Abba n' Me, Mature Content Warning.

Yuppp.
You're using Ria, I'll useee...
Erm...
My dead charrie-who-I-will-magically-summon-back-from-the-dead!

Name: Cole
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Rest will be RPed because I am too lazy right now. XDD

[[If I post this will be considered one of 'my' posts... so I can stalk it better...]]

If you want to.

Cole ran his slender fingers through his dark, wet hair, droplets of cool water sticking to his fingertips. The water slipped down his fingers, winding through his palm and sliding slowly, agonizingly slowly down his forearm before dripping onto the bathmat below. If he closed his eyes while it dripped, Cole could imagine the feeling he used to have when his father would beat him, the blood slipping down his skin, hot and wet, sticking to him. He could almost feel the used-to-be bruises that danced across his body. But this was cold water, with no pain. It did not stain his clothes, it did not leave any marks. It merely dripped off of his slim, but fit, body. He remembered much about his father, yes, though his brothers remembered more. According to Acheron- who had, of course, said this when he was younger- until Acheron was around the age of five, Father had been relatively nice. Sure, his mother and father had fought occasionally, but it was nothing more than shattered possessions and biting words. Cole was only three when Father hit his mom for the first time. Not soon after, he began hitting the three boys for their mistakes- the house wasn't clean, his car's paint had a scratch. Whatever it was, it was always them who took the beating, them and their mom. Cole, as long as he could remember, always had a father who would hit him- and, as young children are clumsy, he would oftentimes break things or damage things. His brothers were very protective of him, as he was the baby of the family, and would stop as much of the beating as they could. They'd take blows they never needed to take, and for that Cole could never quite repay them. Their father exercised regularly, and as a result had powerful strikes. Not only that, he would hurt them in another way- Cole wasn't hurt until he was seven, really, the other two had been before that- a way that Cole swore he'd never subject anyone to. He'd had to fight people before- that was no problem- but doing that he could never do; neither could his brothers. The memory was too painful of a thing to repeat. He examined his face in the grimy mirror of the small, apartment bathroom. He'd lived in the apartment for only two years; they'd never had the money to rent housing somewhere for a long time. It wouldn't have been a problem- housing wise, anyways- had they kept themselves at the house they live in with their Father. When Cole was halfway through his seventh year of age, Nikolas and Acheron coaxed him to run away. At first Cole was hesitant- it's hard not to be when, as a child, you are being brought out of the only home you know- but his submissive, 7-year-old brain soon bent to the will of his older brothers- his idols- and he let them take him away. That day he had broken a fragile sculpture his father had payed handsomely for, a prized possession of his father's, and little did he know that had he not gone with his brothers he would be buried in the backyard of that wretched place, buried alongside his mother who took his place. His father was a very materialistic man... They'd left as soon as they had packed- not long after their father had left- headed out of the state, out of the place they called home. They each had a backpack, and that was all they could carry with them. As they had to leave soon, without a goodbye even to their mother for fear of being caught, they rushed out without any money- yet Cole remembered his bear he had gotten as a baby. So they hitchhiked their way to the other side of the United States, getting off in some town none of them recognized. They had no money, no people to turn to, and nothing left to help them besides what they had on them at the time. So, of course, the boys slept in subway stations, abandoned houses, anywhere they could find. Cole and his brothers had to make money somehow- they lived as beggars, pickpockets, anything they could to scrape by until they were old enough for a job. Cole couldn't help much with this- he was too young, and the other two decided he needed education more than helping out there. So, Cole was sent to the nearest public school, where he did not eat lunch and his supplies were stolen. He taught his brothers what he learned, as to keep them educated as well. It wasn't until Acheron, the eldest, was 15 and old enough to work that the boys had enough money to rent out a crummy apartment in the slums of the city. Each day on his way to school Cole would pass many people- he would pass the body in the dumpster, the murderer who killed him, the prostitutes and their clients, the gangs and the beggars. He'd learned who to avoid and who to help. His body was toned from his constant exercise he had to use to move around the city safely, and his body slim from the lack of food. He wasn't exactly the healthiest or most attractive person around, but he was alive. That was more than he'd ever hoped for. He'd even landed himself a job- one that interfered with his homework and such, but it was a job. He was finally helping out, getting money for his trio, his brothers and himself. It was good.
A bang on the door reminded him of where he was. He dried himself off, dressing quickly and in recycled clothing. Nik yelled at him through the door to get hurried up- Cole would be late, and Nik would be late for his job. Acheron already left- he worked the opening shift and the lunchtime shift. Cole combed his hair as he walked out of the bathroom, rolling his eyes at his brother.
“Really, can't wait two minutes?” Cole asked sarcastically.
“Nope, can't,” Nik replied, shutting the bathroom door quickly and turning on the shower. The shower's hot water never seemed to work except for the first three seconds of the first person's cleansing. Cole pulled the straps of his tattered backpack over his shoulder, about to leave before he caught Acheron's note.
Don't forget your key again, it's right here. -Ash The key lay harmlessly on the paper. Cole pulled it up and stuck it in his pocket before stepping out of the door and into the hallway. Shouts and whimpers, cries of ecstasy came through the thin walls of the apartment. Cole ignored the typical noise, forgetting how it reminded him of the earliest years of his life. His walk to the school was rather short- he knew an extremely short shortcut to the “good” side of town, or at least the midway point where everyone attended school. He paused, glancing up at the great steel doors, the bold lettering, wondering what the ugly the day would show again.

...FAILLLL...

((COPY AND PASTE CHEATERRRR. XDD))
((He is slim from lack of food, along with his brothers, but as they lived in a way that they need to be fit to survive, they all have substantial amounts of muscle. He has dark, dirty-blond hair that turns much darker when wet. He has blue eyes. He stands about 5'9". Uhm...))

Picture?
Sorry. Pain meds are kinda dulling imagination.

DX
You want me to find a picture!?!?

And post pleaseeel

A kid jerked his head at Cole, spitting something into the dirt and offering Cole a cigarette as he passed.
“Nah, man, I'll pass,” he said, quickly refusing the cigarette. The memories of the curling smoke winding from the mouth of hisfather, the red-hot embers pressing into his skin and burning him, small circles that had healed over now.
“C'mon, dude, just one?” The kid pressed, the foul breath from his habit infiltrating his nose. The kid's teeth were yellow when he grinned, the hair dirty and full of grease. Cole snorted in disgust and turned away, ignoring the calls at his back. What he saw was the familiar parking lot, even the lot divided into rich and poor kid. It wasn't hard to tell. Those who came from the good side of town pulled up in their flashy, shining, new cars, practically begging to be stolen, the girls and guys who drove them dressing themselves with expensive clothing. Here- on “his” side of the lot- the cars that did manage to be driven here were old, rusted and dirty, most likely saved from a junkyard or something of the sorts. Maybe some of those “free” cars nobody could sell. He meandered, kicking a can on the sidewalk. He- along with all of the others on his side of the money line- would have to pass those pretty, rich kids when the passed.
You could say he was a bit bitter today.
Cole ignored the whispers about him as he passed by, he didn't listen to the side comments and the muffled laughter. He clenched his jaw tightly and pulled his hands into stony fists at his side. As he passed, he caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but turn, and sigh at the beauty of the mustang. A red, gorgeous paint job seduced his eyes, and he knew, of course, that it wasn't one of the typical cars. A new student, or maybe another kid got a fancy car once again. He turned away, restraining himself from taking it out on a joyride that wasn't entirely legal. Hotwiring a car was a handy trick he'd learned- who could afford a car anyways? At least, anyone he knew. He ran a hand through his blond hair, the curls caressing his fingers, pulling back before falling into their place once again. The ominous stairs mocked him as he approached, singing tales of friendlessness and loneliness. He trudged up them, a girl he didn't recognize scaling the stairs in front of him. The owner of the Mustang? He didn't have time to ask before she slipped into the building, a whispering shadow crawling along the walls. She was rich- to him, at least, anything middle class and above was rich- obviously, so why did she hide away so? He caught a quick glimpse of her face once again, and a faint remembrance tugged at his mind. He had seen those features before, though he couldn't place where. He didn't have the time to contemplate, though; the masses of people moving behind him urged him forwards, shoving him unintentionally towards the walls. The first day of school after spring break was always a chaotic morning; he hardly knew how to manage it without exploding. The locker he called his greeted him with scratched-in, sharpied messages and crude drawings. New, old, all pulled over his locker. He'd have to paint over it again. The school, you see, tended to favor those who took residence there and those who bribed the school- those who could afford the food they ate, the house they lived in, the clothes they wore, for themselves and others, with more to spare. If someone so much as wrote “Hello” on their lockers, the vandalizer would be punished with no questions asked. People could cuss him out in plain sight- and nobody would care.
He spun the lock, the numbers almost subconsciously recognized. Who was that girl? His mind seemed to chant that, over and over again.
Who was that girl?
He pressed the metal handle up, pulling back the locker. The door shook as it opened on poor hinges, words spilling onto other lockers severed by the opening. He yanked out a stack of materials, a pencil stabbing into his hand from the way he was holding things. Rearranging his materials, he moved briskly to his next classroom. As he passed, he pelt someone stab him with a pencil as they headed off to their class.
“'Ey, poor boy! Where you goin' sleep tonight? Gotta go make yo'self a bed in the street?” came a mocking voice behind him. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he whirled to face his insulter. Instinctively, rage flared up inside of him. He'd been there, living on the streets, and it wasn't something to be taken very lightly. Of course, living during the most impressionable time of your life with anger as a solution to everything, Cole couldn't react much differently.
“What'd you say?” Cole snapped angrily, dropping his stuff on the ground with a loud thud.
“Where you goin' sleep, poor boy?” The guy taunted. By now, a small group of people had gathered, growing larger with each word.
“You don't wanna mess with me, boy, you'll just end up crawlin' and wailin' back to your mommy,” he shot back. By now, the crowd had attracted much attention, and the chanting had begun. Fight! Fight! Fight!
A fist nicked the side of his face, barely touching him. “Can't even hit, sissy!” He throw a punch, hitting the kid square in the jaw with his words. The guy looked shocked at the hit, as if he expected Cole to flop about like a worthless fish.
Fight! Fight! Fight! FIGHT! came the voices of the crowd. Out of the corner of Cole's eye came the hurried steps of a teacher. Before the teacher's heels clacked close enough to stop him, Cole landed another hit straight into the eye of his tormentor.
“COLE!” shouted the woman, parting the crowd, heading straight to the two boys, placing herself in between the two teenagers, “Principal's Office. NOW!”
Scooping up his items quickly, still raging at the boy, he turned and stalked off towards the office. The hallways were quickly a buzz with the news of the fight.

Bad place to end it, but at least I posted.

((Yayyy! An uncopied post! XDD))
((I should reply. ))