~Julian~ ~District 1~ {WIP}

~Julian~ ~District 1~ {WIP} Apr 1, 2012 20:30:03 GMT -5

Post by Ally is tentatively back on Apr 1, 2012 20:30:03 GMT -5

Well, As I See It
"Let Me Speak"
"Oh, Sure, Ramble On Then"
The Inner Workings Of The Mind

"Hey, Squirt!"

Light eyes. That's what he registers first, looking at a mirror for the first time in months. He hates mirrors, if only because these damn eyes are what he sees first. They've seen terrible things -Later, later- and this has turned them cold, where he remembers when they were warm and happy and alive- but it's been so many years. The colorless (Blue? Grey? Green? He can't decide.) orbs should -by all rights- be glistening in the flood of memories, but the long, dark lashes stay unburdened with the salty -Weak. Emotion is weak.- droplets he sometimes sees on others' faces.

His focus slips between the horrifying orbs. A medium-sized (two-point-three inches wide.) mass of cartillage and skin, half-flattened looking and round, sits there, acting as a lid for his nasal cavity. To lesser mortals, it's a nose. Honestly, how was that confusing? It twitches a little as it picks up the myriad of odd scents in the streets. Not a remarkable feature.

And now lower. A pale pink pair (Heh. Alliteration.) of lips glisten with traces of saliva. A slightly less pale tongue flicks out and licks them again, and he grimaces, showing yellowish, uneven teeth, which then worry at the bottom lip. Crimson blood wells up. The boy wipes his mouth with his ragged sleeve, and then continues studying the mirror (Okay, window.) intently.

His eyes stop lasering in on specific features and drift almost lazily over the rest of the head. He blinks at the dishevelled light brown mess of hair, it's getting lighter[/color] and the pointedness of the vaguely triangular face, disgusted at his loss of weight. Skinnier, in his world, meant closer to dead. And Julian didn't intend to die. Not for a long while. The blood rushes to his pale face briefly, and then he calms down.

He sighs, observing the thinness in the rest of his five-feet-and-one-inch tall body. He morbidly counts his ribs, although he obviously knows how many ribs a human being has. His long-fingered hands are shoved into his jacket pocket morosely, and he scuffed his toes against the ground.

He surveys his wardrobe, wondering if he looks passable enough to go into a store, or if he has to go get something nicer. Torn-up sneakers, one size too big, color wearing out to a dull grey, eh. Baggy jeans, scruffy and worn- he realizes dimly that he's had these since the religious lady with the scarf, but they'll work. T-shirt that maybe might be blue, but too dirty to tell, whatever, he'll just cover it up. Of course his signature jacket, hanging down below his hips, making him look bigger around the shoulders, with twelve pockets all over, a muddy brown color, no hood (this he's had for twelve years, it still looks damn good.). He fiddles with the black rubber bracelet on his left wrist- this marks him for the gang that first took his pathetic five-year-old self in, which he hasn't seen for years. That bit might be tricky, but whatever, he's not ditching this piece of his identity for a can of soup.

"You seem strange.

There are several words often used to describe Julian, but the most common is "smart"... sometimes in conjunction with "ass", but hey, whatever. And it's accurate, really. Julian is a genetic fluke, with a superhumanly high IQ, and an uncommom ability to focus totally on what he's doing. That's why he took me, isn't it? So, yes, morons everywhere, Julian is smart. Get over it.

A word Julian uses to describe himself, is "cold". He tries his very best not to care for anyone. Not to have any emotion. And he usually succeeds. The very few people he's ever cared about are missing, dead, or hardly ever seen. He keeps up a clinical manner.

Julian's always had a vibrant self-preservation instinct. It pulses just below the surface of conscious thought, pressing him to talk his way out of any situation, no matter the cost to anyone else. It's to the point of selfishness, really. He doesn't give a damn if anyone else is okay- to put it plainly? MememememememeME. But that's not to say he won't step in to help- if there's no personal cost, of course.

Julian has never been a prideful individual, always willing to accept charity, but only with no strings attached. He'd rather be called a coward than get in a pointless fight (Have you seen him? He's puny.) and nobody is worth the cost of wounds on the street.

One thing Julian is willing to do anything to stop? Other people's emotions. He hates vibrant displays of emotion, because he tries to have none himself. He's always had a soft spot for helpless indiviuals, as well, and occassionally will toss a spare bit of food to a stray cat or dog- but only if noone's watching.

"Tell me your story, runt."

He can remember very early things. His father, reading a story, ruffling his hair, smiling- he smelled like tobacco and cherries. He had a big, white smile and a soft jacket. Julian remembers more of his mother -he thinks his father worked a lot- and the memories can almost make him smile. She always wore bright colors, her hair was soft, she wore lavender perfume and hummed all the time, always the same tune, and her eyes were just like his, but warm and soft, and her voice was like a song -he remembers a whisper of "Hey. Baby, wake up. - and she hugged like a real person, with her whole being. He remembers his brother, only a year older than himself, maybe, with hair just a shade darker and eyes that were green like leaves with the sun shining through. His name was Nicky, but for the life of him Julian can't remember what that was short for. He guesses that Nicky would be a pretty big guy by now, but hey, that might just be childhood perception.

One of the memories that stands out most is the night he was taken from them. This is almost funny, because he barely remembers it. He went to sleep, and he woke up bound and gagged in a stranger's vehicle. And then they took him to the room, to the blinding white walls, the hospital gown, the coldcoldcold everywhere.

And then the strange man, who he was supposed to refer to as "Uncle started cutting him open pokingproddingscratchingcutting... It lasted a lifetime in his mind, with the crazy man whispering "What makes you tick, little Julian? What makes your brain work?" And he was so scared so weak and yes, he cried and begged and screamed for his parents, his brother, anyone.

It took him three years to escape, as he would find out later. He wandered about in that stupid white paper gown for hours before a skinny girl stopped him. It was only when she asked his name that he realized he didn't know his last name. He couldn't get home. So he didn't tell her his first name... And she christened him "Bean", before leading him to her gang.

He spent a year with them, long enough to feel accepted, at least by that one girl, Jay. She brought him food, was nice to him, found him his coat... And then she was killed. Peacekeepers. He ran, after that.

He spent quite a few years on the streets, wandering around, making a name for himself. He drifted, mostly, sometimes attached himself to a group, lived with an extremely religious woman for a while when he was fourteen, She had a green scarf, I remember that much about her... and even after he left, she continued to give him food when she saw him.
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