Mordecai Roberts and Rogue Who: Mordecai Roberts and Rogue Where: Decadence (Ravenmoore) When: Monday, October 23 Rating: TBD, but PG13 or below Warning: Reference to slavery
Mordecai didn't really believe in Preya. He knew plenty about alternate dimensions and parallel worlds - they were, after all, his bread and butter. For a man accustomed to crossing the World Edge with nearly the same ease as falling asleep, he had no doubt that such a country as Preya might occupy a pocket reality amid the multitude of the Related Worlds. What he could not credit was the purported refuge it offered. A man of three (four) masters all of whom could reach across worlds with an ease comparable to, and in one case (two cases) exceeding, his own, Mordecai knew very well that there was no running from his fate.
But Mordecai was tired. Living three lives had worn him down. At least, it was no longer four - but that was the trouble, wasn't it? On his adventures with Christopher, he'd been the most genuine he'd ever been (still the most egregious of lies) since resigning all hope of a future with Rosalie, and he'd given it up, traded it for the hollow rewards of treason and the ash of slavery. And brandy, of course. The end of his first week in Preya had found Mordecai in a club of sorts, composed of dim corners and flashing lights and intoxicating music.
The combination of alcohol with the other three might be responsible for the maudlin meandering of his thoughts. Mordecai hated becoming maudlin. He swirled his glass and scanned the room for a distraction. The dancing was not of the kind that Mordecai knew. It didn't even seem to require a partner, which rather begged the point. The best thing about dancing was the excuse to hold a young lady in one's arms for an extended period without offending propriety.