the one thing pluto would never even think to do was complain about the life he had; he was raised to appreciate every opportunity he was given, not to take anything for granted. especially now that he lived aboveground in the world that, when he was a child, had only been a far off dream in stark contrast to the nightmare they actually resided in. underground, there had been no entertainment, nothing to keep his mind occupied, aside from fire. so all day every day, all he did was play with flames, gathering the collection of accidental burn scars clearly visible on his face and arms. and still, now, he found a sense of comfort in it.
standing outside on a crowded city street, pluto leaned against one of the many buildings, lighting matches one by one only to watch them burn. the difference between then and now, however, was the number of distractions that surrounded him: voices of people nearby, the sound of music from a car driving past, the heat of the sun on his skin, he found himself easily lost in the intrigue of it all. he hadn’t even noticed his eyes wandering away from the lit match in his hand until he felt the sting of the fire burning down to his fingertips. “ouch, fuck,” he cursed loudly with a sharp inhale, dropping it suddenly, not realizing how many eyes he had attracted in his direction with the outburst.
