sylvain jose gautier || district two

Their kisses taste of poison, bitter on his tongue around lips locked in place. Sweeter than the sting of liquor but no less painful. He wears resentment in sunshine smiles, singing sweet lies into the swell of their skin. They look at him through heavy lids, pretending to love who they think he is and it's the irony of all these layers of fiction and fable that let him enjoy moments like these.

"Where can I find you?" She's veiled beneath the satin sheets of a motel bed more expensive than she can comprehend. She'd been properly wined and dined, given an evening straight out of a story book. A brunette this time, or maybe a blonde? Are those strands of red hair woven between his fingers? Sylvain doesn't look at her as he buttons up his shirt, deftly slipping the polished bits of metal into place before turning his back completely on a face he hasn't bothered comitting to memory.

Slinging his jacket over his shoulder he laughs a laugh that rings hollow in the silence. It carries a cold edge - one that was always present but that she's just now bothered to notice. "There's plenty of rich guys around these parts. I'll set you up next time." The door slams against its frame, drowning out the shrill sounds of feeble protest.

Dawn has just begun to break by the time he makes it back to the academy, slipping a few dollars into the janitor's hand and accenting the action with a sly wink. A good man, he was, always forgetting to lock the gates.

Greed is his greatest ally just as it was many's fatal flaw. A weak spot not unlike the gaps in armor where he'd learned to aim his lance; he exploits it with no less ferocity. Sylvain comes from great expectation. His father looks at him with eyes that glow of rotten pride, his weathered hand grasping Sylvain's shoulder just a fraction too tight. Threats never fall off his father's tongue - they aren't needed when one can silence a room with little more than a look.

Sylvain's always been a little bit terrified of the man.

But he owes him a lot, after all, he'd taught him an important lesson the second he'd bought Sylvain's way into some stuffy career's academy. Sylvain is only as valuable as his gold-weighted pockets. He is strong and smart but he's never had to be. As long as he wore a smile and paid well they were content with letting him be strong enough, smart enough to get by. And really, what's the point in trying when there's easier solutions to be found?

There's nothing worth finding beneath this brightly-colored mask. A boy with a hollow core, lonely in spite of the kisses that linger upon his skin. A kid still scared of the dark after his older brother had let him fall in the family well and left him to rot. Or perhaps Miklan had pushed him? He tries not to remember the details.

Some try to worm their way under his skin - Ingrid looks at him with eyes intelligent enough to burn and Felix's words have always cut a little too deep. It's a shame, they might be pretty if he could view them at an arm's length.

He's not numb beneath it all, in fact it hurts a little bit too much sometimes. When all he can feel is something terrible eating away at him from the inside out. Angry and sad and a little bit scared of the wonderful thing he's built himself up to be.

And it's lucky Sylvain Jose Gautier is nothing but a pretty face.

That's an incredibly easy thing to be.