Post by Mr Fair. on Oct 7, 2012 23:40:30 GMT -5
Scarborough rarely keeps records.
When he does... It's often the more significant things he wants to remember.
This is one of the things he wants to remember.
2012 - Tussle and guilt.
Scarborough Fair planned to spend his entire day outside. The static that roamed his mind was like a faint hum and it gave him a chance to enjoy. It was a nice break from all those favors he had been fulfilling and the long weeks of resting and sleeping. He had managed to obtain some bullet wounds, easy to heal over at least. It simply joined the countless other injuries that riddled his body. Old wounds and scars showed up all over quite literally and he was no stranger to pain, no matter how intense. He suspected that he was the only person who have been through almost all possible kinds of torture techniques in the world. A miracle that he kept his head sane after any session.
But the day was beautiful and the fact that he had no money wasn’t a problem. Scar usually never kept money. He had no use for it in general. But it didn’t take longer than half an hour until he had managed to rake in around $430, all through quick pickpocketing in the busy streets. Decades of experience gave him the skill and he was glad of it... Even though he’ll most likely give any remainder to a beggar or homeless soul on the street. Pocket change of about $20 would have been enough for some decent coffee and biscuits to indulge on. He didn’t need the food to live, but the taste still existed for him.
So he started the day just spending time at a cafe named Duplicafe. He had an order of caramel coated biscuits and a grande sized hazelnut latte. The short conversation with the cashier was sweet and Scar had managed to make her smile at least. Or blush. I hope it’s not a blush... In any case, he took his order, thanked her for her time and work, and quickly left. Checking the receipt stapled on his bag of biscuits, she had left him her number. Typical. Once out of view, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into a bin. Mr Scarborough Fair didn’t do romantic relationships. He would be the heartbreaker. Not the other. Friends are what he cherished, more than anything in the world.
At the departmental store, he had stolen a number of new suits and vests to replace those he had tossed and trashed. No one would rely on a man in torn and bloodstained clothes. Besides, Scar hated showing up like he just survived a bad bar fight. Broken bottles and bloody knives included in that description. He liked to maintain an image for the rumors and legends that were tossed around about him. Generally preferring the description, ‘a well-dressed and neat blonde man in a vest and suit’. Whether or not his terrible smoking habit was tossed in, it didn’t matter. Speaking of which... He had forgotten to nick a box of cigarettes.
The park is where he spent the rest of his day. Just enjoying the familiar sights and sounds. He amused the other elderly visitors with some idle chatter while feeding the birds, went skateboarding with some teenagers who thought he was cool, played a friendly match of basketball with another group of kids, and helped a lost little girl find her mother. Scar felt helpful and he was content just being another stranger with a kinder heart.
But his appearance had not gone unnoticed. Rundas members always kept tabs and Scarborough’s face was one to remember within their ranks. One of them had spotted him at the departmental store and made the call. It didn’t take long for them to find him. But the sky had gotten darker and Scar was just smoking on an empty street, making his way towards... Somewhere. He wasn’t thinking of going home yet. No. Not yet.
But when the arrow hit him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling back first on the pavement, he had long out stayed his public welcome. Scar quickly recovered, turned and scrambled, not taking a look over his shoulder. If someone was trying to kill him, he had to run. The Rundas gang popped into his mind. Always trying to kill him one point or another. Clearing his head of any other thought, he just ran.
Sounds of pursuit was loud. Scar guessed that he had two people behind him and the static in his mind tuned in. Gunshots echoed the empty streets at this late hour, along with shouts. The arrow dug deep into his shoulder, not that it made much of a difference to Scar. There was a time he ran with five knives in his back. Normally, everyone would be writhing in pain on the floor. Not Mr Fair. It was routine, getting hurt. His apartment was no stranger to blood either, especially when the static in his mind got overwhelming. To distract himself from the static, pain was an option he had and he reveled in it.
He was looking out for a suitable door for him to use. His power didn't work on glass doors and windowed doors. But the street he was running on was riddled with these doors. Goddamnit! They caught him in a place where he couldn't escape easily in.
Ducking behind a parked car, he took the time to remove the arrow. It could be useful as a weapon. He took time to notice that the arrow was a modern make: a metal shaft, fletched with plastic black vanes and index vane being green, and had bright orange nock. There was something written on the shaft... But before Scar had the chance to read it, he found himself running down the street again. Whoever's car that was, he felt bad for them when they find their car with bullet holes.
With the little distance between him and his pursuers, he managed turned a corner and went into the dark alley. Darkness was another ally of his now, allowing himself to hide. Scar took the chance to read the writing on the arrow... And his heart skipped a beat.
Could... Could it be her? Could it actually be the little girl he liked visiting those years ago? A conversation was being carried out nearby. They were looking for him.
"He couldn't have gotten far. We would have seen or heard him running on the street." said a man.
"Search the dark areas. I know there's plenty to look in..." came a confident girl’s voice.
"You're gonna be fine right, Coro? It is pretty dark."
"... I'll be fine."
Corona Bellburn Kraven. Scar watched the girl, armed with a metal bow and had an arrow nocked, ready to fire at any time. Her dark eyes alert for any clues that might give away his position. It was years ago, back when she probably only six or seven, but he recognized her. He was glad that she's fine after all these years, after that 'car accident' that took her parents about five years ago. And in a fine 'family' now. Rundas might be cutthroat against supernaturals with their methods, but they held together well because of the family feel. But he wasn't offended that she had decided to join this gang. It was for revenge. He felt it from her.
Scar glanced behind him, and was surprised to see a door here. With the metal warning sign of high voltage, it was an electrical box. But it was a door he could use. Casting a feeble suggestion out with his mind, Scar wanted her to walk this way. He wanted to talk to her. No doubt she would struggle, kick and scream being taken by a stranger. But Scar wanted to talk to her.
Lo and behold, Corona looked into the alley and threaded carefully. The mental suggestion worked. She passed him in the dark, and he moved. Scar caught her by surprise once he disarmed her, one arm around her tightly and the other pressed the arrow's sharp point at her neck, threatening to stab her jugular. She struggled and kicked alright. Her friend had his revolver pointed at their direction, but... He wouldn't take the chance. Scar was using her as a shield.
"Let her go, Scarborough."
Scar smirked. "You wouldn't dare. I can see it in your eyes and you've got nothing to use against me."
The man swore. It was true though, he had nothing to use. And no doubt, they both knew where his weakness is. Shooting his shoulder won't do much to release her and a distraction was pointless. Scar pulled her towards the door and she followed reluctantly, constantly trying to twist out of his grip.
“You’re a coward, Mr Fair.” she hissed. He chuckled softly at her toughness. Something Scar had remembered.
“Maybe... But it’s nice to see you again. Little raven.” Corona stopped fidgeting for once. Trying to take in what he just said probably. But the distraction gave him the chance to open the door he spotted earlier. Without hesitating, he pulled her inside his home and shut the door behind it. Last thing he heard from the other man was a swear and her name.
Scar leaned against the door, still holding her tight. Somehow reluctant to release her yet... And he knew this felt a little creepy actually. Coro shivered, out of fear. Not because she was cold. “You called me little raven.”
“I know.”
“Only one person called me that, but I was like... Eight.”
“I know.”
“Who are you? Who are you exactly? Because only Mr Biscuit and my parents knew that.”
“I was Mr Biscuit. I was a very good friend to your parents, Corona.” She twisted out of his arms and he let her. A few steps back, she stared daggers at him. But Scar saw a faint familiarity in her eyes, searching in her mind for a strong image of this... Mr Biscuit. It was a nickname she gave him, because he always brought biscuits and sweets when he visited. Always her favorite treats. Always her favorite uncle to see. Scar could see himself breaking to pieces. Little Corona had grown up and she had been through a bit of a hell. He felt responsible. After all, he had promised her parents, Hugo and Patricia Kraven, that he would be there if she needed him. And he failed.
Scar felt guilty. The promise was made and he cherished it well. With friends like them, why lie? Besides, he could have said he had fallen in love with their little girl. He remembered her being the sweet girl who beamed brighter than the sun whenever she saw Mr Biscuit. And he had spent time with her more than her parents, who were often caught up in their work. It was the least he could do, along with protecting her.
“Get me out of here.” Her voice cracked. Corona had her arms around herself, hugging herself for comfort. “Get me out of here.” Scar obliged. Her mind found a place she wanted to be now, and he used it. Opening the door, it showed the docks. And she walked out. Scar saw she was hurt and unsure what to do now. But he stopped her before she got too far.
“I’m sorry Corona. I promised, but I wasn’t there for you all these years. I miss your parents, and believe me, I was searching for you once I heard. You probably never want to see me again after this, but... If you need someone to talk to, please... Find my number. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’m not asking you to remember me for who I was to you. If the next time we meet and you want to kill me, I won’t stop you.” He paused. “I... I hope I will see you again though. ‘Till then, goodbye.”
Then Scar closed the door behind him. He slid down and cradled his head. This is the reason why he never wanted to make empty promises again. She would be sad for her parents, but she would have had a protector and a friend by her side. But he had left her with nothing to care for.
When he does... It's often the more significant things he wants to remember.
This is one of the things he wants to remember.
* * * * *
2012 - Tussle and guilt.
Scarborough Fair planned to spend his entire day outside. The static that roamed his mind was like a faint hum and it gave him a chance to enjoy. It was a nice break from all those favors he had been fulfilling and the long weeks of resting and sleeping. He had managed to obtain some bullet wounds, easy to heal over at least. It simply joined the countless other injuries that riddled his body. Old wounds and scars showed up all over quite literally and he was no stranger to pain, no matter how intense. He suspected that he was the only person who have been through almost all possible kinds of torture techniques in the world. A miracle that he kept his head sane after any session.
But the day was beautiful and the fact that he had no money wasn’t a problem. Scar usually never kept money. He had no use for it in general. But it didn’t take longer than half an hour until he had managed to rake in around $430, all through quick pickpocketing in the busy streets. Decades of experience gave him the skill and he was glad of it... Even though he’ll most likely give any remainder to a beggar or homeless soul on the street. Pocket change of about $20 would have been enough for some decent coffee and biscuits to indulge on. He didn’t need the food to live, but the taste still existed for him.
So he started the day just spending time at a cafe named Duplicafe. He had an order of caramel coated biscuits and a grande sized hazelnut latte. The short conversation with the cashier was sweet and Scar had managed to make her smile at least. Or blush. I hope it’s not a blush... In any case, he took his order, thanked her for her time and work, and quickly left. Checking the receipt stapled on his bag of biscuits, she had left him her number. Typical. Once out of view, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into a bin. Mr Scarborough Fair didn’t do romantic relationships. He would be the heartbreaker. Not the other. Friends are what he cherished, more than anything in the world.
At the departmental store, he had stolen a number of new suits and vests to replace those he had tossed and trashed. No one would rely on a man in torn and bloodstained clothes. Besides, Scar hated showing up like he just survived a bad bar fight. Broken bottles and bloody knives included in that description. He liked to maintain an image for the rumors and legends that were tossed around about him. Generally preferring the description, ‘a well-dressed and neat blonde man in a vest and suit’. Whether or not his terrible smoking habit was tossed in, it didn’t matter. Speaking of which... He had forgotten to nick a box of cigarettes.
The park is where he spent the rest of his day. Just enjoying the familiar sights and sounds. He amused the other elderly visitors with some idle chatter while feeding the birds, went skateboarding with some teenagers who thought he was cool, played a friendly match of basketball with another group of kids, and helped a lost little girl find her mother. Scar felt helpful and he was content just being another stranger with a kinder heart.
But his appearance had not gone unnoticed. Rundas members always kept tabs and Scarborough’s face was one to remember within their ranks. One of them had spotted him at the departmental store and made the call. It didn’t take long for them to find him. But the sky had gotten darker and Scar was just smoking on an empty street, making his way towards... Somewhere. He wasn’t thinking of going home yet. No. Not yet.
But when the arrow hit him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling back first on the pavement, he had long out stayed his public welcome. Scar quickly recovered, turned and scrambled, not taking a look over his shoulder. If someone was trying to kill him, he had to run. The Rundas gang popped into his mind. Always trying to kill him one point or another. Clearing his head of any other thought, he just ran.
Sounds of pursuit was loud. Scar guessed that he had two people behind him and the static in his mind tuned in. Gunshots echoed the empty streets at this late hour, along with shouts. The arrow dug deep into his shoulder, not that it made much of a difference to Scar. There was a time he ran with five knives in his back. Normally, everyone would be writhing in pain on the floor. Not Mr Fair. It was routine, getting hurt. His apartment was no stranger to blood either, especially when the static in his mind got overwhelming. To distract himself from the static, pain was an option he had and he reveled in it.
He was looking out for a suitable door for him to use. His power didn't work on glass doors and windowed doors. But the street he was running on was riddled with these doors. Goddamnit! They caught him in a place where he couldn't escape easily in.
Ducking behind a parked car, he took the time to remove the arrow. It could be useful as a weapon. He took time to notice that the arrow was a modern make: a metal shaft, fletched with plastic black vanes and index vane being green, and had bright orange nock. There was something written on the shaft... But before Scar had the chance to read it, he found himself running down the street again. Whoever's car that was, he felt bad for them when they find their car with bullet holes.
With the little distance between him and his pursuers, he managed turned a corner and went into the dark alley. Darkness was another ally of his now, allowing himself to hide. Scar took the chance to read the writing on the arrow... And his heart skipped a beat.
'courtesy of corona, corona.'
Could... Could it be her? Could it actually be the little girl he liked visiting those years ago? A conversation was being carried out nearby. They were looking for him.
"He couldn't have gotten far. We would have seen or heard him running on the street." said a man.
"Search the dark areas. I know there's plenty to look in..." came a confident girl’s voice.
"You're gonna be fine right, Coro? It is pretty dark."
"... I'll be fine."
Corona Bellburn Kraven. Scar watched the girl, armed with a metal bow and had an arrow nocked, ready to fire at any time. Her dark eyes alert for any clues that might give away his position. It was years ago, back when she probably only six or seven, but he recognized her. He was glad that she's fine after all these years, after that 'car accident' that took her parents about five years ago. And in a fine 'family' now. Rundas might be cutthroat against supernaturals with their methods, but they held together well because of the family feel. But he wasn't offended that she had decided to join this gang. It was for revenge. He felt it from her.
Scar glanced behind him, and was surprised to see a door here. With the metal warning sign of high voltage, it was an electrical box. But it was a door he could use. Casting a feeble suggestion out with his mind, Scar wanted her to walk this way. He wanted to talk to her. No doubt she would struggle, kick and scream being taken by a stranger. But Scar wanted to talk to her.
Lo and behold, Corona looked into the alley and threaded carefully. The mental suggestion worked. She passed him in the dark, and he moved. Scar caught her by surprise once he disarmed her, one arm around her tightly and the other pressed the arrow's sharp point at her neck, threatening to stab her jugular. She struggled and kicked alright. Her friend had his revolver pointed at their direction, but... He wouldn't take the chance. Scar was using her as a shield.
"Let her go, Scarborough."
Scar smirked. "You wouldn't dare. I can see it in your eyes and you've got nothing to use against me."
The man swore. It was true though, he had nothing to use. And no doubt, they both knew where his weakness is. Shooting his shoulder won't do much to release her and a distraction was pointless. Scar pulled her towards the door and she followed reluctantly, constantly trying to twist out of his grip.
“You’re a coward, Mr Fair.” she hissed. He chuckled softly at her toughness. Something Scar had remembered.
“Maybe... But it’s nice to see you again. Little raven.” Corona stopped fidgeting for once. Trying to take in what he just said probably. But the distraction gave him the chance to open the door he spotted earlier. Without hesitating, he pulled her inside his home and shut the door behind it. Last thing he heard from the other man was a swear and her name.
Scar leaned against the door, still holding her tight. Somehow reluctant to release her yet... And he knew this felt a little creepy actually. Coro shivered, out of fear. Not because she was cold. “You called me little raven.”
“I know.”
“Only one person called me that, but I was like... Eight.”
“I know.”
“Who are you? Who are you exactly? Because only Mr Biscuit and my parents knew that.”
“I was Mr Biscuit. I was a very good friend to your parents, Corona.” She twisted out of his arms and he let her. A few steps back, she stared daggers at him. But Scar saw a faint familiarity in her eyes, searching in her mind for a strong image of this... Mr Biscuit. It was a nickname she gave him, because he always brought biscuits and sweets when he visited. Always her favorite treats. Always her favorite uncle to see. Scar could see himself breaking to pieces. Little Corona had grown up and she had been through a bit of a hell. He felt responsible. After all, he had promised her parents, Hugo and Patricia Kraven, that he would be there if she needed him. And he failed.
Scar felt guilty. The promise was made and he cherished it well. With friends like them, why lie? Besides, he could have said he had fallen in love with their little girl. He remembered her being the sweet girl who beamed brighter than the sun whenever she saw Mr Biscuit. And he had spent time with her more than her parents, who were often caught up in their work. It was the least he could do, along with protecting her.
“Get me out of here.” Her voice cracked. Corona had her arms around herself, hugging herself for comfort. “Get me out of here.” Scar obliged. Her mind found a place she wanted to be now, and he used it. Opening the door, it showed the docks. And she walked out. Scar saw she was hurt and unsure what to do now. But he stopped her before she got too far.
“I’m sorry Corona. I promised, but I wasn’t there for you all these years. I miss your parents, and believe me, I was searching for you once I heard. You probably never want to see me again after this, but... If you need someone to talk to, please... Find my number. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’m not asking you to remember me for who I was to you. If the next time we meet and you want to kill me, I won’t stop you.” He paused. “I... I hope I will see you again though. ‘Till then, goodbye.”
Then Scar closed the door behind him. He slid down and cradled his head. This is the reason why he never wanted to make empty promises again. She would be sad for her parents, but she would have had a protector and a friend by her side. But he had left her with nothing to care for.