In a place he would normally find comfort among peers of a kind, Damien found only his own company. He was more than happy to reside in as long as the wine kept flowing to his table and the ones bringing it didn't ask too many questions.
His station was not something he liked to abuse but it did have uses. 'Only the best for a marked Scion!' and 'another 989 vintage m'lord?' they would crow as long as the Galafar's passed from pocket to hand, each time he reached into the purse the cold coins felt excessively chilling to the touch.
'This is blood money' He thought again, his sharp mind slicing though the drunken stupor once again, downing the remaining glass, as he wordlessly and without grace reached for the remaining bottle. Isn't this what he wanted? The swashbucking, the adventure, seeing grand sights, meeting interesting people, new friends, new lovers...
His Friends. HA, if he really felt that way, why is he here, alone, drinking himself dumb instead of addressing this head on with them? "A brave face, my son. This is a blessing!" His father had said after the Test of Syberis, Damien's chest was still burning from the newly manifested mark there. His older brother Camien, smiling beside him, and Bamien, next in line, equally exhausted coming up behind. Skin as clear and somewhat overly moisturised as always, slight disdain in his eyes.
No, No. None of this feels right. Those soldiers were just doing what the best for their country, sure they may have different values than him but they are just trying to live right. right? This self-doubt, it's unbecoming. Another glass down, his arms are getting jittery, Damien had to move, do something, anything!
If he can't face this reality of danger and death, is this it? Is the great Wander over? Is that what he wanted? Would that make him happy? "Sovereign above give me an Answer!"
Oh... that last part was aloud wasn't it? Given by the few remaining patrons, disgruntled stares, just like his brother... Time to go. But where? Down from here just a short lift ride would take him to the Orien enclave, he can do his papers, leave this life behind, fulfil his purpose. Or a few streets over would take him to the Clifftop housing... he could sleep this off or at least let them know what he was planning.
As he took another hearty swig from the bottle he grabbed on the way out. Pretty sure he paid for it, though he's basically a terrorist now so, C'est La Vie.
It was then Damien realised he had stumbled his way across a few bridges, the Guild house is close. Screwing up his face, he went to turn, when he saw some familiar coat tails round a bend... Perhaps he had some advice, or at least confort... "Oi, not that kind!" he said as he slapped his own face. He began the unsteady walk down the street after them.
.