Eight - Devilish Heroism

(Current Time: 9:47 Am, 1st Blk)

(Current Sounds: F-Zero GX OST)

Musings:

asdfgh--arrgh. I hate drafts, but its all for the work, ain't it, harsh reality?

I'll do my usual poem later on in the day. I'll work on my character sketch first.

--

Character Sketch #1

-Twin Brother, But Not Really

If only my brother would stand still for just an hour or two, than I wouldn't have to jot his quickened qualities every second of the day. The only times I ever get to see the guy was at breaking dawn when I barely get the chance to get up--and the late twilight hours before I hit the hay. He likes entering and exiting during those times because its like birth and death to him. He'll enter, experience life's thrills and die in conscious mind in his pallet bed.

He got his lone cowboy attitude from our mentor, Fate. I think he's been like that even before we met him.

He oozes with cool whenever he talks to the gang, like real brothers.

He has this asshole habit of slicking his red dyed hair like the snooty bad-ass guys in the biker movies we used to watch endlessly when we were kids.

He never liked weight training but has hidden this secret fascination with hot yoga that only I knew about.

He despises jeans. He must've been a snobbish girl in his past life: "Jeans would make my thighs look like a chicken ready for the slaughter house."

He would never show off during any of our Texas Hold 'Em sessions. He believed in "gunning them all down with silence and tactics."

When he gets the time, which is rarely due to work, he loves playing with our twin kittens, Yin and Yang--especially with the small pink and yellow horsetail he bought exclusively for them. I sometimes wonder how he can arrange a guy's teeth and jaws with his bare hands, but use those same hands to stroke the salt and pepper fur of a smaller guy than him. He's a pity giving man.

He always corrected people whenever they asked about his fighting style: "Its not traditional boxing. Its not even Karate. It's Chinese kenpo boxing WITH karate." Someday, his sharp-bladed tongue might cut a thick head clean someday.

He held his alcohol in, a brave act to do when in a bar. He had, what my friend Rock

observed, 'a bladder made of whale's skin.'

He looked weird with one of my cowboy hats on his head. He looked even weirder when he cropped his hair really short. His shoulder length hair made him the all-mighty figure he is.

Whenever we got the chance after a late-night party, he would drive me on some foreign road away from South-Town and just keep his foot steady on the pedal, driving on endless strips of road until the sun rose. Then he'd stop at the dirt side and just watch the rays glow slowly onto his red sports car and the world around it.

He's made it a tradition to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Even when he's called in to patrol, he manages at least one episode of 'Mignon and Athena!' before heading off, satisfied.

He hates fish. Especially sashimi. I swear to God, I think he has the body of a Hollywood star, but the tastes of a picky castaway.

He can undergo a full head on beating at his body, but can still look cool about it. On the contrary, he's afraid of needles and being wrapped up, because he'll look like an 'old cad' that had given up too easily.

His closet is filled to the hanging brim with leather jackets that he collected since he was 14. Most of them are red, black and lightning covered blue. He had a thing to look 'flashy' and 'smooth' all at the same time.

Fate's sunglasses is Alba's tool for radically altering others' impression on himself. He hid his eyes so he can't let the folks push him around. Maybe he wore them because he was strong enough to hide behind a wall of plastic orange infrared lenses. Maybe he wore them because he was guilty of Fate's assassination and wore them as an eternal oath for vengeance.
He won't tell me, but whatever the answer, it was something that made people wonder why they asked in the first place. His signature shades were his reluctant, underdog appearance of a real turf leader.

Which is why I should understand what Alba goes through each and every day in the streets. Trying to keep his status up to date with handling the peace ain't such like a day like plucking daisies. He knows he's handling Danger's horns, and I appreciate it. He's taking care of the citizens underground, and that's what I respect. He's been like this since we escaped the orphanage all those years ago--he helps from behind the sidelines and gets credited like the silent hero he is.

~~

Feedback is appreciated :3

Poem will come up later today.

-kiwi