But in the end, you don't get another shot

[Attila Aston]

[html]

ooc: wip

He looked at the male, both his eyes and face expressionless. He strained his back, white hands pulling his lower back forward, the cracks of his spine stretching made him grunt with the mild pain and the pleasure of more flexible bones. But then, the male started to speak. His voice was completely poisoned with the old sarcasm the boy knew so well. His words burned his ears with their intensity, hitting hard into his soul. The boy knew that he was right, and even so, he kept doing those foolish stuff. He knew it was the worng thing to do, but he couldn't stop himself from doing those. And that was the sad true.

Patiently, the boy waited, biting his lips to control that sorrow that came as he payed attention to those words. It hurt him to hear those words, and to know to the bottom of his young, but smart little heart that they were true. It overwhelmed him how it actually hurt. Almost as much as... He shook off those awfully painful thoughts, focusing completely on the male's speech. When it ended, he let his head fall, a deep sigh breaking through that sudden, heavy silent. His hands were now in his waist, the last remaining of any sign of sustaining his body up. Otherwisem, they would be hanging dead in his side, the picture of the complete worn-out person. It would be rather sad to watch, that's for sure.

He didn't know what to say. The memories of that day with Dawali came back, vivid like the perfect flash-back. Nothing blurred, nothing faded. Every single detail had been saved, and it now passed in his mind. His plan. 'Keep to the plan!', he thought to himself. He then looked at the male, aware that his face might look very tired. Of course, too good to be a faked one. Another sigh. "Well, as it seems, you released all the weight off your shoulders, I guess I can really ask again for apologies. I'm sorry I did those things, but... It's just my nature!" He said, explaining with the most honest look into his iron grayish blue eyes. "I can't help it! I'm still young, it's still hard to control my temper." He said, knowing it was not just another excuse. It was his age's guilt. He was getting into a hard age, the age of tantruns and the "It's mine!" phase, and all those whim stuff. More than just stupid things when younger, those were about anything that wasn't given to him when he wanted. Even though he was the more premature of his litter, he knew that in the control subject, he really sucked. He would give that to the others. After all, he couldn't be good in everything!

[/html]