Let me introduce myself.
You know in Star Trek, how there was the main group, then the extras in the different colored shirts? The ones that were always dead at the end of the episode?
I lived my teen years fearing I was just an extra.
Average height, pale, with what my peers called a dancer's body...it took me way too long to realize it was not meant as a compliment.
But the first impression most people have is my hair. Stark white. I'd like to pretend it is platinum blonde, but I'm fooling myself. Remember in X-men, the scene when the stress causes Rogue's hair to streak with white? I think that's what happened to me. Except she wears it a lot better.
The length of my hair was a personal rebellion against a straight laced father, and a tribute to the fact I was born too late to join the hippie movement.
An English accent with a foreign name, and I was all set up to be the outcast, and being good at it. But that wasn't enough for me. So I picked up a demon that clings to an antique pendant.
Actually, he was a spirit of a lord of thieves from ancient Egypt. Being confined for thousands of years left him in a bad mood that he took out on me.
So by then I'm thinking, "Oh well, at least I shouldn't be terminated as just the nameless extra."
But as the sitcom of my life would have it, another teen picked up a spirit from the same era. His was a little easier to work with, and mine was labeled as a dangerous nuisance. We kind of just faded out of that story.
But you know that, at least from their perspective.
So now, in my early twenties, I can't say I'm thriving.
But I'm not dead yet.
Prompt #001: Introduction
Ryou Bakura
