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“What the hell is going on with you? Huh, Gaspard?”

Gaspard Etienne had to admit that he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. Or even fifty. Leave out even judging the percentage of feeling up to par being at ten percent. In all honesty, he felt absolutely without even zero percent. The percentage was in the zeroes. And what was wrong with him? Well...

“Thought I was doing the right thing. You know...Liberating her,” he finally answered, his voice low, making his native language, French, actually sound as beautiful as it was supposed to. Too bad the only reason it was doing that was because he was completely stunned, in shock and mortified, on top of being terrified out of his mind, and heartbroken, and let’s not forget confused.

He was pretty sure his inner monologue could have gone on. And on and on, but...

Henrique had other plans, it seemed.

“So you knocked your dad out, huh?”

Gaspard bit his tongue. There was no need to say more than was the truth. No need. All he needed was for the other to finish chopping off what was left of his freakishly bleached white hair. He needed to look different. You know, to avoid the assault charge that the police were sure to lay on him once they got there eyes on him.

Not to mention the first degree murder charge.

But that wasn’t being discussed with his best friend. Who he’d, well, never see again. If he had his way.

If the cops had their way, he’d never see him again either, but, well, his way was easier. Less confining. Less chance he’d become some guy named Pierre’s bitch.

And no need to fess up to any judge, jury or courtroom that, yes, he stabbed his father in the heart, and yes, he slit his throat, and yes, he had planned it for months before hand, and hell yes, he goddamn, very well enjoyed it.

It felt amazing, to be an avenger. To be saving his mom, saving himself, being able to take her away from that, not having to delegate the job of protection to her by familial hierarchy.

Amazing right up to the point where mom came in and the screaming started, and the accusations, and the—

“Gaspard? You with me?”

The snapping fingers in front of his face brought him out of reliving the last insanity in his life.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. You’re done?” he reached up, running his fingers through his own now definitely shorter and thinner hair.

“It’s done,” Henrique gestured to the mirror on his wall, waiting as Gaspard examined his handiwork. “You know, Gaspard...You’re going to need a new name, need your passport changed. The people at the airport are going to notice, they’re probably on the lookout for you...”

“I’ve got it handled,” he interjected, thinking of the last minute services he’d hired. “Don’t worry about it, all right?” he turned back around. “Get the needle sterilized. I want to three new holes in this face, and I want them as soon as possible.”

Henrique snorted, shifting through his desk drawer to find his piercing kit. “And what did you change your name to, hmm?”

Gaspard crossed his arms, shrugging a little bit. It hadn’t been too hard of a decision. Coming up with some name. Maybe a little odd, but, hell, that wasn’t going to be that hard to explain away. He was French, after all. His people were a little weird.

...He...His so-called father, he’d always called her useless, worthless, a freak, nothing to him but garbage. Junk. And in that regard, then, since he always saw himself as hers, and hers alone. And so then, he was Junk’s.

He smirked a bit, watching Henrique flick his lighter on to heat and sterilize the needle.

“Junx.”

Description
“What the hell is going on with you? Huh, Gaspard?”

Gaspard Etienne had to admit that he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. Or even fifty. Leave out even judging the percentage of feeling up to par being at ten percent. In all honesty, he felt absolutely without even zero percent. The percentage was in the zeroes. And what was wrong with him? Well...

“Thought I was doing the right thing. You know...Liberating her,” he finally answered, his voice low, making his native language, French, actually sound as beautiful as it was supposed to. Too bad the only reason it was doing that was because he was completely stunned, in shock and mortified, on top of being terrified out of his mind, and heartbroken, and let’s not forget confused.

He was pretty sure his inner monologue could have gone on. And on and on, but...

Henrique had other plans, it seemed.

“So you knocked your dad out, huh?”

Gaspard bit his tongue. There was no need to say more than was the truth. No need. All he needed was for the other to finish chopping off what was left of his freakishly bleached white hair. He needed to look different. You know, to avoid the assault charge that the police were sure to lay on him once they got there eyes on him.

Not to mention the first degree murder charge.

But that wasn’t being discussed with his best friend. Who he’d, well, never see again. If he had his way.

If the cops had their way, he’d never see him again either, but, well, his way was easier. Less confining. Less chance he’d become some guy named Pierre’s bitch.

And no need to fess up to any judge, jury or courtroom that, yes, he stabbed his father in the heart, and yes, he slit his throat, and yes, he had planned it for months before hand, and hell yes, he goddamn, very well enjoyed it.

It felt amazing, to be an avenger. To be saving his mom, saving himself, being able to take her away from that, not having to delegate the job of protection to her by familial hierarchy.

Amazing right up to the point where mom came in and the screaming started, and the accusations, and the—

“Gaspard? You with me?”

The snapping fingers in front of his face brought him out of reliving the last insanity in his life.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. You’re done?” he reached up, running his fingers through his own now definitely shorter and thinner hair.

“It’s done,” Henrique gestured to the mirror on his wall, waiting as Gaspard examined his handiwork. “You know, Gaspard...You’re going to need a new name, need your passport changed. The people at the airport are going to notice, they’re probably on the lookout for you...”

“I’ve got it handled,” he interjected, thinking of the last minute services he’d hired. “Don’t worry about it, all right?” he turned back around. “Get the needle sterilized. I want to three new holes in this face, and I want them as soon as possible.”

Henrique snorted, shifting through his desk drawer to find his piercing kit. “And what did you change your name to, hmm?”

Gaspard crossed his arms, shrugging a little bit. It hadn’t been too hard of a decision. Coming up with some name. Maybe a little odd, but, hell, that wasn’t going to be that hard to explain away. He was French, after all. His people were a little weird.

...He...His so-called father, he’d always called her useless, worthless, a freak, nothing to him but garbage. Junk. And in that regard, then, since he always saw himself as hers, and hers alone. And so then, he was Junk’s.

He smirked a bit, watching Henrique flick his lighter on to heat and sterilize the needle.

“Junx.”