Dreams And Lies

I blinked at the unexpected question. Of all the things I had expected the murderous gang boss that recruited me at the end of a literal gun to ask me about, my dreams were not amongst them.

Seemingly sensing my confusion, the man himself tapped the table with one hand while grabbing up his cigar with the other. “What is it that drives you, hm? It takes a special sort with special dreams to complete the Masque of Misery, let alone to even just survive and evolve in this shithole sector.” He took a sip of his wine, “What is it that drives you? What motivated you to spill enough blood to get where you are, eh? Come on, be honest with me.”

I blinked once again, though it truly wasn’t a very hard question, something about the way he said that last part almost had my mouth open in a truthful answer before I could even consider lying. Which, of course, only made me violently reject the idea and snap my mouth shut to consider what I should say. The question bounced around my mind, knocking around ideas that flitted into my thought process. I could come up with some sort of flowery bullshit reason, or even simply claim I was operating on bloodlust alone… but eventually a simple question settled in me.

Why bother? My truest answer doesn't really give anything away and also doesn’t quite reveal the true extent of how far I was willing to go for my deepest goal. I allowed a small, genuine smile to spread across my maw, “Safety. I wish to be safe, and to be happy.” He needn’t know what my standard of safety truly was, nor did he need to know exactly the extent to which I was willing to sacrifice and murder to see my dream through; he doesn’t need to know that I would happily burn this entire nation to the ground for it, that I would personally feed every man, woman, and child to demons to achieve it, that I would slit his throat without blinking if it could guarantee eternal safety and happiness.

For an instant his lips tugged down into something that was not quite a frown, before a seeming realization struck him and an almost nostalgic smile took its place. “You know, usually I’d say such dreams are a touch smaller than befitting one who could gain the favour of a Demon Lord, but something tells me those words mean a lot more to you than they do to me.”

I shrugged, “A simple dream it may be, but I find it quite effective in driving me forth. Besides, I find it’s better to have goals that are both long term and achievable; safety and happiness can be attained in ways both big and small, and progressing towards them is something you can do every minute of every day.” I idly tapped my fingers along the side of my drink, wishing I had some water or a soft drink as I watched Markus consider my words.

His smile widened, “I think I like you.” He leaned over to Rokharth, tapping him on the shoulder with the back of his hand, “Make sure this one makes it through basic training; in fact, put him through the advanced stuff when he’s done.” The vampire merely laughed, nodding his head as he took a sip from his crystal chalice.

I had a very bad feeling about that statement, as though my gut were sinking in some depthless black swamp as I carefully avoided meeting the ancient monster’s eyes. The fact that making it through basic training -something I’m reasonably sure I’ve not even reached yet, much to my apprehension- is not certain is in and of itself greatly concerning, but something tells me this so-called “advanced stuff” is going to be a nightmare.

Rokharth’s glittering eyes and wide smile certainly aren’t helping either.

Markus just shook his head as his subordinate laughed, "I'm serious Rokharth, I want to see this one fully trained." He wagged his cigar in the old vampire's face, though the crooked smile on his face belied the authenticity of his words and the mouthful of wine he chased it down with didn't help. He grinned down at me, fire dancing in his hidden eyes, “You’ll hate me for that, hate him even more, but one of these days you’ll thank me for all this.” He smirked, sucking in a lungful of smoke from his cigar. As he blew a cloud of sweet smelling smoke into my face, he chuckled slightly. “You’ll thank me for pushing you further than you thought you could go.”

I barely kept a smirk from tearing its way across my face; you know nothing of just how far I think I can go, you smirking bastard. I knew he would only ever be helping form me into a more useful tool, a sharper knife with a handle wrapped in finely woven chains. Perhaps if I was the naive, foolish creature he assumes I am, I may just fall into that trap; I may just have accepted a gilded noose as bonds of friendship and loyalty.

I am not, I do not, I will not.

I reject your poisoned hand of friendship, Markus, and one day you will come to regret ever recruiting me. One day, you will gaze upon the ashes of all you have built and know, deep in your blackened and shattered heart, that it was this day that cemented your fate.

I released a sigh, finally allowing myself to take a sip of the mead I had been avoiding (though, only after Observing it and the glass it was served in several times and finding nothing overly suspicious). Unfortunately, that day is not today; I’m not nearly strong enough to even think I could take one of these old monsters, let alone four and a small army of mooks that are still likely stronger than me. It’s all well and good to let my anger fuel and drive me, but to let it control me, let it drive me to ruin in a meaningless and doomed assault on all that irritates me? No, that would be a few steps too far into madness, and a certain path to a quick and painful death.

I’d prefer to avoid any sort of death, personally.

At least the mead was good, sweet and almost minty with an odd cooling and calming effect. I’m fairly certain it was drugged -or just inherently poisonous- but the pleasant sense of mild euphoria was worth the risk.

Or, at least I would justify it as such after the fact.