The Devil's Own

-Chapter 2: Of Trains And Primates-

He had been sitting very still, and those that didn't know him probably would have thought that he was sleeping. Wisps of straight, chocolate brown hair danced lazily into his face to the quiet rhythm of the wind that was sweeping through the streets of Timber in the golden light of a fading afternoon, and he made no effort to brush them away. In the distance, his keenly trained ears could perceive the sound of children playing and the familiar whistle of a train that had just boarded the station. The air was laden with the sweet smell of blossoming trees and freshly cut hay from the surrounding farms, but he paid little attention to that.

Sighing, he tilted his head towards the sky, and his slate blue eyes narrowed instinctively as the intense rays from the descending sun cut into his face. Fair and finely chiseled features crinkled just slightly at the sensational overload, but he didn't blink once. His roaming gaze focused on some random clouds that drifted languidly across the endless azure surface of the sky, and his back connected with the rough wood of the bench that he had been resting on so soundlessly.

He was a strange sight to behold, seemingly misplaced in the quiet, rural town of Timber. His clothes gave away little about his trade. Clad in heavy biker boots, long black leather pants and a short sleeved black t-shirt that rippled tightly over taut abdominal muscles, he looked like a trouble maker, although his mannerisms would have suggested differently.

No, his attractiveness was certainly of a darker, more melancholic kind than the simple splendour of a warm April's day. It was enhanced by the clash of his ivory skin with the cold brown of his hair that fell in large chunks into his face, but was cropped fairly closely at the nape of his neck. His appearance could have even been labeled anything from rogue to athletic to even fragile, hadn't it been for that dangerous glint smoldering in his storm colored eyes that openly belied his youth and spoke of wisdom that was far beyond his age.

Indeed, few would have believed that his lifeline counted little more than seventeen years, although he looked not a day older than his ID card stated - well, one of the many that he owned, anyway.

His crimson lips were dry and raw against the sun, and he licked them absent-mindedly, tasting a faint trace of salt and the bitter sweetness of pollen. He decided that he didn't much like that particular blend.

His legs had been resting on the wood motionlessly, placed in a perfec angle to each other and to the slender hands that were set on either side of them. Now, he stretched them with a mute sigh, flexing lithe muscles that he had spent much work on steeling and sculpting to almost disturbing perfection.

Not that his looks actually mattered to him.

His shoulders and his back were a little sore from sitting up straight like a board for so long, and he extended his arms before himself to ease the tension. It didn't really help much. For a moment, he found himself wondering at the time, but then he recalled the high metal whistle that had rung mere minutes ago from the Timber station.

'4:05pm.'

Without really knowing why, he rubbed at the slanted scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, but he didn't consciously think of the mark as he performed the intuitive movement with his hand. He was just feeling slightly under the weather today, which was particularly unusual for someone like him. He wasn't exactly the type to be much bothered by outward influences.

Then again, he didn't exactly think that he was the 'type' for anything, for that matter.

Well, short of being the type that could go for an early dinner, perhaps. It was about that time.

Thus, he pushed himself off the bench with astounding elegance, his body giving away none of the minor aches that were bothering him. He had made a habit of never displaying any sign of weakness, whether he was alone or amongst friends or enemies. He neither liked the idea of the former scolding him for his recklnessness concerning his health, nor the thought of the latter making use of the fact that he was, after all, far from invincible.

But enough of that.

He was hungry and his stomach was churning noisily, spitefully reminding him that there were still some things in his life that were not under his control.

With a small grimace, he decided that he was going to give nature this one – after all, he saw no danger in it. His friend, Selphie, probably would have laughed at him had she seen his face right then, and more likely than not would she have mocked his obsessive urge to be in charge of everything that ever happened in his life, be it by destiny or by chance.

Not that he actually believed in either.

His lips twitched into the semblance of a smile at the thought, but there was no humor in that slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. He rarely ever smiled, and surely not when he was all by himself of all occasions. He would have felt like a mental case, and that was simply not an option.

'Whatever.'

His arms hung slack at his sides as he slowly trudged back into the heart of the town, Timber. The prospect of a dinner at home or the local restaurant, perhaps, had stirred another idea in the ever so arcane crevices of his mind. As much as he usually preferred a state of complete solitude at any chosen time of the day, there was still one person he could think of that needed a good meal probably even more so than he did.

Thus, he didn't take a left at the crowded market place as he would have usually done when he was on his way home or to work, but instead swung right to cross a bridge that hovered above the train tracks that stretched all across one level of the city. Timber was indeed quite the reloading point, as it was the only existing connection between the islands of Balamb and Galbadia. In fact, said connection was a very technically advanced submarine railway line that the Galbadian Railway Association took much pride in.

The dark haired boy snorted quietly at the thought.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked over the bridge, and he stopped just briefly at the display case of Timber's weapons dealer. The owner, Watts, was actually someone the brunette youth knew quite well, but today he didn't linger to study his friend's selection of merchandise any further.

His actual destination was the Timber Hotel, and he stepped through frosted glass sliding doors and inside the establishment's foyer with his head hung fashionably low, while his steel blue eyes were nailed to the marble tiled floor at his feet. Subconsciously, his ears were listening for the soft wheezing of the model railway that had been put up for reasons that the teen would never understand. Timber was already crammed with trains, and the natives in this town had developed a bit of an obsession with the same, but he had gotten used to it over time. After all, there usually was not a day that passed that he did not stop by the city's hotel, and he knew that place almost as well as his own house.

One thing, though, he most certainly did not remember from his previous visits...

Apparently, someone had decided to plant something very big and very sturdy right in the middle of his way, and before the brunette could have done anything to prevent it, he had walked straight into said obstacle, bumping his nose on something that felt much like a shoulder. On top of that, this annoying object was sort of capable of talking.

Sort of, because the words that came low and annoyed from somewhere in front of the youth could have hardly been classified as a full sentence, let alone an intelligent one at that.

"The fuck!"

'Great. Of all things to bump into, I have to bump into an anthropoid.'

And with that thought crossing his mind and resonating in the smooth lines of his face in the darkest of scowls, he reluctantly raised his head.