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Hat-tori
Supernova
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
James was a nice kid.
He liked to be nice. A few favors here or there, a few good deeds, and it was incredible what people would believe, so long as it came from your lips. Trust was the real currency in the world, and James knew it. He cultivated it, like a garden, doing chores well and swiftly, carefully telling the truth, making many, many deposits into his own little bank. He soon found even that well-crafted lies worked like checks, so long as he made it true, people generally didn't even notice. He was a great manipulator, and he was taking advanced placement in high school to be a psychologist. His blonde, short hair and green eyes made most people think him innocent and naive.
But it was now midsummer, nice and toasty. James was slim, like a swimmer, with nicely developed muscles that weren't incredibly toned. He was pale, a side effect of always trying to cover his whole body when he went out. He wasn't sure why, he just preferred it. The mail arrived, and he signed and opened it. It was a new device he had commisioned from a friend of his. He was researching the human mind and sound, and had found a specific range of decibels and pitch that slid right under the concious mind and into the subconcious: almost like he could make them think what he was saying. It wasn't that dramatic, just very convincing and hard to notice. It was a choker, and he slipped it around his neck. The change in his voice was nigh-undetectable.
Excellent.
He stretched in his bike shorts and tank top, wondering if his brother was awake or not. The parents had left for some trip, so they would be home alone for a while.
He liked to be nice. A few favors here or there, a few good deeds, and it was incredible what people would believe, so long as it came from your lips. Trust was the real currency in the world, and James knew it. He cultivated it, like a garden, doing chores well and swiftly, carefully telling the truth, making many, many deposits into his own little bank. He soon found even that well-crafted lies worked like checks, so long as he made it true, people generally didn't even notice. He was a great manipulator, and he was taking advanced placement in high school to be a psychologist. His blonde, short hair and green eyes made most people think him innocent and naive.
But it was now midsummer, nice and toasty. James was slim, like a swimmer, with nicely developed muscles that weren't incredibly toned. He was pale, a side effect of always trying to cover his whole body when he went out. He wasn't sure why, he just preferred it. The mail arrived, and he signed and opened it. It was a new device he had commisioned from a friend of his. He was researching the human mind and sound, and had found a specific range of decibels and pitch that slid right under the concious mind and into the subconcious: almost like he could make them think what he was saying. It wasn't that dramatic, just very convincing and hard to notice. It was a choker, and he slipped it around his neck. The change in his voice was nigh-undetectable.
Excellent.
He stretched in his bike shorts and tank top, wondering if his brother was awake or not. The parents had left for some trip, so they would be home alone for a while.
