[fieldbox=Alistair Josesph Smith, green, solid]
It was a shit life.
It had always been that way. It was almost as if his life had been planned that way. Though, for most people, it seemed that way, too.
There were always going to be people who drew the short stick when it came to privaledges and the comfy, luxurious life. They would always be the underdogs of the planet, but the only difference was, nobody was rooting for them.
Alistair. He wasn't anything special. However, he loved to see the world through different eyes. The people who seemed weak, were strong in their own advances. Those who were born with specialties, were free in their own brain. The world, however, saw things in only black and white. You had the poor, the rich. The gifted, and the stupid. Alistair had seen these people. Those were different, and belonged to something else. Something bigger than them. Somewhere they could belong.
It wasn't easy. Picking out the certain people among the thousands who seemed perfect. It was hard, and tedious, but he found them. The perfect people to live among. Those who could relate and understand. The perfect master's of the Streets.
First, you needed somebody to sweet-talk the people who turned their head. This was a woman hard to find, but he found her. She was always different, from the day he started watching her. It seemed a little creepy, but it was only way to determine if she was the right one. She was beautiful, elegant, but with something much darker beneath it all. He assumed it was one of those things that she saw, and others didnt.
Giving Alice the note was more difficult than he thought possible. He job gave him the skills to slip in and out unnoticed, but she had the insight of a hawk. He managed to give it to her, sutbly slipping it into the back pocket of her opened bag without being noticed. It was simple, bumping into her and pretending his hand never slipped inside of her bag.
Next, you needed the brawn, the Muscle. Somebody to assert themselves and not be afraid. She was poor, but unafraid. She could charge into a den full of Lions, and the big cats would tremble in fear. She was the truely the bulk of the party. What surprised him more, was the fact that she was a woman. Alistair had been afraid to give her the note, for fear that she would beat the shit out of him if she found him. Kaylee was somebody he needed on his side, because if he didnt, things could possibly get ugly.
He did it, however, slipping it into her bag when she turned away. He hoped more than anything that she would find it, and that it didnt fall out into the streets, and some poor soul would stuble upon it. It seemed to cliche, putting it into their bags, but it was the only thing they carried. They didnt have homes where he could slip it under the door, or a place he could rest it so they might stumble upon it. Doing this was a major risk, but he figured these people were worth it.
People need to eat, right? You needed a fun-loving, outspoken man who could handle the stress of real life, but also deliver a goof beef strogenoff... Right? However, when Alistair saw Manny on the streets, there seemed to be a burden bigger than the world on his shoulders. The man was large and beefy, but he carried something so much larger than himself. Alistair felt for him. He wished to be there for him, and the rest of his 'Crew'.
Again, the simple 'letter-in-the-bag' trick. It was a knife case, but it was better than nothing. Atleast Alistair knew he could find it. However, Alistair was never that good at gambling. These were run-aways, people who saw the backend of life and laughed. Or cried. These people scoffed and gave it the middle finger, begging it to take another shit on their daily lives. How much worse could it get?
With every group, comes gang rivalries and injuries. You needed somebody to tend to those, right? Something more than slapping peroxide and a band-aid on it. Sewing up a wound, setting a broken bone, something that requires more than the TV-dinner knowledge. Avila. Simple, stunningly beautiful. She had a brain full of cures, but a heart heavy with sorrow. He knew her life was heavy, she bore it like a battle scar. Ugly, but permanent. She did, however, have something that Alistair wanted. Her knowledge.
This time, however, was different, and much to his own shame, embarassing. He couldnt get into her bag. It was closed down with something, and he couldnt nudge the paper inside. Instead, he ran into the back of her, pretending he was a careless teenager on the run and wasnt watching here he was going. He stealthily put it into her back pocket, and left. The paper left an odd imprint on the back of her pants, and he had to stifle a laugh and hope she didnt notice.
Now, you have the stealth. Pickpocket, combat, everything you want in a street-fighter. If he hadn't been watching, Alistair would have missed his perfect execution of a simple pickpocket. You get in, grab the money, and get out. You get caught, and you've never been heard of. He was quiet, and held a passive air around himself. There was something about him Alistair couldnt let go of, and he had to have him.
Travis was a model fighter. He'd seen it. A simple fight broke out between another gang member and him, and the other man didnt stand a chance. Travis left with barely a scratch, and had hardly broken a sweat. It was truely a marvel, but there was another thing. A weight so have that it seemed to slouch his entire body, and his face was sunken in as if he had aged so much more than the rest of them. They were all old and practically alone in the world, but there was a hidden secret, dark and afraid, nestling itself on his shoulders.
Getting the letter to him proved difficult, since he was a master pickpocket. Alistair just bumped into him, dropped the note into the little mesh, and turned away without another word.
In this day and age, technology was huge. There were ways to get what you wanted by a simple click of a button, and if you could access that specific network of information, you could have the world at your fingertips. It was a dream that little people could think of, but with this woman, it was possible. He'd seen her hack into a simple ATM, and managed to go home with the prize. She hadnt even been detected. She was the pickpocket of the internet world, Annalise. Alistair had personally swooned over her. She had bright red hair, like autumn leaves, and an air about herself that could scare away a pack of bandits. However, that might have just been her dog. He didnt know it's name, but it proved extremely hard to get the note to her. However, instead of trying to worm his message into her pocket or some other descreet area, he pretended to love her dog. He bent down, pushed the little note into its collar, and left, hoping he didnt shake it off.
With every group of people, you have the one who enjoys expressing himself, and leaving the mark of his pride Clan. Alistair just watched him draw on the walls, running when he was told to get lost. He was an out-cast, like the rest of them, but with a different outlook of the world. Artists always did. They always saw things in a different light, and Alistair would never understand it. Leo was a cheery man, and wanted somebody like him on his side. He wanted the world to know these people existed, that they werent some pack of rats living under bridges and avoiding the stray headlights of police cars.
Alistair simply taped the note onto one of his spray-paint cans. It was a pretty cliche, and he wasnt even sure if Leo would even take that can with him, but it had been worth a shot. If anything he would just track him down again and find another way to deliver his message.
With every group of people, there will always be complications. And like everybody else, there would be many questions, and many answers. Alistair had no idea if any of them would show up. The world was different now. It didnt recognize those who struggled, and the more he thought about it, they never did. Unless you changed the outlook of something, you were brushed away as one of the commons. Alistair didnt want to be another face on the street. Didnt want to not be remembered.
He wanted to be strong for these people, for each and every individual he watched had faced something the world threw at them, and they're still living.
It was their turn to reclaim what was truely theirs.
[/fieldbox]
