You have to be careful with appearances. They are both a key everyone leaves under their front door mat, and the sharpest knife to hold at their back. Or so he likes to think. After all, there is nothing like the thrill of being underestimated. And Locke is damn good at being underestimated.
Just look at him now. Walking through the wild, slipping through the pale winter sunlight and cold shadow depths. Of his actual physical looks, you’d be hard pressed to see past the dirt, literally. A thin layer of dust, gained by the long days of travel, blur the brilliance of his coat and dull the fire to a soft muted palomino. White features looking mournfully worn in their off white hues, laying flat and smooth along his body. Even a little mud splatters his hocks and tip of his tail from the snow slush. He’s just a tired traveler, stumbling through the countryside, dragging himself through winter’s harsh realities. Simple. Easy. Not a threat. Right?
Wrong. Very, definitely wrong.
Then again, maybe you’re the perceptive sort. A sort who knows the many shadows better than the light. Maybe you have a sharp eye yourself- understand how the game is played. Maybe you could see through the guise Locke shouldered. After all, the poor bastard was still only a slip of a youth, cut so recently from the binds of retientence and given free license to toss aside circumspect little charades. He couldn’t be blamed if it was hard to keep all the tells under wraps. Maybe he hung his head lower, and shoulders sag, but his eyes spark with sharp calculations being quickly devoured by a mind too long starved of civilization. Of that layer of dust? It was only applied several hours ago to age his appearance to mellow dull nonthreatening. So his hooves drag ever so slightly in the snow, but under his skin muscles lay laced with adrenaline like a drug. And as the young son looked around, Locke was already pounding for more on the door of his dealer named “Possibilities”.
As far as false faces go, it wasn’t his best, but only if you knew what to look for. He was, you understand, slightly distracted by nearly everything. New smells light up the connections throughout his brain: dry old grasses, curious musky animals, and equines - lots, all hidden under a thin layer of crystal snow. You have to forgive him for not being completely focused. After all, its hard to walk like you know where you’re at, like own the place, when haven’t a fucking clue.
Still, he thinks himself quite clever. It helps him ease over the times where the world very rudely pointed out he was actually not that clever. As if on cue a low gruff call of an animal pulls one ear of the child in its direction, rattling the chain dripping from its tip. A twitch, a crack of cold frost seeps into his blood, though it never bloomed to the surface of his face. Gods he hated that thing. Perhaps among civilized beings he could find someone to remove it. Of course he’d thought that several lands back too, and yet here it was still rattling in his ear and discoloring the bright afternoon. Maybe its continued existence wasn’t forgetfulness after all. Still that all was then right? Didn’t matter anymore. He spat in its face, rolled off some excuses of youth and naivety, and ended up walking across the frozen grasslands of a new world.
It was a child’s selfish, half thought through, hope. A prideful vain youth who still had yet to learn that ‘starting fresh’ was no more real the fairytales of damsels being rescued by knights. The chain wasn’t going to vanish into thin air, nor would his haunted dreams at night, just because his ‘home’ looked different. Though take note, there was a rare glimmer of truth in the concept. While the bright bastard was skilled in basics of theft, stealth, and illusion (trained and honed on the streets of poverty then solidified by the tutors), they had never been put to a task- never been molded for a purpose. Only once had he set a real challenge for his life, and though it surely did screw the hidden psychology of the youth up for years to come, it had succeeded in its intent. He had proven capable. Locke was upon the edge of his prime, ready to step into the role of his life. Yet the role was undefined, a block of clay. Valuable, and malleable. And though he did not realize it yet, he was offering the destiny up to any who dare shape it. A free chance to make a master thief, a tricky merchant, a skillful spy, or even, if they twisted him just so, a cold assassin.
Here is Locke. To those who can not see past the illusion there is no reason to fear for your soul (only your valuables), but to those who can, take heed. Mold him as you will, set him on a path or take him under wing, but know this. Whatever tool you create, whatever rose you set in your crown, it is not without its shadows and thorns. Make him as you will, but take care of this one last warning before the tale begins, do not underestimate. Locke will take the advantage every time.
OOC:: Sorry I wrote a novel! I'm weird and like starting posts. All are welcome meet the kid! If you want help 'shaping' him I'd love to plot something longer out too! He's pretty much up for anything!
