At one of those nicer dance clubs, tucked behind the haze of colored lights and reverberating bass, is a young man dressed like nearly every other guy in the club, dark-colored top and jeans, and if it weren't for the fit and the too-nice watch, he'd blend right in. Anonymity is novel luxury for Jack, and one he has taken to indulging in Baedal. He didn't come with an entourage, or even arm candy. He isn't giving anyone his real name. He's just another clubber, out drinking and dancing and marveling at the idea of not being recognized. When he finally runs for office and politics necessitate putting his face and name everywhere he can manage, this won't be possible, but for however many more weeks or months before that happens, it is an acceptable risk.
And he needs this, tonight more than most. His career is going well, you could say, if by "going well" you meant he's gaining power and influence, but what he's using that influence for is skewing his candidate's campaign in the direction of human supremacy, constructing a quiet reputation for himself as anti-xenian and anti-polytheist at the cost of real people's freedoms. When it pays off – if it pays off, if the Candlelighters even notice and if he can do any good once they do – maybe then it will feel like he did the right thing.
Right now, though, it feels like shit. And that's fine. That's how it ought to feel. He can be that person, he can handle it, but not for every minute of the day. He needs to be someone else– or no one at all, just disappear into the motion of the crowd and the rush of alcohol in his veins, if only for a few hours.
When he sees Aimery, he almost doesn't stop. It's dark, it would be easy enough to slip back onto the dance floor without being seen– but the thing about disappearing is, he has to do it alone. And he gets tired of that, too.
"I'm buying this time," he says by way of greeting as he sidles up next to Aimery, leaning an elbow on the bar. "And whatever you're having, have two – you have some catching up to do."
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And he needs this, tonight more than most. His career is going well, you could say, if by "going well" you meant he's gaining power and influence, but what he's using that influence for is skewing his candidate's campaign in the direction of human supremacy, constructing a quiet reputation for himself as anti-xenian and anti-polytheist at the cost of real people's freedoms. When it pays off – if it pays off, if the Candlelighters even notice and if he can do any good once they do – maybe then it will feel like he did the right thing.
Right now, though, it feels like shit. And that's fine. That's how it ought to feel. He can be that person, he can handle it, but not for every minute of the day. He needs to be someone else– or no one at all, just disappear into the motion of the crowd and the rush of alcohol in his veins, if only for a few hours.
When he sees Aimery, he almost doesn't stop. It's dark, it would be easy enough to slip back onto the dance floor without being seen– but the thing about disappearing is, he has to do it alone. And he gets tired of that, too.
"I'm buying this time," he says by way of greeting as he sidles up next to Aimery, leaning an elbow on the bar. "And whatever you're having, have two – you have some catching up to do."