here and argue with you untill we are both blue in the face and I have been given the points I have earned!" A stare-off commenced shortly after, in which Jeffery the trainer found himself backing off from.
"You are right, Mr. Templing, you do not deserve this grade. You deserve far worse. You have very poor attitudde, and I simply will not tollerate it. Now find yourself out of my home or I myself might have to turn you in on accounts of kidnapping. Go! Now!" The man had most defenitly turned the tables, and his tone spoke the words he didn't. This discussion was over, and if Marcuss did not leave him alone to brood over the situation, he would find himself in a much more dangerous situation. The teenager silently obeyed, shooting several glares over his shoulder as he passed over the threshold, and slammed the door behind him.|\|\|\|
The winter winds immediately made him regret his leaving his jacket at his house. Still, he wrapped his arms around himself and walked on, stubborn as he turned down the sensible solution of turning back into the house and apologizing to Jeffery the trainer at once. The man had angered Marcuss, and the heated discussion that followed had left an awkward hole to fill. What had happened was done, and he was unsure if he would be able to live the moment down.
Incoherently, he manuevered through the afternoon crowds, brushing shoulders with strangers on several occasions, his mind wandering anywhere but his current location. So he found himself equally surprised when walking into District One's bakery, facing the large counter with shelves of various breads, pastries, and cakes. And, though he knew anything from here was far surpassing his budget, he plucked a menu from the stand near the money-safe, and took a seat at the nearest table. Scanning through the list of items available, he found nothing particularly caught his eyes, so he picked something on impulse. A bagel-box, coming in three flavors. Roast beef, turkey, and some wild mixture of vegetable, appropriately titled "Veggie's Choice." Placing in his order, he slumped against the back of his chair, intent on spending the rest of his day brooding.
ooc-pfft, bagels xD and sorry 'bout the outlandish length D: i had a lot of muse stored up that I was unaware of.
^buy our ticket
and we hope that Heaven's true
i saw a cop beat a priest on TV
and they know they killed our heroes too^
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