[attr="class","GALACTIC3"]

Some said…

That he really wouldn’t amount to anything. Théodore lived in a rather small town with a big mysterious tower, one he’d always looked at and wondered how it really got there, and what it stood for. His family was rich and a well bred sort, ones who thought he should be proper and he somewhat believed them. He liked order and cleanliness, and disliked the messes that he tried his hardest not to make, but some things were unavoidable. His younger years were kind of hectic, between boring lessons about history and arithmetic and not a lot of days spent playing with “filthy animals” aka pokemon. Théodore learned to hate people, something he never thought would actually happen. Mostly because people were what made the world work, and he figured with his reputation and the need to speak with the common folk he’d enjoy their company. He was wrong. He hated people, hated the messes they made and their germs. They said he’d never amount to anything because he wasn’t a good son, he didn’t always do what he was told and he wasn’t a natural at his subjects. He learned to hate people. He learned to hate himself as well.[break][break]

Some said…

That they didn’t know what happened to the sweet kid he used to be. Teenage years were full of rebellion, of drinking under the stars with a local boy who caused nothing but trouble. Who spray painted poems on the sides of buildings and who tasted like tobacco and starlight. Théodore learned the meaning of poetry in those years, of a yearning for adventure and of young love that burned brighter than any star in the sky, any fire they set. He learned of loss when the boy moved away, dragged off by disappointed and overworked parents. He learned to shut his heart away, to keep it close and never let it go after that. He learned what it was like to feel the sting of a belt when his parents learned what he’d done, the things he’d given up, how improper he was acting. Though it wasn’t by his father himself, the order was given to servants to punish him for what he’d done.[break][break]

He learned the meaning of abuse only a year later, when he learned that servants were good at threats. He learned to fear the sound of a belt buckle, of a zipper, of rustling sheets. He kept his mouth shut, he stayed pale from lack of sunlight, the circles under his eyes darkened. He learned to fear intimacy. He feared being alone, yet craved the moments of peace that it allowed. Théodore learned that mercy wasn’t simply given out, and that he had to steal away his peace. [break][break]

He learned of Galactic shortly after, and craved that sort of freedom. That sort of order. He made a decision, one that would never allow him to come back. He spoke to his parents of leaving, of training pokemon, and they forbade it. So he stole away in the night, slitting the throat of his abuser and disposing of the body, hired some muscle, and staged his own kidnapping. It was surprisingly easy to do all of that in a short amount of time, muscle was easy to find, killing someone was surprisingly easy with a cool detachment he’d been feeling as of late, and turns out bad publicity will give you anything. He demanded two million for his return, and his parents paid. [break][break]

He never returned. [break][break]

Some said...

He was stupid for leaving. That he'd never make it on his own without his parents. Mostly urchins and street rats said this, to some poor rich kid who carried no money, but was smart and kept it in the bank. He eventually ended up wounded though, as he knew he would, stabbed half to death in an alleyway and slashed down his right arm. He was found several hours later and sent to a hospital by a ranger, who stayed by his side as his right arm was amputated from his body, and even as he recovered. What started then was a very brief romance that left both of them shaking. The ranger couldn't deal with the loss of the limb, and eventually left Théodore with no one. Théodore learned to live with his disability until he was approached by Galactic forces who he'd been searching out. They offered him a cybernetic implant for his arm in exchange for his services. He agreed.[break][break]

He never looked back.