But Sometimes You're Born With It

[CLYDE TRAVERS HAYDN]

Fear Not

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I purse my lips and kiss like a glock[/font][/center][/color]

A curl of anger rested its ugly head on Clyde’s lips. He’d escaped the school, snuck out when his lady hadn’t been looking, and started walking until the silhouette in the distance was all there was to remind him that he had to go back eventually. But a night out wasn’t so bad. Hell, if he felt like it he might not even go back to his bed that night. It just depended on how he played his cards. If he didn’t give anything away with a poor poker face, he could probably find some girl to sweet talk. Sweet nothings littered in a few ears here and there like trash and he’d be golden. There was always someone who was either adventurous enough to take him in or the unsightly pathetic sop who thought that he needed rescuing. ’The only thing that I need saved from is that damn school.’

Strolling down the side of the street, he found himself waltzing into the ritziest part of Milan. Glamour, bright lights, red carpets, light bulb flashes, and the rich parading around trivial designer clothes. A sick world based solely on possessions, if you couldn’t buy and sell the people you saw then you weren’t worth a damn. The glares of people strutting out down the sidewalks on the azure haired stranger filled the butler with a perverse glee. Yes, he wasn’t like you. Yes, you would have to deal with this trash on your streets. Suck it up, better yet pay someone to do it for you.

”Kill-Kill-Killin’ the poor, Kill-kill-killin’ the poor, kill-kill-killin’ the poor, tonight~” Clyde sang under his breath, the passersby rushing to escape the menacing whisper of the boy. A little bit of Dead Kennedy’s never really hurt anyone, but the toothy grin the boy wore as a badge told each of the faceless fashionistas they had to be careful. What if he had a knife? This hoodlum, he probably went out each night and shot up. Shared needles even, not caring about the risks. What was he possibly thinking, coming out into their star studded nights? Dirtying their streets. What was with the silver chain hanging from his lip? The whole grunge and punk movement was so 1990s. The zip-up hoodie, patched with his favorite band’s name from back in England, was disgusting. It clashed so much with their entire culture. The glares they gave off only empowered him.

Stopping on a street corner, he pulled out the black box of clove cigarettes from the pocket in his hoodie and smiled at a driver waiting for some big shot to come out and order them around. ”Hey man, got a light?” A quick flick of silver produced a flame in the man’s gloved hand, ”Thanks. How’s it going?” Striking up the conversation was easy, they were alike after all. Both subject to the thralls of the elitist mob thriving behind them. ”Not that bad, kid. Just working.” The man spoke with a familiar rebelliousness, ”Waiting mostly. Man, this is a nice living. Getting paid to wait?” Clyde frowned with an exhale of flavored smoke, ”Waiting hand and foot for someone else? Fuckin’ sucks, man. Trust me.” The driver laughed heartily, smiling at the boy. ”You must be from that school then, talking like that. Well, besides your mouth. Kid, you don’t realize how good you’ve got it. Eating every day, a roof over your head, people who at least somewhat care for your well being. There are orphans out there who would kill you for your job. Seriously, just knife you and take your place.”

Clyde laughed, the contractions forcing smoking toward his head. The familiar light-headedness taking over, ”I’ll trade them places then. Thanks for the light.” Walking away, he could hear the driver’s tsk and a muttering of something along the lines of ”Good luck, you damn nut.” The cigarette’s quiet crackling laughed at the suited man’s utterance as the boy strolled down the sidewalk. There was truth to the man’s words; that was true. But Clyde knew that he would rather live on the street then be forced to work like he was. With a skip in his step and whistling smoke toward he moonlight, Clyde didn’t bother to watch where he was going as he strutted. Being the antithesis of the sparkle and glitter of Hollywood did amuse him so.

/

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Word Count~ 729
Tags~ Whoever Shinra is playing at the moment
Notes~ Too short for me. But this was unrealistically therapeutic. Also; Clyde sings Killing The Poor by the Dead Kennedys.
Lyrics~ Grippo: Saul Williams

[CORDELIA ALESSA CHRISTIANA]

don't wanna kiss, don't wanna TOUCH.
{just smoke my cigarette and hush.}

Cordelia didn't really understand much of anything that day. Meeting her butler had went smoothly, but did he have to be so...stupid? She didn't hate him, it was just difficult to find the right words to say to avoid confusion on his behalf. It had thouroughly irritated her, and as she cursed under her breath she understood just to what degree.

Another thing was that she had no idea what she was doing at Hollywood, dressed to the nines in a barely-there dress and black patent pumps. She supposed it was to loosen up a bit, to rid herself of the terrible feeling she got when she tried to imagine being handled by a butler who looked like he'd trip over his own shadow. Though, in the back of her mind she had to try and force herself not to imagine how cute Kaspar sounded when he spoke with such little vocabulary. Dia's cheeks tinted a light pink, and she lit a cigarette in frustration. No holder this time, she'd left it back in the dorms. Not that she looked any less of a beauty, her long and slender fingers gripping the cylinder of nicotine gracefully, her crimson lips not smudging or even leaving a trace on the filter. It was slightly obnoxious however, since everyone around her seemed to notice these small things as well. Lecherous middle aged men, their underage flavor of the week- or most likely, the night. Eyes of different sex and age watched her approach Hollywood with increasing interest. And while it made her feel like the empress of the godamned world, she was really used to it. Besides, she had every right to feel that pretentious. It wasn't as if any of them would even get a second glance from her red eyes.

Her eyes turned up toward the sign outside of the establishment, so Cordelia really wasn't paying attention to her surroundings. Perhaps she should have invited kaspar, but she was sure he'd either embarrass her or freak out- something like that. He wasn't really the type to easily be accepted at Hollywood. She knew she could get in easy, not exactly being the type they'd turn away. Her butler, however, was another story entirely.

Something touched her arm, and she looked over, thoughts interrupted. It was a man, not unattractive but not exactly beautiful enough for her, seemingly mid thirties- or at least close to it. He flashed her a smile, asking if she'd come back to his place for drinks. Of course she refused, the girl wasn't an idiot. Cordelia knew he'd expect a little more than drinks, and if she refused, well he could probably force her. She wasn't exacly muscular, just a thin yet curvy young woman. However, he persisted, tugging her arm so that she dropped her almost-finished cigarette. She said 'no' louder, but he kind of kept tugging her away from the entrance to the bar. She sincerely wished she liked shoes with a little more stopping force than heels.

[CLYDE TRAVERS HAYDN]

Fear Not

[/color]
I purse my lips and kiss like a glock[/font][/center][/color]

The laughing cigarette between his fingers mimicked Clyde, chuckling at the ritzy shmucks who passed him by in a hurry. He could feel the disdain in their eyes as he strolled down their street and he loved it. Their displeasure was his gain, yes he was going to step on their world like the insignificant thing it was and they had better get used to it. Turning a corner, he flicked the black clover into the street, the ember at the end still burning as it arced into the night sky. Truth be told, everything in Hollywood was far to expensive for him. He barely had enough money in his pocket for another pack of delicious cancer, so what was he doing walking around the market for the rich? He’d just wandered around, needing an escape from the school. He’d meant to pick up a pack of Cloves but his feet had taken him here.

The old man would hate that he was here, looking like this. A studded chain connecting his lip to his ear, clothes that were barely more than rags, he looked like an ’absolute disgrace, what would your father think’ A chance to get back at daddy? Clyde smirked as he realized that neither that old butler or his old man had gotten him. They had never understood that he was simply different from him and as soon as he could, he was going to escape their clutches, escape the school, escape the life that had been chosen for him. Frustration snaked it’s way through him, slithering through his veins and muscles. He needed something to break, someone to just step in his way and point out just how out of place he was. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, his pace increased and he leaned forward slightly. Like a train running off it’s tracks, he didn’t care what trouble he was going to find himself in.

”No!” the cry was clear, a bell to the punk’s ears. Glancing at the source of the voice, a curvy young woman was resisting the advances of some old fogey. Probably some photographer, Clyde guessed as he marched to the man clad in business wear. The gin and tonic steaming from his burnt the butler’s noise, just how drunk he was didn’t matter. There was no way Clyde was going to miss this opportunity. ”Oi!” he pushed the shoulder of the man, watching the idiot stagger back, ”She said no, got it? That means nada, no way, not a chance, go fuck yourself.” He spoke bluntly, staring the man in the eyes with a fierce tenacity. He was just waiting for that first hit, ready to pounce on the drunken anti-Casanova. ”So buzz off.”

To his dismay, the man disappeared into the bar quickly. Perhaps he was just another weak idiot, wondering the streets of Hollywood thinking they could throw money at whatever and whoever they wanted. Shaking his head in disgust, Clyde looked at the young woman and smiled. Even with his foul-mouth, he assumed she would at least feel indebted to him. ”Some people, right?” A laughed escaped the butler, charming despite the shrewd show he had just given. ”Are you alright?” The question hung in the air, and even if the girl looked too high-class for him Clyde was weak for any woman who appeared so irresistible. Thoughts ran to Ji-ae, which he quickly dispelled. That was bad territory and he didn’t want to go there. Not tonight.

/

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Word Count~ 729
Tags~ Whoever Shinra is playing at the moment
Notes~ Too short for me. But this was unrealistically therapeutic. Also; Clyde sings Killing The Poor by the Dead Kennedys.
Lyrics~ Grippo: Saul Williams

[CORDELIA ALESSA CHRISTIANA]

don't wanna kiss, don't wanna TOUCH.
{just smoke my cigarette and hush.}

A voice cried out, a hero clad in clothes that didn't belong anywhere near Hollywood. However, he was her knight today. It didn't take long for the man to run. Not even a single punch had been thrown. She glanced after the man, then to her savior, then to her wrist. She hadn't realized it, mostly due to her fear, but the pervert had had a tighter grip on her than she'd thought. So maybe it hadn't just been the heels. She shook it out, sighing at the redness. Soon the shade would match her lipstick before inevitably turning a lovely shade somewhere between black and blue.

Cordelia, turned to face the boy, or perhaps man was a more fitting word here. His hair was done up, and he was pierced, something she rarely saw in Italy to begin with let alone in this part of town. Yet something really was charming about him, she thought, and past the punk exterior, he was attractive. She'd even venture to say he was slightly above merely 'attractive', but not right then. Besides, she hadn't even asked his name. "Yeah you're telling me...I have to deal with that shit more than you'd think." Dia smiled, showing a bit of perfectly white teeth behind a curtain of crimson. "Cordelia, and who might you be Mr. White Knight?" She held out her hand, and as accustomed to, she kind of expected him to kiss it. Maybe not all boys were as dumb as her butler. At least, she hoped so.

Her thoughts travelled to what he might expect in return for treating her like a lady, but she quickly pushed them away when she started to think she wouldn't mind if he expected something a little more than a simple thank you. Her cheeks barely turned pink, but then again this man might be perceptive, and then she was screwed. Cordelia's eyes travelled to his with a small smirk, but it was playful rather than menacing. She wasn't usually this flirtatious. Actually, most of the time she pretended not to notice men gawking at her, or if they tried to pick her up, she played innocent. The idea that she was treating this particular character differently, in her mind, was more than enough of a thank you.