Post by alastor on Jun 22, 2012 5:23:40 GMT
alastor gabriyel moody
[/b][/color]," he interrupts, at last looking up at the man, who has been regarding him with very sarcastic and boring eyes. his drawlings have been getting on alastor's nerves, and by and by, the content in the words have cut too deep. he didn't ask to be here, assured that he would be at the utmost comfortable environment, that he would feel most at ease and uncover, through his volatile and callous front, things that keep him locked to the past. he's glaring, his jaws are clenching. his hands, held together, are shaking a little. he looks away, afraid that if he keeps eye contact, his hand will involuntarily grip the wand sticking out of his pocket, in such a speed that won't give the old man time to defend himself. "you don't know me, so enough." he blinks as he swallows his throat. "i've had enough."
full name: alastor gabriyel moody
age: eighteen
year: 7th
birthday: tenth, july
blood line: pureblood
occupation: student
former / house: gryffindor
he doesn't need to be reminded of his past, of his horribly tainted past that has left too deep a scar in his heart. he doesn't need to be recalled of the time his mother fell ill one day, being rushed to st. mungo's, only to find out that she had less than 24 hours to live. he doesn't need to be reminded of how it felt for the knot in his stomach tautened at the thought of not only losing his mother, but living with his father as well. he doesn't need to reminisce about the sudden depression his father hit, hitting rock-bottom, yet never failing to show no sign of vulnerability and affection towards his one and only son. of how indifferent he was treated, of the only principles his father taught him ever since the moment he could talk: the strong will live, the weak will die. always be strong in the face of adversity, and never show vulnerability or weakness.
he doesn't need to think back on how much he missed the intimate moments, gentle, comforting words his mother whispered in his ear whenever his father became passive around him. of how much support she gave him in his endeavour to at least get his father to tell him that he was proud to call alastor his son, of how she picked him up every time he would be brushed off like dust. of how it came to the point that, after only a couple of months of his mother's passing, he finally mastered the art of insensitivity and pure indifference. he doesn't need to think back on the moment he was made known of his father's passing a couple of months later, during his second year in school; of how he was the only one who did not cry during the funeral, of how empty, blank and emotionless he felt afterwards. of being told that, seeing as he had no known relatives, the housekeeper will stay as is, with an additional "guardian" assigned accordingly, by the ministry.
of finally realizing, after standing inside his house, alone, that he isn't able to feel anything remotely emotional anymore.
because he will never forget.
he has since been reclusive, shunning society and the rest of the world in a corner, away from his being. he pities the useless, and posses a berserker of a nature, which is fortunately reigned within his control. he is not impulsive, though he seems to compel in oblivion. everything is shattered, glittering in pieces, and he hasn't looked back since. it's not as if he despises the world and everything in it-- it is just that, he can no longer be a part of it. "i wonder if you've realized it yourself, that your father never loved you."
what is this? this stinging feeling, welling in his chest, blazing through his nerves, cutting open what once was close. he is stung by the acid-like tone of the voice, but is only mildly surprised by the coldness of it. he refuses to do this, to uncover which does not need to be. his face remains expressionless, for he knows why he is being grilled like this. his father had been the head auror prior to his death, and was regarded a highly dangerous but well-crafted man, who could tolerate flaws, but never whiners. this man before him is among those his father has humiliated in point-blank, exposing his uselessness, lack of service in the ministry, and dealings with the workers' money under their noses. it's only because his father promised to keep this secret quiet, that the old man still has his job. how alastor found out, was when he filed through the possessions of his father he now owns, stumbling across journals and endless piles of files of every arrest, every dark wizard, his father had caught.
"he was ashamed to call you his own, of your very existence, that he didn't care to speak about you around here." he forces himself to look up, to face the words that stab. ceasless. "did you know that?" the old man, face distorted and bandaged arm, leans forward, a glint of jeer and sneering smirk right smack on his face. "pathetic. he was pathetic. the way he groveled on the feet of the superiors, the way he would go out of his way to please and be everyone's favourite, he was pathetic." a devil sneer, an insulting chuckle, the old man leans just a little closer. "your father was ashamed of your mother, too. he built his reputation through lies and deception, he was a snake, a treacherous, conniving son of a--"
alastor's foot hit the ground, and in a blur, one hand is gripping down on the bandaged arm, while he decks the old man's face, hard. both bodies collapse as the couch gives way to the sudden push. he grips tighter on the injured arm, and rallies with punch after punch with a roar, merciless, teeth bared. "fool!" he bellowed, completely unaware that his fist was now covered in blood, his victim near unconsciousness. "you dare talk about my father like that?! you dare?!" he is cut, and everything is broken. everything is spilling, and he can't stop. even the tears. "you piece.. of.. shit!"
he doesn't hear the sudden crash of the door opening, or the rush of sounding footsteps, or hear the outraged cries and words. he doesn't feel the blood drip from his fist as two men hold him back with all their might, while people mill in and rush to the aid of the half-dead psychologist. his face is revealing anguish, and he is unravelled. he trembles as they pin him on the opposite wall. a tall shadow overcasts his figure, but he doesn't want to look up.
he can't.
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alias: , guess who
gender: , --
rp sample: , --
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