an empire for you || private

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]It’s far from easy, being a demon-angel hybrid. Not that there are any others, really. It’s just me. Which sucks, because there’s absolutely no way for me to know what to expect from myself. I know that the main medical problems include excessive bleeding, migraines, and allergies. So far, that’s it. I’ve always feared that one day, I’ll just stop being able to function. I’ll shut down, in extreme pain, unable to move. Unable to scream. As the offspring of two immortal beings, I can’t die. It would just be a life of suffering, for the rest of eternity, with no chance of it ever ending.


    Of course, I’m sure nobody else is interested in the indeterminate genetic health issues of my species of one.


    Maybe my history would be more entertaining. After all, for just sixteen years, it’s quite wild. I’ll start with the obvious; my mother was an angel, and my father was a demon. It sounds typical at first, I’m sure. The male demon seduces the female angel without her knowing that he is, in fact, a demon. It wasn’t the case with them. My mother was a guardian angel, working on a particularly tough case on Earth. A fifteen year old girl with a shit family, a drug dealer, and nothing to lose. My father was doing the same, tracking down a soul who was willing to commit as many crimes in the afterlife as he had been when he was alive. When he got into a bit of a bind, he sought refuge in the nearest house he could find. Which happened to be the house she had been staying in. They spent the next two hours talking, getting to know each other, and it didn’t take very long for either to figure out what the other was. They didn’t care. One thing led to another, and, nine months later, up in heaven, a baby was born by the name of Elliot Sanchez. That would be me.


    I spent the first five years of my life living with my mother. One of the greatest joys in my life was helping my mother work different cases. I loved watching hurt people get better. She was good at her job, and I learned a lot from working with her. By my fifth birthday, I was almost sure that I could be a guardian angel too. It had to be the best job anyone could ever hope to have, without a doubt. What could be better than helping people? I was infatuated with the idea from the start. I knew then that I was meant to do this too. There couldn’t be any other job out there for me.


    Of course, ‘fate’ had other plans, as it always does. If I had been older, I might have expected it, but as I was five at the time, I was shocked when my father came to get me one day. He was going to take me to hell, where I would learn how to do his job, of capturing lost souls who either didn’t want to go to the underworld, or who had managed to escape it. As it was the opposite of my dream job, of course I wasn’t interested. I wanted to help people, not send them to an end that they could have avoided. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I was technically considered a demon, as I was also seen as a ‘corrupt angel.’ I couldn’t have an angel’s job. I wasn’t a pure angel. There was no changing that. I would never be able to play the part of a good guy. So I was thrown into training for a job that I didn’t want, a job that I knew I would hate with a passion.


    Completely disregarding the fact that it was a job I was shaping up to be amazing at. All of my instructors loved me. Even if it wasn’t necessarily something that I wanted to do, I worked hard at it. Soon, all around hell, the name ‘Elliot Sanchez’ was widely associated with being a great soul hunter. I had actually gone up to Earth multiple times to help with some less dangerous situations, because everyone insisted that I get the experience. I didn’t disappoint. A prodigy, I was called. I could trap, trick, or convince any lost soul into going to hell, in a completely literal sense. I’m sure most human teenagers would love to have a job telling people to go to hell. Not me. There was only one job I cared about, and I was sure that it was what I was meant to do. I just had to get through this training. At night, I would study about being a guardian angel when I should have been sleeping.


    The funniest part about it all was that I actually should have been able to do either job by the age of thirteen. Since I’d been training for so long, and was so amazing at it, nothing had been standing in my way of being a soul hunter. I was actually kind of excited, because it would have meant the end of my training as a soul hunter, as well as my own self-training as a guardian angel. I was doing the last mission that I had as part of my training. It was arguably more complicated than the others that I’d done. This one was a serial killer who had been known for being very persuasive, claiming to have, of all ridiculous things, the ability to read minds. My instructors hadn’t managed to keep up in what had managed to become a high-speed, high-stakes chase. This was it. The second I caught him, it was all over with. I had an appeal all planned out for them, with all of the reasons why I should have my dream job. I was giddy, and my head would have been far up in the clouds if I hadn’t been focused so hard on catching him.


    The thing that killed me was that he’d actually had the powers he’d claimed to have. It baffles me, that there are humans with these kind of powers, but I’ve never once questioned it. Especially not since then. If he couldn’t read my mind, he must have studied my past. He started to break down once I’d cornered him. He insisted that he could have turned out better, that he had just needed, say, a guardian angel to help him on the right path. It was right then that I froze up. Partially because I knew he was right. He had needed so much help in his human life, and that was what I was meant to do. I was meant to help people make better choices with their lives. I could start here. I didn’t know how, exactly; he was already dead and on his way to the underworld. But there was a part of me that was just so sure I could save him.


    I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting to be attacked, but what really confused me was how he had gotten his hands on a weapon such as the one he’d had. Apparently, he wasn’t interested in going to any afterlife, because he’d had a blessed and cursed sword. Double-edged. Made for fighting off demons, angels, and mere mortal passerby. Why I had just stood there, like a complete moron, while a guy stabbed me through the chest, I will never be able to explain properly. There is no getting around it. That one was just me being foolish. And shockingly enough, I still managed to catch him in the end. The story would go down in history, and I was even more famous than ever.


    Still, I was injured terribly. That first attack to the chest wasn’t the last blow he’d managed to get in during our fight. I was out of training, out of work, for three years. I wasn’t too upset about it. I had been able to do more studying for my side goals, which meant, ultimately, the entire mission was a success, as far as I was concerned. I had improved my appeal to the big guys, I had scored higher on practice tests, everything. I was impressing myself, by that point. Three years? I had been working for this my entire life, and nothing was going to hold me back.


    I had set up a meeting with them. Apparently, they’d found it really hilarious. The little demon boy wanting to do mommy’s job. I was sure it was just absolutely precious. I just made sure that no matter how upset I was with their judgement, I would be calm. That was one thing a guardian angel had to do. Be calm. Still. Patient. I had shown them the practice books I’d been using. That definitely changed their minds. I reminded them of the work I had done with my mother. How she had praised me for assisting her in her work. At a certain point in my life, I had worried that this praise came from a place of love for me, and not from her actual assessment of my skills or usefulness. I had asked her about it, and she answered honestly. She truly was impressed with how clever I proved myself to be. That was what gave me confidence.


    It was a hard thing, and in the end, I’d had to do some bargaining. I told them to give me the toughest case they had, and so they did. A grown man with a bad past, chronic depression, and intentions of committing suicide. If I was successful, if I could actually change his life for the better, that was it. I got my dream job. If I failed, and he took his own life, I was going to be a soul hunter, and that was the end of all of my hard work. My life’s work.


    I was more determined than ever. I didn’t exactly have a lot of room to mess up on this case. One unfixable failure, and he would take his own life, and I would be stuck working the job I had always dreaded. I had to do this right. And for once in my life, I was doubting that I could. I was going to have to handle this on my own, for the most part. I’d be able to ask my mother for help; she was working in the same area, so I could stay near her. After all, she said that her current case was nowhere near as important. This was my dream. This was everything that I had ever hoped for. I was not going to mess up. Not this time. Not after everything I’d gone through.


    It felt weird to be back on Earth with a reason other than simply catching someone and returning to hell. I hadn’t done that for eleven years. I was wearing my usual dark attire, which was fitting, because it looked like it was about to rain, and I was blending in with the weather quite nicely. The worst part about a guardian angel, compared to an angel (or ‘corrupt angel’) training to become one, is that a guardian angel can change their appearance, or even their age. After all, it’s very creepy trying to give advice to some ten-year old when you’re a thirty-year old man with wings. Us trainees? We’re stuck with our true age, although most trainees get cases with people closer to their age. I can’t really say anything about it. I did specifically ask for the toughest case they had. I had never said a word about an age range. Oh well, maybe I could just pass myself off as one of those eternally young people.


    Another sucky thing; I was supposed to find the guy on my own. I had been given his file. A huge list of every important detail about him that I would need to know in order to help save him from himself. It included all of his favorite places, but that didn’t mean he would actually be any of them. For all I knew, he could have been at the top of a building somewhere, ready to jump. That would really suck, and not just because of my selfish reasoning. I didn’t want anyone to have to take their own life. That was just tragic, and I couldn’t believe that it ever happened.


    I took a deep breath. Focus. I needed to focus. I was on a street with a small coffee shop, a movie theater, and a few other places. Mainly hipster and indie stores that I would probably end up checking out if I had the time. I hoped more than anything that he was there. I needed him to be there. Both his life and my career depended on it.


    //like I said, it’s no 20-something paragraphs, but it’s still good, I think <3
    also I’m sorry I can’t find a good face claim to save my life it’s happened like four times that’s all

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]
    "goddamn right, you should be scared of me."


    [size=7pt]I think my parents were trying to be creative and suave with their name choice. I wouldn't know because I didn't ever really get to meet them. I was told that they were happy-happy-happy! But apparently not happy enough to want a kid in their life. At least they named me something that reflected how I felt, though. Very thoughtful of them, honestly. Because, really, that's what I felt like. Empty, devoid, drained, hollow. It was almost like they had set this shit up from the beginning. Didn't really matter to me anymore, though. It wasn't even like anyone ever asked my name to begin with -- no one ever talked to me. They never have, and I doubt they ever will. The most talking that was done was usually just dirty talk when I -- miraculously -- managed to get laid.


    Sex was a fairly often-occurring thing in my life. It was a drug, really. Something that let me escape the bullshit and let me feel like I was in control for once in my fucking life. It was one of the few drugs that had no repercussions; except for maybe the walk of shame to the shower or the stench of regret a few hours later. Other than that, it was healthy. Probably not too healthy to have it as much as I did, but, hey. When the only thing I have going for me is my looks, I'm going to use that, alright? The only other thing that gave me any sort of advantage were my anger issues and unnecessary need to punch things until my knuckles shattered.


    What was so different about me? Why couldn't I ever just be happy? Was just a single friend to much to fucking ask? Just one. All I needed was one, and I would have been okay. Just one single person to pat me on the shoulder and say, "Hey, buddy, it'll be okay!" would have been all I needed. People say that your early experiences determine the rest of your life, right? Like, if you're raised in an abusive household, then you're more likely to be an abuser yourself and shit like that, you know? So why did people think it was okay to continue to strip a child down to the bone when he never had anything to begin with? Why did they make me seem like the worst kind of person? All I had ever done was try to impress people to get them to like me -- to get someone to like me -- and yet all of my actions were twisted against my will and misinterpreted.


    You would think that people looking to adopt a child would be nice. Like the couples you see in movies, where they do anything and everything they can for their new family member. I had always hoped for that; hoped to be picked by a loving family. It was always exciting when it came time on Fridays for adopters to come in to look for cute little orphans to adopt. The kids would all line up and greet the families as they walked in, then go about doing whatever they could to impress anyone, just to get out of there. You would see a lot of single parents and same sex couples, though occasionally you would see a mother and a father with more children coming in. Some people just wanted more kids, but didn't want to wait nine months to get them, you know?


    It took a long time for me to get noticed by anyone. For a long time, I just believed that I was dead, nonexistent, incorporeal, because no one every so much as looked at me twice. They would skip tight over me and go look at the next kid in line. I thought that, one day, when I did manage to get adopted, it would be by a nice couple that owned a small-yet-cozy house and maybe some dogs, you know? A white picket fence type lifestyle was what I had been expecting. What I hadn't been expecting was a rather large man, in a wife beater that was stained with Jesus knows what, jeans that smelled of urine, and flip-flops that made an awful squealing noise because of this man's disgusting amount of body sweat. He smelled of stale cigarette smoke, diabetes, and three-year old beefstew made from rotting flesh and diapers.


    His house was pretty much the same. Beer cans and bottles everywhere. The smell of sexual deprivation and body odor, the sound of redneck prank shows on the beaten up TV, furniture that was mismatched and stained and falling apart. He supposedly had a cat, but I was about ninety-nine percent sure that it had been dead for six years, thus contributing to the god awful smell of his home. And that was my life; living in a literal shit hole and eating expired TV dinners that had been stopped in production roughly twelve years ago. At first, it wasn't too bad. It was difficult to adjust, sure, and I was constantly sick from the smell alone, but... I got used to it, you know? It was a gross life, but at least I could say that I had a dad, right?


    Shit started to go downhill when the man discovered that he could do whatever he wanted to me and I wouldn't tell a soul. I went from being the nonexistent kid he adopted (for whatever reason, I'm still unsure), to being punching bag, and eventually his living and breathing blowup doll. At first, I fought it. Every time he hit me, I would hit him back until one of us -- usually me -- was knocked clean out. It was difficult to keep that up, though, especially when people started making fun of me whenever I went to school with bruises, black eyes, cuts and broken bones. No one ever tried to help me. No one ever asked if I was okay. The teachers never seemed to notice. The only thing people could focus on was that I was an orphan. Which always confused me, but... I never really questioned it too much.


    After a while of that, I just shut down. I stopped fighting back when he hit me. He could punch me until my jaw shattered and I wouldn't so much as make a sound any time he decided to do anything with me, I just learned to lay there and take it, no matter how much I wanted to vomit before, during, and after. I closed in on myself, stopped trying to impress people, stopped trying in general. I didn't speak unless it was a dire need, and even then, I waited until the situations were always life threatening.


    So, when my 'father' had a heart attack on the couch due to a liver failure, I packed my things and left. Didn't even call an ambulance or anything. And you know what? I was glad. I just left and never looked back. He could be dead for all I care -- and I sincerely hope he's been rotting in his disgusting house on his fat ass for all these years. Part of me has always wanted to go back there, just to see if his corpse was still there; see if he finally decayed after all this time. I didn't dare go back, though. I wouldn't ever go back. Ever.


    I got into drugs when I was about fourteen, and by the time I was sixteen, I was completely addicted. Anything that made me forget was good enough to go in my body. I even continued to let people use me for whatever weird sexual fetish they wanted, because they usually paid me afterwards. Usually. On the times that they didn't, I either just beat the shit out of them, or just didn't even give a fuck. I didn't really do the hard stuff all that often, anymore -- cocaine and heroin and stuff like that. Usually it was just drinking and marijuana and maybe acid if I could find some. I guess I looked older than I was, because I always used a fake ID to get into bars and clubs to get wasted, fucked up, and possibly laid. Which was fine. I liked my lifestyle.


    Or, at least, I liked my lifestyle while I was high. When I was in the moment, vivid colors flashing in my face, sweaty bodies grinding against one another, stupidly loud and annoying techno music playing, I felt... Good. Alive. Out of the moment, though, I was dull, silent, in my own world. Still, I don't have any friends. My human interactions is limited to sex and drug deals. I haven't had a real conversation apart from shit like, "How much does this cost? Can you lower the price and I'll pay you back?" when I didn't quite have the funds to get my fix at that moment. I never paid anyone back, though. Couldn't be bothered.


    At least I had a somewhat decent house. It was a small apartment, but... It was better than nothing. And it was clean, too, because I found that I couldn't stand messy living spaces. If it wasn't mine, then I didn't care if it was dirty. If it was mine, and you dropped shit on it, I would tear your legs of and shove them so far up your ass you'd choke on them. Yes, I am aware that it's because of my adoptive father that I hated it. Why else would I hate it? Anything that reminded me of him was disgusting and I hated it.


    And I hated myself, too. There was just... Something wrong with me. I had gathered that from my entire life's experience. I just seemed to be a magnet for bad luck, you know? And, frankly, I was tired of it. Sick of it, really. I was literally, one-hundred percent done with this. So, I was just going to end it. I had a couple of ways to go in my head. I wanted to pick the one that was the stealthiest, though. Something that I could do in my own home where no one would find me for years and years to come. I could swallow a bunch of pills. I had a gun and a silencer. Plenty of knives. Pretty sure I had some rope somewhere. Regardless of how I did it, I wanted it to be quiet. Even if I wasn't quite, I doubted anyone would notice. I could be mailed by a bear on live television and I'm pretty sure no one would notice.


    This little coffee shop was nice. No one really came in here except me at this time of day. It dawned in me that I had just been sitting here for the last half hour, stirring an unhealthy amount of cream and sugar into my coffee until it was the consistency of a latte. Oh well. It was still too hot to drink from, so I just kind of sipped at it through the weirdly thin straw that they gave you, my eyes locked on the table absently. I also had a sandwich from Subway sitting beside me, that I had yet to even look at for the time being. It was safely nestled in the paper and baggie, so it was fine. I would eat it in a minute, alright? Give me some fucking time.


    ( ooc )
    omg this is kind of gross-looking and boring i know
    but i did this on mobile
    so please forgive any mistakes
    i'll get a fancypost for him when i can get on a computer dear <3
    also, after a riveting few minutes of debate, i just decided to knock his age down, he he'll be eighteen, instead of twenty-one cx



    [/size][/justify]

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]What was probably going to be the hardest part about all of this was that this was real. This was actually the most complicated case that they’d had when I asked. It wasn’t going to be easy, and I didn’t expect it to be. I don’t know why I had specifically requested that they give me the hardest case. They might have done it anyways, but I didn’t have to make such a big deal out of it. Not my best move ever, but when I managed to succeed, they would have no choice but to admit I was meant to be a guardian angel.


    Then again, it was haunting me, the fact that I might fail. And it wasn’t just because it would be the end of my dream. If I failed, that would mean one more person taking their own life. It would be another person giving up because they’d had bad things happen to them. Worse than that, it would be my fault. I would, for the rest of eternity, be responsible for letting someone kill himself. Imagine that. Losing any chance for getting your dream job. Living your entire life with the weight of knowing that someone had never gotten their chance to get better, and knowing that it was your fault. Never dying, never being able to feel any better about it. That was what could happen to me. One wrong word, one slip up, and I was done for.


    Aside from my terrible fluctuating confidence levels, I was doing great. I had been up the entire night before, reading his file. Finding out his history. Being a stalker. You know, the norm. I knew all of his problems, or, I thought I did. A history of being abused, drug abuse, and a million other terrible decisions. It was going to take a lot to fix this, if I even could. I was sure I could. I was going to save this man’s life, and nothing was going to get in my way.


    I had been standing at the corner for a good five minutes before I finally decided to start looking for him. I took slow, long strides down the sidewalk, glad that there were just enough people around that I wouldn’t seem out of place. Most of them were dressed like me. I looked through store windows, hoping I seemed like I was just checking the places out, and not like I was looking for someone. I was halfway down the street when I saw the coffee shop. If he was even on this street, there was a good chance he was there. I stopped, looking around. There weren’t any cars coming, and nobody seemed to care one way or the other. I crossed the street, heading to the entrance of the shop, opening the door and stepping inside.


    Miraculously, he was there. But I couldn’t seem too excited about that, seeing as he wasn’t supposed to know anything. If here was anything I wasn’t perfect at when it came to being a guardian angel, aside from being an actual angel, it was keeping my cool. If I gave myself away, I failed automatically. It wasn’t the worst way to fail. At least if I failed because of something like that, someone else would get the case. But I couldn’t let that happen. It had to be me. This was my first case, and it wouldn’t be my last.


    I made my way over to the counter, ordering a salted caramel mocha. I absentmindedly watched as the barista made my drink, going over his information over and over again in my head. One thing, more than any more important thing out of all of the information I had on him, that stuck out, was his name. Hollow. Like his parents had predicted how he would end up. Empty. Nothing left inside of him. It was depressing, but it was also interesting. Everything about him was interesting. His name, his situation. I couldn’t wait to start doing the real work here.


    I was handed my drink, and I paid for it, and it was right then that I realized how totally lost I was. I had no real reason to walk over to him and start a conversation. I’m fucking brilliant, I swear. Of all the places he goes where I could find a legitimate reason to talk to him, I decided to try and meet him here. That was far from my best plan ever. Still, I was there. It wasn’t the right time to try and bail. Or maybe it was. I could go check out the apartment I would be staying in during my time on this case. I hadn’t decided on either, so I made my way over to a table, hoping that maybe drinking my coffee would help me make my decision.


    I didn’t get to do any of the three things I had been considering, in the end. Some jackass had bumped into me, spilling my coffee all over me, as well as his. My eyes widened, and my lips parted to say something, but before I could, he scoffed, shouldering me out of the way. ”Hey dumb fuck, maybe you should watch where you’d going,” he snapped. I growled a bit. Great. I had put everything on the line to go after my dream job, was stuck trying to figure out how to start a conversation with a stranger so I could save his life, and now, some jerk had spilled coffee all over me and acted like it was my fault. This was a great way to start out on Earth.


    //no, it's great! It looks good. doesn't look like it was written on mobile. sorry this post wasn't as good as my first, this is more along the lines of what I'll usually be posting.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]The coffee was excellent. It was a good thing no one noticed me, otherwise I probably would have been kicked out for just sitting here and doing nothing. Not my fault it takes seven years for this place's beverages to cool down to a non-lava-like temperature. Besides, it wasn't like I was even doing anything wrong. Just sitting here. I guess I mind of zoned out for a good half hour, but... I don't think anyone else came in. And if they did, oh well. It wasn't like they would be able to pick me out anyway. And if they did, then holy shit. Bravo to them, really. They must have super-mega-ultra eagle vision or something.


    I was dressed in my typical clothes, really. Black jeans, leather jacket without anything in underneath it (because who needs shirts in this day and age?), and some skate shoes. Black, again, like everything else in my closet. I really only had dark colors in my wardrobe, because bright colors just hurt my eyes and made me look weird. Everything about me was dark, to be completely honest. My eyes were a dark brown, my hair was a dark brown, even my skin was deeply tanned. Not that I went tanning or anything -- I'm told that both of my parents were Hispanic.it wasn't like I was weirdly dark-skinned, but... I always thought it looked nice, you know? Lately, though, all I've been wanting to do is scrub all of it off.


    Now that the coffee wasn't the temperature of a dying star, I could sip at it without the straw. It didn't make too much of a difference, but, you know. The straw just made me feel a bit uncomfortable -- like I was sucking a very tiny dick. Not that I don't like that, but... I don't know. I considered myself to be at least somewhat straight -- even though that wasn't really the whole truth. I sleep with more girls than I do guys, but that's just because it's kind of difficult to find a guy willing to have another guy's dick in their ass, you know? I don't really swing as a bottom anymore, either, so... They were shit out of luck.


    For the first part of my life, I was just convinced that my weird feelings towards guys were... Justifiable, you know? Like... It has something to do with my loneliness or something and that it would go away soon. But, no. I just came to identify myself as bisexual. There was a good portion of my early life where the thought if sex was completely repulsive and disgusting and made me gag, but... Needless to say, that had more or less been stomped out as I grew up. As did all of my hopes and dreams and ambitions -- they all just withered and died before I could even begin to start on them.


    The little bell above the door dinged, signaling that someone had entered the shop. For a brief moment, I panicked that they could see me, but then I remembered that, a) I was apparently nonexistent and b) I was kind of hidden. Not full stealth mode like I could have gone, but... Still pretty hidden. I had my back to the door, so I couldn't see who entered, but it wasn't like it mattered. Why would I notice them when they wouldn't notice me? It didn't make sense. I was tired of going through all sorts of trouble to notice other people when they didn't even know I existed.


    There was a quiet shuffling and a hissed comment, which actually caught my attention. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see someone run in to someone else and have coffee fly everywhere. Well. This was interesting. The bigger male, who had placed the blame on the other seemed proud with himself for being the first to shit talk, though he also seemed pissed at the mess on his clothes. Suck it up, bitch. There wasn't even all that much coffee on his own shirt -- most of it landed on the other male. This entire conflict was just hurting my head to watch. Part of me wanted to go over there and beat the shit out of them both, just for disturbing my peace.


    I didn't, though. Instead, I just twisted my body a bit. I placed my legs on the bench I was sitting on, scooting so my back was against the wall. My knees were bent up, my feet resting comfortably against the bench. Thank God the booth seats were padded, otherwise I probably would have opted to sit in a spike. I couldn't stand sitting on hard benches -- drove me crazy. I could sit on the ground and wooden chairs and shit like that, but a hard, plastic bench? Nope. Absolutely not. I would rather be crucified, honestly. I didn't even know why I didn't like them so much, but I didn't.


    I finally unwrapped my sandwich, starting to eat it carefully and quietly. Like hell was I going to alert those douchebags about my presence. I just wanted to be left alone. My entire life's goal had been for someone to notice me, but now I just wanted to be alone. It was all I knew, really. If anyone talked to me, it was because they wanted to pick a fight, or they wanted something else from me. No one ever just wanted to have a conversation with me. They always wanted something. And, really, I didn't have anything worth taking. Drugs, sure, but I would rather eat an unpinned grenade than give my drugs up. I switched between eating my sandwich and drinking the coffee. It was.. Nice, really. I mean, at least the food was good, you know? The coffee was delicious, too. Just so long as those idiots don't come over here, it would be a... A pretty nice day so far.


    ( ooc )
    omg no, that's absolutely fine!
    i love this thread already, tbh cx

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]I spent a minute just being shocked at how beautifully my day was going so far. The jerk who had run into me scoffed, walking away. I wanted to, for a half a second, beat the shit out of him, but I wasn’t violent. I couldn’t bring myself to attack someone else. Even if he had ruined my shirt, and my day, and was a good example of why so many mortals took their own lives. These kind of people were the ones who were going to fuck up all of the progress I ever managed to make on any case I got. Of course, I didn’t care that much. Was I angry? Yes. Did it matter? No. A guardian angel’s personal feelings were not supposed to distract them from a case. So, I made my way to the bathroom to dry myself off.


    I didn’t really expect my personal feelings to get in the way. There was a difference, in my own opinion, in one’s personal feelings and their drive. I was driven by my desire to succeed in this mission. Because of that, it wasn’t my personal anything. My personal feelings would have been, for example, showing a stupid punk who had tried to drown me in mocha not to mess with me. I considered myself to be both asexual and aromantic, so that wouldn’t be a problem. I hoped. I felt like maybe my sexual and romantic orientations had become more related to the fact that I didn’t want to be distracted from my studying. I couldn’t let all of my hard work fade into nothingness just because I fell for someone.


    I had been working hard to get the coffee out of my shirt. Eventually, I did. I was alone, so I stood in front of the mirror for a minute, staring at myself. I looked the same as always; a skinny blonde loser with brown eyes in dark clothing. I wouldn’t stick out in a crowd, and nobody would find me particularly attractive. That wasn’t a bad thing for someone in my position. I didn’t need to attract any attention. It was bad enough that I had managed to get myself covered in coffee, right in front of the guy I was supposed to be helping. I just had to hope that he hadn’t noticed. I was pretty sure he had. Hopefully, it wasn’t something that stuck with him.


    Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and I looked up to see someone slightly familiar. He was watching me, and I tried to ignore him. I needed to focus, but that was hard when someone was staring at you in a public restroom, and you could only see them out of the corner of your eye, so there was no telling whether he was going to try to fuck you or rob you. If it was the former, even as an asexual, I wouldn’t mind that much. He was good-looking. If it was the latter, I was dead, because he was quite obviously much stronger than me. I didn’t know which one I should hope for.


    ”So you’re the great Elliot Sanchez everyone talks about?”


    My eyes widened. Of all of the things that I had feared, that I had expected, that wasn’t one of them. ”I can’t stay long. I have my own case to work. With the guy who ran into you, actually. Sorry about that, I just got started as well. Here’s some clothes. I might talk to you later.” He suddenly shoved a piled of clean clothees into my arms, and then he was gone. I felt light-headed and dizzy for a few seconds. Of course, that was to be expected. After all, he was a real guardian angel. They could have that effect when they wanted to. Eventually, I would be able to. I just had to get through this.


    I changed into the clothes I had been given, a bit disappointed in the selection. They were lighter clothes, with actual colors on them, but I couldn’t actually complain. At least I didn’t have to go back out into the world looking like a coffee-covered jackass. I decided to leave my old outfit in the bathroom, and just headed back out to find something that shocked me quite a bit. In the time I had spent in cleaning myself off, the entire place had become packed. There were barely any seats, but, for some reason, there wasn’t a line formed. Everyone already had their drinks.


    I headed to the counter, ordering another salted caramel mocha. I was becoming slightly aware of the burns on my chest, but they didn’t bother me. I was from hell. It would take more than that to hurt me when it came to heat. I looked around as I waited for my drink, shocked to find that he was still there. My luck was amazing, aside from a few minor problems. I was handed my drink, again, and headed away from the counter, again. The difference was that this time, I had an actual plan. There was a good chance it would fail. Still, I had to do it.


    I took a seat at the both Hollow was sitting at, offering a slightly awkward smile. My heart was racing, even though I knew I had to keep personal feelings out of this. I was just so excited. ”Hey,” I started, hoping I sounded friendly, but not like a weirdo or a creep. ”I’m sorry, is it okay if I sit here? There’s no more seats.” Fuck me and my awkwardness.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]Maybe I had been sitting here for much longer than I thought, because the place suddenly began filling up with people. The noise was pissing me off so I just put in my ear buds and continued eating in silence. Again, no one noticed me. Thank God for that, otherwise I probably would have screamed and snapped someone's neck. This entire booth just seemed nonexistent to everyone, and that was fine by me. So long as no one tried go kick me out until I was ready to go myself. I was a slow eater, alright?


    It seemed that the coffee issue had just ended up in the fiesty male exiting the building and the other one just heading to the bathroom. I was glad that the issue resolved itself, because I probably would have joined in on the right if it had broken out. Except I wouldn't be on a set team -- I would just help one guy kick the other's ass, and then when they were thanking me or something, I'd kick their ass, too. It sounded like a solid plan, but I was secretly glad that nothing broke out. I was actually really comfortable in this position.


    Someone else followed after the other in the bathroom though. A brief image of them banging next to the urinals crossed my mind, and I kind of just brushed that aside. It looked like he had seen the 'fight', too, and had just gone to go provide some kind of solace for the other male. How sweet it was that people would go give some guy comfort in a bathroom who just had coffee spilled on him, but no one seemed to give a shit when a kid came to school with broken ribs and missing teeth. That made me feel good. Really good. So good, in fact, that my mood just kind of soured immediately.


    Even more people were pouring in. It was ridiculous how packed this place was becoming. Not only that but I had begun to notice the absence of seats, but seemingly not the absence of business customers. The idea that someone would kick me out of my booth when I was so damn comfortable was infuriating. Luckily, though, it seemed like the little rush of people trickled to a stop. A quick glance around proved that my booth was the only one without more than three people at it. Which meant that if anyone else came in, they'd either have to leave, or they'd want to sit here with me. I would rather eat my own tongue than be forced to sit in a group of people.


    As much as I had once craved human contact, I had learned to resent it. Once upon a time, I had been doing everything I could to just be allowed to sit at a lunch table with someone -- anyone -- but now, the thought of sitting at a table with a group of other people just kind of made me want to eviscerate myself, you know? A lifetime of being ignored and hated for no reason taught me that anyone who actually makes contact with me just wants to use me in some way or another. And sometimes I would allow that, but most of the time, I'd rather not be taken advantage of.


    The kid from before had exited the bathroom. He... Was wearing different clothes. More color. Not that I cared or anything, but it was just an observation. Either he had a spare change of clothes on him, or that stranger did. Either option was just weird. Maybe they knew each other? I didn't care, but I just found it weird, alright? If someone offered me a change of clothes in a coffee shop bathroom -- or any type of bathroom for that matter -- I would probably just slam their head against a wall and shove a urinal cake down their throat. After i finished my business on it, of course. Was I violent? You bet your ass I was. I didn't care, and I doubt anyone else did.


    Feeling the entire booth shift, I blinked. My chewing slowed for a few seconds as I glanced over at whoever was sitting in my booth. I didn't move my head, and instead just kind of slid my eyes over instead. It dawned on my that I hasn't even put music on; I just placed my ear buds in and left it at that. No wonder I could still hear the faint murmur of people, or why I could hear what this guy said. His smile was awkward and the lighter colors made me want to force him to change back to what he was wearing before. I much rather preferred the black on him. Not that I had a say, but... You know. Whatever.


    He wanted to sit here? A quick glance around confirmed that, yes, there were no more available seats. I didn't understand why someone would just opt to sit with a stranger, though. I would have just left and found a different place in another shop to drink my coffee. Was I really going to let him sit here? So long as he shut up and didn't talk, I supposed it wouldn't be so bad, though. Even so, I wanted to kick myself for my answer. "Sure... Whatever..."

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]For once, I was starting to regret the fact that I had spent so much time out of my life studying. Day and night with me, it was always ‘know this,’ ‘memorize that.’ Every second of every minute of every hour of every day, I was learning. Especially after I’d been sent to hell to live with my dad. I’d never really made any friends in my life, even though everyone absolutely loved me. I got invited to loads of parties, and I’d had every opportunity to go out and socialize. I rejected every one of them. I felt like an idiot for doing it now. I had been training for two different jobs, and although I’d hated the thought of being a soul hunter, I wasn’t about to let people think that I couldn’t be one.


    It kind of stung every time I realized I had no friends. My social skills were terrible, and I was just finding that out then. The book training for becoming a guardian angel included psychology, quick thinking, things along those lines. The official training, back in heaven, where I hadn’t been in eleven years except for visits with my mom, included going out to Earth to learn how to socialize with humans. I had never been able to do that, which put me at a severe disadvantage. Not to mention the fact that Hollow didn’t seem like the type who was interested in talking. I was starting to fear that if I tried to say anything else to him, he would punch me in the throat.


    I didn’t think that it would be wise to let him see these thoughts expressed on my face, so I tried to look as neutral as possible. ”Thanks,” I said, shocked that he was actually letting me sit with him. I hadn’t really expected him to be okay with this. ”My name’s Elliot. Elliot Sanchez,” I decided to throw in, because what should you do when talking to a suicidal guy with probable bipolar disorder who you’re half sure already hates your guts along with everyone else’s? You add useless information into a conversation that isn’t happening. If I could just figure out something to talk to him about, that would be great. The only problem there was that neither of us were good with other people. Him because he’d lived a life full of rejection and abuse, and me because I’d chosen to spend my life locked in a room studying for a job that I had partially wanted out of spite at the time.


    A human’s file, the one given to a guardian angel for their case, has their basic personality. The likes and dislikes they actually let other people know about. Their secrets, we had to figure out on our own. That included private hobbies and things that weren’t so obvious. So the less people someone talked to about what they were interested in, the less information we had on them. That meant there wasn’t a lot in Hollow’s file. He mainly liked sex and drugs, and even then, he didn’t really like either all the time. It wasn’t a lot to go on, which was, I was sure, the reason why his case was the hardest they’d had to offer. I was going to be doing a lot of guessing.


    What made everything a million times worse was that this was the first time in my life I’d ever had to experience awkwardness. It wasn’t a problem before, no matter how little I talked to anyone else. After all, everyone knew my name, and who I was, back in hell. Here, the majority of people had no clue that I existed. I was beyond the point of being able to stay hidden all the time. I had a serious job to do. Which would include conversations with other living beings, and not just holing up in a deathly hot bedroom doing practice papers and preparing appeals to immortal beings.


    So I was there, sitting in awkward silence with my ‘subject,’ drinking my coffee, which was about the temperature of everywhere back home. Obviously, I didn’t mind. I had heard talk before about people sitting in comfortable silence with close friends that they had known their entire lives. This was ridiculously far from comfortable. I needed to say something. Anything. Eventually, he was going to leave, maybe for no reason other than the fact that my existence was annoying him. And it suddenly occurred to me that I had the most obvious way to talk to anyone ever. ”Hey, uh… I hate to ask this, but do you have any idea how to get to Scenic Heights Apartment Complex?”


    I don’t know how I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Asking for directions. It was the best excuse to talk to anyone nearby, and all I could hope was that he’d actually show me the way there. I needed to be able to make some sort of connection with Hollow. I absolutely had to.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]I wasn't exactly sure as to why I had let him stay. I mean, I guessed it was because I was going to be leaving soon anyway. Why would I push someone away wheni was just going to be sitting here for less than another five minutes? I was finished with my sandwich and almost with my coffee, so why would I have refused to let him sit here? I was a dick, yeah, but I wasn't that much of a dick, you know? Part of me wanted to just kind of stab either him or myself, but... Somehow, I managed to refrain. I don't know how, but I did. I think I deserved a reward for that.


    Oh, so he was telling me hide name now? Honestly, I didn't give a shit. His friendliness would soon be covered up by his need for something, and I didn't want to have to make myself believe that he was different from everyone else. He would start out seeming friendly and kind, but he would soon want something from me. Whether it be money, drugs, or something else. Regardless of what he could possibly want, I didn't want to even begin to think about what he would want. It would probably be degrading. Or a menial and dumbass task.


    I didn't really pay attention to anything else he may have said, mainly because I just turned my attention back onto my coffee. Yep, I had been here way too long -- the coffee was beginning to get cold. It still had that very, very small tinge of warmth, but it was mainly just cold and gross. Which wasn't at all exciting, because I rather liked my coffee to be hot. I like iced coffee, too, but that was a different story. That was meant to be cold. Normal coffee was no supposed to be cold. It was a hot beverage, and only tasted good when it was just that. Hot.


    I briefly wondered if he was actually sincere in his kindness... It seemed like he didn't want anything from me just yet and was just simply kind of... Staring at me. It was creepy, but also flattering in a way. Sure, I wasn't the hottest guy on the planet, but I definitely wasn't at all unattractive. If it made me sound conceited then so be it. I was hot. Not as hot as I could be, sure, but I was definitely hot. This Elliot guy was pretty attractive too. Not that I have a shit or anything, but... You know. Whatever. It was weird how I could switch between completely ace, and then completely bi. I don't know. It was weird.


    Right now, the idea of sex was more repulsive than it was exciting. The idea of getting high or drunk was also kind of repulsing as well. Call me a masochist, but I just wanted to let myself remember everything that had hurt me. I wanted to wallow in my own self pity and hatred in my last day. What? I was done, okay? Eighteen years of this fucking bullshit? Don't try to tell me that shit gets better, because it won't. I've been waiting patiently, and nothing happened, so I was fucking done.


    Oh. There it was. His request. His want. His desire. And just when I was thinking that he just wanted to be friendly. Nope. That was way too good to be true, it seemed. Everyone always wanted something. Sure, all this guy wanted was some directions, but... That was still something, alright? No one ever just wanted to come say "hi" to me, because apparently I wasn't worth the fucking effort. Apparently I never have been, and it seemed I never would be. Fine.


    Scenic Heights? That was where I lived. I mean, I lived on the top floor and no one really knew that I existed but whatever. Whenever they had those stupid apartment complex jamborees or whatever the fuck, everyone was invited, and every apartment got an invitation, except for mine. Because apparently no one knew I lived there or something. Whatever. Not like I ever wanted to go to those anyway.


    I stood up from the booth and grabbed all of my garbage and my phone. "Down the street. Big ass building. Lots of signs. If you miss it, you're either blind or stupid." Lots of broken sentences lined my words. I didn't give a shit, though. If he was so desperate to find this place, then he could probably just stalk me, since I was going there now. I just kind of threw my shit away in a random trash can and gotnthe hell out of the shop, taking out my earbuds since it was a lot quieter out here.

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]Just as I was expecting. He got pissed off about me asking. I nodded a bit, not wanting to say thanks this time, seeing as I had said it to him once by that point. Not to mention the fact that I was sure he wanted me to shut up. I would too. I’m annoying. At the very least, I had looks and determination. Hopefully, along with my book knowledge, that would be all I needed to bullshit my way through this.


    I watched as he got up, grabbing his stuff and leaving. Well then. He hadn’t even told me his name. If I hadn’t been trained to notice things, and if I hadn’t memorized a folder of information on him, maybe this wouldn’t all be so damn predictable. But I had, so it was, and it was starting to get on my nerves. A lot of things were. Mainly the fact that this was all going terribly. I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t talk to me without being pissy.


    I was starting to think that maybe Earth just had this awful atmosphere of negativity that it was hard not to get sucked into. I wasn’t really like this, and I knew it. Not to mention the fact that it was probably just me. I was being hard on myself. I could get through this, in the end. All I had to do was figure out how to talk to him. It couldn’t be that hard. The only problem was that nobody had ever tried. After all, nobody had ever seemed to have a problem with talking to me, and I was less used to people than Hollow. It was because I was used to people wanting to hang out with me.


    Of course, if I had actually accepted offers to go to the parties everyone wanted me to be at all the time, that wouldn’t be accurate. Everyone wanted to use me. My influence. My name. My homework. They were just never given the chance. I refused, and as grateful as I was for my foresight, my great ability to see these things from a mile away, it would have been a better idea to go out and learn the social skills these settings would have provided. I needed those if I was going to do this.


    It took me a minute to realize that he was gone, and my coffee was gone, and by that point there was no reason for me to be there. I didn’t notice any of this until I had tipped my cup back, only to be met with a mouthful of flavored air, which was still warm. I snorted a bit at my own stupidity. I stood up, throwing my cup away and walking outside to head to my new home.


    There were full benefits with any job in heaven or hell. Of course, as ‘immortal’ as angels and demons were, in terms of not needing to eat, it wasn’t important to most of them. On my end, however, it was different. I had actual health problems. I was unpredictable. After all, before my birth, nobody had even been sure that demons and angels could have children. For all we knew, I could die. In the human sense. Not just have my soul temporarily banished to nobody knew where. So I had to eat, and I had to try and avoid getting sick. I had to be careful.


    A roof over my head was a good place to start. Everyone, even those who couldn’t die, needed shelter. I hoped the place was nice. Not that I cared, but my mother’s houses from when we’d stayed on Earth working her cases had always been gorgeous. Then again, my mom was a legend. She was great at her job, and I was just an annoying corrupt angel who had convinced everyone that I could do a full angel’s job. I hadn’t earned anything yet. That meant if my house sucked, then so be it. I couldn’t complain.


    I had been walking absentmindedly, although part of me was very aware of the fact that I was basically following him. Not in an intentional way. We were just two people in the same crowd of people going to the same apartment complex. It wasn’t uncommon for guardian angels to stay in the same buildings as their subjects when they were working. We had to stay close so that we could keep tabs on them. That meant that if Hollow lived somewhere crappy, then so did I.


    From what I saw when I got to the apartment complex, he definitely didn’t live somewhere crappy. It was a nice building that looked like the kind of place where angels would live. Scenic Heights. The name worked. Hopefully so did the electricity and the water.


    I stepped inside, taking a deep breath. I was excited to get to see my new home for the next few weeks, or however long it took to fix Hollow. If I even could do such a thing. I made my way over to the elevator, which had about four or five other people in it. For the most part, they all looked friendly. Maybe this talking to people thing wouldn’t be so hard after all.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]The apartment complex wasn't at all shitty. In fact, it was everything but. Sleek, modern, and would he described as sexy by those kinds of people who got hard-ons for inanimate objects. I happened to be one of those weird people, but it was mainly with older models of cars. For instance, my favorite car model of all time was a 1969 Dodge Challenger. God, they were so nice... Older cars in general were just nice. I'd always wanted one, but .. I just ended up buying a motorcycle that I rarely used.


    It wasn't like I had something against driving motorcycles, because I didn't, but... I don't know. I just liked walking. Gave me time to think, you know? If I needed to go on the complete opposite side of town, or if I was going long distance, then I would get my motorcycle. Any other time, though, I just either walked or was too tired and lazy to even move. As much a si would have preferred an actual car, my motorcycle was pretty nice, too. Hey, drug dealing and selling your body gets good pay, alright?


    A good enough pay to buy me a Harley Davidson Softail bike, anyway. And, honestly, I really liked it. It was loud and proud and made me feel badass -- and gave me an excuse to wear leather jackets, gloves and combat boots. Other than that, people would just think I was a goth or something. A goth without the word makeup and piercings and mopey statuses on social media, quoting depressing lyrics about no one understanding you from indie pop artists. I never really understood social media, to be honest. But I guess that was just because I never had any friends or whatever.


    I tried making a Facebook once in hopes that I would get some friends, but... Yeah, it didn't work out too well. I tried being confident and asking random people to be friends with me, but they just told me that I should go for and never talk to them again. So, I just kind of deactivated my account and never tried that again. I tried other social media things, like Snapchat and Kik, but I couldn't ever figure out how to use Snapchat, and everyone only talked to me on Kik because they wanted pictures of my dick. Which was flattering, but got old after the first day or so.


    Was it just too much to ask for someone to like me for who I was, rather than what was in my pants? The only reason anyone talked to me on that Kik thing was because I guess I looked better in my profile picture than I usually did, and I had gotten so excited when I saw messages from several people -- even though they all just asked if I wanted to meet up and fuck, or if we could have sex on Skype. Which... I didn't understand how that was supposed to work, since technology isn't that advanced. After a while, though, I just noticed that anyone who messaged me just wanted a picture of my dick or my abs, which stopped getting flattering after the eleventh person asked.


    Now, though, I didn't even have the will to do that. I stopped just dropping my pants at the first willing person and just kind of closed off from everything. Could you blame me, though? I was at my wit's end, and I was so fucking close to being ready to just tip over the edge. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake. No one would notice, and everyone would be happy without me clogging up the world with my... Whatever it was that people hated.


    I didn't take the elevator to my apartment, though. I never did. I always took the stairs. Like hell was I going to awkwardly stand in a small and enclosed space with a bunch of random people. Besides, that Elliot kid had gone onto the elevator, too. No way was I going to risk having him try to talk to me again. It briefly crossed my mind that maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on the kid... But then I immediately wanted to kick myself in the teeth for being so stupid as to think that. He'd fucking get over it.


    Getting to the top floor took all of two minutes. That was mainly because I had began to sprint up the last couple of floors. I wanted to get everything ready, alright? And if I didn't do it today, then I sure as hell would the second I could tomorrow. Now that I thought about it, though, I'd probably end up doing it tomorrow -- solely because I wanted to wallow in misery until I didn't even hesitate to pull the trigger or step off the chair. The last thing I wanted was to doubt my actions.


    Oh hey look. I even managed to beat the elevator up here. Sure, I was slightly out of breath, but there were more people on the elevator than there had been previously, which would have driven me crazy. My apartment was at the end of the hallway -- the very end. I didn't think I had anybody living next to me, but I could be wrong. I hardly ever went outside when normal people would be seen. I was either out at the ass crack of dawn, or the middle of the night, you know?


    Finally reaching my apartment, I huffed and dug my hand into my pocket for my keys to find... Nothing. Okay. Maybe the other pocket. Nope. Back pockets? Jacket? You've got to fucking be kidding me. I didn't have my keys? Where the hell did they even go? My fingers wrapped around the door frame and I hit my head in the corner until I felt my IQ drop a few points. Okay, so I didn't have my keys. Which meant that I had to go all the way back down the hallway and back down the stairs and maybe even back to the coffee shop. Son of a bitch. With an aggravated growl, I just decided to walk back down the long ass hallway, keeping an eye out for my keys on the way.


    (( this is the reference for his motorcycle, dear <3
    click~

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]Would you believe that I had already made two new friends by the end of the elevator ride? Damn right I had. I was Elliot Sanchez, and I was fucking perfect at everything. I had just learned how to talk to people in the few minutes I’d been stuck in a small space. It actually hadn’t been that hard, but I wasn’t fooled. There was a difference between talking to the kind of happy-go-lucky folks I’d just met, and talking to someone like Hollow. He didn’t seem to want to make friends. Not now, at least. That was the problem with cases like these. After all, we couldn’t just automatically fix everything for everyone. There weren’t, as people would think, an unlimited amount of true angels.


    True angels were the kind of angels that had just always been exactly that. Angels. Most of them were created by Him, but a few were born every year. These angels were the ones who had jobs. Know how people who are in accidents sometimes claim that they saw an angel, or something like that? They probably did. One who has the job of deciding when it’s a mortal’s time to go. There were angels who had a job similar to being a soul hunter. It wasn’t as bad, though. It was more along the lines of explaining death to small children who died, or guiding struggling spirits to heaven. It was a lot easier. Nobody protested going to heaven.


    That was, in my personal opinion, why so many people did so many terrible things with themselves. There weren’t enough guardian angels to help people. You’d never believe it, but in the world of angels, guardian angel was no dream job. I was starting to see why. It had to be hard to be raised in heaven, where everyone’s happy and sweet and pure, and then come to Earth and see how bad everything is. I had been raised in hell, so it wasn’t that much of a difference to me. If anything, it was kind of better. Every day, I had seen people who’d ended their lives on a low. For me, if I could just help one person avoid that fate, I would be the happiest person in hell.


    I stepped out of the elevator, two new contacts in my brand new phone. I looked around. Hollow was there. Perfect. He seemed angry about something, which made sense. I couldn’t imagine him not seeming at least a little angry at any time. It didn’t take long to realize that he was looking for something.


    I wanted to offer to help, but I didn’t know if he would actually appreciate that. He seemed like the type who would punch someone for complimenting him the wrong way. Besides, I had already bothered him twice. I bet he hadn’t enjoyed hearing that we would be living in the same apartment complex. Maybe I should have waited to meet him until he was somewhere that was more meant for talking. Then again, catching him when he was drunk or fucked up wouldn’t be the best either. He seemed pretty sober now, and I could only hope that was a good thing.


    It almost definitely wasn’t. I made my way over slowly, hoping that at the very least he wouldn’t kill me. I just needed to relax a bit. After all, it hadn’t been that hard to talk to the people in the elevator. Even if Hollow was a lot more violent, that didn’t mean it changed the fact that I could talk to people. ”Hey. You alright?” I asked. It wouldn’t shock me at that point if he decided to turn around and knock my teeth out.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]One would think that I would have been able to recognize whether or not I had my keys with me, but... I guess that wasn't the case. If anything, I just... Fuck, I don't even know anymore. I was just so tired all of a sudden, despite being pissed off about losing my keys. I just kind of wanted to curl up on the floor and go to sleep, you know? Knowing me, though, I'd probably just up end getting so frustrated that I couldn't sleep and just start either staring off into space or crying. Manly, right?


    I had come to learn that I cried over the stupidest things. If someone broke my arm, I'd just shake it off and act like nothing happened, but if I couldn't get something open, I'd break down. You could call me the worst names in front of my face and I'd just scoff and brush it off, but if I discovered that I ran out of cereal, I'd just start sobbing. I didn't even know why that happened. It was almost like anything people did to me just kind of got sucked into the void of my brain for later usage, but dumb, trivial things were enough to break my spirit.


    Maybe it was because I had thought that the world didn't give up on me. Even though I never had anyone to help me through anything, I'd always believed that at least everything in life was kind of easy to experience. People didn't really hurt me immediately anymore -- their words and actions just kind of festered in my brain until I had a moment to myself; and then all of that pain was shoved into my chest like a goddamn wrecking ball. I hated it, honestly.


    I saw something sparkly on the ground and wanted to cheer that I had found my keys with relative ease, though a quick glance at my surroundings showed that it wasn't my keys at all. It was the keyring that belonged to the maid, who was currently in someone's apartment, probably making sure everything is clean and spiffy. Which was my indication that I should move fast. She'd only be in there for a limited amount of time, and I needed to have all the time I needed. There were a fuck ton of keys to look through on that ring, you know.


    I grabbed the keyring with a smooth motion and continued walking as though I hadn't just swiped something. It wasn't like I was stealing anything -- just looking for my key. Even if no one lived in the house, she would still have their key for when someone did move in. I would go e the keys back when I found mine -- or, at least, I would drop the keys back on the floor and go back go my own apartment. Like hell I was doing something as nice as giving her back the keys. She could bend over and get them herself.


    406, 407, 407 -- why does she have two 407s? -- 408, 409, 410, 411. Perfect. I twisted the keyring, successfully mangling it to get my key off of the industrial-sized ring when I heard a voice. I paused in my efforts for a second, wondering if I should make a fool of myself and turn around like someone would have been talking to me. The chances of someone asking if i -- Hollow Jackson -- was alright was very slim. As I waited for the second person's response, I returned to the keyring, sliding mind off. The second response never came. Were they on their phone?


    Finally glancing behind me, I blinked. Oh. It was that Elliot kid. What? Did he want more directions? I stared at him in silence for a few seconds, at a loss of what to say. My eyes flickered around to see if he could have been talking to someone. I dropped the keyring back on the ground. No one was around. He didn't have his phone out. Was he just talking to himself? I realized I had been staring at him in silence for about half a minute. For a brief second, a wave of confusion passed over me. "Are you talking to me?" Very smooth, Hollow.

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]For a minute, I thought he might just be ignoring me. Honestly, I would’ve been extremely hurt, if that was the case. I wasn’t used to being ignored. Like I said, I could’ve been really popular, if I liked talking. Everyone wanted to chat with me back in hell, if only to use my influence. I didn’t think I had been expecting the same treatment on Earth, but I couldn’t be expected to just be used to being seen as a nobody. I had gotten to the point where I kind of expected everyone to know my name.


    So my first lesson on Earth would be getting to the point where I wasn’t shocked to find that nobody knew my name. Okay. Although that wasn’t necessarily the case. I had to remember that, just like I was used to everyone always wanting to talk to me, Hollow was used to people avoiding him. That, or using him, or making fun of him. He might have just been thrown by the fact that I was either talking to myself or talking to him. Again, I hated thinking that there were actually people on Earth with no friends.


    Every so often, I wondered if all humans were absolutely evil. I knew that wasn’t true. If it was, hell would be overrun. I just had to wonder how there were so many of them out there who didn’t have any friends. It didn’t make any sense. The problem must have been that there were too many good people in small areas, and there were tons of places left with only hateful bastards. Did that make sense? Absolutely not. Was I in a place to complain? Hell no. My job, at least for now, was to try and save Hollow.


    He finally turned around to look at me, and I offered a small smile. As I’d expected, he didn’t seem to believe that I could possibly be talking to him. Like I could blame him. ”Yeah,” I said softly, my gaze quickly turning to the carpet. I was starting to feel shy, for some reason. I was getting very uncomfortable.


    I briefly wondered if there was any way I could fix this guy, or if I was stuck on a case that I couldn’t manage. There was a chance that Hollow’s case hadn’t been a ‘case’ at all. He might have been one of the ones who they’d caught too late, who hadn’t been noticed until he was right on the edge. Usually, when that happened, they couldn’t be fixed. Their cases were almost impossible, and they were always a week or less away from killing themselves. In cases like these, no help was sent. Nobody could be bothered to try and drag people so lost away from the edge.


    It was selfish, but for a minute, I thought that I could use that to my advantage if I did happen to fail. Technically, it wasn’t fair that they had made Hollow’s case an actual case just to prevent me from succeeding. I quickly shook the feeling away. I wasn’t going to fail.

    [justify][ Hollow Jackson ]


    [size=7pt]Well this was new. Usually I knew the people who wanted to talk to me twice -- and I knew that they usually just wanted drugs, since I always seemed go have a never-ending supply of them. Or sex, because apparently hookers were too expensive these days. Which didn't make sense because why would you even want to pay for sex to begin with? If anything, sex workers should be cheap because there shouldn't be an abundance of people willing to pay so much money just for, like, ten minutes of dirty and possibly STD-spreading sex, you know?


    I didn't think he knew who I was. There was a very low chance he knew my name or had heard about me or anything. It was odd just how much he was willing to put himself through just to try and continue to talk to me. What was he even doing? I can understand he lives here like I do, but why would he be spending all this time waiting for my answer when he didn't even care? It didn't make sense! I didn't pride myself in having the largest IQ, sure, but I was able to comprehend a lot of things. This, however, was not one of those things.


    But no, this guy seemed to be wanting to hear my answer. Again, he was probably just wanting to seem nice, or fill his quota of kindness for the day, right? That was a bigger possibility than him actually wanting to converse with me or have a real conversation with me. And as much as I would have once loved the idea of someone talking to me, now, it just repulsed me.


    They were too late. Even if someone tried to help me, I wouldn't let them. Not that anyone ever would want to help me, but... Still. The thought that there was someone genuinely wanting to help wasn't enough to make me want to stay and find out. Even if they really wanted to help me or something, they would just be doing it for a purpose. For their own good, or because it was a job or whatever.


    I stated at Elliot blankly. It wasn't like I was trying to mentally murder him -- why do it mentally when I could do it physically? -- or at least not yet anyway. Right now, I was just trying to figure out what the hell he wanted. Why he would be even trying to continue to talk to me. He didn't seem like the kind who did drugs, and I could practically smell his virginity. Not that I had a thing against virgins or people who have never had sex -- it was just an observation. If he didn't do drugs, and didn't have sex, then what was it he wanted?


    Crossing my arms low over my stomach, I narrowed my eyes. Oh, so nowwnhe was acting shy? Ugh. His entire persons confused me and kind of made me want to push him down an elevator shaft. He was continuing to switch between being confident and somewhat shy, and it was hurting me head. "What the fuck do you want?" I hissed finally, frustrated that I wasn't able to come to a conclusion as to what he wanted. He confused me, and it frustrated me.

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]It made sense to me that he was so shocked that I was talking to him. I guess I didn’t look like the kind of guy to be asking for drugs or sex. Although I had learned from some of my mom’s old cases that just because someone looked okay didn’t mean anything. Plenty of them had seemed perfectly fine at first glance, when they were actually strung out half the time, or on their way to the strip club where they either worked or played. Having the time of their lives until they were back to being alone, ready to pull the trigger on themselves.


    I managed not to flinch at his response, even though it was a bit more rude than I’d been expecting. It wasn’t my job or anything to be upset about him not having a perfect history with other people interacting with him. I was there to fix it. If I could figure out how to do that. It wasn’t going to be easy. I had known that from the start, but it was becoming more and more obvious that this was going to be the hardest case of my career, which hadn’t even started yet. Still, I had accepted the case, and I wasn’t going to start this job off as a quitter.


    After all, that would ruin my reputation of being perfect. Even if it wasn’t something I had been trying to earn, I’d earned it fair and square. I wasn’t about to let just any small problem get in my way. Like I gave a shit if he wanted my help or not. He was going to get it. If he didn’t like it? Tough shit.


    Although I wanted to try and get him to like me. It would be hard to help someone who hated you. Not that I wasn’t willing to try. It would be really nice if I didn’t have to, though. I didn’t want to get the beat up every time I tried to stop Hollow from doing something stupid.


    I doubted that any answer I could give to his question would make him any less upset with me, so I decided to tell him the truth. Or, as much of the truth as I could get away with. ”I just wanted to talk. You seemed like something was bothering you.” Not true. He had almost definitely looking for something, but he didn’t need to know that I knew that.

    [ hollow jackson ]


    [size=7pt]there wasn't much i wanted from this encounter. number one, mainly, i just wanted to be left alone, you know? that wasn't so much to ask for, was it? i seriously didn't think it was. then again, i could always be wrong. that was the more likely option, to be honest. however, he really didn't make this easier on me. there had to be something he was looking for. something he wanted. you know? people don't just come up to other people in the streets to say hi. or, at least, for me they didn't. i couldn't imagine that anyone actually noticed me, but... whatever. at this point, i could get away with murder because no one would know that i existed.


    i bit down on my lip and huffed softly when he answered. talk? yeah fucking right. as much as i had wanted a friend growing up, it was just a bit too late for that fucking shit. then again, i couldn't really imagine that getting someone to talk to me was too hard. that sentence didn't even make any sense. ugh. i was pretty sure i was going crazy -- too much isolation made me feel like i was fucking losing my mind, but i had never known what it was like to be perfectly sane either, so... i have no idea, really. whatever.


    one of my arms uncrossed as i ran my fingers through my hair, huffing again. i did that a lot -- huffed. don't know why. it was always just something that i did. always something that happened. i couldn't help it, either. it was basically just like a form of me breathing, you know? but, like, instead of normal breathing in and out, it was just a semi-violent expulsion of air. multiple times. sometimes, i did it so much it looked like i was hyperventilating. that just went to show that it was maybe just a slight problem. maybe.


    i could hear the maid whining about losing her keys, which were right next to my feet. obviously they had been dropped from my hands. i didn't want to be there when she hit me with a towel for stealing her keys, so i just sneered, "hah hah. funny," and twisted on my heels. not too long after i had started walking, the maid exited the room and began searching on the ground for her keys. i shouldered passed her and held my key in my hand tightly. no way in hell was i losing this one, too.


    (( rushed, sorry!

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]I was so close to being done at that point that it wasn’t even funny. By done, I mean done for the day. I wasn’t quitting anytime soon. I just needed to come up with a better plan to get him to like me. He needed help. I was the one who was going to give him that help. He was going to get his life back on track, and eventually he’d be better and I would have my dream job. And everything would be perfect.


    I had been training my entire life to master the hidden emotional detachment that one has to have when their career involves moving from place to place to help people. Getting attached isn’t an option. More importantly than that, I had to make sure that nobody else became extremely attached to me. No more attached to me, at least, than anyone else at the end of the case. They had to have someone they liked better. Otherwise, when their guardian angel left, they would fall to pieces again. All that progress would be for naught.


    I didn’t really think that would be a problem with Hollow. I was sure I could help him, but I doubted that he would actually become attached to me. My first impression hadn’t been all that great. Somebody else might have a chance, though. I just needed to help him end up in a situation where he would meet that person.


    First, I would need to get him to talk. Which he was just not interested in doing. ”I wasn’t kidding,” I said, watching as he started to walk off. Ah, fuck me. This was going so well. ”If you wanna come over later, feel free to do so. Apartment 408.” My plans were all going to hell, which was exactly where I was going again if I kept fucking up like this.

    [ hollow jackson ]


    [size=7pt]come over to his apartment? there it was. his second request. so what did he want me to bring over? alcohol? drugs? did he simply expect me to arrive completely naked? because i probably would if it meant he would leave me the fuck alone. maybe this whole killing myself thing was going to happen sooner, because i couldn't really stand to know that the one person who decided to talk to me just wanted something. why couldn't he just come out and say what he fucking wanted? it would be that much easier for him to just say what he wanted.


    "yeah, sure," i cooed, not bothering to look over my shoulder. why would i? he already knew i was talking to him. and, besides, i didn't want to look at him, honestly. because then i would start thinking about him and start doubting myself and just prolong this entire thing which just wouldn't be good for anyone, you know? "i'll make sure to bring everything i have over and dump it on your doorstep." were the next muttered words.


    rather hastily, i stuffed the key into the lock to my door and twisted it violently, shouldering it open and slamming it shut. the entire process took less than five seconds, which was good. i didn't want him to try and say anything back to me. or at least say anything that i could hear, because i didn't want him to try and get even more shit out of me. as much as i wanted human contact, i had learned to resent it. not only that, but i had learned that they always wanted something from me. always wanted to use me in some way.


    oh look, my keys. they were sitting on the coffee table like they fucking owned the place. ugh. i kicked my shoes off and huffed, collapsing onto the couch. it was nice and expensive, but... i don't know. it didn't feel like it belonged. it was out of place. didn't feel like anyone used it, even though i probably slept on my couch more than i slept on my bed. giving a large huff, i ran my hands over my face and took my jacket off. i forgot i didn't have a shirt on, and it kinda freaked me out. i got over it quickly, though, and just started looking around for any kind of drugs i had. let's see... lots of weed... eh, it'll do.

    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;]

    Elliot Sanchez


    "As the hills turn into holes, I fill them with gold..."


    [align=center]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 334px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: constantia;][justify]He didn’t seem too enthusiastic to take me up on my invitation. Why should he be? He probably expected me to try and sleep with him, or thought that I was expecting him to bring drugs with him. I was, as far as he care, just another person trying to use him. There wasn’t anything else for him to expect. Those were the only things anyone ever wanted him for. He was just a tool for other people to use to make their own lives ‘better.’ I wanted to say I could understand it, but I really couldn’t. First, I’d never let anyone take advantage of me. I’d never had the time. Second, I was sure that, in my sixteen years, at least one person had actually tried to be my friend for real, without any interest in using me. After all, I hadn’t always been a super prodigy.


    It was starting to bother me more and more that, technically, I was still using him. I was trying to get something out of talking to him. If I were here on another case, there was no chance I would be trying this hard to talk to him. I would be too preoccupied with whoever I was working with to bother with someone so stubborn and spiteful. Making friends seemed so easy when it came to people who weren’t damaged, seemingly beyond repair. To be honest, if it wasn’t my problem, I would have gone ahead and said he was beyond help.


    But it was my problem, so I couldn’t say that. I wasn’t sure that there was nobody else who could do it, but I was sure that nobody else cared enough to try. That was just me. That meant I had to get him back into the idea of finding friends. I had to show him that not everyone wanted to use him. He needed to see that.


    It would seem, however, that my trying had been put to an end, at least for the next few hours, so I might as well explore my new stomping grounds. I hadn’t ever actually lived on my own, but I might as well have. By the time I was ten, I made my own food half the time. Dad didn’t really have any rules. Perfection didn’t need any rules. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; he just trusted me not to be a jackass, and really, what would happen if I was? Nothing. So I was used to taking care of myself. Even when I’d been deemed unfit to work for three years, I’d ignored orders to take it easy and let other people do things for me. Come to think of it, that was probably why it took three years for me to get better.


    I unlocked the door to my own apartment and stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. The walls were white. The furniture was black leather. The carpet and tiles were black. The tables were glass, and the counters were marble. There were a few potted plants; white roses. Fucking white roses. Whoever decorated this place knew me well. I might have thought that it was just the design of every apartment in the building, but I knew better. Every house my mother lived in when she was on a case was always the same the day we moved in, give or take a few minor changes. A small smile made its way onto my face, and I headed to my bedroom.


    It was a hell of a lot different than the rest of the house. The majority of the room was black. There was a black dresser with a mirror on it, along with more plants. Purple orchids, this time, in crystal vases on each side of the mirror. They were unusually tall (unlike me). The bed, sheets, and pillows were black. Probably satin. There was a large, deep purple comforter draped over the bed. On the other side of the room, there was a stereo system, along with all of my CDs. I took my shoes off and fell back onto the bed, sighing. I knew I was supposed to be working, but I could get used to this.

    [fancypost bgcolor=#ddccaa; border: none; height: 371px; width: 470px;]

    [fancypost bgcolor=; border: 1px #ccaa99 solid; width: 100px; height: 100px; background: url(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pini…a67f52f515743e47d8a49.jpg); background-size: 100%; background-position: center; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 10px;]
    [/fancypost]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; border: 1px #ccaa99 solid; width: 100px; height: 100px; background: url(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pini…0194d3d2e47508923f81d.jpg); background-size: 120%; background-position: center; margin-bottom: 5px;]
    [/fancypost]
    [fancypost bgcolor=; border: 1px #ccaa99 solid; width: 100px; height: 100px; background: url(https://mir-s3-cdn-cf.behance.…1570885.560f9d7ed8177.jpg); background-size: 100%; background-position: center;]
    [/fancypost]    		 [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 300px; color: #aa7777; font-size: 20pt; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; font-family: Georgia; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: 10px;]bouncer “ bear ” lou[/fancypost]
    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 300px; color: #aa7777; font-size: 8pt; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 8px; margin-top: -3px; margin-bottom: -3px;][b]♡ ♡ ♡[/fancypost]
    [fancypost bgcolor=#ddccaa; border: none; width: 305px; height: 264px; padding: 10px;][fancypost bgcolor=; border: none; width: 305px; height: 264px; padding: 0px; padding-right: 27px; overflow: auto][fancypost bgcolor=; border: none; width: 305px; min-height: 264px; padding: 0px; font-size: 10px; line-height: 12px; text-align: justify; color: #442222; font-family: arial; text-transform: lowercase;]would you like me to do a timeskip to when the cold are called bby? Cx <3
    [/fancypost][/fancypost][/fancypost]
    [fancypost bgcolor=#ddccaa; border: none; width: 318px; height: 12px; padding: 0px; font-size: 7px; line-height: 14px; text-align: center; color: #442222; font-family: Georgia;]TEMPLATE ©BOKEH | #BOKEHFANCY