Username: Junkratss
Name: Monty
Prompt Answer: max. 1000 words
Monty was not a good kid. Left out behind the orphanage in the hawthorn bushes, he was unwanted from the start. He, of course, knew this very well, and resented those around him for it. So when he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, no one quite cared. In fact, it came as more of a relief to the Boy's Home than it did a burden. The adoption papers were easy enough to forge, and no one remembered Monty for long enough to wonder what had happened to him.
Save for the broken claw-tips and shredded, iridescent butterfly's wings that kept appearing behind the Home, things continued as normal. Though no matter how many times the rotten hawthorn bushes had been removed, they always dug their way back up through the earth, plaguing the Home with the sickly smell of decay and a fear that somehow, somewhere the boy would be found.
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When Monty awoke on the other side of the hawthorn bushes, he could not pinpoint just one emotion. Perhaps the first to hit him was the characteristic wave of adrenaline, the all to familiar twang in his gut that called to his attention just how much trouble he was really in. Next was the indescribable loneliness, the realization that he was not "home". Though perhaps what had outweighed all of these feelings was the glowing curiosity that flooded his being, making his hairs stand on end.
A thousand eyes stared back at him, glowing with a soft, motherly light. Their comforting, warm gazes did not scare him in the least. Their presence was... different from that of the Head Mistress's. They seemed benevolent, welcoming and mischievous. As happy to have him as he was to stumble upon them. A large, glowing fae decorated with earthen colored paints and large, grand leaves. Though he couldn't understand them, Monty knew they meant to take him in. He was home now. To the battered, neglected eleven year old boy this was all he could have ever hoped for.
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As the years went by, Monty began to understand the faeries. In fact, he knew them all quite well. It was hard to forget that he was quite different from them... Until the younger fae began to shun him too, tucking into their mother's soft, folded wings to point a finger and whisper about how he was "just like Them." Monty tried to take no notice of it, happy to help the eldest out with their duties instead. As any kid would have, he had asked about who They were, but his questions were blown off. Until he pestered the chief.
His questioning was met with snarls and shouts in a tongue Monty couldn't recognize. This was the first time he had seen the Tribe's Leader so angry - the first time he has seen anyone angry since he had escaped the Boy's home six years ago. He couldn't bear the thought of upsetting another anymore - seeing the chief so angry filled him with a feeling of dread Monty had long since forgotten. Before another word could be uttered between the two of them, Monty was gone.
Monty never considered there would be others in the forest. That he wasn't alone with the faeries. Three days of sulking in the swamp lands and Monty was ready to return home. Upon reaching the tribe's sacred ground, however, Monty was hit with the same feeling of gut wrenching dread as the first day he had set foot in this world. His hair stood on end, and something in the back of his mind urged him to run towards the village, to apologize to everyone and hold the elders close, tell them through tears how much he was sorry and how he had missed them dearly. As his paws drove him to the edge of the village, Monty was stopped dead. All that remained was rubble and the horrid smell of hawthorn that hung stagnant in the air.
Before Monty could process the sight before him, a clawed hand snaked around his throat. The last Monty saw of his home was smoke and rubble. He disappeared again, and again no one was there to find him.
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Monty was given two choices when he came to. Try to run and be hunted down and made an example of, or join the bounty hunters. They jabbed at him, snickering as they broke the news to him. Everyone in the village was gone. No one wanted him anymore. They had abandoned him again.
Monty could not pull anything from his mind, struggling to pull hazy details from his memory, but the image had been burned clear. The yelling, the swamp, his hair standing on end, and the fire. They had abandoned him.
The resolve that washed over Monty was stone cold, a growl rose in his throat as he faced the scraggly, muddied and scarred "leader" of the gang that stood before him.
"Go to hell." Monty barked, lips drawn back and spittle striking square across the leader's face.
"I'll join your pitiful, ragtag group of petty thieves. And you'll answer to me."
At the first sense of resistance, Monty showed no hesitation. Pupils narrowed, he struck down the gangly, pathetic creature before him. The consequence of being seventeen and full of adrenaline, however, were not realizing that the three others had quickly taken tail. Spinning around, Monty was met with long, yellowing claws that drug across his face, tearing through his eye and blinding him. In a fit of rage, Monty wrestled through the attackers, pinning each to the ground and snapping teeth close to their neck, snarling as they buckled under pressure. Each soon fled, leaving clumps of their mangy fur stuck in the undergrowth.
Monty drew a paw across his face, spitting blood with a disgusted look plastered across his face. The fae were next. If they though he was no better than Them, he'd simply have to prove that he was capable of much more.
[1000/1000]
