Wastrel has a minion!

Diesel the Kelly

Name: Wastrel Less
Alias: Wastrel
Age: 26
Birthdate: February 14
Gender: Male
Species: Deer
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 170 lbs
Body: fit, slender

Nationality: American
Language(s): English
Orientation: Straight

Special: has terrible vision
Personality: quiet, clever, optimistic, loyal, shy

Hair: white, short
Eyes: green
Skintone: dark grey
Marking(s): white spots on the tips of his ears & shoulders; a white question mark on his forehead
Tattoo(s): none
Piercing(s): none
Other: always wears a white tie

Likes: the smell of baked goods, concerts, pianos, his guide dog, long walks
Dislikes: small print, condescension, swimming, cold, sickness, persistent loud noises

Located: Veta Lake
Living Quarters: Devereux Mansion
Lives With: Tisky & co.
Occupation(s): piano tuner

Mother: Molly Less
Father: Thomas Less
Brother(s): none
Sister(s): Sarah Less (7)
Lover: none

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side image by Coffee, overlay by ixyra

Wastrel curled up into a ball on the hot blacktop and waited for the usual barrage of punches to begin. His jaw was clenched tightly when the first blow landed; he refused to let them hear him whimper or yell. Mentally Wastrel started disconnecting himself from his body like he usually did; it dulled the pain and kept the jeers William and his goons spit at him from entering his consciousness.

He was so far gone he didn’t even notice at first when the pummeling stopped far sooner than usual. Eventually he realized that his torture for the week was over and started to come back to reality.
“I think he might be hurt pretty bad. He’s just staring vacantly at the ground. That can’t be a good sign,” a voice came from somewhere above him. Wastrel didn’t recognize it but was simply glad it didn’t belong to William. “What do you think we should do?”

“Maybe we should take him to the nurse’s office,” came a second voice, this one with a British accent. Wastrel began to focus his eyes and slowly uncurl himself; as shooting pain shot down his side he immediately wished that he hadn’t. He couldn’t help himself, he let out a tiny yelp and immediately stopped moving.

“Hey man, are you okay,” the first voice asked again. Wastrel glanced up and found himself staring into the sky blue eyes of a lilac colored pherret. His purple hair was gelled into a fauxhawk, and he wore a black peacoat layered over a blue hoodie and a pair of black jeans. Wastrel shook his head weakly in response. “What’s wrong? What’d they do?”
“I think they broke a rib or two,” Wastrel managed to say.

“Looks like we’re going to have to forego the nurse’s office and take you straight to the hospital,” said the British one. Wastrel shook his head again, this time more emphatically, looking up towards his second savior. He was some breed of canine with pale orange skin and messy, vermillion hair.
“I can’t afford it,” Wastrel replied quietly.
“Don’t worry, I can,” said the pherret. “My name’s Tisky by the way, and this is Abel.”

“I couldn’t accept that kind of help,” Wastrel exhaled. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe. He couldn’t figure out why these two guys were so willing and eager to help him. He started feeling extremely dizzy and closed his eyes for a moment to stop the the ground's spinning.The next time he opened them he was sitting in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm. He looked around the room and found Tisky sitting next to him reading a magazine. As soon as Tisky realized Wastrel was awake he put down the magazine and leaned over the railing of the bed.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked quietly, as if he was afraid to startle Wastrel.
“Better. Lots better. The pain isn’t nearly so bad,” Wastrel responded, feeling a slight twinge in his chest as he spoke.
“That’ll be the morphine at work,” Tisky replied casually. Wastrel’s eyes widened slightly. “What’s wrong?” asked Tisky, noticing Wastrel’s slight panic. “Are you allergic to morphine or something?”
“No, but I really can’t afford any of this,” Wastrel responded, casting his eyes down towards the blankets covering him. He hated admitting that his family was poor.

“Really, it’s okay, I’ve got it covered,” Tisky responded, putting his hand on Wastrel’s arm to reassure him. “It’s all already paid for. My parents were more than happy to help out when I told them my friend had been badly beaten. In fact, they called the school and I don’t think you’ll be seeing William or his flunkies ever again.” Wastrel’s jaw dropped open slightly.

“W-why would you help me?” he asked dumbfounded. “Why wouldn’t I?” Tisky responded with a grin.
“Exactly,” added Abel as he walked through the door. “It’s what friends do for each other.” For the first time since he'd started school, Wastrel finally had friends.