“ Well, well, well, didn’t think I’d see the light of day where the pink bubblegum freak would show up all by himself without his little group of idiots. ” THEY SAY EMOTIONS ARE BEST FELT THROUGH WORDS, AND THE GRIN ON THIS FACE WILL NEVER FALTER. It splits and cracks and bares razors. His thumb strokes the end of his index finger, flame flickering;a beacon, in light of which, scaffolds burn and fall like a pyre, threatening to ignite this entire alleyway into nothing but dust were he to make a wrong move. “ You’re acting exactly like I thought you would. How long ‘til you give up that act of yours, so everyone sees the real you? We aren’t so far apart, y’know– Ramuda Amemura..”
He used to be kind, once upon a time. Once upon a time, he used to be meek and quiet, shy as a newborn bird. Dared he to test his mangled wings in the breeze, and down he fell. Splat unto the concrete. Mother and father scavenged him together, his strewn organs, mottled feathers, patches of flesh, and took him back to the nest. Told him, you can’t fly with such wings, stupid baby bird, as they crippled him further then. Took his voice, so he wouldn’t chirp in protest. Still, he left the nest, feather downy, twigs, and all. With those broken wings, he learned to fly and soundlessly, did he learn to sing. Learned he didn’t have to sit imperturbably in the nest, obedient silent songbird, to be loved –– that love couldn’t be found in the spaces between his ribs, the scars along his wings, and the malformed slope of his bones. There isn’t shame to his simple existence, though. There isn’t shame at all.
His glazed irises shift to meet Ramuda’s own. Hooded, but easily reflecting the lick of flames flickering between his fingers. “ This isn’t your turf, though. So.. get out, before that pretty face of yours gets turned to firewood. ”