Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Waylen stared at the Estate through the car's tinted windows. His heart once again beats quickly out of a sense of fear.
The Estate consists of four old buildings made of stone surrounded by a tall, black, metal fence. Each aspect screams graveyard prison. The grass is no longer a lush green but a deathly gray with speckles of red between the blades.
The old man exited the vehicle, proceeding to walk to the passenger door. His wrinkled hands quickly wrapped themselves around the black door handle, pulling it open. Staring the fearful teenager in the eyes, he reached for his wrist, yanking him from the car.
The old man's hand remained firmly around his wrist, out of fear he'd run away. Which is a rightful assumption knowing Waylen's character, who certainly didn't want to enter the estate. However not much force was applied, only the minimum to get the message across.
Surprised by the old man's strength, Waylen obediently follows into the gates. A slight wind blew, ruffling his slightly overgrown, light brown hair. A strange energy permeated the atmosphere, though it's familiarity somehow made Waylen more accepting than fearful. All his life everything had seemed foreign, so the change is somewhat welcome. Everything around him seemed to dance, then quickly fall into place. As if on cue, the black gates slammed shut with a loud clatter, locking them inside.
"Is it you're scared of this place or for your sister?" The old man asks, hoping to give the child some sort of reality check. If it's others, the answer is most definitely the first, however for Waylen, at least instinctually, shouldn't be the case.
"My sister." He answers once again wanting to cry. The dependency between the pair is too great.
"Let me ask you this Waylen, what is stronger, nature or upbringing."
"Upbringing." Waylen answers without hesitation, his eyes lifeless and face stone cold. The wind once again picks up, painting a demonic picture.
"Can you prove it?"
Waylen simply smiles, surprising the old man. The sense of Deja vu is so strong, Waylen wanted to laugh. Who could prove such a thing?
A silver haired man watches through the windows, his red eyes locked on the teenager.
"Mr Riggs, is there something else I should be fearing?" Waylen questions, almost mockingly.
The silver haired man smiled at the teenager's question. He should be fearing the lack of knowledge more than anything. Knowledge is what provides the means for survival and saves people from the endless confusion. The teenager will seek it. It's only a matter of time.
"Not at all Waylen." The old man lies, on behalf of the silver-haired man.
Dishonesty, there is nothing Waylen hated more. It didn't take many brain-cells to deduce the old man lied. His tone fluctuations changed too drastically from the previous interactions. The words "not" and "all" are too high pitched for someone who mostly spoke in monotone.
Waylen's almond eyes flickered around the vicinity, spotting his watcher through a window.
The silver haired man met eyes with Waylen, creating a weird tension. Within seconds of the lie the old man was outed. That little habit of Waylen's will be the death of him.
There is something unique about the silver haired man. He dressed in a flamboyant red, with half his chest exposed to the naked eye. A silver earing is worn on the left ear and his long slender fingers contained several rings. He had red eyes that glow, eyes unbefitting of any human, further enhancing the supernatural image. Though his clothes seemed ill-fitting on his body, like he is borrowing from someone else.
For some odd reason, Waylen felt as if the red clothes on his body just weren't right. It wasn't the style or fit, just the color. He felt as if the man should be wearing some solid shade of blue.
The silver haired man analyzed the familiar figure through the window, his lips bent downward, and his red eyes filled with disappointment. He disliked the clothes on the teenager's body, especially the baggy sweatpants. He disliked the lack of emotion, and how he is purely running off a useless instinct. The most dominant thing is concern, among layers of confusion. At the same time not thinking too much about it, playing the perfect little robot. All because of a formulated belief that nothing matters anymore. Such things will not fly at The Estate.
The longer the pair nitpicked, the greater the tension became. Grabbing everyone by the neck creating the perfect chokehold. Like an invisible hand gradually tightening its grip around all the life in the immediate vicinity.
Gasping for breath, the old man grabs Waylen's wrist causing a break in the tension.
Another wave of confusion pulled on Waylen's senses, the seas of his mind. A wave of nausea hits soon after, creating a twisting and turning sensation in the stomach. A rosy coloration appeared on the teenager's cheeks, making him seem less doll-like. His knees tremble slightly, wanting to give out. Heart pounding faster than it ever had before.
Everything became light. Everything slips away as it engages in some sort of dance.
The shrieking screams of crows pierce the air, their feathery black wings waving. Wind gusts blow fiercely over The Estate with every second picking up more of the fall remnants, providing it flight. The grass sways back and forth to the merciless rhythm. While a young teenager lays peacefully in its embrace.
"Such blatant favoritism." Mutters the silver haired man as he gasps for air. Eyes glistening, and lips bending upward, he returned to his state of pitiful daydreams. With a man taking center stage.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone