Roman sat back in his chair and took a drag from his cigarette. Today had been a long day. It wasn't easy being a master thief. He turned on his television, hoping to relax with the news. Even major criminals had to keep up.
He grinned in satisfaction as they covered his most recent robbery, taking off his hat and hanging it on the nearby hat stand, pulling the lever on his recliner to really kick back and relax with some fine liquor. Heheh. Just like Mama.
He thought back to earlier days. Back before he'd grown a sense of fashion. He shuddered at the memory- eyeliner thicker than his winter coat, tight leather pants, bleached hair. He remembered his mother insisting he was gay and giving him no end of trouble for it- even though he was actually slightly straighter than the average flagpole. She never kicked him out over it, at least. Better than most, he reflected.
He'd been a Beacon student back then. Huntsmen were rich and famous. He'd wanted that, so badly. But one day, he'd been caught in a minor crime, a simple shoplifting. Just a little dust. Nothing big. Still, he'd been expelled, and that had been the last straw for his mother- a failed huntsman with a criminal record and possibly a boyfriend was no son of hers. She'd kicked him out of the house. Literally kicked, he remembered. He still had a scar on his ribs from where her foot had landed that day, and could still hear her screaming that he'd never amount to anything.
I'll never amount to anything, eh, Mama? Like Hell I won't. Look at me now, bitch. I rake in cash like most people rake in leaves. Or something like that.
He sighed and looked back again. Not long after, he'd been taken in by a gang. He may have been kicked out of Beacon, but he still had his weapons and training. He'd raised himself high in their ranks before another gang offered him more. He took that "more" and destroyed the men who took him in. It had all started there. Now he had his own cronies. Well, look at that, Mama. Your little thief did amount to something. I have it all, and what do you have? A useless liver. I loved you, and you never bothered to return it. Bet you regret kicking me out now, eh? I could've payed your hospital bill, you dumb old crone.
He didn't care what his mother thought. He'd come far, and he'd go further still. He'd keep moving forward. That's why our eyes are in the front. So we can see our goal getting closer. So we have a reason to keep moving forward. And that's what I'll do- no matter what.
§SS§
Not entirely certain this constitutes angst, since it isn't all that emotional, but it's going here. Also, start reviewing, folks. Seriously.