He always dressed completely to perfection. Not a single hair slipped sloppily out of place, even the freckles sprinkled upon his face seemed inexplicably even and sized symmetrically.
He was magazine model material.
And Marshall found the knowledge of such perfection, much less the presence of it, one hundred percent repulsive.
"Are you even going to say anything, or were you brought here in vain?" The creature questioned, legs neatly crossed atop each other like pieces of pristine patchwork. By now Marshall's breathing had steadied, although his heart rate had yet to cease skyrocketing. The bully sighed with trepidation at the blatant lack of response, and even such a bitter vocal expression resounded beautifully from his smooth and even lips.
His arm raised upward, bringing with it in altitude his petite and practically entirely sheer shirt (which definitely broke several dress codes, not that he'd ever be called out for such misbehavior) and exposing a dangerous amount of pale and unbroken flesh, forcing Marshall to fix his gaze somewhere else. (Couldn't he just wear a t-shirt and jeans, like everyone else?) The golden wristwatch he wore proudly glittered as he gazed at its ivory face, as if reminding Marshall of all the luxuries he could never possibly obtain.
Marshall accessed his current situation with great care. He risked the slim percentage of "everything" that he had previously grown accustomed to, just by being here. You don't simply break bread with big Kahuna, not if you were miles beneath him in social status. Not if you wanted to live. It had already taken so much effort just to get this "meeting" arranged, so he'd best tread carefully from this point on.
His companion looked at his watch once more, face pulled into an unimpressed pout.
"I really do not have time for mutes, Lee, so unless you're going to state your demands any time soon-"
"-I need you to fix my grades."
It sounded even more pathetic voicing this singular need out loud than it had rehearsing it over and over again in his head. Like, really and truly pathetic. He might as well just run around school in an "I'm a giant moron" shirt and save everyone else the effort.
Still. Marshall couldn't afford to flunk out, so he'd come to the only person (social rankings cast away) who could potentially offer him that kind of help. Not as if he had been thought of that highly by "The Candy Prince" before this particular stunt in the first place.
The mocking alligator smile was practically a given for his company, therefore Marshall was certainly less than shocked by it. All the same, the cruelty it implied made him shiver a bit. This boy could likely destroy him in mere seconds. Better yet, he'd enjoy it.
"For an outcast, you have a lot of nerve, don't you, Lee? Intrusions, interruptions, you really never cease to amaze."
The Prince shifted his upper half once more, reaching upward to "adjust" his already flawless hair. It was starting to look intentional at this point, which made it all the more enraging. Marshall had to swiftly avert his eyes again, settling this time for the image of his own dollar store brand shoelaces.
Marshall's jaw was clenched tightly, his veins protruding from his own flesh, which was of course, uneven and scarred. The bell was liable to ring any minute now, and he couldn't afford to miss the bus, but he also couldn't afford to give up quite so easily.
"I know you have access to the grading books, I know you could easily up the grades of any of your lackeys if you needed, and I know you could do the same for me, and I'll do whatever it takes to get you to make that decision. It really isn't any more complicated than that."
The dominant figure finally allowed his feet (which were oddly petite for a boy his age, playing more into the whole doll-like stereotype) to connect with the broken down tiled floor, the left leg of his shorts riding up as it caught on to the top of the smooth hardwood desk. Marshall felt his stomach churn and heat rush up to his face. Not only was he ashamed for feeling this way over just a little bit of skin, he was also fairly enraged by the cruel intent behind it.
At this point he has to be doing it on purpose, he seethed to himself, there's no way that he isn't just mocking me.
However, this inkling of an idea seemed to be all but blatantly rejected when the fellow student suppressed a cuss word upon noticing the new snag in his clothing, and regarded it with pure shock and resentment. The minor fracture in his perfect exterior had disrupted the usual schedule of pure symmetry, although the cold hearted being seemed to be the only one affected negatively by it.
Marshall continued to look away awkwardly, trying to dispel any dirty thoughts from his mind and put to ease that ridiculously rapid heartbeat of his.
"The difference is, Marshall, my "lackeys" (as you so obnoxiously put it) do not require such services, as they have actual intelligence. Also, I don't hate their guts."
Marshall bit his tongue. The words were meant to stick, by now he knew. Besides, he faced much harsher on a daily basis. As the teen brushed past him, their hands just barely touched, holy skin in contrast to disheveled exterior.
Just as he reached the doorway, Marshall called out to him once more in pitiful desperation, hating every minute of the begging even while he was living it.
"Wait! I'll do anything, please!" It was unlike him to stoop so low like this, but he had little to no choice. He couldn't repeat his grade again, he had to get out of here, find a job, find a way to care for him and his mother. He'd literally rather off himself than remain a high school student for even a second longer than necessary.
The Prince turned, just for the slightest of moments, a wicked smile strewn across his face. "I'll hold you to that promise."
And that was when Marshall knew that he had ultimately doomed himself to suffering.
