Post by Skittle on Jun 6, 2006 15:12:10 GMT -5
Kai is based on, and written for, a friend of mine.
Lord Kai Locke
Chapter One
If you had the chance to change your life, for the better, forever, would you take it? Even if it involved losing some part of yourself? Even if it involved losing your…humanity?
Logan threw his pen to the table in exasperation and took his thin face in his hands, ignoring the stares of a thousand frozen images; the many posters that he worshiped so much. He clutched at his greasy, long blonde hair, almost pulling it out in his anger and frustration. He finally brought his head up from his spindly fingers, forcing his grey eyes onto the mirror that rested on his desk. He studied his face for some time in the distorted image, distorted because he had punched it a while back and shattered the glass. Despite this disadvantage, he still managed to see himself in the shards, and stared with hopeless eyes that swiftly turned menacing. His bony fist clenched as he viewed his thin, angular features and matted, long, blonde hair which he was attempting to grow into dreadlocks. Suddenly he opened his mouth in a horrific silent scream, driving his knuckles into the centre of the mirror yet again. The force drove his fist straight through the backing of the mirror, showering his carpet in slivers of himself, all reflecting the same psychotic anger. Then Logan Eugene Perry dragged himself to his bed and lay there, staring at his ceiling without really seeing it, hurt, hopelessness and loss all showing themselves in his eyes.
He was alone in the world, was Logan. He slept in a squalid squat, the pen, some paper and the mirror being his only possessions. Well, now it was just the pen and paper, really. The posters had been there when he had arrived. He had no idea who any of the people were, but having them there made him feel more normal, somehow, more like he had a regular life. No one knew Logan existed; no one would have cared even if they did. He was one of those ‘helpless’ children that you see every year on Children In Need – the ones you feel sorry for but make no move to help. He absolutely hated living in the horrendous filth of the squat, his sole aim in life to change his social standing, to lord over the people that passed him in the street every time his pride failed him and he was forced to go out begging. He wanted to be able to decide whether people lived or died, and he wanted to get away with it, too. And, although he didn’t know it when this story began, that would eventually be exactly what he was able to do. However, these powers would come at a price. And a most terrible price it would be.
The morning after he had smashed his mirror, Logan left the squat through it’s back window, unwilling to let anybody see that he lived there, and entered the garden. He stared long and hard at the decaying flowers and the thriving weeds, his face completely emotionless, as though he was just an empty husk of a human being. In a way, he was. But not nearly as empty as he was destined to become. Finally he moved, pushing a path through the overgrown garden and avoiding the stinging nettles expertly [he did not have much to treat wounds with, and was thus very careful]. As he came to the fence of the backyard, he cast a quick, steely glance back over the house. And then, in a flurry of rags and blonde hair, he was gone.
*
They say the Devil is a gentleman. Perhaps this is true, even though the perception of ‘gentleman’ has changed dramatically over the years. Others say that he is whatever he chooses, whatever will appeal to his victims most. Yet more say that he is merely a denizen of Hell, doomed to chew on traitors forevermore, doomed to be the vicious leader of his domain. Some will have you believe that he does not exist. Whatever the conclusion, a casually dressed gentleman was watching Logan as he strolled along the back alleys and streets, and he was watching him with a smile on his ruggedly handsome features. Although he was little more than a tramp, his dignified posture and dominant but pleasant personality proclaimed him a gentleman, and a gentleman of the highest order.
Still, appearances are very deceiving.
Chapter Two
There was a girl standing on the street corner, leaning against the wall. It was night now, and only the Vampires and Losers were on the streets, all looking as miserable and angsty as the next. They look like clones, Logan mused, as he watched from his usual hiding place – the top of the single oak tree that grew in the middle of a concrete sea. It was astonishing, really, just how little people looked at this one reminder of life in the centre of a dead, grey town. But it was this quality that made it perfect for Logan; no one paid him any heed while he sat here, and he was invisible as always. Everywhere, the Vampires and Losers were emerging. If he had been on the streets, he would have avoided the Vampires like the plague. They were the ones to watch. The tight black and red PVC they wore, along with the heavy make-up and either thigh-high leather boots with metal spikes for heels, or huge heavy Doc Martens – the kind that should be banned - they were the things to watch for. And, invariably, those huge spiked leather wristbands. He had seen Vampires cut themselves with those things. He had seen Vampires cut each other with those things. Some of the things he had seen Vampires do made even him shudder.
Anyway, back to the girl. Logan found his eyes drawn to her, and was instantly overcome with A) an immense lust and B) extreme puzzlement. The puzzlement was over two things. The first was that she was impossible to classify; although she wore the thick leather wristbands of the Vampires, and a black PVC corset, she also wore the drainpipe jeans of the Losers, along with a pair of neon orange and green skate shoes. Her hair was dreadlocked in the style that Logan himself so desperately wanted, although hers was dyed in every colour of the rainbow. While this hairstyle might have looked comical on anybody else, this girl made it look remarkably attractive. Her face was caked in Vampire make-up, although it had been varied slightly to include a bright azure eye shadow. Her eyes themselves were a wonderful shade of brown that was edged with violet, clear and sharp. However, this girl looked hard as nails. Her delicate fingers were balled into fists, her face set into I-don’t-give-a-shit mode. The second thing he was puzzled over was the lust he felt for the girl. He had never found Vampires or Losers remotely attractive before. Then again, he mused, this girl was, as far as he could tell, neither Vampire nor Loser.
He was sat in his tree, just staring at the girl, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he was a dog hungering for a bone. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets as he stared at the girl – and not entirely at her face, either. As he wasn’t the most social of creatures, he saw no problem in openly lusting after her [not that anyone noticed him, anyway]. Besides, to him, the other humans, no matter what their classification, were worthless and little more then animals. Animals that thought themselves above him. And NO ONE was above Logan.
He was so busy staring that he didn’t see the tall, particularly gruesome-looking Vampire that was clomping his heavy leather boots in Tough Girl’s direction. He didn’t see the huge super-glue-as-hair-gel mohican that stuck up from the Vampire’s otherwise-bald head. He didn’t notice the huge spikes that stuck from his wrists, arms and neck. He didn’t notice the ripped clothes, the scarred arms, the torn ear. He didn’t even notice as the Vampire walked right up to Tough Girl and pulled her into a rough embrace. He saw straight through the Vampire. He still didn’t see him even as Tough Girl forced her hands under his ripped shirt and pulled him forcefully towards her to engage in a kiss that made them look like conflicting vacuums. It was only as Gruesome began forcing his own way up Tough Girl that Logan even remotely registered him. But Gruesome still didn’t matter. All that mattered was Tough Girl.
Then Tough Girl turned.
She stared right at him, her brown eyes becoming clearer than ever and narrowing to slits, a snarl upon her face.
“There’s a filthy little hobo in that tree. And the motherf*cker’s perving on me!”
Logan half-expected someone to mock the unintentional rhyme. No one did. Instead, all the Vampires turned slowly to look up at him. The Losers ducked their heads and quickly vanished from the town centre, unwilling to be caught up in the fight they knew was about to take place. He suddenly knew what kind of trouble he was in. Gruesome snarled and threw a bottle at him. It shattered on the branch next to him and he stared in shock at a shard that embedded itself in his arm. It was only small, but it still caused him pain, and Logan was not used to pain.
“GEEEERIIIMMMYYYUUUUBBBTADSSSS!!”
Although Logan had no clue what Gruesome had just yelled, he sensed it meant trouble. That sense was only reinforced when the Vampires began to move around the tree in a tight circle, all grinning horribly. Logan could see their make up cracking from his position, but it did nothing to reassure him. On the contrary - the cracked make up made Logan considerably more afraid.
Suddenly Logan knew he had no choice. Without thinking about his last option, lest he bottle out, Logan scrambled to the highest point he could reach….
…and then, Logan jumped.
He fell through the air with all the grace of an elephant, having no idea of how to slow himself down. He hit the ground with a solid thump and a howl of pain; that was, however, nothing compared to what he was about to receive.
Before he was even on his feet again, the Vampires had surrounded him. And leading them, grinning with the malice of the Devil himself, was Tough Girl.
Lord Kai Locke
Chapter One
If you had the chance to change your life, for the better, forever, would you take it? Even if it involved losing some part of yourself? Even if it involved losing your…humanity?
Logan threw his pen to the table in exasperation and took his thin face in his hands, ignoring the stares of a thousand frozen images; the many posters that he worshiped so much. He clutched at his greasy, long blonde hair, almost pulling it out in his anger and frustration. He finally brought his head up from his spindly fingers, forcing his grey eyes onto the mirror that rested on his desk. He studied his face for some time in the distorted image, distorted because he had punched it a while back and shattered the glass. Despite this disadvantage, he still managed to see himself in the shards, and stared with hopeless eyes that swiftly turned menacing. His bony fist clenched as he viewed his thin, angular features and matted, long, blonde hair which he was attempting to grow into dreadlocks. Suddenly he opened his mouth in a horrific silent scream, driving his knuckles into the centre of the mirror yet again. The force drove his fist straight through the backing of the mirror, showering his carpet in slivers of himself, all reflecting the same psychotic anger. Then Logan Eugene Perry dragged himself to his bed and lay there, staring at his ceiling without really seeing it, hurt, hopelessness and loss all showing themselves in his eyes.
He was alone in the world, was Logan. He slept in a squalid squat, the pen, some paper and the mirror being his only possessions. Well, now it was just the pen and paper, really. The posters had been there when he had arrived. He had no idea who any of the people were, but having them there made him feel more normal, somehow, more like he had a regular life. No one knew Logan existed; no one would have cared even if they did. He was one of those ‘helpless’ children that you see every year on Children In Need – the ones you feel sorry for but make no move to help. He absolutely hated living in the horrendous filth of the squat, his sole aim in life to change his social standing, to lord over the people that passed him in the street every time his pride failed him and he was forced to go out begging. He wanted to be able to decide whether people lived or died, and he wanted to get away with it, too. And, although he didn’t know it when this story began, that would eventually be exactly what he was able to do. However, these powers would come at a price. And a most terrible price it would be.
The morning after he had smashed his mirror, Logan left the squat through it’s back window, unwilling to let anybody see that he lived there, and entered the garden. He stared long and hard at the decaying flowers and the thriving weeds, his face completely emotionless, as though he was just an empty husk of a human being. In a way, he was. But not nearly as empty as he was destined to become. Finally he moved, pushing a path through the overgrown garden and avoiding the stinging nettles expertly [he did not have much to treat wounds with, and was thus very careful]. As he came to the fence of the backyard, he cast a quick, steely glance back over the house. And then, in a flurry of rags and blonde hair, he was gone.
*
They say the Devil is a gentleman. Perhaps this is true, even though the perception of ‘gentleman’ has changed dramatically over the years. Others say that he is whatever he chooses, whatever will appeal to his victims most. Yet more say that he is merely a denizen of Hell, doomed to chew on traitors forevermore, doomed to be the vicious leader of his domain. Some will have you believe that he does not exist. Whatever the conclusion, a casually dressed gentleman was watching Logan as he strolled along the back alleys and streets, and he was watching him with a smile on his ruggedly handsome features. Although he was little more than a tramp, his dignified posture and dominant but pleasant personality proclaimed him a gentleman, and a gentleman of the highest order.
Still, appearances are very deceiving.
Chapter Two
There was a girl standing on the street corner, leaning against the wall. It was night now, and only the Vampires and Losers were on the streets, all looking as miserable and angsty as the next. They look like clones, Logan mused, as he watched from his usual hiding place – the top of the single oak tree that grew in the middle of a concrete sea. It was astonishing, really, just how little people looked at this one reminder of life in the centre of a dead, grey town. But it was this quality that made it perfect for Logan; no one paid him any heed while he sat here, and he was invisible as always. Everywhere, the Vampires and Losers were emerging. If he had been on the streets, he would have avoided the Vampires like the plague. They were the ones to watch. The tight black and red PVC they wore, along with the heavy make-up and either thigh-high leather boots with metal spikes for heels, or huge heavy Doc Martens – the kind that should be banned - they were the things to watch for. And, invariably, those huge spiked leather wristbands. He had seen Vampires cut themselves with those things. He had seen Vampires cut each other with those things. Some of the things he had seen Vampires do made even him shudder.
Anyway, back to the girl. Logan found his eyes drawn to her, and was instantly overcome with A) an immense lust and B) extreme puzzlement. The puzzlement was over two things. The first was that she was impossible to classify; although she wore the thick leather wristbands of the Vampires, and a black PVC corset, she also wore the drainpipe jeans of the Losers, along with a pair of neon orange and green skate shoes. Her hair was dreadlocked in the style that Logan himself so desperately wanted, although hers was dyed in every colour of the rainbow. While this hairstyle might have looked comical on anybody else, this girl made it look remarkably attractive. Her face was caked in Vampire make-up, although it had been varied slightly to include a bright azure eye shadow. Her eyes themselves were a wonderful shade of brown that was edged with violet, clear and sharp. However, this girl looked hard as nails. Her delicate fingers were balled into fists, her face set into I-don’t-give-a-shit mode. The second thing he was puzzled over was the lust he felt for the girl. He had never found Vampires or Losers remotely attractive before. Then again, he mused, this girl was, as far as he could tell, neither Vampire nor Loser.
He was sat in his tree, just staring at the girl, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he was a dog hungering for a bone. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets as he stared at the girl – and not entirely at her face, either. As he wasn’t the most social of creatures, he saw no problem in openly lusting after her [not that anyone noticed him, anyway]. Besides, to him, the other humans, no matter what their classification, were worthless and little more then animals. Animals that thought themselves above him. And NO ONE was above Logan.
He was so busy staring that he didn’t see the tall, particularly gruesome-looking Vampire that was clomping his heavy leather boots in Tough Girl’s direction. He didn’t see the huge super-glue-as-hair-gel mohican that stuck up from the Vampire’s otherwise-bald head. He didn’t notice the huge spikes that stuck from his wrists, arms and neck. He didn’t notice the ripped clothes, the scarred arms, the torn ear. He didn’t even notice as the Vampire walked right up to Tough Girl and pulled her into a rough embrace. He saw straight through the Vampire. He still didn’t see him even as Tough Girl forced her hands under his ripped shirt and pulled him forcefully towards her to engage in a kiss that made them look like conflicting vacuums. It was only as Gruesome began forcing his own way up Tough Girl that Logan even remotely registered him. But Gruesome still didn’t matter. All that mattered was Tough Girl.
Then Tough Girl turned.
She stared right at him, her brown eyes becoming clearer than ever and narrowing to slits, a snarl upon her face.
“There’s a filthy little hobo in that tree. And the motherf*cker’s perving on me!”
Logan half-expected someone to mock the unintentional rhyme. No one did. Instead, all the Vampires turned slowly to look up at him. The Losers ducked their heads and quickly vanished from the town centre, unwilling to be caught up in the fight they knew was about to take place. He suddenly knew what kind of trouble he was in. Gruesome snarled and threw a bottle at him. It shattered on the branch next to him and he stared in shock at a shard that embedded itself in his arm. It was only small, but it still caused him pain, and Logan was not used to pain.
“GEEEERIIIMMMYYYUUUUBBBTADSSSS!!”
Although Logan had no clue what Gruesome had just yelled, he sensed it meant trouble. That sense was only reinforced when the Vampires began to move around the tree in a tight circle, all grinning horribly. Logan could see their make up cracking from his position, but it did nothing to reassure him. On the contrary - the cracked make up made Logan considerably more afraid.
Suddenly Logan knew he had no choice. Without thinking about his last option, lest he bottle out, Logan scrambled to the highest point he could reach….
…and then, Logan jumped.
He fell through the air with all the grace of an elephant, having no idea of how to slow himself down. He hit the ground with a solid thump and a howl of pain; that was, however, nothing compared to what he was about to receive.
Before he was even on his feet again, the Vampires had surrounded him. And leading them, grinning with the malice of the Devil himself, was Tough Girl.
