Post by etoile on Jun 3, 2009 15:52:42 GMT -5
He’s already waiting when you arrive, seated with legs crossed and a book in his lap. His posture is relaxed at first glance but there’s something maybe a little forced about it, a little stiff. It’s not exactly clear, and could maybe just be down to the sharply-cut suit he wears. Maybe. The light isn’t what it could be but he’s still wearing lightly-tinted sunglasses indoors nonetheless. Almost the moment you enter the room, though, he shuts the book and stands up. A handshake is offered without even bothering to confirm your identity.
The interview, yes? Of course. [He answers his own question without so much as a pause, a faint smile on his features as he seats himself again and put the book onto the arm of the chair.] Are we launching straight into it? Go right ahead, I’ve plenty of time. [Again, his posture is a little off, even though he seems comfortable enough facing you. His hands are folded in his lap, carefully still. His eyes, however, are difficult to see through the glasses; the rest of his face bears a neutral expression, lips curved in a small smile.]
My Parents call me...
My full name is just Lucian Rivers. Nice and simple, no? Well, fairly simple. [He accompanies this with a little flick of his right wrist, keeping it in his lap. It seems that he doesn’t notice he’s making the gesture.] No middle names. My parents have two each, so I think they decided that I didn’t need any of my own.
My Friends call me...
Nicknames? I don’t have any. [His smile twitches wider for a moment, before returning to ‘neutrally friendly’.] Well, not any more. There was a brief period in grade school when several people insisted on calling me ‘Lucky’. Or ‘Lucy’. But, it didn’t last awfully long. Not that I really mind what people want to call me these days, but... thinking about someone calling me that is just a little odd.
I'm not an it! I'm a...
[His expression flicks through mildly insulted, amused and curious in quick succession. His first response is a quiet little laugh as he leans back, moving his hands in closer to his body. His left hand now holds his right wrist, semi-firmly. It isn’t much, but given the deliberate movement and the fact that he has hardly moved his body itself so far, it’s quite the token defensive gesture. His voice is, just a little, strained when he replies.] I can assure you that I’m male, even if it seems otherwise at first glance. [He bows his head and lets out another small breath of laughter, fringe slipping a little to catch on the right lens of his glasses.] I haven’t had anyone address me as a woman yet, but that may be down to my taste in clothing more than anything else. I honestly don’t know.
I am a...
First and foremost I’m a trainer of the Psychic type, something that led me to a position as one of the Sinnoh Elite Four. It’s a job, I suppose, even if it’s one that only requires me to ‘work’ maybe two weeks out of every year. [His grip on his wrist relaxes slightly, hands returning to a folded position in his lap. His shoulders relax somewhat, probably the most they’ve done so since he started talking. His eyes are still difficult to see, though.] I enjoy it, definitely. Battles are definitely a learning experience, and I do my best to get all that I can out of each challenge that makes it to me, to better myself. It’s interesting to know how the high-level trainers think, what strategies they use and how they come up with them. How they behave under pressure.
Do I sound like a psychologist yet? I bet I do. [He chuckles softly.] It’s part of my being a trainer, though. You can only use your team to their full potential and defeat strong opponents if you can understand the way that their minds work.
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm...
[With a slightly more genuine, sincere smile, he lifts a hand and touches long, pale fingers to one cheek.] Wrinkle cream? I should hope not. I’m twenty-five as of a couple of months ago. Training Pokémon is stressful at times, certainly, but I hope it won’t come to that for a while yet. [He pauses, as if to consider what he just said.] Will I use it when it does? Yes, probably. Does that make me vain? [Another pause.] Again, probably.
Do you think I need a diet?
[He raises his visible eyebrow at that, opening his mouth to answer and then thinking better of it. He takes a moment, reaching up and slipping off his glasses to briefly press at the bridge of his nose. When he’s done he folds the glasses in on themselves with a soft ‘click’, something of a concerned curiosity in the pale grey-blue eyes as he tries again.] These are... rather unorthodox questions, aren’t they? Of course I’ll keep answering them, as long as there isn’t anything too outlandish, but still.
[He shifts in the chair, the first outright sign of discomfort that he has shown, and uncrosses his legs.] But it’s asking me about how I look, isn’t it? Something of a strange request. You can see me well enough, can’t you?
[And that’s true enough, you can. Lucian isn’t incredibly tall but he’s certainly a respectable height, with long limbs and a generally slender build. His waist is noticeably small, though – probably, when combined with the shoulder-length violet hair and delicately handsome facial features, the reason for his defensive response concerning the ‘gender’ question. Well, that and maybe the magenta colour of the blazer and slacks. He’s not incredibly pale, but the open collar of the button-down shirt contrasts vividly against the skin of his throat.
Everything about him seems well-kept. The long hands holding the pair of glasses are smooth and elegant, the nails well maintained; every wave of hair glossy and neat; there isn’t so much as a speck of lint or the like on his clothing. But maybe a little too neat. There is nothing in particular that does it, but his overall aura is one of a somewhat brittle calm as he looks back at you, something only accentuated by his overall stillness.] Shall we move on?
My emotional disposition?
[His eyes widen for a moment, apparently a little surprised by the unexpected directness of the question.] Emotional disposition. That’s a... different way of putting it. [He looks thoughtful for a moment, grip shifting on his folded glasses idly.] I’m... quiet. Being sociable is a bit of an effort, the same effort it takes for... things like televised appearances. I’m friendly enough, I suppose, but those that know me well are probably well aware of how I like a lot of time to myself. But making an effort to get along with people... It’s not really putting on an act, it’s more like... Trying extra-hard to be patient, trying to hold back the inevitable sarcasm or snappishness.
[He leans back again, crossing his legs once more and lifting a hand to his face. He brushes back a strand of wavy hair slowly, eyes focused on the floor.] It’s something that happens naturally in battle, though – being able to maintain that calm. It’s a good thing, too. I believe strongly in justice and order, morals, but I couldn’t maintain my status as an Elite if I let myself get wound up about it when I could be doing something about it instead. It’s just not something I really cope with well. [Something a little strange happens to his voice here, almost cracking but not quite, the quaver instantly suppressed. His control over it is impressive, but not quite enough to make it entirely convincing. He doesn’t seem keen to say any more on the subject, though, having resumed his even tone and neutral smile.] Next question, please.
Things that are Groovy:
[He gives a short laugh, almost a giggle.] Groovy? Of course. A good book, definitely... Call it wasting hours of time, but I love them dearly. Spending time with my team, too... admittedly, /while/ spending time with the good book, but still. Quiet places, where people aren’t going to be walking in every five minutes. Good tailors. Quiet music sometimes.
Things that aren't so Groovy:
I could go on for a while for this one. Let me try to keep it short. [He breathes out a short, abrupt sigh and counts off each one on the fingers of his right hand.] Those who are needlessly cruel, or misuse others for their own personal gain. Noisy places. Having lights shone in your face. Being eight miles away from a Centre with a poisoned Kirlia and no phone. And being harassed for a fight even after making it clear several times that you’d rather not. [He lets his hand fall back into his lap and unfolds his glasses slowly, looking at the lenses before glancing up.] Is that enough?
But..I'm afraid!
[He looks a little uncomfortable at this, taking the time to replace his glasses and settle them on his nose before answering.] Right off... Enclosed spaces. If I can touch three of the walls from any point in said space then it’s too small. The same goes for being able to touch the ceiling without jumping. I don’t like cars, trains, cablecars... anything like that, for the same reason. Other than that... being stuck somewhere, not able to move, while friends or colleagues are in danger. Being poisoned. [He turns his head to look away, brushing back a strand of errant fringe with a hand.] The whole process of death, I suppose. Not so much the idea of it, or the uncertainty, just... the act itself. Dying. I prefer not to think about it.
I like to...
My main hobby is probably obvious – reading. Not so much novels, it’s... well, it sounds a little ridiculous if I call it studying, but it’s probably truer. It can’t hurt to know a little about what you deal with every day, can it? Of course not. But it’s, well... let’s just say that it started off small, and I now have a room that I can honestly call a library.
I don’t actually go home an awful lot at the moment, given the nature of this sort of work, let alone stay there very long, so I haven’t so much as touched one in a long time, but... I can play the piano passably well. My grandfather’s particularly good at it, and he gave me a lot of lessons when I was younger. It’s a nice way to pass the time.
My reason?
[He leans back slowly, letting his line of sight drift up towards the ceiling.] It began as an outlet, I suppose. It’s something that you tend to either be good at or terrible at, the whole training and battling thing. Being able to think on your feet. I took to it and it developed into a curiosity, seeing just what I could accomplish. I’ve always leaned towards the Psychic type, so I don’t suppose there’s so much of a conscious reason behind my specialisation. It’s difficult to actually think of the word for it... Intuition, maybe? Sure.
The intelligence, maybe, the fact that they fight with their minds rather than their bodies... I’ve never really thought about it. I’d certainly never consciously admired them over any other type before I actually started training them, but now I can’t imagine not having them.
Mandatory Angst:
[He blinks at the wording of the question, letting out a quiet laugh.] Angst, you say. I don’t know how much of that I could give you. Let’s see... I’m from Veilstone City, born and raised there. My father kept Pokémon, but he wasn’t an active trainer, and I was fairly familiar with them through school. That went... well enough, I suppose, and I started training officially a little after I turned sixteen – I got given a Bronzor to start off with by my family, and sort of... went from there, really.[He shifts in the chair.] I did the League Challenge over two years so that I could take my time... I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it in just a year. Time-wise, I mean – starting from Veilstone means having to cross Coronet twice, which is... well, not my favourite thing in the world. Caves tend to set off my dislike of enclosed spaces too, so... Yes.
[He clears his throat.] But, yes. Over the two years I managed to win all of the badges that I needed to, and came sixth in the tournament of the second year... [He pauses, apparently thinking, before continuing slightly more slowly.] After that I went home for six months and then started entering every Sinnoh battle tournament I could get to in time – I don’t know exactly why, honestly, other than this extreme compulsion to do it. Trying to prove to myself that I could actually do it. I was almost twenty-two when I was asked to take the Leader test, and from there I was invited to – [He sits up straight suddenly as something buzzes loudly, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out the pager and check the screen. Looking up, he gives an apologetic smile.] I’m sorry, but this is urgent. I suppose this will have to be the end of the interview, then? [He stands and offers another handshake, pushing his glasses up with one hand while straightening his jacket with the other before picking up the book he’d been reading before.] Until next time, then. [He leaves the room with a small smile and a nod, gait measured and precise, posture perfect.
... Well, that was... unexpected.]
Oh and by the way...
[Unexpected in that all of your ‘digging’ pre-interview homework seems to have been about a completely different man. Sure, he looks and sounds the same and the basics are about right, but the Lucian that had been sitting in front of you was... well, more composed than you’d have expected. Various sources have given you information on, frankly, kind of a flake – not someone that takes even veiled insults very well, who for all their prowess in the arena can normally go about an hour in anyone’s company before starting to get anxious. And the pointed ‘history’ question hadn’t turned up much either – no mention of the Sinnoh League match he’d apparently abruptly forfeited, or of being trapped in the elevator in the Veilstone Department Store for nearly two days. And, well, you hadn’t expected him to bring up those vague rumours about those four years on the tournament circuit, but, well...he /should/ have.
Crap. You were hoping to get something good on him. That exit just seemed /too/ convenient.]
I'm just a proxy for..
((O HAY GUYS THIS IS ETOILE, a new member~ I got, um, recruited at the end of May and this is my trying to conquer the OMGFEAR about trying to join a new comm. Writing this app has been like pulling teeth, honestly, I’m totally unused to the format. Sorry for the asspulled surname, but it’s not totally random agh plz don’t hurt me D: Also I apologise if I do stuff wrong or fail in massive quantities or something like that, I’m new at this whole board thing. :C
I promise I won't fidget with this any more. D: I PROMISE IT TO MYSELF.))
Here's some of their writing!
The interview, yes? Of course. [He answers his own question without so much as a pause, a faint smile on his features as he seats himself again and put the book onto the arm of the chair.] Are we launching straight into it? Go right ahead, I’ve plenty of time. [Again, his posture is a little off, even though he seems comfortable enough facing you. His hands are folded in his lap, carefully still. His eyes, however, are difficult to see through the glasses; the rest of his face bears a neutral expression, lips curved in a small smile.]
My Parents call me...
My full name is just Lucian Rivers. Nice and simple, no? Well, fairly simple. [He accompanies this with a little flick of his right wrist, keeping it in his lap. It seems that he doesn’t notice he’s making the gesture.] No middle names. My parents have two each, so I think they decided that I didn’t need any of my own.
My Friends call me...
Nicknames? I don’t have any. [His smile twitches wider for a moment, before returning to ‘neutrally friendly’.] Well, not any more. There was a brief period in grade school when several people insisted on calling me ‘Lucky’. Or ‘Lucy’. But, it didn’t last awfully long. Not that I really mind what people want to call me these days, but... thinking about someone calling me that is just a little odd.
I'm not an it! I'm a...
[His expression flicks through mildly insulted, amused and curious in quick succession. His first response is a quiet little laugh as he leans back, moving his hands in closer to his body. His left hand now holds his right wrist, semi-firmly. It isn’t much, but given the deliberate movement and the fact that he has hardly moved his body itself so far, it’s quite the token defensive gesture. His voice is, just a little, strained when he replies.] I can assure you that I’m male, even if it seems otherwise at first glance. [He bows his head and lets out another small breath of laughter, fringe slipping a little to catch on the right lens of his glasses.] I haven’t had anyone address me as a woman yet, but that may be down to my taste in clothing more than anything else. I honestly don’t know.
I am a...
First and foremost I’m a trainer of the Psychic type, something that led me to a position as one of the Sinnoh Elite Four. It’s a job, I suppose, even if it’s one that only requires me to ‘work’ maybe two weeks out of every year. [His grip on his wrist relaxes slightly, hands returning to a folded position in his lap. His shoulders relax somewhat, probably the most they’ve done so since he started talking. His eyes are still difficult to see, though.] I enjoy it, definitely. Battles are definitely a learning experience, and I do my best to get all that I can out of each challenge that makes it to me, to better myself. It’s interesting to know how the high-level trainers think, what strategies they use and how they come up with them. How they behave under pressure.
Do I sound like a psychologist yet? I bet I do. [He chuckles softly.] It’s part of my being a trainer, though. You can only use your team to their full potential and defeat strong opponents if you can understand the way that their minds work.
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm...
[With a slightly more genuine, sincere smile, he lifts a hand and touches long, pale fingers to one cheek.] Wrinkle cream? I should hope not. I’m twenty-five as of a couple of months ago. Training Pokémon is stressful at times, certainly, but I hope it won’t come to that for a while yet. [He pauses, as if to consider what he just said.] Will I use it when it does? Yes, probably. Does that make me vain? [Another pause.] Again, probably.
Do you think I need a diet?
[He raises his visible eyebrow at that, opening his mouth to answer and then thinking better of it. He takes a moment, reaching up and slipping off his glasses to briefly press at the bridge of his nose. When he’s done he folds the glasses in on themselves with a soft ‘click’, something of a concerned curiosity in the pale grey-blue eyes as he tries again.] These are... rather unorthodox questions, aren’t they? Of course I’ll keep answering them, as long as there isn’t anything too outlandish, but still.
[He shifts in the chair, the first outright sign of discomfort that he has shown, and uncrosses his legs.] But it’s asking me about how I look, isn’t it? Something of a strange request. You can see me well enough, can’t you?
[And that’s true enough, you can. Lucian isn’t incredibly tall but he’s certainly a respectable height, with long limbs and a generally slender build. His waist is noticeably small, though – probably, when combined with the shoulder-length violet hair and delicately handsome facial features, the reason for his defensive response concerning the ‘gender’ question. Well, that and maybe the magenta colour of the blazer and slacks. He’s not incredibly pale, but the open collar of the button-down shirt contrasts vividly against the skin of his throat.
Everything about him seems well-kept. The long hands holding the pair of glasses are smooth and elegant, the nails well maintained; every wave of hair glossy and neat; there isn’t so much as a speck of lint or the like on his clothing. But maybe a little too neat. There is nothing in particular that does it, but his overall aura is one of a somewhat brittle calm as he looks back at you, something only accentuated by his overall stillness.] Shall we move on?
My emotional disposition?
[His eyes widen for a moment, apparently a little surprised by the unexpected directness of the question.] Emotional disposition. That’s a... different way of putting it. [He looks thoughtful for a moment, grip shifting on his folded glasses idly.] I’m... quiet. Being sociable is a bit of an effort, the same effort it takes for... things like televised appearances. I’m friendly enough, I suppose, but those that know me well are probably well aware of how I like a lot of time to myself. But making an effort to get along with people... It’s not really putting on an act, it’s more like... Trying extra-hard to be patient, trying to hold back the inevitable sarcasm or snappishness.
[He leans back again, crossing his legs once more and lifting a hand to his face. He brushes back a strand of wavy hair slowly, eyes focused on the floor.] It’s something that happens naturally in battle, though – being able to maintain that calm. It’s a good thing, too. I believe strongly in justice and order, morals, but I couldn’t maintain my status as an Elite if I let myself get wound up about it when I could be doing something about it instead. It’s just not something I really cope with well. [Something a little strange happens to his voice here, almost cracking but not quite, the quaver instantly suppressed. His control over it is impressive, but not quite enough to make it entirely convincing. He doesn’t seem keen to say any more on the subject, though, having resumed his even tone and neutral smile.] Next question, please.
Things that are Groovy:
[He gives a short laugh, almost a giggle.] Groovy? Of course. A good book, definitely... Call it wasting hours of time, but I love them dearly. Spending time with my team, too... admittedly, /while/ spending time with the good book, but still. Quiet places, where people aren’t going to be walking in every five minutes. Good tailors. Quiet music sometimes.
Things that aren't so Groovy:
I could go on for a while for this one. Let me try to keep it short. [He breathes out a short, abrupt sigh and counts off each one on the fingers of his right hand.] Those who are needlessly cruel, or misuse others for their own personal gain. Noisy places. Having lights shone in your face. Being eight miles away from a Centre with a poisoned Kirlia and no phone. And being harassed for a fight even after making it clear several times that you’d rather not. [He lets his hand fall back into his lap and unfolds his glasses slowly, looking at the lenses before glancing up.] Is that enough?
But..I'm afraid!
[He looks a little uncomfortable at this, taking the time to replace his glasses and settle them on his nose before answering.] Right off... Enclosed spaces. If I can touch three of the walls from any point in said space then it’s too small. The same goes for being able to touch the ceiling without jumping. I don’t like cars, trains, cablecars... anything like that, for the same reason. Other than that... being stuck somewhere, not able to move, while friends or colleagues are in danger. Being poisoned. [He turns his head to look away, brushing back a strand of errant fringe with a hand.] The whole process of death, I suppose. Not so much the idea of it, or the uncertainty, just... the act itself. Dying. I prefer not to think about it.
I like to...
My main hobby is probably obvious – reading. Not so much novels, it’s... well, it sounds a little ridiculous if I call it studying, but it’s probably truer. It can’t hurt to know a little about what you deal with every day, can it? Of course not. But it’s, well... let’s just say that it started off small, and I now have a room that I can honestly call a library.
I don’t actually go home an awful lot at the moment, given the nature of this sort of work, let alone stay there very long, so I haven’t so much as touched one in a long time, but... I can play the piano passably well. My grandfather’s particularly good at it, and he gave me a lot of lessons when I was younger. It’s a nice way to pass the time.
My reason?
[He leans back slowly, letting his line of sight drift up towards the ceiling.] It began as an outlet, I suppose. It’s something that you tend to either be good at or terrible at, the whole training and battling thing. Being able to think on your feet. I took to it and it developed into a curiosity, seeing just what I could accomplish. I’ve always leaned towards the Psychic type, so I don’t suppose there’s so much of a conscious reason behind my specialisation. It’s difficult to actually think of the word for it... Intuition, maybe? Sure.
The intelligence, maybe, the fact that they fight with their minds rather than their bodies... I’ve never really thought about it. I’d certainly never consciously admired them over any other type before I actually started training them, but now I can’t imagine not having them.
Mandatory Angst:
[He blinks at the wording of the question, letting out a quiet laugh.] Angst, you say. I don’t know how much of that I could give you. Let’s see... I’m from Veilstone City, born and raised there. My father kept Pokémon, but he wasn’t an active trainer, and I was fairly familiar with them through school. That went... well enough, I suppose, and I started training officially a little after I turned sixteen – I got given a Bronzor to start off with by my family, and sort of... went from there, really.[He shifts in the chair.] I did the League Challenge over two years so that I could take my time... I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it in just a year. Time-wise, I mean – starting from Veilstone means having to cross Coronet twice, which is... well, not my favourite thing in the world. Caves tend to set off my dislike of enclosed spaces too, so... Yes.
[He clears his throat.] But, yes. Over the two years I managed to win all of the badges that I needed to, and came sixth in the tournament of the second year... [He pauses, apparently thinking, before continuing slightly more slowly.] After that I went home for six months and then started entering every Sinnoh battle tournament I could get to in time – I don’t know exactly why, honestly, other than this extreme compulsion to do it. Trying to prove to myself that I could actually do it. I was almost twenty-two when I was asked to take the Leader test, and from there I was invited to – [He sits up straight suddenly as something buzzes loudly, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out the pager and check the screen. Looking up, he gives an apologetic smile.] I’m sorry, but this is urgent. I suppose this will have to be the end of the interview, then? [He stands and offers another handshake, pushing his glasses up with one hand while straightening his jacket with the other before picking up the book he’d been reading before.] Until next time, then. [He leaves the room with a small smile and a nod, gait measured and precise, posture perfect.
... Well, that was... unexpected.]
Oh and by the way...
[Unexpected in that all of your ‘digging’ pre-interview homework seems to have been about a completely different man. Sure, he looks and sounds the same and the basics are about right, but the Lucian that had been sitting in front of you was... well, more composed than you’d have expected. Various sources have given you information on, frankly, kind of a flake – not someone that takes even veiled insults very well, who for all their prowess in the arena can normally go about an hour in anyone’s company before starting to get anxious. And the pointed ‘history’ question hadn’t turned up much either – no mention of the Sinnoh League match he’d apparently abruptly forfeited, or of being trapped in the elevator in the Veilstone Department Store for nearly two days. And, well, you hadn’t expected him to bring up those vague rumours about those four years on the tournament circuit, but, well...he /should/ have.
Crap. You were hoping to get something good on him. That exit just seemed /too/ convenient.]
I'm just a proxy for..
((O HAY GUYS THIS IS ETOILE, a new member~ I got, um, recruited at the end of May and this is my trying to conquer the OMGFEAR about trying to join a new comm. Writing this app has been like pulling teeth, honestly, I’m totally unused to the format. Sorry for the asspulled surname, but it’s not totally random agh plz don’t hurt me D: Also I apologise if I do stuff wrong or fail in massive quantities or something like that, I’m new at this whole board thing. :C
I promise I won't fidget with this any more. D: I PROMISE IT TO MYSELF.))
Here's some of their writing!
His eyes flick across the ceiling, chasing the shadows cast by the shifting treetops outside the window. He's not going to get any sleep tonight, he's sure of it. He halfheartedly reaches across for the switch of the lamp, but he can't find it and gives up. His fingertips bump against the spine of the book lying open on the bedside table and slip off it. His arm jolts unpleasantly against the bedframe, soft underside of his forearm facing off against the new wood and losing badly. A vague pain crawls up towards his shoulder, and even that feels off.
His sudden insomnia is his mind's fault, he's sure, whirring and shifting even when he'd rather it didn't. Nerves? Probably. He's entitled to those, right? Tomorrow afternoon the winner of the League Tournament will face the Elite Four. Will possibly get to him, as well - he's been placed second in the line-up. He's no clue how it goes, this will be his first time doing anything like this at all. He needs to prove that he's capable of handling this, being a member of this group. Being Lucian of the Elite Four, rather than ‘that guy with the Bronzong and the battle OCD’.
It makes him feel a little better, actually, to think of the pressure. He does ‘under pressure’ well. It gives him the focus to stay steady and from there his focus is absolute. He repeats this to himself a couple of times in his head, and hopes it doesn’t make him unbalanced to have a self-help mantra that goes like that.
He can sort of tell that his arm’s starting to feel cold. He pulls it back beneath the sheets, folds it across his stomach with his other arm, feels himself practically deflate as he lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. This isn’t the first time he’s wondered what could possess the League to want him in the Four, and he hadn’t been able to think of a good reason any of the previous times before. He’s never deluded himself into believing that he isn’t incredibly proud of himself for snatching this role that he doesn’t deserve, but he often wonders just why it was placed in his reach in the first place.
He’s not the best at anything. He fluked his way up to sixth four years ago, couldn’t summon the courage to even go through with the match that might of let him stumble higher; he won a few of the less important tournaments, fair enough, but not all of them and hardly stylishly. He’s a ‘Psychic master’, apparently, and yet he has to read about ESP, rather than having the gift like what feels like every other psi-specialist in the region. World even. The embarrassment is constant and crippling when he has to explain that this so-called mastery over the Psychic type is simply behavioural analysis.
When he thinks of his own behaviour he knows exactly what lying in bed thinking about the state of his own mind is. It’s avoidance, pure and simple. With a brief little surge of motivation he pushes back the cool white sheets and slowly swings himself up into a seated position, feeling for the lamp’s switch again. He manages to catch it in his fingers eventually, and shuts his eyes before flipping it. It’s still incredibly uncomfortable, even through closed eyelids. He feels a little helpless feeling for his glasses.
The first order of business after he finds them and puts them is to work up the courage to open his eyes, squinting against the light and vowing that he’ll get a tint put on the lenses one day. And then, he looks at the clock. It’s technically tomorrow already, by nearly two hours. The apprehension is so tangible that he has to swallow around it.
No. He won’t lose, if only because he can’t. After all, he won’t have this position stolen out from under him. Raking a hand through his hair and sliding off the mattress, he grabs the threadbare old dressing gown from the foot of the bed and resolves to go down and make coffee. He’s going to need an awful lot of it today, he thinks.
