"Life made me..what—what I am.."

"A...Killjoy. I have my..my fun..but things seem...so..boring. People...they bore me.. I raised myself. Couldn't stand- stand to be by ..mom and..pops.."

"Noisy...noisy...noisy. Mom would yell..Pop would, too.. smack, boom, bang..the cycle repeats."

"Why is...anyone. How does..does one begin to answer..?"

Another breath, he places both hands in his lap, shoulders pulling to a shrug, corner of his mouth idly twitching — a smile? A frown? It was hard to tell.

"...Life." He stated simply. ++

"I like..what I do. I deserve..what I do.."

"I know...his games. And he — he knows mine. He takes...center stage and... and I work behind..the scenes.." Head turning towards a broken mirror residing upon the wall, looking upon his cracked reflection.

He'd check his makeup & hair between their chat. ++

// if he gets worked up or truly angry, it's much more noticable.

"Please...enlighten me. I'm—" A swift move of his foot brought his stool back beneath him while he sat again, "...Seated."

"The stage– is – is yours.."