((Just toying with an idea.))
"You don't have to do this, Berrod. You don't have to live this kind of life. Stealing, hurting people...there's so much good a man of your strength can accomplish! I...I know you don't kill. I know you speak out against killing. That has to mean something, right? You're a compassionate man, and we need that in the world today."
The Midlander fellow spoke valiantly, even as Berrod's fingers moved to wrap around his throat. His words made sense. There was a path he could walk that would lead to good deeds. He could just walk away, leave the man with his belongings and try to figure it out. The Midlander seemed to see the conflict in his eyes, and pounced on it. "I -- I won't tell anyone about this, it'll be as if it never happened! I know you -- please, Berrod!"
No. He remembered his struggle on the streets of Ul'Dah, and the way people walked past him without so much as a glance. The beatings, the stabbings...the unsavory rich perverts who had a...questionable taste for destitute Highlanders...the abuse from the Brass Blades. If he went back, if he tried to do good, no one would see that. They'd always see him for what he had been.
Street dirt.Â
His fingers closed about the Midlander's throat and cut his speech. "Sorry, boss," He grunted, "There ain't no good here. Jus' a fight to th'top." Tighter. "You say you know I don't kill...that's true. I don't. But maybe that's what I've been doin' wrong. I can't jus' stop an' let ya go. Sorry I can't make it quick."
"You don't have to do this, Berrod. You don't have to live this kind of life. Stealing, hurting people...there's so much good a man of your strength can accomplish! I...I know you don't kill. I know you speak out against killing. That has to mean something, right? You're a compassionate man, and we need that in the world today."
The Midlander fellow spoke valiantly, even as Berrod's fingers moved to wrap around his throat. His words made sense. There was a path he could walk that would lead to good deeds. He could just walk away, leave the man with his belongings and try to figure it out. The Midlander seemed to see the conflict in his eyes, and pounced on it. "I -- I won't tell anyone about this, it'll be as if it never happened! I know you -- please, Berrod!"
No. He remembered his struggle on the streets of Ul'Dah, and the way people walked past him without so much as a glance. The beatings, the stabbings...the unsavory rich perverts who had a...questionable taste for destitute Highlanders...the abuse from the Brass Blades. If he went back, if he tried to do good, no one would see that. They'd always see him for what he had been.
Street dirt.Â
His fingers closed about the Midlander's throat and cut his speech. "Sorry, boss," He grunted, "There ain't no good here. Jus' a fight to th'top." Tighter. "You say you know I don't kill...that's true. I don't. But maybe that's what I've been doin' wrong. I can't jus' stop an' let ya go. Sorry I can't make it quick."
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
