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Post by othellorile on Feb 23, 2009 8:03:32 GMT -7
It was hard to imagine Othello Rile hiking; the boy could be labeled androgynous not only for his feminine features, but also because of his definite lack of build. Othello had never experienced a P.E. class and it was almost a good thing he hadn’t, since he certainly would have been the kid picked last. The boy had an impressive amount of drive however, and the natural world always had its appeal to a scientist like Othello. However to counter his somewhat softer features it also had its boyish allure. Othello Rile, the paranoid, OCD germaphobe who was too brilliant for his body and built like someone who should stay inside was trudging up this hiking trail with one purpose in mind.
Catching frogs.
Dark haired with porcelain white skin, Othello crossed behind and through the trees like a phantom or a spirit, some rare sight that would made people do a double take only to find that he was gone. His steps were calculated and next to silent and the physical strain of walking the trail seemed to not be affecting him. He did disappear just that quickly since he had a purpose in mind. However, a bit easier to see was the small square plastic fish tank that was hovering behind Othello, containing only one little black goldfish. But then, if a person knew Othello, they would know it wasn’t so strange to see him walking his goldfish. Aside from Maddox who wore him out with all the cleaning of dog hair from strange places in their dorm room, this goldfish was his only friend. It was more than that, Othello believed that what happened to the fish would be a sign of what would happen to him, when it hurt, he would hurt sometime soon. It was the beast and his rose.
Othello veered off the trail, twigs crunching as he stepped carefully between bushes, now more careful to decrease contact with the bacteria ridden plants than to be quiet. He stepped out between the trees, his movement fluid until he stopped short, a jolting halt as he finally reached his desired location. It didn’t seem like much, there was no water around like one would initially think when hunting for frogs, but Othello had indeed found his target, having spotted two bobble eyes sticking out from underneath the leaf litter. The pretty, doll-like boy shifted carefully, finding himself a good spot before slowly lowering to a crouch. Pale eyes watched the area just next to the frog so as not to spook it while he slowly withdrew a mason jar from his ever faithful black messenger bag. Slowly the mason jar was lowered before the frog, gloved hands gripping it carefully. Othello was incredibly (and comically) still for a moment before he suddenly lunged with the sound of shuffling clothing, rustling leaf litter and the click of the mason jar lid.
Othello held the jar up, staring at his bull frog with a small smile slowly creeping over his face, eyes lighting in a beautiful expression that no living human being was ever allowed to see. [/size] |
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