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 Reflections of myself
Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Mar 21 2017, 04:06 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && SHORT NOTES GO HERE
The last thing Neal had running through his head, before hopping on this bus, was the look of watching his foster parents drive off after taking him back to the group home yet again. That had been the last straw for him, he was turning 17 in like 3 days, and, by then it would definitely be too late to be considered for any of these families in the future.

Neal knew he'd had a couple of options, and, he made the option to take off. It wasn't really worth it anymore was it? So now he was on this bus, going to where-ever it was headed. He hadn't really cared, he had just wanted to disappear for a while. Clear his head.

As he sat on the bus, Neal just rested his head against the window, and, just closed his eyes for a moment. He really just wanted a family of his own, but, that wasn't going to happen was it? His real one had taken off, and, he said goodbye to the one who actually adopted him a long time ago.

Neal awoke with a start as he felt the bus pulling to a final stop. He looked around the bus, noticing that it was empty aside from him and a couple of other people. Neal gave the bus driver a small smile and thanked him before standing up and heading off the bus.

This place looked like a big city, it was an ok place to hide. At least for now, while he cleared his head. Neal just hoped that the cops weren't going to be looking for him this time around. He still didn't even know where he was, but, he would be here for a while, so maybe he would find out.

The first step was to find somewhere to hide out for a while. Neal kept his backpack over his shoulder, before noticing an old shed that seemed abandoned enough for just that purpose. Neal looked around, to make sure no-one was following him, before heading over towards that shed.

Neal sighed softly before gently opening the window. He would've picked the lock, but, right now he wanted to be hidden for a while. Which meant not drawing attention to himself. He glanced around quickly, and, noticing no-one was there Neal turned back towards the building, and, gently began to climb through the window.

When he reached the floor, Neal looked around, noticing that there were old paintings all around this place. Putting his backpack down, he made his way towards the canvasses, and, just looked at them for a moment.

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Mar 22 2017, 02:33 PM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
The light fell differently here.

It would. A different climate could change all sorts of elements in a landscape. No wonder the Old Masters had liked one environment over another. It wasn’t about the steppes after steppes of Russia nor the winding river-weave of Ireland that had prompted the wild, seamless splash of colour over canvas. It was about light, and reflection, and perhaps the air itself, and something wholly different besides.

But Jamie could see it, see the difference in the palette of nations. And it was here too, in the United States - something different, something new. She had been loath to leave England, both as her home and her growing hunting ground of choice, but some things could not be easily avoided. She was curious, curious of what she did not understand; and if she were to improve how things stood now she would have to see the other side of the Atlantic for herself, assess what key it could hold to improving the state of management back home. .

After all, dealings with Americans were to come in the pipeline. Jamie Moriarty was still taking tiny steps into the rushing current of the criminal underbelly of the world, and while operations were running smoothly in London, one operation at a time, she had to think of the future. Think of a future where her little plans may become…sustainable. A way of living that far surpassed what she could gain in academia and was far more interesting, too.

But not without her paints. Never without her paints, and so she had taken them with her, set up shop in an apartment in New York City for her stay and had begun to paint in a bid to understand the country. The key was to engage with it, with her easel. And so she had. Never - never quite her own work, of course. Mimics, imitations, shadows of what had come before. It did not rob them of their value as much as she had expected them to. After all repetition was just a game of ever lessening returns - but not this time. She was seeing the country through its own painters, through their own lens…and perhaps making money on the side with the forgeries.

The studio was fine inside, but even she had to admit that the back entrance looked shabby. Her exploits were gaining money but slowly, and she had no intention of bankrupting herself. Neither could she sell the forged paintings off all at once, not when she still had a modicum of respect towards foreign police and someone would start wondering why Flags, Fifth Avenue and The Last Tenement were all coming out of a shed. Besides the art was soothing, the heady smell of drying paint sending her off to sleep. Their shadows reached out along the floor at night like fingers and in her room off the studio she could hear the dim rise and fall of the cars’ engines outside, shafts of light from the headlamps glowing softly before disappearing out of sight.

And that was when she heard the noise. A creaking, a shifting of weight - movement, from the small room out towards the rest of the studio. Jamie sat up, her eyes staring sightlessly out to the darkness as she listened. Possibilities flashed in her mind. After a moment she got up. The room was vague shapes - a mere pencil sketch, dappled with the dark smear of charcoal - but she felt along in the darkness, her hand falling on two items. One was a grey dressing gown. The other was hard, and sculpted, with the notch of a trigger...

Jamie's every move was catlike, clinging to the shadows until she turned the corner and saw a shape moving around in the dark.

She flicked the lights on. The studio came into life around her and she could suddenly see a boy - no, a teenager, with a backpack beside him as he looked around at the artwork. It covered every wall, almost every surface with the skeleton of an easel holding the canvas she had been working on that very afternoon. But she only had eyes for the stranger. Her cut-glass Southern English accent snapped through the air like whiplash. "What are you doing here?"
ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 719 | NOTES:


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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 01:05 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && SHORT NOTES GO HERE
Neal did admire people's art, since he'd been an expert in it for as long as he could remember. A gift that he'd picked up from his parents, even if he'd never been able to truly show them. And probably never would.

Maybe that was why he'd been drawn to this shed, not just because it looked abandoned enough for him to hide out in, but, because it was a fellow artist's workshop.

Neal kept his backpack on the ground, and, was using the torch that he had on him to look at the canvasses. At this point he was keeping the lights off, so as not to have anyone know he was in here, but, he couldn't resist not looking at the art.

A part of Neal was going to find somewhere else to hide out, so as not to intrude in the artist's workspace, whoever it was. But, that would wait until morning at least. It was still a place to sleep for the night, and, it was easier to blend into the crowd when people were up and about.

Neal was shining his torch on one of the canvasses and admiring the work when he noticed the lights had turned on. Neal jumped with the torch still in his hand, as he turned around and looked at who was now in here.

He stuttered before looking around, and, noticing a girl not much older then he was. “My name's Neal.” Neal said, as he kept his gaze on the young girl, before gesturing to the paintings that were surrounding them. “Are these yours they're really good.”

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 12:52 PM
Quote


Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
Jamie kept her eyes pinned on the boy in front of her. One hand rested on the L shape of the gun in the pocket of her dressing gown (dangerous, she knew, but ultimately necessary) but its comforting bulging weight did little to relieve her anxiety. Neal. A fake name, no doubt...and Jamie could see something different in his delivery, a strand of untruth woven in amongst the tapestry of his speech. Too many people saw but did not observe. She was sure of it, something innately wrong in his address of himself...yet the uncertainty of youth prickled at the back of her mind, inexperience nipping at her with doubt that couldn't quite be shaken.

But yet that was the least of her problems. He was posing an immediate threat. Moriarty stood there, watching him as he almost blithely indicated to the paintings around them. Her eyes didn't move from him; she knew the work that was on her walls and didn't need reminding they were good. What mattered was him, and her eyes narrowed as he tried to distract her with her paintings. Instead her own attention was pointed on him, as precise and as needled as a laser. Yet there was fear there too, a tremble in her voice. A reminder at the back of her mind that she was alone here; alone, because she had had the utter foolishness to not take any of her lieutenants with her...

"Who are you from? Who sent you?" No one came here without an invitation. No one came to her without something in mind. But that was in Britain, where her name was slowly dribbling its way down into the damp recesses of the criminal underworld - one drip of a time, one drop of paint on infinitely blackened oilpaper. Over time those little splatters would become more, and they were on their way to doing so. But here in America she was just a sketch, a pale streak of pencil - easily rubbed out, easily concealed amid the bolder swashes of bigger and better crime. She had no intention of being anything else..for the moment. She was to be unnoticeable here, a shadow of a shadow.

This was not a renaissance of crime. This was reconnaissance.

And yet someone knew she was here. They had to, to respond so quickly to her being on foreign soil. Jamie's mind was thinking quickly, leaping from idea to idea in a frenzy. Who would send a boy? Was he more powerful than she thought? Her eyes grew into a cold assessment, an analysis of the boy in front of her. All he seemed to have on him was a torch. There could be something hidden in the backpack or elsewhere on his person but he looked rough. Rough, as if he had been on the streets. This sparked neither empathy nor sadness at his fate from Jamie, instead the steel of critical dissection. He didn't scream 'threat'. But what he did scream was 'unknown'. Jamie stalked a forward step, gritting her teeth. She would not show fear. She would not show fear. She would not show... "Tell me why you are here. I will not ask again."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 535 | NOTES:

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Apr 7 2017, 07:05 AM
Quote


Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && SHORT NOTES GO HERE
Neal continued to look around this room as he watched the young girl in front of him. He knew how bad this must look, but, to be fair he didn't expect anyone to be here. Neal knew that there was probably no harm in just giving a first name right now. Besides he had seen people with that same look and he knew he would've had to say something. Yes he knew this wasn't his real name, but, it had been his name for nearly the past three years, and, it was who he was now. Even if he didn't truly believe it at times. He was sure that this woman could sort of sense this fact, and, it did kind of worry that she would figure out who, or rather what he was.

But, that probably wasn't the thing to focus on right now. But, as a fellow artist he couldn't help, but, be drawn to the paintings. He wasn't using this as a distraction, well not entirely. Neal was just enjoying getting the chance to actually talk about art for the first time since he was like 14. Neal's eyes did go to the paintings, but, he had gotten a talent for looking through the corner of his eyes. Something he'd picked up ever since Neverland. Neal squinted his eyes as he recognised the fear and doubt in this girl's voice. It was the sound he normally had in his with nearly everyone he met. It was something that came with a reminder that he was alone. Alone no matter where he went, thanks to one moment of his father letting go of his hand.

“No-one sent me. I swear.” Neal said. He knew it was hard for her to probably believe, but, it was true. No-one sent him anywhere that wasn't a group home or with a family. And, those families never had any interest in mind, except for their own. They always wanted the money that came with having him, and, not him as a person. They just saw him as a ghost in the house, or a bug on their shoe that they wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. But, at the same time they would never do that. Because if he left, so did the money from the government. Everytime he did leave one of these foster families, it was like he was a drawing made of pencils, that they could erase and then forget he was ever there. Neal knew that he was probably always going to be that way from now on. It had been that way for years now, it was something he had come to terms with.

He was a nothing. A non entity. It was why he'd run away, he was better off being alone, then being surrounded by people and still being that way.

And yet somehow he wasn't alone here. Like they were drawn here to either take him back, or kick him out yet again. She didn't look old enough to really do anything or have any authority over him. Who was this girl, and, why was she isolating herself out here too? If things turned badly, then he didn't really have much to defend himself. In his hand he only had a torch, and, his backpack was full of survival stuff, but, nothing truly dangerous that would cause true harm. Neal knew that his clothes still showed his rough lifestyle, and, honestly he wasn't looking for sympathy for it, whether this girl was showing it or not. He really didn't care. The rough look just showed his feeling of not belonging. “Look I saw an open window. I climbed in. I didn't know what or who was in here, I just needed a place to hide out.”

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Apr 19 2017, 02:57 PM
Quote


Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
He could attempt to justify his presence here as long as he liked, but Jamie was grounded in what she could see, what was right in front of her very eyes. He was an intruder. An intruder in the place she was for these months calling home. Already she was thinking, though, and thinking quickly. He wasn't showing any signs of attacking her right now or pulling a gun on her but she couldn't be bought in by any acts. Any pretences. Any, say, awful amount of interest in her own paintings. Even interest that seemed more than just a passing gaze, something a little more discerning in taste, had to be ignored.

She couldn't afford to slip.

Especially since he was watching her. But the same could be said for her with her fingers still crossing the gun in her pocket. "No one?" Hmm. A likely story. Actually, she thought with a sudden consideration, perhaps it was. Wouldn't any American gangster make his motives quite clear? Wouldn't he - or she, though Jamie thought it unlikely: her gender was, rather delightfully, sparse in their shared field - not waste a moment to declare in whose name this boy came to her? Why would he make this emissary lie? There would be nothing to gain from that beyond the element of surprise. They'd nailed that already, she couldn't help thinking almost wryly as she looked down at the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Waking her at whatever ungodly time this was took care of that problem.

But...her pensive eyes followed 'Neal' and something in her gaze shifted thoughtfully, her tongue washing up against the rough edges of her molars. "You are a bit too young." She raised her eyebrows darkly. "For what I was expecting." At least, in British standards. Maybe the Americans did things differently over here. For a ludicrous moment Jamie's imagination was full of chimney sweeps and Victorian rag-clad urchins before the illusion faded. That was home, far across the Atlantic, and an outdated version of home as well. The romantic artist in her was leading towards that, to those smoky, noir scenes of the past as much as the logical part of her, the scientist, was earnestly tugging her towards the here and now. The fact was, saying he was young was condemning her too. It hardly did anything for her. And unguarded as she was to any midnight visitors she didn't have any makeup on, nor anything more exciting than a dressing gown and bare feet. She was beginning to feel a bit exposed.

And even more so when this Neal recounted exactly why he was here. Then things got a lot worse and night gowns no longer crossed Jamie's scope of concentration. "'Hide out'?" She cast a glance to the nearest window. Out from the square glass pane she could see only inky blackness, lit a little further on by the harsh slice of light cutting across the darkness from a solitary streetlamp. She looked back at him. "From whom?" A Cheltenham education did at least grant decorum in these sorts of circumstances but Jamie couldn't help the alarm that crossed over her face. Harbouring someone? That was worse than having someone search her out. "Is it the police?" She wished it was. The police would be so much easier to deal with....

But not in a room full of forgeries. Very good forgeries, but the police weren't exactly connoisseurs nor appreciative of the art of mimic. Jamie stepped forward, searching his face. He looked like he was telling the truth - and she had to take his word for it. She was fighting hard to remain composed but it was hard to as she realised just how much trouble she could be in. She invited the police in on her own terms - she didn't have this happen to her. Not in Britain, where she was investing in modest but ever aspirational little schemes. But she wasn't in Britain anymore. She wasn't meant to be getting into anything big, not now, not when she wasn't ready and she had been dragged into something that already seemed bigger than she knew. Already unease was building up in her chest and Jamie made a split second decision.

"You can go now or you can stay. In this room. Right here." She gestured to the studio. It was a largish room, although still crammed with enough art materials and canvases to make it look small. But that wasn't enough to ensure she felt safe and Jamie was reaching for the gun. It was a small gun, compact, and not automatic or anything, but it was still a gun and still loaded. She pointed it at him, both of her hands holding it levelly in the standard safety position. But that didn't help nor hide the slight shake in her arms, the ripples of fear that couldn't be squashed however hard she tried. She got other people to kill for her normally, other people to take the strain.

And now she knew exactly why.

The young woman gestured to his bag with the gun. "If you stay I need you to empty your backpack right now. Don't do anything." Anything suspicious, anything dangerous, anything that would make him more of a danger than he already was. She couldn't take chances.

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 894 | NOTES: SORRY FOR LENGTH!

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Apr 22 2017, 01:33 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && It's ok I like length
Honestly Neal didn't really care about justifying why he was here. The only reason he was trying to explain was to avoid having her call the cops. The point of hiding out here was to avoid just that. Neal had no real interest in this girl or anything else. He just had an interest in being left alone. Neal wasn't going to attack or do anything to her unless something triggered him again. But, the paintings that were around him did spark his interest. Neal knew that he could fake an interest, but, art was the one thing that would always fascinate him. Especially since it allowed him to compare it to his own.

But, he couldn't let his guard down.

Neal couldn't ignore the way this girl was staring at her, it was a look of suspicion and it was one that he'd had to face on a few occasions. When-ever stuff got taken, the first suspect was always the foster kid. “That's right.” Neal said, giving a gentle nod. Whether this girl believed him or not wasn't really his problem, all he wanted to do was give her enough motive to leave him be. Besides he would be gone by the morning anyway. It wasn't like she could trace him anyway. The first name was all she was getting, and, she wouldn't be able to do much with that. One thing he was good at was being mysterious and giving as little information that was needed. Neal kept his hands in his pockets as he tightened his hoodie around himself.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, this was an attempt to not warm him up, but, as a defensive move that he did when he felt the pain again. “That's a first.” Neal said, with a small sigh “Well what were you expecting?” Neal asked as he looked at her. “Wait never mind. It's not really my problem.” Neal didn't really need to know much about anyone else anymore. What he'd learnt was that no-one was going to be around long enough anyway. So what was the point in trying to know anything about them? That was a problem with being a foster kid, nothing was permanent anymore. Or at least that's how it was like here in America. Back in London, he had definitely had more in the way of family options. Even if that hadn't lasted. At least there he had felt loved and somewhat wanted. Back there that was where he felt was home. But, even if he found his way back there, that family. The Darlings and Peter were probably long gone by now. So, this was probably going to be all he had now. Besides it wasn't like he could afford to fly back to London. So Neal was pretty much on his own, he was too old for getting any chance of family now. Standing here with this girl Neal felt unguarded, which wasn't a feeling he liked. It's kind of why he was fighting so hard to keep his exterior up.

Neal knew that this woman probably wouldn't believe him with why he was here. But, frankly that wasn't his problem anyway. “Yeah.” Neal said, with a kind of attitude in his voice. Neal just wanted to lie down and finally get some sleep without worrying that the next day he'll be in the group home again. Neal glanced out of the window for a moment, and, was glad that he hadn't really seemed to have been followed. At her question Neal sighed softly “What does it matter?” Neal said, not caring if he was sounding rude, he didn't want to share this information with anyone. And, his walls were making him more defensive then anything else. Neal didn't really answer the next part, but, he was sure that the way he reacted to that comment, she probably figured it out anyway. He was usually good with hiding from the police.

But, usually not when others managed to find him. If the police caught him then he would end up either in trouble for the two convenience stores that he stole from back in Arizona, or back in the system. And, he didn't know which was worse. Neal noticed the girl observing him, he didn't really fight it. Since he was just wanting her to get the answer, walk away and leave him here in peace. Neal knew that he was probably in more trouble then just being a runaway. He had dealt with police for his whole time in this world. Both times around. Back in London, the police had been more wary of street kids, since that were older times, and, he couldn't even walk somewhere without getting looked at oddly. He wasn't in London anymore though. And, here he was probably in more trouble then he ever had been back then. Neal was waiting for the girl to call the police or tell him to get out.

“Wait really. You're gonna let me stay here?” Neal was not expecting that to be one of the options. Looking around this room may be cramped, but, he still had more room here then he had in most of the other places he'd gone or been forced to live. And, besides he wouldn't complain about being surrounded by art while he slept. But, he also knew that he probably wouldn't feel completely safe here. Neal probably wasn't going to feel completely safe and secure at any point these days. Because for that he needed a family and a real home. Neal had neither of those things anymore. But, the shawl he carried gave him some feeling of his father next to him. Neal came out of his thoughts as he noticed the girl holding a gun up in his direction. He stood there looking at her with the gun, not sure whether she was going to shoot him. Neal wasn't going to fight back, there wasn't a point. But, he still didn't want to get shot.

Neal knew that fighting against them is how people got accidentally shot.

His gaze followed the gun as she pointed it to his backpack. The fact that she was going to go through his bag was nothing new for him, as long as it all stayed with him. “Go ahead. You won't find anything.” Because I don't have anything. Neal just stood there and let the girl go through his bag. All she was going to find was his old shawl, sketch-book and his small box of keepsakes. Along with some clothes and food.

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Apr 30 2017, 05:00 PM
Quote


Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
The police. Right. Jamie shifted uneasily where she stood. She couldn't hear anything - no sirens nearby, at any rate - so she supposed the boy must have lost them in the warren of alleyways that had led him here. For now. Hmm. The prospect of further invaders into her space was not reassuring, the consequences that followed even less so even if they could, with a little of legal subterfuge, perhaps be avoided…

"I'd prefer to know if I'm getting any more uninvited guests." She would be able to avoid the police's probing questions. She was the victim in all of this, after all - the woman who this boy had just trespassed upon. It wasn't like it was the first time she had dealt with police, either. First time with foreign police, a small voice said at the back of her mind. Well - yes. First time with foreign police. And foreign laws…..and foreign prison sentences. And no legal help this side of the ocean. But she was sure she could spin it properly, even if she wasn't going to disclose the real reason she was here in America. Right? Right?

Fear was an ugly thing without the reasoned wealth of experience. This was still all new to her. Her jaw clenched. "With conditions." She didn't want the police sniffing around here. Last thing she needed was them coming into this area in search of the boy and finding things she'd rather they didn't find. Better he'd stay and lie low for now, and escape out of sight once the police gave a brief scan of the area and left. If he was found here or near here the police could take an interest in her too.

She was the one with her feathers ruffled here. She had things riding on this project, ideas that were floating ghostlike just out of reach. Any problems over in America could spell the end of her career this side of the Atlantic. Neal, meanwhile, was unscathed. Not relaxed - no, not relaxed. But it just seemed to be water off a duck's back to him. Like being chased by the police wasn't something to worry about.

The lower classes of criminal, Jamie thought to herself disparagingly. Defeatist.

Or perhaps having nothing to lose. She, personally, had plenty. Her voice was calm but the hand holding the gun was not. The gun wasn't an overstatement, in her view. It was insurance, as it always had been since the day she had touched down in America. Just insurance, if anything was going to go wrong. At the time she had considered herself too cautious for words for having brought it, given the palaver it caused at Customs. This wasn't the start of any new enterprise...not yet. But yet she had taken it anyway, some sort of safety net at the back of her mind to rely on in case proceedings became a little less idyllic than she would otherwise imagine or expect.

But in the recesses of her mind where the vast ticking machine of logic and reason lingered lurked also the knowledge she could not pull the trigger. One day, maybe, but not now. Not for a long time. But she held it anyway, level and with both hands as she had learnt to do, and if it leant weight to her argument so be it. Jamie was never fond of brawn over brains, the might of the physical over the cerebral, the weighting of a weapon against a mind. But if it gave her safety when having to harbour a petty criminal she’d do it.

She leant down and unzipped the bag with one hand - wordlessly, efficiently. The other was still holding the gun in a clear message of its own that needed no translation. She rifled through with one hand. Some containers that looked like food when she took her eyes off him to look at the bag, some items that she could only really class as objects of survival, some soft material that felt like clothes, something that felt like a large book, oddly...and nothing. Nothing else. Very little, all things considering. Just the right amount of stuff to be considered little more than an urchin. A smart urchin, though. This Neal didn't move when she had the gun in her hand and for that Jamie was grateful. She wasn’t sure whether she could do what was..required.

Once she was satisfied Jamie stepped back. "You've nothing of interest." As if he needed telling that. After a moment of analysis she lowered the gun. "Fine. I'll give you - half an hour." She looked at her watch, nodding. Half an hour. Her eyes crossed the paintings strung along the walls before she looked back at him. "Half an hour and then you're out. Understand?" Then he was on his own.

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 811 | NOTES: AND THIS ONE'S VERY VERY BAD I'M SORRY LMAO (MINOR EDITS MADE JUST TO CLARIFY THE POST A BIT)

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: May 6 2017, 04:22 AM
Quote


Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && You're fine don't worry about it.
Luckily Neal didn't hear the cops sirens coming by. Which either meant that they hadn't found him yet, or the people at the group home didn't even notice he was gone yet. Neal was sure that he had until morning, before they would actually notice. Unless one of the other boys actually paid attention when they left the room, which was doubtful.

“Well don't worry you're good for now.” Neal said, keeping his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. It wasn't her that the cops would be after if he was found here. They would probably just take him and go. Since he apparently had a 'foster home' to get back to. What did it matter? He just had to stay hidden for a year, then he would never have to go back there anyway. Neal would never have to live in fear that he was going to be bounced to yet another home. He didn't have to feel in fear of anything anymore. Neal would probably be able to distract them enough to get away without them even realising what was happening.

Fear was something that he had never had before being dropped through that portal, and, going to Neverland. Keeping his hands in his pockets, Neal shrugged “There usually is.” Neal knew this well enough. Every foster home he went to, there were always conditions to him being in their home. Rules, curfews and being forced to share a room and house with people he didn't know. The plan was to hang out here for the night, and, then in the morning he would make his way somewhere, find himself a job, and, figure things out for a year until he aged out.

He hadn't meant to have anyone else caught in the crossfire. Neal had thought this room was empty. Neal would definitely help protect or hide her. If he was caught here, then he would make sure that no-one else got in trouble. Neal wasn't relaxed about the whole situation, he was always going to be tense with the fear of getting caught. Neal wasn't worried about being caught persay. He was worried about not being able to ever find a home, so what was the point of going back there?

At least if he was caught with stuff in his bag, people would feel slightly sorry for him. Not that he wanted that.

Either way, even if he was caught it wasn't like he had anything to really lose. He'd lost everything years ago. With the gun still pointed at his face, Neal just stayed still with his hands in his pockets. Neal could see that she just used it as protection, he had protection of his own that he carried with him, but, it wasn't as big as a gun. It was just something small that he kept with him, that could get the job done if he needed it. Neal was glad that none of his foster parents, or his social worker had found it. Since he would've needed to get another lecture or sent away. Luckily he could just blend it in with his art stuff, and, have them think it was something to do with that. As he continued to look at the gun in the girl's hands, he could sense that she didn't have the courage to actually shoot. But, he wasn't going to let on that he could see it.

Neal let out a soft sigh as he noticed her going through his bag. As long as she didn't take any of the stuff that meant something to him, which was limited, then he wouldn't do anything. He let out a soft sigh as he looked up at the ceiling with the hood still on his head. One thing Neal had always had in all of those group homes, was his backpack ready to go. The only thing that he put in there when he was actually leaving was food. Since it would go bad if he kept it in the bags for the however long he actually chose to stick around. But, the backpack always made it easier to leave in a hurry, he always had his sketch-book, his box of knick knacks and that old shawl. Along with some clothes. It wasn't like foster kids had much. Neal wasn't given much, so he just travelled with what little he actually had.

Hearing the girl stand back up, Neal moved his head back down. “I told you.” Neal said, with a quick shrug. Watching her lower the gun, Neal moved closer to his backpack again. “Ok.” Neal then continued to examine the paintings that were in this place. He was fascinated by other people's work. “Fine. It's not like I'm not used to leaving in a hurry. I don't really stay in places too long these days.” Neal was on his own, and, he knew that.

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: May 14 2017, 01:03 PM
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Elementary

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just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
He clearly didn’t pose a threat - Jamie was satisfied of that. His bag was exactly how she would have expected any boy on the streets to have and he had shown no signs of being more than he initially seemed. She relaxed, if only by a little. At his comment she gestured to the bag. He had been uncomfortable during her rooting in it, and no wonder - although that hadn't stopped her from taking full advantage of looking through, naturally. "Have it. I'm not concerned with your belongings. They hold no particular interest to me." Only my own. She still held the gun, but it was pointed downwards now, her finger not resting so much on the trigger.

Jamie frowned at his turn of phrase, although she understood his point. A flighty existence...that she too was familiar with. She raised an eyebrow darkly. "Neither do I." Stay in places that long, that was. Not when her enterprises were still shaky, not as founded and as secure as she would like; she had to be ready for every eventuality. One day, she kept telling herself, one day there wouldn't be any of this. She would be well seated in her exploits, comfortable amongst the crimes being committed under her watchful eye. She could become what no one had ever been before: a consulting criminal, the one stop shop for theft, arson, fraud...

But it was more than just the entrepreneurial side of proceedings - the money, the personal monetary gain. That was only one aspect of a multifaceted operation with far deeper roots than shallow greed. The strategy, the grand design that could be orchestrated with a hundred players and a thousand connecting threads - it was that, and nothing else, that she found so intoxicating. The mental stimulation was like no other. She could use her intellect to create the most fascinating of crimes just under the radar, just out of sight and yet so startlingly simple...the manipulation of every strand in her grasp, the skilful playing of her strings to create the perfect plan. And beyond that? The base thrill.

But she wasn't going to get any of that right now. That was all in the future, out of reach and beyond her grasp. So she had to move, just as this Neal did; had to keep herself busy, had to be industrious to earn those luxurious days ahead. Her sharp eyes followed him. It never got easier - having to move around. Not when she was cut off from her parents, from everything she knew. They could never know, for their own protection....but mostly for hers. She wondered, briefly, where Neal's parents were by now. He had to have parents somewhere. It was startlingly close to some sort of empathy, although she barely knew the meaning of the word.

Anyway: a constantly migrating lifestyle. For now. Until then she would have to bide her time, lie low...keep out of trouble. Exactly how she wasn't in this very situation, she reflected critically. Patience. It was half an hour. Half an hour with a street urchin and her problems would abate - until the sun rose, and her investigation into America and all it held continued. But for now, in the cover of darkness, she only had one problem to deal with.

Half an hour. It was a long time to stay anonymous. She shifted where she stood, her eyes trailing over one of her easels before glancing back at this Neal. "Fine, then. We both understand the terms of how you are here and for how long. You understand the penalties. For that you may call me Jamie." Her accent was slipping now, reverting back to her native Surrey accent. It didn't occur to her to use a codename, either. Codenames were still strange to her, too foreign. She could not see herself in any codename, and had long thought before to simply use 'Moriarty' as her name. She could scratch herself off the records so there would be no trace to the original, English, female Moriarty, and then she could begin again. A old name; a new purpose. But for now it was just Jamie.

She could see he was interested in something else, though. When the boy had first come in his eyes had crisscrossed her paintings. Not in the way that some art dealers looked at their paintings, as though they were mere additions to their bank account - worth nothing beyond the market price - but in a different way, in the way of the...artist. "You keep looking to my artwork. Does it interest you, or have you never seen a painting before?" Her eyes flitted to one of the nearest. Just a copy of someone else's work, yet painstakingly imitated. The one she was looking at now had taken hours of work, in between waiting for calls about various exploits back in Britain. Despite the twenty four hour rate of crime the time difference allowed for many hours of radio silence here - unnervingly. Something had to keep her busy whilst waiting for news. She looked back at him. "I didn't think hooded urchins were too interested in the finer things in life. Especially those wanted by the police."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 871 | NOTES:

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: May 20 2017, 05:58 PM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

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I was just a lost, unwanted little boy
Jamie Moriarty && SHORT NOTES GO HERE
It wasn't like he was a threat, he was a foster kid who had run away. That didn't really scream a threat. His backpack only really had the only things he felt a connection to, plus as much food as he could get away with. Neal then focused back on the woman going through his backpack, a worry inside of him that she would touch or do something with the things that he cared about. “Good. You have your things and I have mine.” There were things that were better left unsaid

Neal unexpectedly let something slip about his lifestyle, but, that wasn't really important right now. Or something he was concerned about right now. He just knew that he was good at leaving in a hurry, or at a moment's notice. It's why he had his backpack pretty much always ready to go. Neal didn't really say much in response to the woman's comment that she felt the same way. Neal knew that one day this whole constantly bouncing around would be over. When he turned 18, they wouldn't care anything about him, and, would just dump him on the streets. Neal had no hope that he would be with a family of his own before he aged out of it. Soon he would be old enough to truly do all of this stuff on his own, and, legally be able to get a job, without it raising suspicion. He could finally be something that no-one thought he would ever be. A man who made a life for himself.

He'd heard the whispers of those other people around school and in the homes. That foster kids were nothing but, worthless and unwanted. And, they were people who cause trouble and they were never going to amount to anything of any real value. Neal didn't so much want to make something of himself to prove them all wrong, it was to prove himself wrong, because he believed it all as well. And, he didn't want to anymore. Neal could use his skills to find something to do, that would really make a difference. Art was probably his biggest and best skill, but, it was probably too late to make a life in that. Neal hadn't been able to take that art scholarship that was offered, because he was sent back. But, that didn't mean there wasn't something out there for him. He just had to get the chance to find it.

But, that was something to think about for later. In the future. Right now it was way out of his grasp. The first way to start was to keep moving, and, not getting taken back there. Which was a bit harder to do then he thought. It wasn't easy moving around as much as he did, everytime he got sent back made him feel more unwanted and lost, and, it had been like that for the past almost 3 years. His parents hadn't wanted him, slowly abandoning him at different stages in his life. His father's being when he truly needed him the most. He knew that everyone had parents somewhere, but, his was off living his life with the power of that dagger, while he was here being bounced back and forth through the system, and, on his own. This was bringing up a pain that he had bottled down a couple of years ago.

One thing he knew was that Neal couldn't take himself back to Arizona for a couple of days. Once the police stopped looking for him in Arizona, he could go back. While he didn't like that place all that much, it's where he had been since he landed back in this world. So, it was the only real place he had a connection to. Neal would just keep himself out of trouble, long enough to reach 18. but, right now his focus and main problem was figuring out where else he could go in the middle of the night. Since he was going to keep his promise and be out of here within half an hour. All he needed to do was survive until the morning. And, then he would explore this city for a couple of days, see if it was actually worth staying here for a bit, before he went back to Arizona. But, right now he only had one thing to worry about.

Half an hour was long enough for him. Especially if he was in the workshop of a fellow artist. He found his gaze going towards the easels, admiring the painting that was on it, before turning back towards the woman. “That I do. It's not the first place that I've stayed with rules. Nice to meet you Jamie.” Neal knew that last names weren't really important. Especially if both of them were hiding from something, and, constantly on the move. Besides in a way, Neal was technically a fake name as well. Yes it was who he was now. But, it wasn't a name he was born with, it's a name he came up with this world. Baelfire was the son of a dark man who had wanted power more then his own son. Neal Cassidy was just a boy who had been abandoned by his parents, and, who was pretty much just a nothing in this world. Just a foster kid.

Right now his focus always seemed to go back to the paintings that were around this room. Being an artist himself, Neal was interested in the woman's pieces. He was admiring the paintings and the way they were painted on the canvas. Neal wasn't so much looking at the beauty of it, Neal was admiring the brush strokes, since it intrigued him the style of other artists. “Oh believe me I'm interested. I've seen paintings before, painting just isn't my usual form of art.” He hadn't really done painting so much, he was more just the sketches and drawing type. Neal went towards his backpack, and, grabbed a bottle of water out of it taking a sip of it. Neal gave a small smile towards the woman's direction, before leaning backwards against the table in this room. “What can I say fellow artists intrigue me. But, you shouldn't judge purely on appearances only.”

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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Jun 1 2017, 10:49 AM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

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35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
The cold was biting at her now, wrapped as she was in a dressing gown. The studio was not the warmest at the best of times and it certainly wasn't now, with frost lacing the windows and the wooden floor hostile to bare feet. The gun was cold in her hand too, the trigger heavy and sapping all the heat from her veins. She found a studio stool, one of the ones she had for sitting on while painting, and pulled it towards him at a comfortable distance. The screech of metal on wood was a dull mimicry of the police siren outside as she seated herself, putting the gun to one side.

She didn't think she'd need it.

Jamie hadn't been looking at the paintings. They hung up around her every day as she went about her business, from making tea to decrypting hidden messages from those whose word she had been waiting on. She waited on her contacts, not the other way around, as irritating and vexing as that was. But she didn't see the art around her, bordering her on all sides. They were just imitations of other artworks - famous artworks, true, but artworks all the same of New York and the surrounding area, of America as a whole. Viewing them wasn't the point, not in her finely ordered mind as focused and as pointed as a needle. It was making them, seeing the country from a native artist's mind. They were art, beautiful art, but her own work was just mimic. What could anyone add to the wealth of artwork already on display?

But she was looking at them now, studying the nearest one. Or she was, until he spoke. She turned to him, echoing his words. "Your usual form?" She raised an eyebrow. "You create art?" Coldly her gaze looked him up and down, as if trying to find the part of him that said 'artist'. The way he looked didn't exactly scream talented or even a dabbler in the arts. Looking like some sort of troubled kid on the run did that to you. At least, to the naked eye. Her own powers of observation were poking and probing now. Yes - no - there was something there, she was sure of it. Underneath the mud and the grime of a life that was rough and uncivilised and worlds away from her own...there was something. Something hidden. But this boy was hiding it well, keeping something secret just out of reach. It was almost as if he believed it himself. It was more than just a name. Names were like paper - fragile, vulnerable to ripping and tearing and shredding. This was something else entirely. Not entirely strange. This 'Neal' was just good at hiding things.

She would turn out to be better.

As if the boy was reading her mind he started talking about appearances. Jamie was shaken from her reverie. Her fingers had been gently crossed the canvas absentmindedly, the old brushstrokes of her own making. She could remember every stroke of the brush, the coarse camel hair caked in greys and blacks and the rufescent tint of a sunrise. Her nails could follow the swish and swirl of paint on canvas. "Appearances show everything." She looked up at him. "If you look hard enough they cast away their visage." They always had for her. Affairs, dalliances, money and finance and the detection of hidden things. But her tone was...dull. Blunted. As if this wasn't a surprise to her, and instead an unfortunate family trait like an inheritable disease. As if this was inheritable. But she smiled wryly. "Maybe you should take some of your own advice," she murmured, almost to herself. What she painted was hardly what it seemed.

Seeing him drink made her thirsty, bizarrely. It was the middle of the night. But she was British, and she suddenly got up from her chair, padding over to the tiny kitchenette in the corner. The kettle began to hum conversationally. "I'm surprised. I didn't consider many people like you to be interested in art." She didn't flinch from casual arrogance, continuing, "Don't tell me you do graffiti."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 697 | NOTES:

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Jun 8 2017, 06:48 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




Neal felt the draft from the night air blow over him for a moment, and he adjusted his jacket around himself, and, put the hood over his head. While he didn't like the cold, at least he had found somewhere to properly sleep, so that he wasn't on the streets when it really got cold. Not that he hadn't been in that position before, but, it was nice to have the option away from it. At least for a short while. Watching the girl grab a stool, Neal moved back and just kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He flinched slightly at the screech, but, decided just to ignore it. And, he let his gaze go towards the girl putting the gun down.

At least that was a start.

Neal wasn't sure why, but, he felt his gaze focusing more on the paintings that were over the walls. He always did like watching other people's artworks, they were something that no matter where he went, Neal would always stop and admire art. He knew more about them then most probably did, maybe because he knew the tricks about being an artist and bringing your work out onto paper. Or onto canvas in this case. He knew that other artists normally didn't focus or look back on their own artwork. Heck he didn't really go through his book once the sketches were done. Of course he usually had more important things to worry about then reflecting on his own art. The main one being surviving and staying warm. The point of his art was to get images out of his head, kind of like an escape from his current life. And, it also allowed him to keep a connection with both of his parents, particularly his mother that he didn't have at all anymore. But, even if he was to show them to someone, who would want the art pieces of just a foster kid.

He kept his gaze on the paintings before he let it slip that he was an artist himself. Neal looked down at the ground, and, looked up as she responded to it. Neal gave a gentle nod in response. “That I do.” Neal knew that it was probably surprising, since he didn't look like the type, and, no-one really expected it. Heck no one even asked. It wasn't really something he liked to share with a bunch of people, who may not even be in his life later on. As far as they all knew he was just some foster kid who wasn't wanted by his family. A poor, run-down street kid. That was how he liked things. Once people saw that, they never really tried to find anything else in terms of appearance. Neal didn't really want those lives overlapping, and, right now he felt like he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it. Honestly there were a lot of things that he was hiding, including who he really was, and, his past. But, that was a lot easier to avoid then the art thing, because that was with him anyway. Neal believed that he was unwanted and just him now, but, that didn't mean he was happy with it. He was getting a lot better at hiding stuff.

Especially his emotions behind walls.

Neal was always ok with speaking his mind though, so he voiced it out loud once again. He rested his fingers against the table, as he looked at the girl in front of him. When it came to appearances, Neal was an expert. Most of the foster homes were pretty much places he gave a chance, until he realised that he should've judged based on appearances, and, first instinct. “Well I guess that depends on the person though right?” Neal didn't care much about appearances, especially based on his past. There's more to people then there appears, but, that didn't really matter too much. Hearing that last comment, Neal ignored it, and, just rolled his eyes instead.

He just kept the water in his hand, suddenly getting thirsty, but, also to distract himself from talking too much about this stuff. Watching the girl walk to a different part of the room, Neal took the time to move his hands towards the stone that hung around his neck. “Well not a lot of people would.” Neal said, as he looked up at her. “Oh I get it street kid, automatically does graffiti. There's that appearances thing again.”


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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Jun 15 2017, 09:58 AM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
Jamie couldn’t help but be surprised. A street kid, doing art? God knew where he got his supplies from and she wasn’t going to ask. Surely it wouldn’t be the first thing on any urchin’s mind - to view art, and also make it? She could hardly think it high on a list of possible priorities, not when there was food to find and shelter to presumably find as well. She knew little about being on the streets but those are what she would surely think about first if she were homeless (not that it could happen, because she had greater things planned). There had to be a lot of other concerns that Moriarty didn’t even spend her time thinking about. Art for her was confined to premium paints, camelhair brushes, ornate gilded frames and museums with the click of echoing heels bouncing off vaulted ceilings.

Maybe there was merit to what he said about appearances. But she leant heavily on what she saw - the appearances of everyone appearing truthful before her observant eye without exception. Saying that one shouldn't take appearances to heart was going against her nature as well as her skill at deduction. Depends on the person? She would have said no to that before; it didn't matter about the external guise, not when the same careful, precise eye was looking at it all and stripping it back to what it truly was. Did it matter who she was looking at? But finally Jamie had met someone who was at least a little more complicated than he appeared. It gave the young mastermind food for thought, and an uncomfortable mood at that. "Hmm." Hmm. Not a real answer. "Some people prove more elusive than at first glance, I can agree with that." But were there depths to a person that couldn't be reached by the human eye alone? She already knew that, to an extent. Love, for example. Love she just couldn't get behind. But that was a boon in her new profession, she reminded herself. But Jamie was still blind to it. "I suppose you're right," she ceded. "Maybe."

Jamie rooted around in the cupboard for a mug. She found one and put it on the counter, only to hesitate. She took out another after a second’s thought, side by side with her own as the kettle continued to hum. That and a couple of Earl Grey teabags (specially imported from England - she wouldn’t leave home without it, and some luxuries could be readily afforded even overseas) set them up for a cup of tea each. In the reflection of the shiny chrome of the kettle she could see her own distorted image, stretched tightly over the kettle’s surface. A freshly formed habit of her newfound life of crime her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the mirror image, to see herself and, beyond her, the warped figure of Neal. Despite what he said Moriarty had to watch Neal and check he wasn’t up to anything. It was becoming intrinsic to her now, the precision, the wariness that was now a part of her daily life. It was getting easier and easier. Whether that was a good thing depended on your point of view.

He was touching something at his neck now, and although the contorted image of the kettle as she poured out steaming cups of tea didn’t exactly give away the details, not at this distance, she could tell that it was like some sort of necklace or something. She couldn’t quite make out the pendant. "There’s that appearances thing again." "Do you blame me? Can you, even?" Jamie finished pouring the tea and took up her own, otherwise ignoring the cup she’d poured out for him. Her thoughts towards another person didn’t exactly extend to anything similar to actually being a good host. He could get his own cup if he wanted to - otherwise she'd drink it, sooner or later. "Barging in here - you're not exactly putting yourself up as a paradigm of virtue. Or class." Or anyone who wouldn't paint graffiti, for that matter.

But Jamie was getting curious now, and there was an opening in the conversation for something she had been wondering about since she'd scratched at the surface of his identity. Something wasn't right. She was used to seeing the hallmarks of deception - the mannerisms, the micro expressions, the little tells that people showed without even knowing they did so. So did she, of course, although now she was trying to stifle them when possible. It didn't do to wear your heart on your sleeve, not in her line of work. "But you're not a 'street kid', are you?" Jamie sipped at her tea. "You are now, but not always. Not really." That was true of every street kid, she supposed, but with Neal it seemed even more apparent. He looked like someone who wasn't meant to be on the streets. "You had to learn to do art somewhere. And you're not violent." Maybe that was a mass generalisation on her part, but it was true. He hadn't tried to hurt her once, even if it was just to keep her quiet and stop her from calling the police. If anything Moriarty had been the one with the gun. "And your name's not Neal, either, but you lie easily. Convincingly."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 897 | NOTES:

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Jun 23 2017, 11:15 PM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1106 posts




JUST A LOST UNWANTED
LITTLE BOY WHO DIDN'T MATTER
Neal kept his drawing skills secret from everyone, since he knew none of them would care anyway. He usually had to stock up from either the offices of the foster families, or borrow some money and buy them from some supply stores. But, with all the running away he didn't get to do this stuff as much anymore. But, he had his food covered for a while, and, he was hoping that this place would give him the shelter covered. Which it didn't. But, it didn't mean he wasn't going to continue to enjoy the only thing he had going for him. And, one of the only interests he had. Neal was just used to being a homeless street kid, so it wasn't as bad to adapt anymore. He also knew that he managed to find supplies on the street pretty easily. Some of the items he found on the ground just reminded Neal of the coal he'd used back in the Forest. Yes, he wished he could have the glamorous supplies that people have or that he'd seen in the galleries that he'd snuck his way into.

He knew that appearances were the main thing that he was judged on everytime he entered a new foster home, or anywhere. Everyone just assumed that foster kids were troublemakers and destined to be nothing, all because they weren't with their parents or families. They thought that if not even their own parents could want them, then how could anyone else? Neal may look like a bum on the outside, but, there was a lot more to him then that. It just meant that people had to take the time to get to know him, to truly know what he was like. And, see that he was more then a street kid, who wasn't wanted. Neal knew that he probably had given this girl more to think about when it comes to himself. The art thing, obviously wasn't something you would pick from just looking at someone. Neal just ignored the first response, because that wasn't really an answer. “Well, then I guess we have something in common there at least.” Neal knew that it may not change her much, but, at least he had been able to give someone something to think about in that scenario. Everyone had depths and different levels to them. It more just depended on the person themselves, and, whoever wants to take the time to think about it. Love was probably one of the deepest feelings though, and, even more painful, because that feeling was gone years ago. “I'll take that I guess.”

Neal watched the girl grabbing stuff out to make tea, and, for a moment he flashed back to the Darlings, and, his life with them. They had always given him tea, and, he had found comfort in the conversations with them. He had told them about how he had used to have tea with his father back in the forest, before everything went south with him. With those memories coming into his head, Neal moved his hand towards the stone that hung around his neck. He hadn't thought about any of that stuff in a long time. Neal had been doing this on guard lifestyle for a long time now, and, he had gotten into the habit of watching out of the corner of his eyes, without having to look up. Neal took another gulp of the water in the bottle, before he put it on the table behind him, and, then putting his hands into the pocket of his hoodie for a moment.

Somehow he had found his grip going back towards the necklace that he wore. That was the only true reminder of his past that he always constantly saw when he looked in the mirror or down. The rest of it was kept close to his side in his backpack. “I guess not. But, I've been getting a lot, and, it kind of gets on my nerves.” Neal put his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie, as the girl turned around, and, he looked up into her eyes. “I don't really make an effort for that. But, I broke in here to hide.” And for shelter for a few days.

Neal could tell from the way the girl was looking at him, that she was piecing something together. Not that it was his problem, as long as he could still crash in here for a while then that was all he truly cared about. He was attempting to hide his emotions, something he'd become quite adept at over the years. Even if he did have his moments of showing them at times. “I think you already know the answer to that.” Neal said, as he just leant against the counter behind him in response to the two street kid comments. Neal knew that he wasn't meant to be on the streets, but, he didn't really have a say in it these days. “That I did. But, yeah, I'm not violent, but, I do know how to defend myself when I need to.” Neal had seen way too much violence in his life, and, he wasn't going to turn into one of those people. He would only hurt someone if the situation called for it, and, luckily this one didn't right now. “We all have our pasts. But, what exactly do you want to hear?”

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