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Silent Contemplation

Another piece from LittleBadWolf back in back in August on 2021, delving once more into the psychology of the villain Oplentian rebel, Volpes.

What can I say? I enjoy writing about the quiet moments.

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Once more, the scene replayed itself within his head. He remembered the feeling of dirt clogging his nose and getting into his eyes as the boot ground him further down. Though he could not see them from his vantage point, he could imagine that stuck-up “noble” as he flaunted his influence. Of course, as an orphaned foxkin, nobody came to his aid, even as he pleaded. The knights and guardsmen claimed to be just and true, but everyone knew they were bought and paid for.

Even now, decades later, Volpes could imagine the scene as vividly as the day it happened. It should come as no surprise, considering that was the turning point. That was when he learned the ways of the world.

Returning to reality, the titan found himself laying back with a drink in the most comfortable chair in his lounge, the hood of his robe up shielding his eyes from the room’s soft gentle light. Though the headquarters of his enterprise was equipped with a bar, the drinks were special. Like him, many of his men had developed a “tolerance” to alcohol as a result of their transformations. Even the strongest palatable spirits he could personally brew amounted to what could barely be described as a light buzz, as ephemeral as his moments of serenity.

He laid back in his chair for some time, embracing the stillness around him, alongside the rising and falling of his chest as he steadily inhaled and exhaled to his own rhythm. In his hand, a glass containing a few drops of his cocktail, gradually diluting as the ice melted.

Volpes had chosen his path long ago, or perhaps it had already been chosen for him. And yet, transforming himself into the Savior of the Downtrodden had done nothing to mend this festering wound upon his heart. Not that it mattered. The moment he stepped outside, he had to be the one leading the cause, protecting the people, working to topple the system oppressing them. Weakness was the one thing he could never afford to show.

But here, in this lounge, he could afford to let his shields down. He could cease to be Volpes for a brief moment, and allow himself to feel the pain once more.

What might have been if he was capable of drinking his sorrows away?