|♟| oliver |✘✘✘|

[[Shoe ♥]!]

** picture credit to ryounkura on DA; as always, i claim nothing.

Kids with guns
Kids with guns
Taking over
But it won't be long
They mesmerized, skeletons
Kids with guns
Kids with guns
Easy does it, easy does it, they got something to say no to

☨ by birth and birth alone

[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ circumstantial, you must know[/b]

[/b], Oli-Bally, Olive-Oil, or anything else stupid and pointless[/b] like that, I will shoot you in the fucking face.[/i][/ul]
☨ nice to know[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ flies by so fast[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ starting point[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ rev me up[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ no pride at all[/b]

[/i][/ul]
☨ don't make me fucking say it[/b]

[/b] in sex; none whatsofucking ever. Now leave me the fuck alone.[/i] {oh, he lies. sex is oliver's biggest weakness; if he finds you sexy and you give the invitation, he'll gladly fuck your brains out, even for a price. he'll do anyone he finds attractive, but he'll only try and bond with men. oh, and he tops. too many experiences in jail have led him sorely against 'ukeing' unless you're really damn special.}[/ul]
☨ oh hell no[/b]

[/b] tell you of my biological parents and sibs' (if I have any, ha). Though I will tell you about my only fucking friend - probably the best family a guy needs.[/i]

Landon {nineteen years old; male} - Well, we met in jail when I was thirteen; we looked out for each other ever since, and after that we decided to travel together. We work together, talk about our problems like women sometimes, and basically fuck around. I trust him more than anyone in the whole world. Even though he's pretty fucking crazy sometimes; always scheming. Only I can balance out that cat, really full of himself sometimes. -chuckles-[/ul]
☨ can't stop destiny[/b]

[/b] Nothing more, and certainly nothing less, ever. We've got what it takes; he's got the unorthodox brain, and I've got the know-how and the calm. Together, we will grow to be the strongest ever. Remember the names: Landon and Oliver. We will fuck you up.[/i][/ul][/blockquote][/blockquote]

*_{NOTE: english is not oliver's main language, and quite frankly he sucks at speaking it. all that you just read was spoken in german - his natural tongue. when oliver is speaking german, i will italicize it and give the speech a darker color - signifying that your character probably can't understand him. anything in bold and in his regular shade of green is him butchering the english language.}

♞

✖✖✖ look me in the eyes

Simply put, Oliver's eyes are nothing special, and he can admit this without fear, pain, or trying to change the subject. They are a simple shade of oddly unwavering green; not once changing in hue except for the middle, near the pupil, wear it grows a slightly darker shade. The color is striking, in only the way that you might notice it, and then disregard it as if it is simply there and nothing special, like most eyes. The shape is slightly wider than average, giving him the impression of being a submissive, adorable boy that is simply asking for it constantly. They have spot-on vision, which is odd, considering that it is a favored pastime of his to pretend to be blind.

To accomplish such a feat, all Oliver has to do is throw on his favorite pair of shades (that he rarely, if ever, takes off), poke around with a cane in his hand, and beg for money. While this is a dirty, low trick (and he knows it), it helps to get emergency money for whatever reason he might have to need it.

✖✖✖ shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

Unlike his eyes, though, Oliver's hair is a memorable color - a mixture between red and blond that is so horrifically entangled that one does not know whether it was dyed, or simply naturally that odd looking. It doesn't go very far down his head, just choppily past his ears, with large, sweeping bangs that only add to his 'adorablity factor,' as some people might call it. When straightened out, the hair actually falls quite smoothly into place; as if covered by plastic (so no hairs stand out in his meticulous manner). The front ends of the hair hug the sides of his face, reaching down Oliver's cheeks about halfway before cutting off at a soft point. If anyone was to try and stroke Oliver's hair, they'd find it silky and gentle to the touch; unmarred by dirt and oils; simply because he doesn't allow others to pet his hair, coupled with the fact that he washes it sometimes twice a day.

✖✖✖ better not say it

Oliver's height is something that... is best left undiscussed. The teenager likes to feel in control, though when coupled with his simply adorable hair, demeanor, and body... not to mention being 5'3, it's extremely difficult. With such a small size, people don't take him seriously when he's doing time; or worse, some of the pedos seem to think that since he looks thirteen years old it must mean that he squeals like one, too. There is nothing Oliver hates more than people busting on his height, or assuming that he won't find a way to gain the upper hand just because he's probably shorter and cuter than you.

✖✖✖ devoid of most things

Oliver is fairly skinny, weighing in at a bare 105 pounds; without a real ounce of fat, muscle, or anything like that anywhere. Of course this disappoints him greatly, since he falls under the 'below average' category, people get the idea that they can (once again) overpower him. While this may be true, don't simply assume - Oli's got a few tricks up his sleeve to ensure that people can't take advantage of him.

✖✖✖ don't coo, seriously, don't

The only thing Oliver's appearance has ever done was disappoint him greatly, and he makes a big deal of complaining about it to Landon whenever there's a slow moment in their discussions. Standing short, with a skinny (but not-lanky, unfortunately) body that seems to remind people of twelve year old children - cute and maybe a little awkward. His skin is pale as hell, and there's not much he can do to help that (years of staying in the house, and in the 'big house' as well have only make his skin odd). Of course when he's frustrated his cheeks flame up, giving him a spark of 'adorable' color that the teenager just cannot stand at all. Oli hates his appearance, simply said, and would think it most agreeable if you left it at that and did not comment unless you were willing to get some with him.

Though, perhaps I lied when I said his entire body is a disappointment and shames him daily. If there's one limb that Oliver actually seems to like and find use for, it would have to be his long, deft hands. The teenager takes great pride in keeping his hands in pristine condition, if only because he needs them all the time. Remember, Oli isn't very strong, and would probably get his ass kicked if you tried him in hand-to-hand combat, no questions asked (and while he's at pains to admit it, you can get even him to utter it through grit teeth). A boy with his looks needs to defend himself, and he's not a clingy damsel in distress that cries to Landon whenever someone tries to touch him (his pride would never recover). So his fingers are his saviors; adept and quick at what he trains them to be able to do. What his special talent is, however, you'll find out later.

One last note: Oliver hates dirt. He despises feeling unclean, and takes extreme pains to regain constant cleanliness. It is next to godliness, correct?

✖✖✖ fancy shades of greens and blue

While Oliver openly despises being called cute, or getting compliments, or being asked if his parents would allow him to fuck strangers, this could be easily cured by simply dressing a different part. All the teenager would have to do is cover his body flamboyantly, perhaps cover himself like a goth - look the part of a villain. Or maybe wear a suit, which instantly adds at least four inches on a person's appearance, not to mention it's an immediate turn-off for most people. Though, for as much as Oli insists that he hates being cute, he certainly doesn't try to hide his body very well. In fact, he amplifies it (making people seriously doubt that he hates being adorable at all) by wearing light, flimsy clothes in shades of sea-green and baby-blue. Between you and me, Oli also adores the color white, and most of his pants are either made of cashmere or silk, airy, and easy to work with.

While his clothes change daily, he does like to keep two accessories close. One is his wrist-watch, which is really nothing special and is easily replaced; and the other is his gold necklace. Nobody knows why he is so fond of these objects; and Oli, being paranoid as hell, isn't telling.

♞

☁☀ paranoid with the details}}

[/b]

Oliver hates going over things, such as small details on what he is supposed to do, or given anything more than vague details on how he is supposed to carry something out. When people tell him to do specifics, he gets uncharacteristically jumpy, and starts to believe that whatever he ends up doing won't work to the effect that he was supposed to be aiming for. This goes to when he used to work with Fabio, the other child would bitch and complain if the smallest thing went wrong and he would be dreadfully punished. So when people outline things specifically for him to do, Oliver gets scared, and gains the unquenchable fear that he might screw up, however small. And as soon as he starts to think about it, he starts to screw up; a self-fulfilling prophesy.

This area doubles as Oliver is insanely reluctant to give away any details about his past, his family, his name, his age, or anything even remotely personal. He tends to justify this by insisting that he doesn't want to do any more time, and that if a person learns his full name, he'll be more easily caught or discovered. Only Landon knows his full name, the names of the people in his family, and any other secrets he keeps from the world. He's the only one who Oliver trusts enough not to give it away; though he does call himself an idiot over it.

☁☀ calm when need be}}[/b]

Though, in a stressful situation and left to his own devices (or when Landon just barely gave him the low-down for anything), Oliver works his best. The teenager can work under pressure, no sweat. Under such situations he even gets a boost from it - an adrenaline rush of 'I know I can do this' and such. When taking hostages, his voice won't waver with sympathy, remorse, or even any sort of emotion out there; and nor will his gun hand shake even slightly. Oliver works best under pressure, and this he knows for a fact. He's able to think clearly - his mind untampered with disruptive thoughts such as "what if you get caught" and "what are you going to do with this once you've gotten it anyway?" He simply takes the backseat, does what he was told in his own, relaxed way, and trusts that Landon will find a use for it later.

☁☀ prideful}}[/b]

Putting it simply - don't criticize how Oliver acts to his face, or tell him that he botched up a job, or anything of the sort. Such a comment can only lead to an explosion of german curses that your ears would probably be better off not hearing. The teenager takes great pride in what he does, what he looks like, and what he does with his life. He knows when he's fucked something up - he's not dense enough to hide himself away from something like that. It's just that he doesn't want you to make a snide remark on how a wire looks odd, or that he's a fucking midget, or that he's cute as a button. He doesn't want to hear it, he knows, so don't bother yourself.

☁☀ foreign}}[/b]

While Oliver certainly wasn't born outside of Kairuu, and nor were any of his siblings, he still acts as if he's a complete alien to the region. The teenager doesn't even have a comprehensible grasp on the English language - and he certainly doesn't understand slang or anything of the sort. His parents holed him up to protect him from doing bad things out it in the world - and brought him up with only their language and their ideals. Landon has been able to educate him on a few subjects (such as: dropping the soap is bad; don't walk around with your pants down, ever; when someone calls you 'buddy boy,' they are not trying to be friendly etc), but the majority of Kairuu's culture and customs are lost on him.

One last note: as you know, Oliver does not speak fluent English - but he can understand it to the capabilities of an average fourteen year old. Most of the bigger words are lost to him; and so is overly-flowery, eloquent speech.

☁☀ deceitful}}[/b]

Perhaps an accurate rule of thumb is to simply take whatever Oliver says as false. He doesn't trust other people with information, period, and has been known to twist the truth on even the smallest of things. Though his simple lying is only the tip of his manipulative nature; as Oliver takes great care to trick people before they can overpower him. It's not safe for your life's sake to trust him, even though his gentle, submissive voice may urge you otherwise. If there's one thing he owes to his dreadful appearance, it's that it's insanely easy to trick people with it. Humans don't expect a kid that looks like their high school crush (or the crush of every girl in school) to even lift a finger against anyone. Oliver knows how to get what he wants, and get work done that he doesn't want to do himself. His speech impairment only seems to heighten this - as people are more willing to believe that he is stupid, and therefore not a threat in the slightest. To get Oliver to the point that he doesn't wish to fool you, you'd have to earn his trust, and that might just be an adventure all its own.

☁☀ non-trusting}}[/b]

Maybe it's his experiences with other people taking advantage of him. Maybe it's the fact that people don't seem to really enjoy the company of someone who does not speak their language very well. Or maybe it's just his paranoia settling in. For whatever reason, Oliver does not trust people, period. Others like to call him a liar - that's just fine with Oli, though. He is what he is to others, and if they're right, they're right; at least for what he shows to them. The reason why he is so deceitful is that he simply wishes to discourage people from wanting to get to know him - once people get too close, his life is at stake and he doesn't wish to lose that. He knows how he is - the teenager isn't dense to himself; and it's all on purpose, too. The farther away from him the better; and he does everything in his power to make sure no bond is made. If people find out anything about him, he considers it a threat, and as such not only does he lie, but he refuses to speak when feeling childish.
He has quite the adorable tone with it, as well (though he'd never admit it). "No more speak!"

☁☀ loyal}}[/b]

Once you've grabbed Oliver's trust, though, you simply cannot have a more loyal, devoted follower. He won't say much, of course, unless you happen to speak German, but he'll make sure your back is safe, as long as he feels that you feel the same exact way about him. Oliver can serve as your right hand man and lesser, the one you send on missions you don't want to risk yourself, as long as you make him feel like an equal. Though, just because Oli's loyal to you doesn't mean he trusts you completely - he would simply die if Landon found out about his family, or met one of his sisters, or discovered his obsession with cute Pokémon. He's secretive even to the people he's open with - which is only extremely pathetic and shady on his part.

It should be noted that, once Oliver's expended his loyalty and devotion to you, it's very, very difficult for him to let go, period. It takes him an obscenely long time for him to deem someone trustworthy or worth following, and once he's attached, he's at pains to break it off. This would be admittance to his judgment being naive and him being stupid with decisions, which is something he tries to get past with all his being. Though, to safeguard this, he had two classes of people he follows, "semi-trustworthy" and "I'd protect this one with my life," all to protect himself from people who might try and use him without a glance in his place. In either case, however, his deepest fear is outliving his usefulness and being thrown to the curb like trash. It's happened once, and he's determined to make sure it never, ever happens again.
And for anyone who may be wondering, Landon falls in dead middle of the classes. Oliver's extremely indecisive about him on all levels....

☁☀ subconsciously soft}}[/b]

Oliver is distant, secretive, and paranoid at best, and just a pretty, unknown face with a gun and a detonator at worst. Such a person is expected to be ruthless and destructive twenty-four seven. He's suppose to relish the pain of others, laugh at misfortune, and kick puppies. He's never supposed to give up on his goals, and should laugh even in the face of death, because he's rigged it so that he'll walk out unscathed. Oliver should be all this and more.

Then why is it, that in the darkest recesses of his mind, he is the exact opposite?
Yes, suppressed to the point of the exact opposite is the only aspect that he readily shows, Oliver is a pathetic softie at heart. Always prepared to kick sand in the face of someone who calls him cute, yet deep down inside he's glowing with the common compliment. On the outside he'll sneer and jab at adorable Pok?mon, eyes burning with utter despisement, but on the inside he's secretly coveting the creature, and plotting to make it his (or at least pet it). While he'll scowl at anyone who calls him a sissy, he does enjoy cooking, and can get crazy obsessive with cleaning.

Not to mention how easy he is to get to when taking hostage or threatening someone. A simple please will do it, or a desperate plea to take a glance in their place. For some reason, Oliver's guard isn't on its best defense when he's in the middle of a capture or a plot, and such things twang his heart pretty hard. Counter threats are a sure fire way to make him grin crazily and shoot as fast as he can, but big puppy eyes make him stop, falter, and buzz Landon for reassurance or for a back up plan.

One last thing - if you call him soft, prepare for a bullet in the brain. He tries with all his being to he hard, to be impenetrable, to be the rock - and a comment that speaks against that only warrants proof that he's not. He can only deny this part of him, as people do assume cute, blind-looking blond kids to be frail and helpless, and that's only brought him pain. The best safeguard is to kill anyone who might suspect otherwise, cementing his reputation and proving his point in one fell swoop.

☁☀ rational}}[/b]

As one might expect, there is usually a cold, calculating gaze behind those sunglasses of the German's, clearly cementing his usefulness in the duo he's landed himself in. While Landon may be impulsive and wild, Oliver weighs out decisions, careful to choose the right one. Too many cases of trial and error have left him reluctant to jump into things, and as such he take his own experiences, mixed with common sense to figure things out in a timely manner. You see, he isn't rational to the point of it taking too long for him to decide on a path - you can't afford to do that in a sticky situation. So his mind is trained for disaster; quick and sharp when problems arise. Rash decisions embarrass the teenager, and can only lead to misery, after all.

☁☀ things that go bang}}[/b]

Oliver, in a sentence, has a wild, insane obsession with guns and explosives. He's a weak guy on his own, unable to fend for himself on the most part, and by the use of these devices is the only way he's able to hold his own in the big bad world. He's handled both since a very young age (when he was seven years old), and knows how to set up bombs, detonators, and is at no hesitation to press the button. While he's no expert, he's very adept at putting them together, using those long, skilled fingers of his. In a sentence, Oliver devotes himself to these explosives of his, and is prone to set a few up whenever he goes to a new place - out of not only his strange obsession, but his own paranoia.
Guns are, of course, the other half (though he's not quite as fond of them), and he won't stop to consider pulling the trigger. It's all a way to elevate himself higher, in any case.

☁☀ insuperiority-complexed}}[/b]

While Oliver tries his best and takes pride in the work he does - it's all for one thing. Proving himself to others. While he'd never tell anyone, his entire 'I'm going to become a villain' thing stemmed from a previous 'lover' telling him he was a worthless sack of shit. When one is ten years old, such statements can hit pretty hard, and as such Oliver's spent rest of his current life trying to prove to Fabio and others like him that he's not to be used, pushed around, or anything, even if it seems that he should be.

This doesn't mean that he actually thinks he ever will prove anything. In fact, Oli seems quite pessimistic about the entire thing, always looking back on something he was once so proud of as being worthless and basically nothing at all. He knows everything he does is shit by this point (or at least considers it all to be), but it doesn't mean he won't take pride in some of the better pieces, if only for improvement's sake....

☁☀ used}}[/b]

From his distrusting nature down to the fact that he shades his eyes, Oliver's actions and decisions clearly light to some abuse. Now, he'll never tell, of course, but his flavor is 'taken as a tool,' and as such he feels that he shouldn't ever have to be taken in that manner. Oliver tries with all his might to keep such a thing from happening again - from disguising his true nature to his irrepressible desire to prove himself to others. He's not your puzzle piece that you can use for yourself - and he is at no reluctance to show it.

☁☀ intelligent}}[/b]

Let's be brief - we're talking about a guy who can disguise a murder, plot out schemes that actually work, and rig explosives up just about anywhere. He's insanely brilliant, with a mind that remembers mostly anything down to the tiniest details (not that he doesn't get all paranoid about those, but you know...). He tends to catch when people are trying to trick him (okay, he assumes most of the time - but he's right... most of the time), and with a mind that sharp and logical, it's a little easier to get out of sticky situations.
But this should go without saying, nein?

☁☀ appreciative}}[/b]

Oliver doesn't expect much from people - not even a "good job" or slight acknowledgment. Therefore, when people notice his handiwork, or give him a present, or act kind to him, every fiber of his body instantly switch to 'glow' mode. It doesn't take a lot to make Oliver feel special, in fact, it's laughably easy - and he usually rewards good deeds in his own way. Whether it's helping you with a problem at any date, or money, or sparing your life. Every compliment, every small token is taken with complete gratitude, and it's when he starts to shine.

☁☀ ruthless when necessary}}

Oliver's a closeted softie - that much we already know. Crooning over cute Pok?mon, snuggling with blankets, and watching the Wizard of Oz are more of his more heavily disguised pastimes, along with cooking and obsessively cleaning himself. People seem to think that he's all cold, or, when they know him better, a complete wimp that just uses a wall to mask himself from the world.

Neither are ... quite correct.
While it's true that the entire 'I no caring' routine is just a block to shield the softie within, it does not mean that he'll let you live if you're standing in the way of his goal. Even if you're pleading, begging, crying, and groveling on the ground; if his overwhelming instincts instruct him to shoot, he'll smile coolly, mutter, "sorry," and blow your brains out. No regrets whatsoever - and you couldn't pay him to hesitate, either. Oh, Oliver doesn't enjoy killing, but when the job calls for it, he know its necessary in some cases. No amount of appealing to his better nature will alter this - he may be a sissy, but that doesn't mean that your petty attempts at stopping him will last long at all.

☁☀ loves a good game}}

The German boy may be a ruthless sissy to the core that hardly understands English, but games such as chess, cards, and puzzles are the same in any language. Like quite a few "villain-y" types, Oliver considers himself unbeatable at these sorts of things, and will oftentimes reward those who are capable of tricking him (which is insanely difficult), or fairly beating him at a game of his choice (which is much easier). In fact, in less important hostage situations, he'll often offer this up as one of the ways to escape - just for the lack of anything better to do.

For shits and giggles, he tends to invite Landon to silly little games as well, with trivial rewards (this lint I found in my shoe; a nuzzle from Klavvy; me admitting that you're taller than me; etc.) - thus proving that no one's invincible from his silly little antics.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

♞

||other;;||

✔ When times are hard, Oliver pretends to be blind and collects off on sympathetic people on the streets.
✔ Favorite bands? Boston and Elton John (Okay, so Elton's a singer, but...)
✔ Enjoys the smell of peppermint.
✔ His favorite types of Pok?mon are the kinds that look like cats, and physic types. Needless to say, he adores Abras and Espeons.
✔ Oliver adores Raspberry Lemonade Icebreaker Sours - even though they taste exactly like Windex. And don't ask how he knows what Windex tastes like either - just know that he's addicted to a pitiful extent.
✔ His favorite pool game happens to be Chicken. He has to top, though - durr.
✔ Has never turned down a dare in his life.
✔ Has been known to cook for Landon. And cook well. And like it.
✔ Enjoys snuggling blankets, cuddling Pok?mon, and scribbling in his journal while it rains - but you didn't hear it from me
✔ Takes great care and pride in his hair.
✔ Truly respects and adores Landon - even though he'd never say it to his face.
✔ Always wants to know the time, even if he just checked five minutes ago.
✔ He often claims that he hates movies; but secretly enjoys Mama Mia - he knows all the songs and dances.
✔ ... Also has been known to secretly watch the Wizard of Oz with a smile on his face.
✔ When speaking English, he speaks slowly, trying to put his thoughts together.
✔ While cute Pok?mon are his favorites, he does have a strange obsession with Sharpedos.

♞

[[Shoe ♥]!]

Liebster Tagebuch,

{the rest has been translated for your convenience}

x- the early years -x

I find it necessary to tell at least something about my life - there's only so long a human can keep secrets bottled up inside. Most of the stuff I'm writing here hasn't even been found out by Landon yet, and I consider him my best friend in the entire world. I like to keep things to myself, you know? It's better that way, in my humblest opinion. Other people don't need to know my business, and it's stupid to give it to them.

My parents both came from vastly different regions than those in Kairuu are even vaguely familiar with - as such I don't find the need to give the name out. All that I know is that it is in such a different region in the world that we don't even speak the same language. My parents moved to Kairuu simply because they heard it was a better place to raise children. Though why they chose Mistmoor Village to raise a family has always baffled me.

Also, nobody ever explained to me why my parents wanted to move their if they already knew that they would never be able to learn the language, or even speak in simple phrases besides "I'm sorry" or "Thank you." And of course they didn't want to teach me - they thought that if I learned English, or how to read it, or how to write it or even if I talked to kids who spoke that language that it would make me forget who I was and where I came from - even though I was born in Kairuu and I should have every right to go to the schools and do my best to learn English with the rest of the students. But my parents safeguarded against that as well - and they insisted on me and all of my siblings on being home-schooled.

It was for the best, they would pound into my head. Though I do think it was their own selfish natures showing through. I think they wanted to keep their connection with me... personal. They couldn't speak English, and they didn't want to sever me from them in that sense. It's almost touching, once I start to think about it.

But still assholey and bastardly and everything.

Even though German is, well, honestly, retarded English in most cases, it's my grammar that's suffering, and always has. Fabio had this weird way of ...
Right, we're not there yet. Haha, I'm trying to document my life and I can't even go in order for my own sake? That's a whole new level of lame.

Anyway, to get to the point, I was the youngest of five kids, four girls, and me. I was my mother's little baby, and while my father would have been happy to make me do cool stuff like football and riding Ponytas, she was... scared for me. So she insisted on keeping me inside, for whatever reason, and leaving me in the care of those maniacs I called my sisters. They made me do all this weird shit, like cook for them and dress me like a fucking little girl. I didn't like it, I'll tell everyone even you, dearest Journal, because it's the truth. Make-up and dresses are weird as hell, and I just can't live like that.

Admittedly, however, I will say that I did enjoy cooking. I had this knack, right? It's really cool, to make stuff that others like to eat. The things like tea parties, dancing, and their girlish squeals never really appealed to me - but I put up with it. I wasn't allowed to talk to any other kids, simply because my parents didn't want me, again, associating with anyone who spoke primarily English. Racist? A little bit, I suppose. Okay, perhaps a lot.

I suppose I should go into longer detail about where I lived and such, as I'll probably look back on you, dear Journal, before I go to the execution chamber, and I would like to relive fond memories. I do know I'll go before Landon when we're finally caught. I know I've done worse - he's a nice guy, mostly talk. Schemes. He doesn't mean some of it, I know; and his more stupid plots I usually talk him out of. But I act... I ... act.

Ha. But I'm telling myself nothing when I say that, aren't I?

Anyway, we lived in the outskirts of Mistmoor - away from the main village, in fact. My dad was a rancher, actually, and we had a spring and summer house in Plainfair. When the winter turned cold, we migrated all bird Pok?mon-like to the safer townhouse in Mistmoor. Don't ask why we called it safer - I actually felt much more at home on the Ranch, training Ponyta and Tauros. I do think the Mistmoor house was my mom's idea, since when she got pregnant (so I was told) we always stayed in the Mistmoor house - never straying. I guess the wide open prairies and random nature sounds just aren't her thing.

We stayed there until I was two (the age my mother thought the minimum to start hanging me around with Pok?mon), and then we moved back to our ranch house (my dad had hired hands to do the work while he was away, so no troubles on that aspect). I don't think I can explain farm life to anyone who hasn't lived it - the feeling of your life in your own hands, even from a young age. It's a sharp reality check. You can't rely on others, but you must be helpful when they need you, or when they're in a jam, so they'll favor you back. Pokémon died, and there were many nights when Mightyenas howled so close to your door, you thought that they would tear it down and get to you on the inside. It was nerve racking, but I do think it was the life I liked best.

Even though both my parents were immigrants with no intention of ever learning English, they weren't stupid in any sense. In fact, they were quite business savvy when it came to their wares. They had saved up long and hard before moving to Kairuu, and their dedication showed. We lived in a primarily foreign region of Plainfair, and because of that we actually did meet people who knew quite a bit of German, while also having a keen understanding of English. My parents tended to trade with them, and use them as translators.

We were a rather well-liked family, actually. My sisters were insanely pretty, even at a young age, and while I thought of them as annoying and boy-villains, the neighborhood teens often prowled after them, to the great dissatisfaction of my parents. Especially Allissa - she was the eldest, right? About thirteen when I was born, not to mention how old she was when we finally got back to Plainfair. I remember watching her put on her own make-up with vague fascination and disgust. It was odd to see it applied to gently, when it was normally crudely forced on me.

Growing up on a farm taught me that there's all the time in the world to plan for an emergency, and it's best to; but once it happens, you have to think fast. Rationality has to be taken to guesses, and the only thing you can do is think fast, act, and hope for the best. You can scheme and plot all you like, but if an accident happens, you've got to hit the curve-ball the best that you can and run with it. There's simply no time to do anything else. You've got to take risks, think on your feet. I like to ration and scheme, but when the going gets tough, I get going. A very useful thing to learn indeed, if I must tell my older self (who might have gotten a brain lapse and forgotten like an idiot... hi older self!)

My parents were revered as honest, good people, if a little hard to work with sometimes. The only thing people didn't get was the fact that the children were never put into the school, which was seen as the only place to teach kids (since these people ranched and farmed year round, it was hard to find a minute to instruct children). In that small way, we children were outcasts. Especially me - I was too young to be a looker, and too repressed to have any personality of my own.

I think that's all I'd like to recollect on my early, early, childhood, since I assume that I'll be able to remember everything just by using those key words. And if I can't, fuck you memory. Fuck you. No matter, it's all the same, anyway. Every day I would be taught by my parents something that they thought important, like how to conduct business in a profitable, but honest, manner; how to count "Kairuuian change;" how to tend to sick Pok?mon... the like. I didn't get a real education, I suppose, but I can write (in German), read (in German, but some English), tinker with crap, and do math (I'm a whiz). It's not like I need to know who the fuck discovered Kairuu or who signed what or huge words that no one besides the stuck up pompous types ever use in real life.

[/i]x- blindfold -x [/center]

So those went the first seven years of my life. Traveling back and forth, from ranch house with the wide open spaces and to cramped, village house where my sister adored torturing me. I suppose that's how life would have followed through; you know, living as a rancher, then as a sort of merchant's kid, then back and forth until the day I could get away - then I would have taken up a partner and chosen the type of life I liked best. Hell, I loved both aspects in their own way (ranching was the best, though), and I would have been more than happy to take either up.

But life took a turn for the worst when I met Fabio.

He was about thirteen, and I was seven, and the only 'real' reason he was at my house at all was because he took interest in one of my sisters (Crisilla, to be exact), that and he was Spanish German - so it was okay. Though after about three visits he noticed me, playing alone and keeping away from the crowd. I didn't know why he took interest in me, but on the fourth visit he talked exclusively to me... called me "Oli-Bally," and basically made me feel special. And when you're the youngest kid in a family of seven... individuality is... a wonderful thing.

He lulled me into his dreams, aspirations, and got me to trust him - and at that time, I suppose it wasn't all that hard. I was a stupid fucking child, anyway. I told him everything; in fact, there was hardly a thing I left out of our daily chatters. What I liked, what I feared, what I despised, my desires, my weaknesses, my feelings, my life. I poured myself into him, oh god. He knew more about me than any other person on the planet - almost as well as I knew myself at the time. The only thing needed to get me going was to smile, call me his "Oli-Bally," and compliment my body; calling me his adorable little one. In turn Fabio would listen attentively - rarely speaking on his own, and when I asked for his opinion it was always little more than a shrug.

I suppose I should have found it suspicious. But, Arceus, Journal - I was in love (a seven year old in love - can you imagine that? it seems so hard to believe now... me, loving anyone... ha). He kept me their with an honest fascination with my opinions, overwhelming compliments, and generous gifts (he was the one who gave me Klavier - my Abra that I still have to this day). I would have followed him to the ends of the Earth and back again. Died for him. Happily torn out my heart if he so demanded it. Now I know better, of course - feeling that way about another just.... Well, I know. But in case I forget, I might as well go in order, instead of skipping around like a ninny. Do excuse me.

I was a complete fool to have trusted him - I mean people are fools to trust anybody - but to trust Fabio was the worst move I could have ever made. He used me, dear Journal. Oh Arceues... and I don't mean in the regular ways cute seven to ten year olds can be used by thirteen to sixteen year olds - like sex and physical shit. Hell, I lined myself up for that, if he was willing to give (and man did he give it good - it sparked a life-long obsession with sex, in any case). But that was all to please me, I know. Just to keep me attached to him.

The first thing that should have sent up red sparks in my brain was when he started asking me to do odd stuff for him. Honestly, he had me connect wires to things, learn how to shoot guns, hook up detonators, tinker with gadgets, and other risky shit. As an eight year old kid, I should have never had to even see some of those things - but I was desperate. Desperate for his feelings, for his love for me. I would have stood in front of a train to please him. He knew this. Oh, he knew this.

The next thing he did was train me on timing. You see, it wasn't enough for me to know how to shoot a gun at a person without hesitation, or build a bomb, or hook something up. I had to do it without thinking, pure reflex. We worked on this for about a year, with him constantly timing me on everything I did. If I happened to please my darling, he would reward me with customs of our earlier days. Things that in real relationships I should have gotten for 'free' or because of my devotion. I was naive, as you know, and I was led to believe that ... that was how something like that worked. How it was meant to be. I had to please him, so Fabio would love me and I would be happy. I didn't mind making myself feel miserable for him - because I knew no better. And oh, did he make me miserable. While I was rewarded for good deeds, I was (of course) punished for slower times, messy jobs, and other such.

I was punished more than rewarded, though - especially when he held up human-like targets, sch as dummies. I couldn't bring myself to shoot, or explode something on someone. Someone human. Someone just like me. I was pathetic, he would say ("but you're a cute, adorable pathetic. Let's work this out, Oli-Bally... ♥"). I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill. But I tried. Oh, Arceus, did I try....

If I hadn't been so blinded, so stupid, so... childish - perhaps I would have seen it as training. For what it was. I would have known that Fabio was just going to use me. I should have known. Only an idiot would have fallen for his charm, his tricks. But I was blinded. Oh, so blinded.

When I was ten years old, the curtain rose, and my delicate world came crashing down.

Fabio made me a promise on my birthday; a promise that he would love me forever if I did one thing for him - just one. He gave me a gun, which I was told to hold, and led me inside a strange house. I was instructed to wait behind a cabinet, and Fabio left me there alone. Being ten and stupid, my brain would only allow me the thought of how generous my dear Fabio was being - giving me a chance to earn his love. My life's dream, coming true. I was on a cloud, in space, far above the reach of reality.

So far high that I didn't hear the woman walking in the door.
So far high that I didn't hear the begging, the pleas, the cold, cruel laughs.
So far high that I didn't hear the screams of mercy.
So far high that I didn't hear the gun shot echoing through the room.
So far high that I didn't hear Fabio's frantic, fake yelling.
So far high that I didn't hear the police come in.
So far high that I didn't notice that Fabio was gone, and that both the smoking gun and regular gun had been thrust into my hands, pointed at the dead body.

It all happened so fast. I was taken into custody, convicted of murder. To anyone, it would have seemed that I committed the crime. Only I knew that I was innocent - me, and Fabio.

He visited me in the detention center once. I begged for his forgiveness, and asked why he did it. He told me that he didn't know what I was talking about, that I was crazy, and that I was a murderer. I asked him why again, eyes huge with tears (I haven't cried since). He told me the truth.

That women had wronged him in some way (he never specified, and I never got the chance to ask him again). He wanted her dead, but didn't want to leave any evidence, which is hard in such a small community such as Plainfair. So he would choose someone small, non-threatening. A loser. Someone that no one cared about. He would train this kid, make him feel special. Find a way to train the kid for whatever type of murder he decided to commit - having the kid shoot, having the kid build a bomb, having the kid strangle her ... whatever. It didn't matter. The kid had to be ruthless. He chose me. The nobody German kid that was too young to be attractive, and too shielded by his family to be cared about by anyone else. I was useless. He was loved within the community. He had a future, a career he was looking forward to, girls that would line up if he dared ask. That woman got in his way, and I was a tool to get to her. But I wouldn't. I was weak - too weak to kill for him. I was soft. I was worthless. I was... trash.

So he had to do it himself, of course. But I was not without his uses. So he framed me to get away with murder, and that was that. The evidence pointed all to me - he had even worn gloves so only my fingerprints would show on both guns. It was as simple as that. He wanted revenge for something, I was 'just another,' he needed my assistance, and he played me as a fool for three years, trying to train me to kill. To be a monster. Just so I could carry out his foul deed against an innocent that he had a slight against.

[/i]

"But... but why? I trusted you, Fabio..."
"Oh, yes, I knew that. How else would you have done that for me? Ha."
"But... but... I thought..."
"Yeah, you thought, kiddo. But you're a stupid piece of shit, so let me lay this down simply. I don't fucking care about you. I never did. I needed a job done, and you were willing to do it. Simple as that, kid."
"Fabio... why prey on an innocent...?"
"Because you were willing, kid, along with dozens of other nobodies in this town. I chose you, because you seemed easy to shape up. Which you weren't which only delayed it. You displeased me, Oliver. You couldn't kill."
"I-I I didn't mean to..."
"But you couldn't, could you? You soft piece of trash. You're worthless, common as dirt. Me, I'm going to go somewhere. I can't have nosy old women and pathetic children keep me away from my dreams. Hah, maybe if you were a ruthless killer I would have kept you, my pet. But you're just like the rest. You're sand; a common, foreign kid that will never learn the ways of the world. You're better off dead. Hah, think of it as this - I'm relieving you of your disgusting, soft existence. I'm doing you a favor. Hm, well, I'd better be going, my pathetic friend. I look forward to seeing you shake on that electric chair thing - they don't have it open for kids usually, but I have a feeling they'll make an exception for you. You being so special, and all. Ciao, Oli-Bally."

We never spoke again.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[/i]x- seeing as a blind man -x[/center]

The police records should have shown: Amalia Witherspon - shot in her own home by Oliver Anselm on May ninth, at 4:54 PM; who was armed with two guns (only one of which was needed to shoot). Fabio Urop witnessed it from the front window, and testified that his 'best friend,' in a murderous rampage not known to civilized people, Anselm shot Witherspon, and with only one shot killed her. Decisive evidence was shown (Anselm's fingerprints on the gun; eye witness), and Anselm was sentenced to eight years of jail, and then death by electrocution.

That's what Fabio planned them to show. That's what it should have shown. That's what all the evidence pointed to it showing.

Then why was it that I got off scott free and have survived seven additional years in and out of jail? I'll tell you why - an extremely good attorney. He was one of those types that was able to push the blame off of me by accounts of "Oliver's not left-handed, the smoking gun was in his hand," "Oliver never had any reason to kill Ms. Witherspon," and "The witness is lying!!" And other such things that should have never worked, but did. He called in people saying that they had seen Fabio enter the house with a gun, trailing the woman, and not me (I had been placed in about an hour beforehand). Not to mention the video tape of the little talk Fabio and I had while in the detention center (the idiot...). It was a long and confusing case, and even I was placed on the stand... much to the pleasure of my lawyer, since my squeaky, desperate voice won over about a third of the jury, I was told.

...Though I will never allow myself to live it down. I must have repeated "I do no shooting!" about twenty four times. Ugh. How ugly, right? Well, it got me off. Especially since, with my testimony, I was able to help prove that Fabio had, in fact, shot Ms. Witherspon, and I was innocent. It was probably the worst seven months of my life (I was held in jail for seven months for that - how demeaning).

I'll never forget my first night in jail, too. You see, Plainfair's where I 'committed' the crime, therefore I was held there for my case; and they didn't have a juvenile delinquent center, since they didn't expect children to commit crimes. So when I got arrested, I got placed in the same place as the adults... with adult cellmates. Male. Adult. Cell mates.

One that was alarmingly arrested for charges of pedophilia.
That didn't understand a word of German, but thought my butchered English was adorable.
We can see where this is going, nein?

Understandably, those were horrid, horrid days. They all sort of melded into the same thing, really. Wake up, say hi to Randall (that was the creep's name), complain on how I really wasn't a murderer, get raped because my complaining was a huge turn on or something (sick), complain because I was too weak, get snuggled by Randall before another rape session, eat something, get picked on, be protected by Randall, rape, and then bed.
Awful.
Awful.
Awful days.

He called me by a pet name, too. "Olive-Oil." He must have had a food fetish or something... or he was probably trying to light on how "slick" and "smooth" I was. Now I just take it for granted that there are bastards in the world, but when you're ten years old... it's... it's... inhumane. Monster-like. It just makes you think that... that you're not good enough. That... that's the only way you're body's allowed to be loved. Especially since the guy you were doing it with before decided to stop seeing you and frame you for murder since you weren't good enough for him. It starts to make you think... that... you really... aren't human.

If people ask about it, because a few people have found out (no one like Landon, thank Arceus, I'd never hear the end of it...), I just tell them I'm over it. But they're stupid when they believe it. I don't know how a person's supposed to get over things like that. I say it was inhumane when I was ten, but now, even as I write... I couldn't be more disgusted with myself. Is that common, Journal? I feel that... it was my fault. If I had been stronger at the time, I could have done what Fabio had asked.. and then he would have loved me, Journal. He would have realized that I was important, that he could get more out of me, and kept me as his pride and joy. We could have grown old together - and I ruined it with my cowardliness. With my 'morals.' He just wanted a job done... I job I should have done....

I suppose I saw it as part of my punishment. But with it, I resolved. I couldn't let people use me again - if all it led to was to... was to... my own self demise. It was better to stay out of relationships... to be safe.. than line myself up for pain and punishment. In the end, it all adds up to the same. You give so much, try and go so high... only to crash land. Am I making sense, dearest Journal? I try so hard now not to be stupid. Not to ... not to be taken advantage of again. I mean, at the time, I loved Fabio. Now I think he's a jerk. But at the time... oh, the time. I can't even explain it. I loved him... so much. All he had to do was ask... and I... might have killed someone for his love. For his devotion. I can never let someone so close to me again, got it? It only leads to my destruction. I have to separate things - I follow one type of person, I fuck another. They should go hand in hand, right? Well, wrong. I become enraptured - I know myself. I can't... I can't allow that to happen. There's a fine, fine line that people cannot cross; once I place you, you're placed. If I allow it any other way... I could.. be hurt.

Don't call me a coward... I'm just looking out for myself. After all, it's better to have never loved at all than to have loved and lost. Or become a tool. Sometimes I try and tell myself that it's the safest way to keep myself away... by holing up and turning to myself... but is it really working? I'm not proving anything... I don't think... I don't know. Oh Journal, it's so hard. I hate killing people, and I'm not even very keen on this entire "notoriety" thing... but... I want the world to see... that I won't be stepped on. That I'm not just the pathetic piece of trash the rest of the world thinks I am. I'm not the cute little German kid who's eyes are begging for a good pounding (in both ways). I'm Oliver Anselm, and I'm not your pawn...

[/i]{there are some illegible scribbles by this point that go on for about a page. then a drawing of some sort... and more scribbles. it resumes:}

When I was finally let out of jail, I had a resolve. I would no longer be that pathetic twerp that you walked all over, scoffing in his wake. I would no longer be the kid obsessed with cute things, allowing his sisters to dress him in drag because he knew no better. I would no longer aspire to be a farmer or a merchant or whatever. That ship had sailed - there's no worth in jobs such as those. I love my family, I really do. I would hate for them to realize that... this was how their only son turned out. If I never release my last name... they could have doubt. Oh Arceus... it's not their fault that... this is how I 'turned out.' They paid for my defense, they searched long and hard for a man that could prove that their baby hadn't killed anyone. They were the only people in the world who really believed in me. Who... who loved me.

Needless to say, I couldn't have them know my plans. My plans of proving my worth to Fabios everywhere. That we 'adorable,' pathetic, trash-types weren't as easy to step on as we let on. We may not be the strongest physically, but we have brains, and can use them when provoked. So, in the safety of my room... I studied. I taught myself how to be merciless. You don't think that one can teach themselves that, but I did. I shot a Pok?mon, once, the old farm Meowth. Oh, it was hard. I had trouble sleeping that night, thinking about the thing I'd killed - and fearing for getting caught. I didn't want to repeat it before taking smaller steps... so I blew up small things... away from people. We were kind of near wilderness over in Plainfair (okay, so... near plains that just stretched on for miles), and you would be correct in saying that... it wasn't the smartest place to practice. But where is, really? I knew how to make all sorts of bombs by this point (I gained more knowledge later, on my travels with Landon, but I knew the basics and some of the harder ones), and was keen to try them out.

Why I chose the plains as a place to practice eludes me to this day... I was young and fucking stupid, what more can I say? I should have chosen a cave... or something. Fires spread quickly in the plains, and who more likely to catch me in the act than a Pok?mon ranger? I was usually careful with controlling my explosions, and would put out fires... but this one... got the best of me.

The ranger was able to put it out (thank Arceus), and I was treated to a long, long long lecture on playing with explosives. And my age. And just what the fuck my parents were doing. Then he took me to the station, and the head officer had a nice, long talk with me. I promised I'd never do it again, and begged him not to tell my parents. I suppose I really laid it on thick, 'cos he let me go scott free....

The things people do for innocent looking kids.

Though, I did keep my promise - I never tried exploding shit in the fields again. To this day I just sort of... trust that it'll go off. I don't think it's naive, because it's pretty pointless to explode shit unless you get a thrill from it or you need something done; and frankly - it's all clockwork to me now.

Getting back on track, it took me a year or so to train myself how to kill, how to use the things Fabio taught me. Granted, at that time, I was still squeamish. I didn't like the idea of killing a human (and who does, honestly?), so I decided to work myself up to it. Small crimes. I had practiced setting off weapons and other skills, but to actually use them... I was lost. So, while I was still living in my parents' house... I started stealing. Petty little things, from shops and from family friend's houses. It wasn't hard, and I in fact got quite the thrill from it. No one was endangered, and I gained a few items, so I can't say I regretted it.

Besides, my earliest episodes taught me in the art of concealment. I realized that there are a few things people look for when something gets lost (people around the area, other objects moved or crudely replaced, et cetera), and things they don't look for at all (such as tracks more inconspicuous than a muddy footprint, new items, et cetera). The best way to steal something or to do any crime at all, I learned, was to take the thing, and not touch a thing else.

The second most important thing I learned was that there was a certain benefit to owning physic Pok?mon such as Klavier, my beloved Abra. She had to stay at home through out my imprisonment, but as soon as I came back, she turned into my only friend. She has quite the mind of her own, actually, thinking ahead and always advising me on how to do a job better. The reason why she was so 'insane' with her ideas must have stemmed from the fact that she had once been Fabio's, and the only reason why he had given her to me (she confessed one day, when I asked) was because he didn't feel that he had the time to toughen up two weaklings. For her sake, I promised that I would strengthen her, and that we would stick together, even when times were rough.

She seemed happy with such a statement. Thankfully, it was not a lie - she told me after wards that with her physic abilities, she could read my mind. Now, I don't know if she was lying to me or what, but I'd rather not take chances where potentially powerful Pok?mon are involved.

It was her idea to take her along to all my mini-heists, for one reason and one reason alone. Teleport. All I had to do was get inside a place, take the object I coveted, ask Klavvy to please teleport us away, and I was away - scott free without a trace of evidence to frame me. Not even my presence in the area! Needless to say, this little technique saved my ass countless, countless, and countless more times. Klavvy and I are pretty close, and have been through some tough times together. She's snuggling against my arm as I'm writing this; fucking adorable, right? D'aaaw, I love her.

While in Plainfair, right before I planned to leave the house, something... happened. As of my first time in the big house, I was determined to never go back. Simply to avoid types such as Randall, and besides, where's the fun in moaning away in jail while you could be training yourself to be more ruthless? Well, I got cocky again(a mistake I'll never repeat), and decided to raid the Mayor's house - a guy adored by all the citizens in the village and, more importantly, rich rich rich. I thought it would be the best test of my ability before turning loose on my own in the big bad world.

Big mistake.

I so much as got my sticky fingers on a nice, expensive vase before some alarms went off, and I was caught red handed. Ha. That was the last time I ever attempted a robbery without doing ample research on the place. This time, when convicted, I had a simple trial, and was found oh-so-guilty.

So for the first (but not last) time in my life, I was sent packing to jail for three months... for a crime I did commit. I was twelve years old. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[/i]x- duo -x[/center]

Unlike my previous adventure in jail, nothing notable really happened in this one - sure, I was picked on by pedos, and yeah, I might have had sex a few times; but by now I craved it, and I was picky. I knew how to get what I wanted by now - I wasn't just some wimp. Though my lack of fluency in English did seem to get me into trouble more often than I would have liked... it was of no importance really, though. I proved myself, even I was short. I was harder, I was more demanding, and I was definitely not the pathetic piece of shit that I used to be.

After three months, I was on my way again, and happier than ever with new new knowledge. Klavvy seemed overjoyed to see me again (after the long, long, long speech on how much of an idiot I was), and we discussed plans on how to make such operations go smoother next time. My parents, on the other hand, seemed displeased. They begged with me, bartered, threatened; anything to try and teach me not to live up to such things. Though I don't think they understood my obsession. I have to prove myself, even though I know it's an impossible goal. No one really cares about a stupid, short blond boy in the long run unless he happens to demand their attention. The easiest way to do that is threaten their safety - back them in a corner. Fabio hit me hard, and I wasn't going to let people like him relish in the fact that I would be easy to step on again.

Now, you may be wondering how I, by this point, was able to acquire bullets, guns, and the materials used to make bombs without arousing suspicion. Well, let me explain it simply - Fabio left me a huge stash in my room, a stash that was down to nothing by the time I got back into my house (my parents had found most of it and destroyed it); leaving me with nothing at all to work with. Awful, right? Well, I had ways around that, of course. As soon as my parents thought I was getting back into my place (I was studying, talking to the family, didn't hole myself up in the room all day), I started to plot again. It didn't take too long, really. They were willing to trust me - willing to be fooled just because they wanted to believe. Pathetic.

When I was finally allowed free reign again, I immediately went to the hardware and science shops, just to pick up the basics. The things that a retard could remember makes something explode. Then I started to shoot a little higher - I stole ammunition, guns, and other such hard to attain-when-you're-twelve items. It was easy, now that I had grown some sense about the world. People say that it's troubling to them to think that there are people that are so accomplished at such a young age - but they're just pathetic. They don't work for anything - much less the things that matter most. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, even at that age - why should I wait until I was an 'appropriate' age to start doing so...?

As soon as I got my weapons again, Dearest Journal... I... started... killing.

Only one person, really, but oh... it made me shake. I'll never forget... the look... he gave me... before I shot him. Journal, you can't possibly know how it feels to kill someone. Pok?mon are one thing, but actual human beings are another. Especially when it's done with little or no reason... I... wasn't ready for it. What kind of thirteen year old kid is ready for murderous rampage? Even now, I consider it. I look cold, I laugh, and I shoot... but... Journal, Journal, Journal, dearest Journal ... it hurts me too. Oh, it does.

Ha. That sounded lame, didn't it? But it's of no matter. The thing I really had to say was... since then... I've been more selective over the people I kill. Sure, I can do it coldly, and make it seem like I don't care... but... only for the big jobs. Only for the things I cannot live through without it. Not unless it's part of the plan. But if it is... watch out, world. You're probably not going to live through morning. Sure, it's awful business, killing; but that doesn't mean I won't do it, and if it propels me to a goal, enjoy it. I can't think twice on it when it's crucial, and someone's life does not require a doublethink, bluntly put.

I guess I should be called... ruthless? But I don't feel that way, Journal. Most of the time, anyway.

I got arrested again. But not for murder - who would suspect the angel faced boy from Germany? No, they caught me trying to attack a "redlisted" Pok?mon.... How was I supposed to know that stupid Farfetch'd were endangered?! Well, since I didn't use Klavvy, they couldn't kill her, so they just gave me an extended jail period. Ha. Whatever. By then, I was used to jail time, and while... you don't get used to certain things... you gotta have a game plan sometimes, and I was planning to just find the biggest, strongest man, work my adorability on him (who would have thought that there were so many pedophiles in jail...?), and get out slightly worse for wear, but alive.

That's how I planned it - and that's how I expected it to go.

But I just had to be paired up in a cell with another kid (they seemed to smarten up - realizing that it's not intelligent to leave children in the cells of pedos). Another kid who was profoundly annoying at first glance, sulking around the cell (I could tell that he was probably a first or second timer). He seemed rather bored, understandably, but the really irritating part was the fact that he never shut up.

My day would go some thing like this; wake up to the sound of my cellmate loudly doing something (it changed on a daily basis - from stomping around, to talking to himself, and Arceus knows what), stare at him harshly, mope around the cell, get some exercise (nothing like normal 'exercise' I was used to in this setting), eat something, go back to the cell, listen to his bitching again, and try to go to sleep to it. It was extremely annoying.

It got to the point that I just had to tell him to shut the fuck up... which he answered with a stupid "no you" comment, displaying his apparent intelligence. We bickered for a while, until he asked where I was from.... By this point, as I have already documented, I didn't trust people (as I still don't), and I wasn't exactly interested in telling him. He insulted me (and educated me on what a 'sped' was), and eventually I started lying. I don't know if he caught up or what (perhaps I should not have said my favorite temperature was thirty degrees - stupid Kairuuains and their 'Fahrenheit' - why can't everyone just use easy-to-understand celcius?)... but... eventually, I stupidly tempted him into a fight.

Did I mention how strong and ... formidable this guy looked? Honestly, he looked like... a toxic rainbow, splashed with muscle, with a shake of insanity, and a typhoon of piercings piercings piercings. It was utter stupidity that prompted me to even think of challenging him, and as such I made frantic amends. He insulted my 'pussy-like' behavior... and I ignored him again. Then he started making more noises... and I talked to him to make him stop....

This continued for days, all the while I didn't even know the fucker's name. Eventually... I guess.. I sort of ... started to... trust him? A little? We were going to be in that cell together for about ninety days, so it was pointless to just ridicule him and withhold information. Besides he was a criminal, too... and he didn't seem mean and manipulative. Just... eccentric and rather odd.

Over the days, I learned that his name was Landon, and he was stuck in there for some sort of mugging or whatever. He was a downright hooligan... with a purpose. He wanted to make it big. Prove himself to the world. Make it burn - in his own words. A sort of... quest for excitement.

It sounded great. It sounded fun. It sounded like... like... exactly what I was training myself to do. Make a name. Get big - prove to the world that they can't step on me. So I opened a bit to him - I leveled. I told him my name, my ambitions (in general - I didn't pour myself into him like some Arceus damned woman or something), and why I was in.
As soon as I opened up... I guess we sort of... clicked?

Well enough that as soon as we were let out, I chummed around with him. I didn't go home - I saw a gateway to my dreams, and nabbed it. Didn't even leave a letter or anything - how cruel, right? Just upped and left.
I'll... I'll go back to them, eventually. I'll return home. They'll know that their only son wasn't... wasn't what everyone expected him to be - a loser. A nobody with no future besides what was clearly laid out for him. Trash - used and thrown away at an early age. I would become none of that. I'd... make it big in the world. Somehow.

Let me tell you one thing, Journal - something I don't tell anybody. Landon's a weird guy - he makes stupid fucking plots that can never work outside of his batshit insane mind. He's easily read and would be completely useless once caught. He's dangerous to be around - and that's just stating the obvious. If I really wanted to, I could function (perhaps even better) without him. Besides that, even now, years after meeting him he tends to mock me - taunting me pretending to 'like' me in weird ways; calling me princess and other shit. I should have left him years ago - I shouldn't have talked to him in the first place.

But I guess.. I'm attached. He's the closest thing I've got to a friend right now.... I suppose ... no matter what I tell myself.. I'm wildly dependent. I.. need (is that the right word?) other people... intensely. And Landon is the one I've chosen to be loyal to - no ifs ands or buts. I trust him with my life... most of the time. I'd help him out of any scrap, and stand by him on the stupidest decisions.
Corny, right? That said... I'm.. reluctant to get any closer. He knows my last name, and knows the names of my family members and where they once lived. He knows... a lot.. of my fears, wants, and more about me than anyone in recent memory. Though... I don't want him knowing my weaknesses. My motivation. I can't allow him to - it would ruin his image of me, and maybe provoke him to leave... is this making sense? I... I... deeply... fear abandonment... so much.... I don't want... Lanny to leave me too ... him to... find me useless.... Oh, Arceues.... It's so... so... pathetic, right?
I hope nobody finds you, dearest Journal

[/i]x- paper faces on parade -x[/center]

What more is there to say right now? I've been with Landon for four years now.. it's been a good time. At fourteen, while he was getting a piercing of some sort, I got a tattoo on my left shoulder blade - an angel's wing - adorable, right? He doesn't know, he just thought I was going over some plans or something. And it's not like I show him my back or anything on a daily basis.

At the age of fifteen we hit some hard times (so mugging people and planning schemes that can never work might have not been the best career choice)... so I picked up a pair of shades, and conned some old people, holding out a tin can and pretending to be blind. My short stature and blond hair must have evoked something in them besides the usual pity toward blind people - we made a lot of money like that.

I only use it when times are really hard, honest. It's pretty low....
All during that time, I researched when I could, yelled at Landon about his stupid pointless plans, and got taught English (while trying to teach him some German... and failing pretty hard). I consider those years practice, though. Now it's time for the real fucking deal. Brace yourself, world - you're not going to step on me any more.

- Oliver Francis Anselm, age 17, 4:56 AM.

[/i]

♞

[sample me]
YOU GUYS KNOW ME. D:< GERMANGERMANGERMAN. DDD:<
-too lazy to find roleplay sample-

And they're turning us into monsters
Turning us into fire
Turning us into monsters
It's all desire
It's all desire
It's all desire

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