I've always loved reading interpretations of different characters, especially for -man. The best, in my opinion, are Cross and Allen. So, here you go. If you have any questions just review, you know where you can find the button.
He'd always known he would grow up to be the sort of man he was. Lying, cheating, hiding. It had always been a part of him, lurking almost but not quite hidden behind arrogant smiles and bright red locks. For this reason it was not shocking when he would review his life, only to find year after year of shouting and screaming and swearing and habits that really shouldn't have been there. For this reason alone, it was almost bearable to look back on what he'd done, to live with the fact that he'd changed a boy into something no one should ever have to become.
He supposed he should be proud, happy to see how his student had turned out- brave and smart, fast and strong. Beautiful and well-liked by all he was the leader of a new generation, a second chance for a group who was in danger of running out of them. But he wasn't.
He never really knew quite why he would do it, be so horrible to the boy. Small and anything but frail he should have seen his potential, treated him strictly but kindly; teaching him and mentoring him in a way more conventional, teaching or mentoring him at all. In fact, he had seen the potential, the hard, angry eyes, bitter and cold from seeing too many things too early on in life. Maybe that's why, he supposed. Maybe he had treated the boy badly because he was so perfect, so promising and strong. Maybe he abused him because the boy could make choices he'd never had the chance too.
He should be glad, he knew. He had grown up in a wealthy family, all baubles and talk. He had wanted to become a politician, to lie and smile his way into whatever he wanted, to wherever he wanted to go. He would be taught by private family tutors, history and science, poetry and arithmetic, and like clockwork dates and numbers would be spit back out. 'Ideal' they would call him, the 'perfect student' as if memorizing was the best way to get on in this world. But these skills were his base, something he needed but didn't need. What he did need was experience. Street sense and sweet talk, how to cheat and how to con.
He was surprisingly good at these things, and frankly it disgusted him. At least, it did now, years later, when he looked back on it. Earlier, though, he had still not learned of his innocence. He still had no weight on his shoulders, no duties to tie him down. Those days had been rewarding, happy even. With girls on either arm and men at his feet he had become an underground god, dominating both the fresh and the experienced. He'd had job offers flowing in by the hundreds and he had long denounced his parents and heritage, his underlings becoming his new family.
But then it had come. It was said to be an accident, and there was no evidence to prove it wasn't, but still everyone knew what it had meant. There was an enemy. Someone had killed Marion's younger sisters. Someone had declared war.
The ghost had come, offering him what he wanted. He had almost taken his offer. For how could anyone refuse him? Even when previously warned the offer was so enticing, the ghost so persuasive no one could imagine saying no.
But someone had come to his rescue. Short and yellow haired she found him laying in the snow. Barely eighteen and crying he couldn't help but be slightly subconscious. But no, he decided. He wasn't sure why but he didn't want this person to know what he wanted, what he thought. Weakness, he decided, was not an option. Neither was avoiding what they wanted from him. He'd go through test after test stone faced; slowly becoming immune to the pain dominating his existence.
He began to smile less, smoking more as he realized just how much it annoyed everyone else. He became older, maturing at a rate too fast for his young frame. He would drink and sleep around, ignore his missions once, than twice; three than four than every other assignment. It became a game. Let's see what they do if I don't follow the akumas, if I do try to kill the Noah this time. It was all the freedom he had left, and he took it gladly, gorging himself as a starving dog might if given meat. And that's all he was, certainly, the Order's dog.
The boy could have run away, he'd decide as he downed another bottle of alcohol. He chose this life, and I'll show him what it's like. But really, it was more than that. It was the glares that made him think of his sisters, the well-performed card tricks that made him think of times when he was free. It made him bitter, knowing this boy, one of the few out of so many who had a choice, would choose this life when others, like himself, who were so desperate for times past, hadn't one. But then, none of them really had a choice. Their innocence would find them, and then if the exorcists didn't catch them first, the Noah's would. It was fire or ice. It was being locked in a room with no windows and no doors. It was life.
Once again: advice, opinions, questions, you know where to find me (points bellow to review button)