He had spent that night packing his things and deciding what he would do. He wanted to leave, that was one thing, but he didn't know where. He was 17 years old. Not the age to legally do much of anything, and he found that if he stayed here, he would be sent to his fathers – away from Destiny city, his friends, his teammates, his boyfriend, and everything else that mattered to him now. So he sat down and made a list. The first problem was that he needed a place, and while he waited for his mother to go to bed to sneak out to grab some boxes to pack things, he thought of places.
If he had a place, he needed to pay rent. That wasn't hard considering he had gotten used to stealing from those he took starseeds or energy from to make it look like a mugging. He had a shoebox of cash hidden simply because dropping large chunks of money into a bank account would raise attention. It was times like that he wished he knew how the mafia worked to get some pointers.
So he needed a place he could pay rent without anyone raising an eyebrow at where he got the money and what a kid his age was doing living alone. He needed a place where they would put a blind eye to that sort of conduct. Of course, this meant he wasn't going to be living in the best of places.
It was a past encounter with Lietuent Mica that came to mind, and while he was out to find a store that had some boxes and to buy packing tape (Damn it if his mother found out if he was out. Like he cared anymore!), he took his crystal to see if she was around. It was with relief and luck that she was, and he shifted for a meet up. It was a short meeting where despite just meeting her, he relayed his situation in short description. He needed a place as soon as he could where no one would care about his age or how he paid his rent. Mica thought upon it and, after exchanging cellphone numbers, told him she would look into it.
With that and his hopes out there, he returned back to his task and spent the night packing his things with his door locked. The plushies were packed, and everything he felt was worth taking was in a box. What wasn't needed was left. A great many of his books, some of his sewing things, and other random objects and things he didn't use or care for.
Then he laid in bed, having a strong sense that it could be his last place in the place he once called home. It wasn't the home he grew up in. That was bigger as his parents decided it was unneeded once they split. His dad moved, and so did his mother. They left the house behind. The house was the second chapter home, and now it would be the third chapter he was moving to – he hoped.
He had mixed feelings and only managed to sleep when he was exhausted. His mother knocked on his door to tell him he better go to school, and that they would talk when he got home. It never happened. He didn't go to school and finished packing. Then Lt. Mica, aka Nyasa called and found a place. Grabbing his coat and the cash he saved, he left and met up with her.
It was with Nyasa's connections help that he met his first landlord, a lumpy man that homehow carried his weight with a sort of dignity. While he said he didn't care what Ladon did in his life, he didn't want anything that could get the place shut down happening – unless he talked to the landlord first. If he wanted to mess around on the corners, he wanted them to do it out on the streets as often as they could. If they wanted to pop or do anything messed up like that, they did it at their friends. He didn't want the play exploding or catching on fire. As long as Ladon took care of the apartment, kept up with rent, and didn't cause trouble, they would be good and he wouldn't call the cops on him. Despite looking young and innocent, the landlord knew better than most that looks were deceiving and spoke to Ladon as if he would anyone else.
Ladon nodded, paid his deposit, all cash – which didn’t make the landlord raise an eyebrow even a millimeter – and was given his key. Ladon thanked Nyasa and was shown to his apartment. It was empty, it was small, and had a faint smell of cigar smoke and cinnamon. Not the worst, but he planned to buy a candle or some freshener post haste. It was the emptiness that got to him.
So he went back home and decided he had to call a cab. He couldn’t teleport everything to his place after all. So he called up a cab, grabbed some boxes, and made two trips. The ride was expensive given the wait the driver had to do, but soon his place at least had boxes in it, and was now even smaller. He paid the man one last time as he went back to his house and then, with only one box left he wanted to bring, he went downstairs, made himself some lunch, patched that up, and then wrote a note.
"I moved out. If you are going to make decisions for me, I'm going to do the same. I can do so much more than you think I can. This is my life. This is my decision. Don't bother looking for me, but know I'm safe and can take care of myself.
Love,
Ladon"
He left his cellphone there, cleaning off the address book of all his contact – which he wrote a mass text to everyone who needed to be alerted. It was a simple message.
Text From: Ladon
Got a new phone. Don’t contact the new one. If someone calls, don't answer. New phone number is XXX-XXX-XXXX.
He frowned at his message. It certainly wasn't one he wanted to write, and he glanced at the note he left his mother. It was all he needed to say, but he wished he didn't have to leave it that way. She would be worried and torn up, but he call her again when he was 18 and she couldn't do anything. If she still wanted to talk to him.
With that, he went upstairs and took his box and late lunch and, changing into Wolframite, said goodbye to his room. Then, he telelported straight into his new place.
