Night 52: M21-M30
[M22]
The History Club was a temporary solution, Zevran reassured himself.
Loyalty had never been one of his strongest traits, he had been told on multiple occasions. He already had countless betrayals under his belt, and guessed that there would be many more to come in his lifetime. They varied in significance, and Zevran typically didn't count the small ones. The small ones meaning those where he had planned to turn on the person from the very first moment he smiled at them. All of them were marks, plenty of which were quick enough to take him to bed, and that tended to fog their judgment. They didn't consider Zevran to be anything more than a silly, easy elf, and they assigned him with whichever imagined motivations suited them. Lust, greed, desperation, but rarely murder. Zevran would readily take advantage, and felt no guilt afterward. It was simply a means to an end. His own personal strategy, if you will. All killers and warriors had their own way of handling what they must. At the end of the day, death was a business, and not just for an assassin. If you wanted to survive, you needed to kill or accept those that did the killing for you. Speaking of killing, Zevran gathered his meager supplies, and hoped they would do the trick. He needed better armaments if he expected to come out of this alive. If the Maker was merciful, then Asuka and Agatha would be able to take care of themselves.
Zevran had met too many people willing to judge those who dealt in death. He could almost understand why they gave him those judging looks, but only if he took into account their assumption that he was paid handsomely for each dead soul. It was not strictly true, of course, but he would never lie and say he hadn't benefited, or even enjoyed it. But it all blurred together with time.
The betrayals that stayed with him had sometimes involved death, other times not. He regretted some and cherished others, even if they had amounted to nothing. He didn't wish to think of leaving the Crows as a pointless event, but then he had ended up here, where everything was made pointless. He knew nothing of where he was, he was apparently alone, and his surroundings were dizzily unfamiliar. Zevran was becoming convinced that he was the lone elf.
And yet still, he felt discomfort signing up with another entity, having not even had the chance to properly turn on Amell and cause him great danger and turmoil. It was bitter humor that made him think he ought to have at least quit the warden's company more memorably if he were to never return. But now that he thought about it, seducing him and then disappearing come morning was rather dramatic, in and of itself. Perhaps Zevran would not be so easily forgotten after all. He hadn't hoped for anything else from the tryst, but there was something to be said for the man's company...
And that was why he was letting someone else hold his leash, Zevran supposed. If all he wanted was to run, then there seemed to be no further place than this. But Zevran had to acknowledge that what he truly desired the shabby sort of freedom he had found previously, and then been ripped away from. It would be so much easier to call it a wash and see about running off into the woods (for all it was worth), but no. He had to make things difficult for himself. He really should have thought about how difficult this would be before he decided to let himself get comfortable back home. Zevran would need to be more careful in the future, and control his weakness for pretty faces and aching sincerity.
[To here.]
The History Club was a temporary solution, Zevran reassured himself.
Loyalty had never been one of his strongest traits, he had been told on multiple occasions. He already had countless betrayals under his belt, and guessed that there would be many more to come in his lifetime. They varied in significance, and Zevran typically didn't count the small ones. The small ones meaning those where he had planned to turn on the person from the very first moment he smiled at them. All of them were marks, plenty of which were quick enough to take him to bed, and that tended to fog their judgment. They didn't consider Zevran to be anything more than a silly, easy elf, and they assigned him with whichever imagined motivations suited them. Lust, greed, desperation, but rarely murder. Zevran would readily take advantage, and felt no guilt afterward. It was simply a means to an end. His own personal strategy, if you will. All killers and warriors had their own way of handling what they must. At the end of the day, death was a business, and not just for an assassin. If you wanted to survive, you needed to kill or accept those that did the killing for you. Speaking of killing, Zevran gathered his meager supplies, and hoped they would do the trick. He needed better armaments if he expected to come out of this alive. If the Maker was merciful, then Asuka and Agatha would be able to take care of themselves.
Zevran had met too many people willing to judge those who dealt in death. He could almost understand why they gave him those judging looks, but only if he took into account their assumption that he was paid handsomely for each dead soul. It was not strictly true, of course, but he would never lie and say he hadn't benefited, or even enjoyed it. But it all blurred together with time.
The betrayals that stayed with him had sometimes involved death, other times not. He regretted some and cherished others, even if they had amounted to nothing. He didn't wish to think of leaving the Crows as a pointless event, but then he had ended up here, where everything was made pointless. He knew nothing of where he was, he was apparently alone, and his surroundings were dizzily unfamiliar. Zevran was becoming convinced that he was the lone elf.
And yet still, he felt discomfort signing up with another entity, having not even had the chance to properly turn on Amell and cause him great danger and turmoil. It was bitter humor that made him think he ought to have at least quit the warden's company more memorably if he were to never return. But now that he thought about it, seducing him and then disappearing come morning was rather dramatic, in and of itself. Perhaps Zevran would not be so easily forgotten after all. He hadn't hoped for anything else from the tryst, but there was something to be said for the man's company...
And that was why he was letting someone else hold his leash, Zevran supposed. If all he wanted was to run, then there seemed to be no further place than this. But Zevran had to acknowledge that what he truly desired the shabby sort of freedom he had found previously, and then been ripped away from. It would be so much easier to call it a wash and see about running off into the woods (for all it was worth), but no. He had to make things difficult for himself. He really should have thought about how difficult this would be before he decided to let himself get comfortable back home. Zevran would need to be more careful in the future, and control his weakness for pretty faces and aching sincerity.
[To here.]