He pushed the bridge of the glasses farther up his sharp nose, holding them in place with a finger so as to keep them from sliding off their high perch. He rested a fist upon his hip and while shifting his weight, leaned his lank body all to one side until his hipbone was partially sticking out in the air. Brook cracked a smile at the pouty, melodramatic thirteen year old that was himself, his thin body shivering with laughter, and flashed the mirror a grin so wide, it nearly took up half of his face. "I like 'em," he beamed, turning this way and that, to a point where he might as well have been swaying to a tune that everybody else in the store seemed oblivious to.
"Hey!" came a gruff voice, snapping Brook's attention away from his reflection. "How many times have I told you to scram!" A man twice his size, even with the unnatural growth spurts the teen had been going through the past couple of months, emerged from behind the tall shelf Brook wouldn't deny he had been hiding behind in an attempt to conceal himself from the very man's sight. He had a nasty scowl upon his face, a broom held tightly in one of his ginormous fists, suspiciously eyeing the merchandise that sat atop the boy's nose. Brook however produced him a sunny smile, one that was tender and delighted as if he had just recognized a friend he had not seen in years. "Too many to count, shopkeeper-san," he chuckled good-naturedly, and with a theatrical bow, respectfully lowered his head to the owner.
"Why you-" The man, who obviously took the boy's remark as something of a curt reply, his kind smile and mannerly gesture as a mocking attempt to embarrass him further, raised his broom into the air and without the slightest hint of remorse, brought it down upon the poor boy's unsuspecting head. The force was so powerful, let alone enough to have probably snapped his skinny frame in two, that Brook felt the cool metal of the glasses slide and fly off his nose while he teetered and held his hands out in front of him to keep himself from falling flat on his face. He had managed. He just wished he could've said the same for the shades. The clatter of the fine obsidian circles instantly shattering within their silver frames upon impact was like change falling to the ground.
Brook stared at the dark glass scattered about his feet, stunned and unsure of what to do next except slowly lift his head to meet the murderous gaze of the shopkeeper whose face was so red, he was sure it would burst at any given moment. "You little bastard!" The man erupted and threw his broom to the ground, taking a swipe at Brook, who scarcely ducked in time to avoid the meaty hand that aimed to seize and wring his skinny neck. "I'm terribly sorry!" He performed a quick but sincere nod of the head and bolted out the door in a panic. "Get back here and pay for this! Thief! THIEF!" he heard the shopkeeper yell after him, but knew well enough that the man would rather gnaw off his own leg before he left his moneymaking establishment unguarded let alone potential customers.
It was like this every now and then. Brook would enter the small outlet that resided just on the outskirts of the kingdom, pretending as though he could actually afford the opulent and sumptuous marvels that sat atop the high shelves let alone the dust off the floor, only to be gradually chased out by the burly shopkeeper whose strict store policy was either have your money ready or get lost. But besides that small fact, Brook would rather be scolded and hit over the head with a broom any day if it meant being acknowledged. At least then he could take refuge in the small comfort that all those slurs and accusations were for him and him alone; the pain that all seemed to be rushing from the back of his head to reinforce and convince him that he was in fact alive, that he wasn't just some insignificant nothing like so many had referred to him before.
"If I am truly nobody," he would reassure himself, "then why do I have a voice? A brain that thinks for itself? A path that is only meant for me to follow?" He had heard the quote said many years ago, but couldn't quite recall its source. A book? Maybe his father? His mother? A great uncle perhaps? Brook liked to think he once had a big family, one that loved and adored him. Unfortunately, memories seemed to evade him like that of the people of the town ever since he'd woken up one morning in a pile of rock, rubble, and ash, disoriented and sick to his stomach with one hell of a nasty gash running down his forehead. Regardless, he held dearly to the quotation, for it was the only thing he could truly call his.
Brook began to loose momentum, not to mention his breath, as he rounded yet another corner just to be on the safe side. A size and a half too small and shaped so narrowly that the limited amount of space pinched his toes and gave him blisters, his worn out and rather tattered shoes, that he was sure were originally made for a woman, clomped against the stone pavement as he finally stumbled to a stop, his feet heavy with exhaustion. He leaned up against the old-fashioned brickwork of a worn building, clutching the dirty red blocks of the wall with a hand for support as his lungs greedily gasped at the air around him, when a flash of yellow caught his eye. He knit his brow as his eyes focused on a strand of straw dangling from one of his raven black curls. He plucked it from his hair and stared at the piece of straw in his palm, his expression impassive as he delicately stroked it with finger. And of all the things he could have done next, crush it in frustration for example or simply toss it to the ground without so much as giving it another thought, instead brought it close to his chest and began smiling, a smile tinged with a tad of wistfulness, but with a mirth so genuine and pure, men could only dream of achieving such happiness. He began to chuckle, a low bubbly sound that arose from his belly, which made his laughter all the more rich, a type of mirth he would soon find to be rather contagious amongst others. "A bastard, eh?" He began to entertain the idea. "Maybe." He twirled the sliver of gold between his thumb and index finger, watching on in amusement as it did a lively dance. "But a thief." The piece of straw halted its whimsical whirling, Brook's laughter draining from the air and smile suddenly disappearing. "Now that is a very high presumption."
He maybe couldn't remember his own mother's face, but he did know one thing, and that was that he was a gentleman and a gentleman did not steal. He leaned his back up against the dusty bricks, arms crossed and expression tight with aggravation, but the bitterness didn't last for very long. That just wasn't Brook's style. His features softened and through his nose, Brook let out a lofty sigh. What was the point of getting himself all worked up? Not like he could do much about it anyway. He cocked his head back and looked up at the dimmed sky that seemed to be growing grayer by the minute. "Why must I continue to live on like this?" he questioned the clouds, "How much longer must I wait?" He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, on the gentle breeze that tussled his curls, like the familiar feeling of loving fingers carding through his untamed hair. "No," he said aloud to himself, his grin returning bigger and brighter than ever. "Good things are bound to come my way. I can feel it!"
Unfortunately the moment of contentment lasted for but a few brief seconds, for Brook suddenly startled and blinked disconcertedly as something cold and wet hit his forehead with a bit of a drive. At first he just thought someone had spit on him as a sort of cruel joke from one of the high balconies the building possessed. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. But, no. Instead the boy went cross-eyed as he watched a pure little crystal of water run down his nose. "Ah!" He wiped at his nose with a patched sleeve before looking up at the dark ominous clouds that loomed over him like a familiarly intimidating shopkeeper-san with a broom, only this time to be hit directly under the eye. "Ack! I better find some shelter!" He shielded the unruly mess of black curls atop his head with his arms, running down the street with haste as the rain began to pick up and hit the ground at a faster pace. "Wouldn't want to catch a cold! Yoho~"
My gift to a certain nutty, amiable, charming, good-humored, and all around pervy skeleton. Happy Birthday Brook!