"Gee, I didn't know comic-con was being hosted in my town this year! Think you could point me in the right direction, Goldilock?"
Two golden eyes gave him a very blatant once-over. "And you are?"
        He had a very subtle accent, not very pervasive and hard to place, but sounded like some bastardized version of a European accent. The sheer ignorance that accompanied the strangers statement sent daggers of rage through Altan's mind. Was he seriously playing dumb? Clearly this dude was of high school age, probably an international student if the accent suggested anything, so even if Altan didn't recognize some low-life like him, he should still recognize Altan. Yet here he stood, the second person in one day to willingly choose to be ignorant to his status. Forget the insults, Altan was thirsting for blood, now.
      Sure, provoking a consensual fight made altercations easier to dismiss, but consequences could come later.
     He sauntered right up to the stranger, crowding his personal space. "I'm somebody who's had a bad day and is about to make yours even worse," Altan stated with, for the first time today, a genuine smile.
         A ripple of pleasure tickled Altan's spine as he drove his fist square into the strangers stomach. Contacts boy sputtered a surprised cough, stumbling back against a tree and clutching his abdomen. Altan smirked, weightless as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, fists raised with all the bravado of a pro boxer. His victim promptly righted himself, his gaze, cold and uncaring, once again fixating on him. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"
        Altan's eyes blew open, his vision tunnelling. "Why you little—!"
         A vicious right hook sent Altan sprawling, and in that moment he wasn't quite sure if the crack he heard had been from lighting or his face. Tears sprang to his eyes as warm blood gushed forth from his nose, painting an ugly streak as it dripped over his hoodie. Shouting in rage he lunged forward relentlessly, fists flying. The dude ducked under the first swing, but was met with his second. Then a third. And fourth. Altan grinned maniacally, watching through a red veil as his victim gave under his might, constantly driving him back and landing hit after hit. He could already hear the pleas for mercy, yes he could practically taste it! When that happened, and only then, was when he'd finally relent, leaving this unfortunate soul to suffer in the rain while he went home and stuffed his face to his hearts content.
        Appealing images of a warm meal after expending so much anger and energy were abruptly interrupted as the stranger grappled him. Air fled his lungs as suddenly he was spun and slammed against a tree, grunting in pain as his head cracked against the rough bark. A shout was lost to the wind and the shock of impact as a firm hand grabbed fistfuls of his hair, yanking him to the ground with unexpected strength. Reality blurred as his arms were wrenched behind his back, and a bony knee was jabbed into his spine. Mud filled his nostrils, earth caked his tongue. Not having had a chance to regain his breath Altan writhed in panic, gasping pointlessly as each futile attempt just allowed the stranger to compress his lungs more. Galaxies clouded his vision and he made a desperate thrash, barely managing to buck his assailant off. Pulling his arms free Altan scrambled away, drawing in searing breaths to combat the darkness enveloping him. When his vision cleared, the stranger was gone.
"He... hey..! Where'd you go, you freak," he wheezed, leaning heavily against the tree, "I'm not through with you yet! Get back here!"
      His proclamations fell on empty ears however, and the leaves snickered at him as he stood alone amongst bustling wind and freezing rain. Shouting an impressive collection of profanities he rammed his fist into the tree, hands so cold and numb from the rain he barely registered the sting of his skin splitting open, and the dull throb of impact. Footprints retreating into the depths of the forest beckoned to him, deep set marks pressed so very clearly into the soft ground. They begged Altan to follow, but the menacing cracks of lightning convinced him otherwise. Growling with hatred he spun on his heel, returning to the road bloodied, humiliated, and even more worked up than before.
Every puddle reflected his embarrassment and faces behind the blinding lights of flashing cars laughed at him. Even the thunder mocked him, a deep rumbling chuckle taunting him relentlessly as he stormed home. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to track down that idiot with the dumb golden streak of hair. Gah! I'm going to make him pay! He vowed to himself, envisioning a multitude of ways to exact his revenge. Several times. Publicly. In only a few short minutes May had been shoved to the bottom of his priority list, replaced with a need for revenge as addictive as blood to a shark.
        Altan sulked through his massive front doors, only grunting in response to his family's butlers greeting. Gerald, or something. The wafting scent of a homemade roast suddenly smelled stale and unappealing, and he barely registered the warm welcome his mother called, too enveloped in some ritzy magazine to notice the blood caking his face or his seeping clothes. Nor did he process his father, pacing slowly around their expansive living room, crystal chandelier highlighting the jet black hair his father combed through with nimble fingers. A phone was pressed to his ear, a sultry smile plastered to his face, and Altan had no doubt he was manipulating some poor fool for his own self benefit. Though he may act aloof and careless, his father was brilliant when it came to social maneuvering. Constantly plotting, it's what allowed his father to become so successful. It's where Altan learnt how to climb the ranks in his own way, though he had no personal interest in business. Just status.
        Altan dumped his soaking bag unceremoniously in the large walk in closet at the end of the foyer, kicking off his shoes and stomping across polished marble floors and up the cooly light staircase, of which was mirrored by a second set of stairs, forming a large arc around a huge lion fountain carved from some sort of expensive black stone. He reached the top, made a sharp turn down the hallway with high ceilings and littered with priceless paintings and other wall decorations, and marched into his spacey room. Crouching down in his personal walk in closet, Altan shifted aside his many pairs of top brand shoes on a towering shelf to a hidden box. There he grabbed a bottle of alcohol he'd smuggled in from some lame party he went to a few weeks ago.
       He sighed, stripping himself of his soaking clothes and slumped on his king sized bed, taking a long drink. At 18 he was still just underage, and though that clearly wouldn't stop him, his dad would kill him if he found out. He learned that the hard way last time he got caught drinking, his dad lecturing him for being so careless. Something about public image, responsibility, and all that crap. "After all, you wouldn't want to disgrace my name by getting arrested, now would you?" His dad would always say. His fathers constantly busy schedule made it easy to sneak around, and his mother could frankly care less, enjoying copious amount of wine herself. He could already hear her bubbly giggles echoing down the halls from downstairs.
       And so, throughly ticked off and frustrated, he drank. As the cheap liquor slid down his throat with a pleasant burn, he pulled out his phone, searching for empty companionship in the dozens of desperate girls practically begging for his attention. "Tomorrow." Altan promised to himself, a low buzz easing his aching head. "Tomorrow I'll find you."