in which kit rook is a reckless boy angry at the world, and he learns that not everyone is out to get him.
| ᴋɪᴛ ʜᴇʀᴏɴᴅᴀʟᴇ + ᴛʏ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴛʜᴏʀɴ |
| ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄᴇs / ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀs |
| ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ |
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☼︎☼︎☼︎
Life was hard.
That's what Kit had always been taught. Life wasn't easy. Only the rich and priveleged got to enjoy it, while the poor would always be left to scrounge for leftovers.
And to make it in this hard environment, Kit was told to steal.
His father taught him how. How to pick locks, how to slip so stealthily into a building that no one could catch him. He was an expert at "accidentally" running into someone, only for them to realize that their wallet was missing minutes later.
By the age of eight, Kit was still small enough for his father to push him into the vent of some rich dude's mansion so that he could steal valuables undetected.
As he got older, it got worst- he wasn't stealing only on his father's orders anymore. Now he was stealing anything that appealed to him, any item of value from whichever unlucky soul who were to walk by. He didn't need the fancy watch, or the golden pin- but next think he knew, Kit would be darting through an alleyway, a yelling businessman running after him.
And it was more than stealing. He was soon getting into all kinds of trouble- he was fighting in allyways, running away from burning buildings that he may or may not have caused. He'd spent more than one night in a dank prison cell.
At school, he was known as a "badboy" and seemed to be quite popular. But he didn't care to read anymore into it. He didn't care for school, it was simple as that.
It was widely known of Kit's preferences, and he'd often be seen at parties, sipping alcohol and making out with a person of either gender.
But it never went farther than that. Love wasn't real, Kit knew that. It was a figment that people manipulated to get what they want, and he wasn't going to fall for it.
It was one warm night, between swigs of alcohol and a particularly good-looking boy on his lap when he got the call.
He'd heard the words, loud and clear, echoing in his head. Your father is dead.
Dead.
At first, Kit almost felt relief- followed by a bit of guilt. Johnny was his father, he shouldn't be glad- and yet he was. He had never shown Kit even the smallest bit of compassion, and they'd very rarely done anything together that was outside of crime.
As he was still seventeen, it was the next day that child services came to pick him up.
Kit was sure he'd be sent to some orphanage, or into fostercare. He had no family or friends to take him in, and even if he did, who would want him? A criminal with a record far too long for someone so young, who didn't listen to rules and had no interest in changing.
